Writing Masterlist

Summary When a coup in the Orweith palace lines up with a coup taking place among the Quagga Clan diplomats, Prince Tavar and Lo Kassel find themselves turned into a goose and duck respectively, forced to hide in the gardens from the usurpers while they try to find a way to become human again to warn the rest of the royal family and gain back control of the clan.

Writing Milestone Posts Heissec's college + silly Tavar Tavar falls out of a tree animatic Goose Prince Playlist Tavar Sticker Kassel's hair and misbehaving goose Short story - Hit the Ground Running Tavar and Kassel sharing a cloak in the climax of the story Book Cover Mock ups

Worldbuilding The mage college

Main Characters

Anything related to this story will be under #gooseprince. If you're interested in specific characters they'll just be under their first names.

Reblogs are very welcome! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist and feel free to send asks if you have any questions about the characters.

More content under the cut.

Thanks for the tag @sleepyowlwrites I also will have to breath in so much dust to scrounge up some tags for this post. I need to make more writing mutuals here now that I'm getting back into the swing of things.

Here we go! I've been working on the first draft of Goose Prince and I'm so excited about this!

"KIRSHIKA!" Kiki shrugged, her concern in the face of her sister's concern fading into a mischievous smile. "It will look quite stunning. The metal smiths know what they're doing. Sometimes you have to cut some pretty cloth to make fabulous clothing." Rahlia tittered in horror and Tavar took that as his sign to step in before things got out of hand.

How about I pick up from Dahlia’s perspective at the end of Chapter 4 in Love and Warfare? (Dahlia belongs to @whosafraidofthebigbaddreadwolf )

(Rasmir Sabrae x Dahlia Lavellan  | @dadrunkwriting

Firsts and Seconds | Pairing: Rahlia

Escaping the blast had been a miracle. Finding a piece of the forsaken orb and pocketing it… Dahlia was still debating whether to classify the act as brilliant or moronic. Kleptomaniac was not a trait she necessarily liked on her job description. She could only hope that Sulenera had survived too, so she could give it back and let it be her problem. 

And speaking of problems, the one she was currently facing was being extremely difficult. 

“Sit still, and let me take a look,” she hissed, grabbing Rasmir’s chin and forcefully turning his bloodied face towards her. 

“Darling, you must tell me…will it scar? Women love scars.” Mischief flashed in his eyes. “Tell me Dahlia, what are your thoughts on men wi–”

She scoffed, loudly, and threw shoved his face away. “He’s going to be fine.”

Her announcement was met with a few sighs of relief, a playful ‘well fuck’, and one exasperated God’s name taken in vain. The crowd gathered in the kitchen dispersed after one sharp glare, and the door shut tight behind them. 

“Seeing as I’m fine,” Ras staggered as he stood up, bracing himself on the island to steady himself, and made a perplexed face. “Perhaps not.”

“Sit.” Her grasp was firm as she guided him back onto the stool. And lingered longer than she would have liked. He noticed. 

“Don’t,” she interrupted as he started to speak and his mouth shut instantly, brows arching in surprise. “You aren’t fine. I lied.”

“Tsk, tsk, my dear Dahlia. Don’t you know lying is a sin?” He said with a wink, resting elbow on the marble surface, and his cheek in his palm.

It took most of her self control not to bash in his head anymore than it had been already.

“I”m going to blame the flirting on blood loss and pretend it isn’t happening, June.”

His smile faltered. 

His stare was heavy on her back as she gathered a wet compress for his forehead to staunch the bleeding. Upon her return, he dropped the charming facade entirely. 

“Rasmir. Call me Rasmir.”

She met his eyes, there was no trace of teasing this time. He was asking her to use his name. Rasmir, not his title. It shouldn’t have made her feel a surge of pride, of joy, but alas it was–and her stomach was doing little flips against her will. 

She looked away to avoid exposing herself, paying attention to the blood freely flowing from his head wound as she responded. “I’m your second, I should defer to your title.”

He winced as she held pressure to his head. “Something I’m fully aware of, but choosing to ignore. You did me a favor I could ask no one else. Sulenera is a good friend of mine. Perhaps my only friend, or one I can trust.” His balance waivered, and Dahlia caught him, dropping the blood soaked rag on kitchen tile. They locked eyes once more. “I’d like to be able to call you my friend, one day.”

“And how would we get to that point?”

His pallor was blanching but even despite that, he managed to find the strength to pull his lips into a halfhearted attempt at a coy smile. 

@dadrunkwriting, Dahlia belongs to @whosafraidofthebigbaddreadwolf

Rasmir surged forward, falling nearly halfway out of the bed. His breath came in ragged bursts that echoed in the dark bedroom, alarming his bed partner. 

“Ras...RAS.”

He was being shaken, a grip on his shoulder pulling him back to the present and out of the last dregs of a nightmare as the other attempted to rip away his hand from scratching the hell out of his right arm.

“Stay back.”

It was not his intention to shout, he had meant for it to be a subtle warning, but the way his lover recoiled informed him otherwise. 

“Stay back, I’m---I’m--”

“There is nothing wrong with you,” her voice soothed. She stopped trying to pry his hand away and pressed surprisingly cool touch to his chest, “you’re okay.”

He leaned in, inhaling the intoxicating scent of the Black Dahlia, and let his breathing slow to a nice, even pace. They sat in the stillness until the darkness settled in around them in soft embrace once more, undisturbed and silent. 

“Was it...”

“Nightmare.”

She hummed an acknowledgement. “The same one as before, about being...?”

“Poisoned? Yeah.” He fought the itch to trace the scar he had been trying to tear off his skin seconds before. The phantom burning sensation toying at the ends of his nerve endings despite being wide awake. 

He retracted himself from her and went to window. In two seconds fresh air spilled into the room, along with a stream of moonlight. The night breeze washed over his cold sweat, raising bumps all across his bare skin. 

Another soft touch at his back made him flinch. Her step made no sound. Despite his state of paranoia, he felt the tug of a smirk stretch across his lips. Even behind closed doors his second in command, and very possibly the country’s best assassin, was true to her reputation. 

“I won’t pry, its not my place,” she slipped around him and onto the balcony, effortlessly. “But if you wish to talk, know I’m here and will listen. Or if you’d rather, we can sit out here in silence. I’m quite good at it I’ll have you know,” she added with a wink.

He placed his hand in hers outstretched before he had even time to process it. “Let’s sit, it’s been a while since I’ve seen a sunrise.”

She smiled and guided him outside.

First

“Absolutely not.”

The words rang with finality in the empty warehouse hallway, a sentence not meant to be challenged.

She pushed on anyway. The angle she had tried— to make her sister appear like a tool, something beyond value that this man would want, make him think that without it, it would leave him weaker—wasn’t working. He just wasn’t buying into it, didn’t believe Aurora would be worth the risk. And to a point she understood. She was asking a lot—asking Rasmir to trust an outsider with his most sacred space, his temple, his empire. He allowed no one into this space that had not sworn to serve him. Aurora would not answer to June of the Elven Patheon, but perhaps she would respect Rasmir Sabrae, the orphaned street urchin who had to cut, steal, and claw his way up from the bowels of the earth to claim his seat at the top.

And if Dahlia were to survive here, she would need her sister. The way Rasmir needed her.

“Those are my terms.”

The rogue stopped in his tracks, the small tendrils of shadow that had trailed his steps stopped too.

“Pardon?,” he said, brow arched.

“You want to keep me as your second, then I will need this one thing from you.” She fought the urge to cross her arms. No submission.

“You ask too much, Black Dahlia. My offer is for you, and you alone.”

“And this is my one stipulation. Take it or I’m out, June,” she returned, mirroring the use of his title.

“You realize you know too much at this point,” he said, his voice a rhythmic timbre she otherwise would have found enticing if she weren’t trying to barter with an underworld gang god.

“Is that a threat?”

She intended for it to sound menancing but his mouth turned into a wicked grin at just the right moment to make her voice weaken. She wished the butterflies in her rib cage would stop staging a riot so that she could focus.

“Would you like it to be?” His eyes danced with mirth and something else she could quite place.

She wanted to slap him. And almost did, but he spoke up breaking the tension.

“I’ll take your... request into consideration. It would be such a waste of talent to kill you where you stand. Not to mention I just had the carpet dry cleaned and I would hate to have to make a fifth call this month to have you scrubbed out.”

“You arrogant son of a—“

His laughter drowned out her curse and he disappeared into nothingness, leaving only a smoking trail wafting in space in his wake.

***

Now

“Remember that time you considered killing me?”

“Which one? There have been too many I’ve lost count.” A shit eating grin broke out across Rasmir’s face from across the table as he winked at her.

Dahlia chucked a piece of cheese at him, nailing him in the cheek.

“I’ve been hit!” He dramatically grasped his face and started to sink to his knees.

“You’re full of shit, Sabrae.”

“Yes, as you kindly remind me at least twice a day, darling.”

She nudged him with her boot, knocking him on his ass.

“I’m talking about the time you thought you could kill me after I asked for Aurora’s passcode.”

“Ah, that time. I wouldn’t have actually. I thought it was cute how defensive you are of her.”

“Cute?” Dahlia wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, so very.”

And suddenly she was prone, her feet knocked from under her before she could even react. Ras, now poised over her pinning her wrists above her head, dipped low and kissed the top of her nose in between each word.

Have you heard the story of Death and his Shadow?

No? Then should you be as unfortunate as to ever meet the God and his Goddess, there is only one thing you can do.

Run, darling, run.

The moment he realized he was in love, it pierced Ras like a blade through the heart. The glass in his hand dropped like bomb, scattering fragments of whiskey coated glass across his floor as his mind and body came rushing to halt. 

This… this thing, he had started was unintentional. And unintentional barely had room in his dictionary. It was to be as surface level like all his masked promises, but…all his years of masterminding, planning, and scheming had not prepared him for this. Learning to trust, loving the person he had become around her, finding joy in the simplest of pleasures…no. He had not envisioned this for himself, not ever. 

But the Black Dahlia had stole more than just his favor, she had stolen his heart.