Come for the smut, stay for the fluff.

Alistair stood close to her in the crowded room. “This is really weird,” he whispered, smiling down at her. His clean-shaven face and perfectly groomed hair were charming, but a bit out of place on him. The lopsided grin certainly wasn’t. Or the look of absolute adoration in his brown eyes. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Helena agreed. Her rosy lips were only tinted faintly for the occasion. They were a lovely color all their own and needed no embellishment. Full and enticing, sometimes to the point of distraction for him.

“Your majesty?” The tall, incredibly thin man beside them spoke up. “I said that you may-” 

“I heard,” Alistair said louder, though he didn’t take his eyes off of Helena. She was divine in her white and gold dress. A thin gold circlet lay over the crown of her hair. “I suppose we should…” he trailed off slowly. 

She pursed her lips as she smiled, trying not to laugh at him. Nodding quickly, Helena lifted her hand to his cheek. He bent his head and she met him halfway. She pressed her lips to his and after only a mere moment, he pulled away with a nervous chuckle. Letting out a soft huff of laughter, she rocked back onto her feet. Alistair glanced at the crowd that gathered, blushing at the scattered applause. 

Then, from the front row,  they heard a distinctly Antivan voice. “Pathetic! Kiss la tua regina like you mean it! Like she deserves! Shall I show you how?” Zevran even stood, feinting a few steps toward the dais with a determined look. 

Helena certainly was hoping for something more, but she knew how nervous Alistair was to kiss her in front of so many people. He’d been fretting about it for days. She would get what she wanted in private later anyway. 

However, Zevran’s ribbing seemed to spur him into action. His hand cupped the back of her neck, the other sliding down to the small of her back. He caught her off guard with the feverish kiss and almost immediately she forgot about their audience. Alistair’s hand slid over the swell of her backside and down to her thigh, suggesting that he had as well. 

He bent over her slightly, lifting her leg to hook over his hip which she did without question. One arm slid around his neck while the other kept the circlet on her head as he dipped her amid the whistles and cheers of the royal court and their family. 

Helena was quite literally breathless when he straightened and released her leg. “How was that?” he whispered against her lips. 

“Decidedly not awkward,” she whispered back. 

“You’re blushing, wife.” Alistair’s grin made her heart skip a beat. 

“So are you!” 

“May I now present to you, King Alistair Theirin and his wife, Queen Helena!” the officiant said amid the din that had only subsided slightly before swelling back into an approving cacophony at his announcement. 

Alistair looked over his shoulder. “And?” he prompted. 

“Highness, the queen should not have more titles than the king.” The officiant balked, paling slightly. 

“And!” Alistair prompted again. 

“Queen Helena, last of house Cousland, Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens and Hero of Ferelden.” Though he was less than enthusiastic in his announcement, Alistair was satisfied nonetheless. 

Looking over at her, he took her hand and squeezed. “I love you, Hel.” 

Marcella woke suddenly to a piercing scream. She sat up in bed slowly and rubbed her eyes. Pushing back her blankets, she crawled out of bed and started toward the door, creeping on her tiptoes to avoid the cold floor. She paused for a moment then doubled back to the bed to grab her favorite stuffed animal. The brown, pear shaped bird had seen better days. It was missing a wing which had devastated her initially, but her mother had explained that it wouldn’t hurt him because, like chickens, he couldn’t fly anyway. 

Hugging the kiwi close to her chest, she opened the latch on her door. It sprung open with a snap and the door pushed in several inches. Opening it the rest of the way, she looked down at the large, dark blob that had been leaning against it. She lifted her leg, but decided she couldn’t step over the mabari without stepping on him. 

“Hades,” she murmured sleepily, “can you please move? You’re in my way.” 

The big dog lumbered to his feet and stretched. He turned away from her and then looked expectantly over his shoulder, ready to escort her wherever she decided to go. 

Walking across the landing, she quietly opened the door to her parents’ bedroom and ventured in. They were both sitting up in the bed, her mother with her legs tucked beneath her and her father cross-legged in front of her. His hand rested on her cheek, thumb moving over it soothingly. With their foreheads pressed together he was murmuring something to her softly, though Marcella couldn’t hear what he was saying. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” Marcella asked, making them both look at her in surprise. 

Brushing her cheeks, Sparrow nodded. “Yes, sweetling. I’m sorry I woke you.” 

“It’s okay. Do you want to sleep with me in my bed?” Marcella asked. 

Fenris chuckled at his daughter’s tone. It was the exact one that Sparrow used when asking the same question of Marcella after one of her bad dreams. Sparrow made a soft noise that might have been either stifled laughter or a sob. “I think your bed is too small for the both of us to sleep comfortably. How about you sleep with us instead?” 

“Okay!” Marcella said excitedly, running to the end of their bed. She threw the stuffed kiwi between her parents and then clambered onto the chest at the end of the bed. Hauling herself over the foot board and onto the mattress, she crawled toward them. Fenris moved a pillow to the middle of the bed so she could lay comfortably between them. “Do you want to talk about it? It might make you feel better,” she whispered. 

“No, but thank you.” Sparrow tucked her daughter’s hair behind her slightly pointed ear. 

“We talked through it. No need to worry, my little love. Go back to sleep.” Fenris pulled them both close, kissing the top of Marcella’s head.  

Marcella yawned, snuggling against them. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she murmured sleepily. 

Thank you so much for the wonderful words! 🥰

Two in a row! Look at me go!

Shockingly, I'm actually a chapter ahead too! I'm taking a break from the draft of chapter 20 before the final polish and starting the outline and blurbs for chapter 21. This is from that chapter. It's particularly special because it features the OC that @charlatron created for Space Trash, El!

Wow, it's been a really long time since I've posted one of these, but I'm hoping doing so on the regular will keep me motivated to keep writing. I'm over half-way through my original timeline for Space Trash, so we're on the home stretch!

Here's a couple tiny blurbs from the main story of Space Trash and a tiny side project in the same AU.

“Who are you?” Jules asked with a confused frown. The recent events left her doubting he was even real. The man's eyebrows shot up. He transferred the massive hydrogen blade with its glowing edge to the opposite hand and offered the freed one to her. “King Alistair Theirin, monarch of the entire Fereldan system. We met a few hours ago, but it's fine. I've been told I'm a forgettable fellow.”

I finally got around to giving Varric the love and attention he deserves! I originally intended this to only be sweet and spicy, but the angst called to me and I couldn't resist. There will be a teaser under the cut, but you can read Inevitable in full on AO3.

TW: Forced sterilization that's eventually reversed.

After Hawke nearly dies, Varric realizes that being her best friend isn't good enough. She'd tried to tell him she loved him years ago and he brushed her off, convinced she could do better than him. He can only hope that he didn't ruin everything by not saying it then and that he won't ruin everything by saying it now. Anders is shocked to learn that he's missed his window of opportunity to confess his love to Hawke. He's upset, but Justice is furious.

Bull and his kadan rarely fight and if they do, it's hard to stay mad at him because he's just so infuriatingly reasonable.

“Kadan,” Bull said, the tone of his voice placating as he ducked under the tent door to follow her. 

“Don’t you fucking 'Kadan' me,” Preia shot back.

At Alistair's wedding, everyone in the palace eats the good stuff.

“Majesty, that’s simply too much food!” Alistair’s distressed head chef was trying desperately, for the third time, to explain how carefully he’d calculated the amount of food needed to feed everyone on the guest list. He waved the piece of parchment with each food item and serving size. Circled at the top, in large script, was the number of nobles on the guest list who were expected to attend his wedding.