Two long-time enemy nations can't become meaningful allies overnight. Stories from the lives of a border-guard Herald and Sunpriest, from their first meeting to the end, and insights into just how Karse and Valdemar were able to turn around their relationship so fast.

Now you must endure. Drabbles of the Inquisitor and those who follow.

A party was never quite a proper party in Tevinter until there was at least one assassination attempt, and the novelty in the attempt at Magister Caius’ party lay not quite in its actual occurrence but in the ambition of its assassin. At the height of Caius’ decidedly juvenile lyrium-laced drinking game, during the start of dinner, Magister Fabiana made a sudden gesture close to the Divine, all the while leaning closer, as if to say something private. Divine Leontius’s hand snapped up, viper-quick, grabbing Fabiana’s hand high on the wrist. She rose from her seat, fright and outrage both in her eyes, fire stealing hot up from her trapped wrist before it was abruptly… gone. Shock froze Fabiana’s snarl in her throat, even as, with a gentle, almost intimate economy, Leontius pulled Fabiana towards him and shoved a dagger up through her ribcage.

Cullen is more than happy to make an appearance at the conclave at Seeker Pentaghast's request. How was he supposed to know that a simple favour would change his life forever? AKA The Cullen as Inquisitor AU I have been thinking about for some time.

In which Cougar goes home, goes on a road trip, and learns to cook.

On the longest night of the year, Cassandra goes to the chapel to pray.

For two weeks straight he dreamt that he was meeting a little boy. The child had red-brown hair and dark eyes and laughed when he saw Dorian. He would launch himself at Dorian, hug him tightly around the waist and say how much he’d missed his brother. It varied more after that, sometimes they’d play and Dorian would be able to think he’d just dreamed about having a little brother- But sometimes they went flying and spat fire. Sometimes they looked down on battlefields and wiped armies away with a roar. Fill for the Kink Meme prompt 'Dorian is an Old God reincarnated.'

Every time Edward sees the circle on the back Mustang's hand, he wants to scream, wants to reach across the desk and shake him, wants to wrap his hands around the older man's throat and ask if it was worth it, if this desk and his rank is worth the screaming, crying, writhing, burning bodies of his people - "Something to say, Fullmetal?" Mustang drawls. Edward snaps the file shut, "Nope."

“You’ve heard the rumors,” Mustang says, looking at Ed over the top of his latest report, “about the angels.” Ed scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Angels don’t exist, don’t be ridiculous.” “Of course, of course,” he murmurs, gaze sliding back down, “There have been multiple eye witness accounts, however.” Ed slouches into the chair and doesn’t bother to keep the contempt to from his voice when he says, “Don’t depend on anything with wings to save you. Things that were made to leave always end up doing so, in the end.” “Yes, well,” he says, “sometimes they come back.”

It's the first Bright Season of the sweep, and you've set out to make an offering at the temple of Pulse and Haze. Your name is Equius Zahhak, and you should have done some theological research before this endeavor.

High Sage Kenji blesses Fire Prince Zuko with the resilience of the reed, who bends in the wind and never breaks. When he is done, Fire Prince Ozai narrows his eyes, seemingly displeased by this blessing. But Kenji does not speak for himself; he is only a vessel. * The newly-crowned Fire Lord Ozai offers his firstborn son to service in the temple. This turns out to be a catastrophic mistake.

Esdras Al-Ridha is born in 1899, in his mother’s family home. His birth certificate, when it’s written a month later by Dr. Yuriy Rockbell, will declare his name Edward Elric. It will name his mother Trisha, and it will say nothing of her white hair. It will say nothing of the blue desert sky he first opens his eyes under, the way he is passed to relative after relative and is held and blessed by each. (Even before the war, tensions are high, and hatred is brewing. Tirzah holds her newborn son, with eyes as gold as his father’s, and pale-sun hair halfway there, and she decides that if Ishvala wants him hidden, then Tirzah will not brand him where his genes have not.)

“What kind of pleasure do you want to offer the Lover?” Sid asks. People usually want sex, of course, but not always – Sid’s had supplicants who just wanted to make out, or cuddle, or flirt… and one memorable supplicant who wanted to give him a massage, which was awesome. She confessed to Sid afterward that she’d gone in intending to have sex, but “when I saw those muscles, I was like, damn, I need to get my hands all over that!”

RainyForecast)

Sidney always knew his family would pick who he ended up with. It was how things were done, and no matter what the outside world thought, he'd never questioned it before because it was just the reality: ice was frozen, getting checked against the boards knocked the wind out of you, one day Sid would be matched to someone his parents and the matchmaker and his aunts and uncles and his community thought was the best fit for him. And best of all, Sidney wouldn't have to worry about it. He would just focus on hockey. He'd deal with it one day. Eventually. 'One day' had seemed so much farther away when he was younger.

Jaime didn’t like the Starks at all. He didn’t like their earnestness and honesty and prudishness, he didn’t like their cold heavy-walled castle, he didn’t like their frozen block of a realm, and he especially didn’t like Robb Stark, who had saved his son’s life and been kind to him and got him to sleep, and what business of his was it to have done any of those things?

Boba Fett likes to be in control. Din Djarin feels more out of control with every passing day. Giving control over to Boba would make both of them happy. Din just doesn't understand why that has to be so complicated. (Or, rebuilding an entire culture is hard. Boba helps, more or less.)

If the gods were going to take him away from Cersei and everything he’d known, bind him to a boy half his age, Jaime almost would have preferred it if Robb Stark had been a fool, had been as dull and self-righteous as his father. Seven hells, he could at least have been ugly.

Ever since he’d come out to his devout Roman Catholic family, Johnny had been told he was going to Hell. Seeing Simon “Ghost” Riley on his knees in front of him, looking like Lust incarnate, has him thinking Hell suits him far better than Heaven anyway. His blonde hair catches the fluorescents like a halo, and Johnny now knows exactly what the legends meant when they said the devil has angelic eyes. OR: Johnny needs proof that the aphrodisiac drug sample they're retrieving is real, so he tests it the only way he can with the resources he has: on himself. It's real, alright - he figures that out pretty quick.

“No one told me what prayers to recite,” Johnny forces out, trying to summon the well of anger that usually burns within him when he enters the church. “‘Spose they’re not used to trussin’ up somethin’ that can talk back.” Father Simon says nothing, his footsteps echoing out on the stone; growing louder as he approaches. “I can baa for ya if that’d make it more familiar,” he spits, some remnant of himself flaring and he strains his arms, struggling in vain against the ropes binding his wrists. He follows the hem of his robe as he circles him; his keen eyes heavy as they study the sigils on his skin until he finally comes to a stop behind him. He’s not even to see his death. Johnny curses himself as only now does grief come at being denied a final look into his eyes. Even now, you can’t help but chase sin.