#hell5bell5

[pinayelf-archive]

@hell5bell5 replied to your post “a thing I've been meaning to draw is cullen and immy in a sanrio store...”

cullen would literally not be able to fit in the narrow crevices of hmart magic castle and that is very sexy of him

oh no...his ass will knock down the shelves :( how terrible 

[icarlydotcorn]

do claude in the towers of glass palette

Thank you!

Here’s Clood

Send me a color palette and a character!

[feeshies]

hell5bell5 replied to your post: one time i went to a korean restaurant with my...

naengmyeon is so good ���� and it’s that season now!!!

yesss!!!  and i’ve been taking full advantage of it :D

[allisondraste]

🌈 :)

Isabella! OH BOY! *cracks knuckles* where to even start!  

I suppose I’ll start out by saying that every time I interact with you (on here, on twitter, wherever really) I always end up thinking “Okay, she’s literally one of the coolest people I know.”  And there’s not really a single reason for that being the case.  It’s all the things. 

First and foremost, you’re an incredible creator, and while I have yet to start your long fics, the short works that you’ve shared and that I’ve read have all been phenomenal, and your character voices are A++++++, spot on, amazing, and your writing is so clear and easy to follow.  I’m looking forward to having more time to read it because I know it’s going to be a treat! ^^On top of that, you’re kind, supportive, and have a really great sense of humor.  I genuinely enjoy seeing you and your posts on my dash!  I am really glad I’ve gotten to know you! <3

[ginnyq]

2, 9, and 13?

Thanks, Isabella! 🥰💚

2) Which of your own fanfics have you reread the most? Hmm. That is a good question. I want to say my very first fic, The San Lorenzo Job REDUX in the Leverage fandom, just because it's been around longest? I finished it in 2014, I think, and I'd say I reread it every year or so. I'm pleasantly surprised when I read certain bits. Like, great job Past!Ginny! That said, I have a few shorter fics that I adore and possibly reread more often due to the fact that they're short(ish). The two I find myself going back to most often are Just Friends (Warden!Alistair and Cullen, when Alistair realizes he has more than "just friend" feelings for Cullen) and The Lion and the King (Cullen/King!Alistair reuniting at Skyhold and realizing they've been in love with each other forever). They're both pretty warm and fuzzy 🥰

9) What do your fic bookmarks say about you? Well, after spending a good 20 or so minutes going through all 94(!!) of them (though a few repeated I think?), they say that I like to read the following: clever stories, sweet stories, stories that make me feel things. They span fandoms, tropes, and endings: happy and sad, AU (oof, I'm a sucker for noir AUs) and hurt/comfort, Leverage and Dragon Age and Dresden Files and a smattering of others. I like to remember or be able to revist stories that demand that I comment and tell the author JUST HOW FUCKING AMAZING THIS STORY WAS, that leave me with a feeling or mood I didn't have before, that make me think, that make me happy, that make me sad, that are a unique take. I like fics that go just a little bit (or a lotta bit) deeper than the surface.

13) Name three favorite characters to write. Wow, uh. Alistair (Dragon Age) for sure! He's funny and sweet and kind and has a lot of backstory to delve into. He's the kind of nice, sarcastic guy I have realized is My Type, and I wish I could explain just what it is I love about him so much. Maybe it's his strength; he has been through so many awful things, but he's come out the other end a truly good person with an impressive sense of humor. I adore writing his humor and angst.

As for another two characters, I suppose I enjoy writing character types? (And honestly, while Alistair is my favorite of his type, I do enjoy writing funny, kind men with tragic backstories like Dorian (DA), Harry Dresden (Dresden Files) and my OC Pete Rodriguez (my San Lorenzo Job REDUX fic), who I loved so much and realized after I also fell in love with Alistair that I'd basically WRITTEN Alistair, but in a different fandom.)

One type I love is emotionally constipated men, like Cullen (DA), Eliot (Leverage), Nate (Leverage), Harry Dresden (Dresden Files); there's just something about poking at someone in pain until they explode that I enjoy writing. Drama and angst, I suppose, but with good resolution.

Another type I love to write is women who are often maligned, underrated, stereotyped, fridged/manipulated for men's pain, or just considered "weird" in fandom. This is more recent, but I think I had hints even in my early stuff. The biggest ones in my fics are Anora (DA) and Morrigan (DA), but I also enjoy Parker (Leverage), Sera (DA, but when I first played DAI I liked her because she reminded me of Parker), Vivienne (DA), Molly Carpenter (Dresden Files). Women are often poorly written/portrayed in media, and I love fixing their poor (often male) writing or representing them in a better light. Whenever I find myself thinking, "Ugh, I hate this character" about a woman, I remind myself, "It's not her fault. She's just poorly written." And imagine what I would do differently.

So, uh, there's some long (and probably slightly cheating) answers. Thank you for asking!!

Fanfiction asks!

[everestv-themuse]

(a memory that involves romance/love)

Warning, bit of a downer ahead! I’ve had this scene in my head for so long, and have wanted to actually confront Trea’s grief in full for so long, that I kinda got a bit intimidated. Glad I finally got to it, though. There’s something so satisfying about writing angst that’s been brewing in the background for so long. So, thanks very much for the prompts! Trea Adaar x Josephine Montilyet for @dadrunkwriting​ & @hell5bell5​ / @bitchesofostwick​ & @tevivinter​.

The fireflies are glittering all around her, dipping and dancing at the direction of her fingertips. She circles with them, relishing the feeling of grass between her bare feet. She laughs when she manages to catch one, peeking through her fingertips to watch the flicker, before opening her hands in an arc to watch it fly away again. She glances at her mother a few feet away, sitting against the tree with her eyes closed and hands folded in her lap. The image is jarring, she knows it is, but can’t quite figure out why.

Bringing a hand to wipe away the sweat beading on her forehead, she rushes forward. “Can we swim for a bit? Please?” She takes her mother’s hands in hers and tugs a few times.

Her mother looks up, smiles in a way that makes the edges of her vision blur, and squeezes her hands gently. “It’s getting dark, imekari. We should be heading back soon.”

“Oh, but please? Just for a little while?” Her insistent tugs bring her mother to her feet and she grins despite her determination to be pouty and convincing. “It’s just so hot and I wanted to show you my strokes! I’m so good at them! Please?”

Her mother laughs and scoops her up to sit on her shoulders. “Fine, fine, you win. But just for a little while. Are you ready?” Her mother asks as she approaches the nearby lake’s shoreline. She just claps in response and giggles.

“Yes, yes!” Warm hands grab her from under her arms before she’s being tossed into the lake, flying through the air before hitting the surface with a splash.

***

Trea wakes up with a start, the feeling of falling washing over her for the quick second it takes to jerk upright. The dream is still flooding her senses. She swears she can still smell the lake, the summer wind, the grass of the meadow. She looks down at her hands, struggling to catch her breath, blinking furiously to rid herself of the flickering that lingers across her vision. Her skin is calloused, rough and dry, but it’s the shaking she focuses on, the way her fingers look so empty, the way they feel so...

Her throat is tight and the room is starting to spin. Trying to keep her wet gasps quiet is not doing her breathing any favors. She swallows thickly and carefully pulls back the covers, moving to stand and escape out to the balcony when a hand brushes against her wrist.

“Trea?” Josephine’s sleepy voice sounds and it only tightens Trea’s chest further. “Is something wrong?”

Her feet touch the floor as she sits on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and dropping her head in her hands. She doesn’t trust herself to speak, just closes her eyes and tries to focus on evening out her breathing. The sheets rustle behind her and then Josephine’s hand presses to her shoulder, trails its way down, rubs gentle circles against her lower back. Trea’s breath catches and she hates herself for it, trying to cover it up with a cough rather than let the sob escape her scratchy throat.

“Please let me...I wish you would...I wish I...” Josephine struggles for words and Trea glares at the floor. She doesn’t know what to say. For once, she’s the one who can’t find the words. And it’s because of you. She deserves better. Josephine lets out a breath. “I want to fix this for you, I want to help. Even if it is only to listen, I would rather you—”

“It was just a dream,” Trea shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

Josephine presses a kiss to the top of her spine and she shivers. “A nightmare. Maybe if you tell me—”

“No, a dream.” Trea pushes off the bed. “Or...or a memory. But it couldn’t have been. It couldn’t. She would never be so...so...”

“Who?” Josephine’s voice is barely above a whisper and Trea’s fists clench.

“My mother.” Her voice wavers at the admission and she clears her throat. She starts pacing alongside the bed. “But it felt so real. It felt like it happened before, or it could have. If things hadn’t...it was just a dream. I know that. But I’ve never wanted to fall back asleep so badly. Just to...just so that we could...I just needed more time.”

Josephine presses against her in a hug from behind, pausing her pacing and holding her close. “Cálmate, cariña. Breathe.”

Trea isn’t sure when she finally lost the battle, but she can feel the tears run down her cheeks now and her every breath catch in her throat. “I woke up and it hurt. It hurt and I actually...missed her.” Trea’s voice broke into a short laugh, a scoff at the very thought. “Isn’t that funny? I missed her. Her, the woman who drove me away, the woman I could never hope to please. The first person I ever knew, the only person I had for years.

“And I don’t even know if I’m missing a real person, or fragments of a person that could have been, a collection of childish fantasies. Just stupid hopes and dreams.” Trea crosses her arms over her chest, holding tight and pressing hard. Josephine’s hands around her middle feel like feathers in comparison. “I don’t know what to think anymore, I don’t know how to make it make sense. I mean fuck, it’s been weeks since the funeral and this is the first time I’ve cried, I’m...” She lets out a breath and every nerve ending inside her buzzes at the sudden feeling of calm that washes over her senses. “She was right. I’m just a shitty excuse for a person.”

Josephine’s embrace drops away as she suddenly spins Trea around. Her gaze is hard, even as her hands brush up to gently wipe Trea’s cheeks dry. “Stop this. Don’t go there. You know that’s not true.” Trea can’t meet her gaze and her chin drops to her chest. “I know that’s not true.”

Her voice is feather-light and it makes Trea wince. All she can do is shake her head.

Slowly, as if not to startle her, Josephine takes large hands in her own smaller ones and guides them both back to bed. With gentle nudges and gestures, she gets Trea to lay down and curled into her chest, bringing the blankets up around them again.

Trea can’t help but feel ridiculous, all coiled in like a child. Her knees bent up and her hands folded in close, she barely fits in the embrace of Josephine’s much smaller form. She can’t imagine what it looks like — a big, burly qunari, the Inquisitor herself, on the verge of tears once more because of a simple embrace. She squeezes her eyes shut.

“All of this is just... This will pass, my love.” Josephine says in a whisper before pressing a kiss to Trea’s forehead. “Everything will look better in the morning. Just sleep now.” She doesn’t sound convinced by her own words and Trea bites her lip. She can’t blame her.

But she opens her eyes and resolves to stay awake. She can’t afford the risk of dreaming again.

[impossible-rat-babies]

a non-fandom question for tmi tuesday! what do you enjoy doing outside of gaming/writing/art? :)

Oh geez what do I enjoy doing outside of that.....I do like to do fun things with my fiancé like we’ll go to the park with our dog, Blue. We have friends who live not too far away and we like to go and see them quite a bit. We have two cats, Missy and Toulouse and I like to spend time with them; gotta take care of our six fish too. We have a tank for our one male beta and then a twenty galloon for our five girls.

I have a bunch of plants I take care of in my room and I got a few more the other day! A succulent and a monstera-esque plant. My uni has a biology club and they have a plant sale every year which is really nice for finding some fun plants. I have a mother-of-thousands i got from them years ago that’s huge now. I love her to death but gosh she’s a pain to deal with ;A;

But generally I’m kinda boring outside of writing and doing art. I’m not too exciting of a person--I don’t have the energy for that right now. Especially since being an art student means I have a BFA exhibition of my work and that is in early december so I’m in major crunch time to get work finished for that. It’ll be a good experience, just...once I get it all done and over with XD

[laurelsofhighever]

♡?

Thank you for sending the prompt! And for being so patient waiting for me to answer it! I swear, you ask for one set of prompts then end up busy forever after. I hope you like what I came up with - I decided to go with Cullen x Maighread for this one, because they’ve been kind of on the shelf recently.

“Accidentally falling asleep together”

--------------------------------

When Maighread drifted from the Fade, she noticed first that herhead rested on something warm that was not as soft as she was expecting. It didn’t really matter, however. She hadn’tbeen woken by dreams or assassins, and without fully beingconscious of the action she burrowed deeper against her pillow, resentfulof even this level of consciousness. 

But itstole in nonetheless, to the awkward tangle of her legs, the chillcreeping acrossher shoulders, the hand resting on her hair. Beneath her cheek, her pillowheaved in a slow, shallow rise-and-fall, a rhythm in cadence to thesteady pulse under her ear. She smiled. For a moment she kept her eyesclosed, revelling not only in the comfort of Cullen’s presence, but the safety she neverthought she'd feel in the arms of another – let alonea man who had once stood among the ranks of the templars. 

His fingerstwitched in her hair. Carefully, she tilted her head, peeking up at him in thedim sunset light of the embers in the grate, mouth slightly open, hair starting to curl,eyes fluttering beneath the lids. She lay stretched out across him on thechaise, tucked against his side with an arm thrown across his waist. Even ashort time ago, thought of their current position would have made her cheeksflame with embarrassment, but after all they had been through, her greatestworry now was that she had drooled on him.  

She liftedher head just enough to take in her surroundings, and sighed at thehaphazard scatter of papers across the floor – the last thing she remembered was Cullen readingScout Harding's report on the Hissing Wastes to her, with what she called his ‘officer voice' slippinginto gentler tones to make his own comments, and with hisbare fingers playing patterns across the back of her neck. How long, shewondered, had it taken him to notice she had nodded off? How long after thathad he succumbed himself? 

She sighed.He should have woken her. The faint light of the moons creeping in through thebalcony doors betrayed the lateness of the hour, and they both hadduties to see to in the morning. She really shouldn’t want to lay her head backdown and pretend she never woke at all. 

Cullen’sbreath was even, his head draped against the back of the chaise, his body slumpedat an awkward angle and his legs sprawled off the side where she had trappedthem with her body. He still wore his boots. If he stayed where he was, hewould have a sore neck come morning, and then he would get a crumpled frownbetween his brows, and he would pout, and he would refuse any remedy for fearof letting his carefully groomed façade slip in front of the soldiers. The imagerang so clear in her mind it decided her, pushed her to untangle herself onelimb at a time and hold back a smile when he murmured a protest but didn’twake.

Without thenightmares, sleep softened him; his curls unbound across his forehead and fellacross his eyes, utterly tempting for a gentle touch to sweep across, push thesilky strands back, follow a trail across his temple and down to the scruffthat shadowed his jaw... but she shook herself out of the urge. He had told hera little of what haunted him in the Fade, and she didn’t want his sleeping mindto mistake her affection for that of the demon that haunted him. 

Still, hewas too heavy to carry to bed. She knelt beside him once she had tugged off hisboots, his name a low murmur on her lips as she squeezed his hand. He stirredon the second call, bleary, squinting in even the low light. 

“Maighread?” 

“We need togo to bed,” she answered. 

He mumbledsomething. “Are we not already...?” 

“Come on,”she chuckled, and helped him up.  

He leanedon her as she drew his arm over her shoulder to lead him across the cavernousexpanse of her floor, then looked for her when she deposited him on the bed andducked out of reach. By the time she stripped to her smalls and dumped therumpled dayclothes in the laundry basket, he hadalready dozed off again, his untucked shirt testament to his intention tofollow her example. Still, he reached for her when she wriggled down next tohim under the covers, and this time, as he blindly kissed her face and yieldinghis weight so she could settle against his side, there was nothing accidental in how she fell asleep. 

Non-sexual acts of intimacy prompts

[gingerbreton]

1-5 for both izzy and alistair AND freya and blackwall? :)

❤️ Thank you for indulging me! I love DAO but damn do I wish I could get better screenshots!

1. Who is the most affectionate?

Both Izzy and Alistair are very affectionate - although he’s slighter shyer in company, whereas Izzy is naturally a very tactile and physical affectionate person, so has no problem being affectionate in front of other people.

Again, they are both very affectionate people when they feel secure in the relationship (both having lacked affection and probably being touch starved to some degree) and will show this privately. Freya is the shyer of the two and less likely to express affection as publicly, whereas Thom will always check her over after a battle, unconcerned if they have an audience.

2. Big spoon / Little spoon? Both my girls are little spoons and enjoy a damn good snuggle!

3. Most common argument?

Izzy and Alistair are most likely to argue about either Izzy doing something reckless, or Alistair not prioritising himself.

Freya and Blackwall are most likely to argue about her getting hurt trying to live up to other people’s expectations.

4. Favourite non-sexual activity?

When they can, Izzy and Alistair like to sneak away from castle life and out into Denerim. They love wandering the market and the shops incognito, eating street food, grabbing a drink at the Gnawed Noble - just generally enjoying that little bit of normal life.

Freya and Blackwall enjoy going out riding to get some quiet time together - quite often they’ll just ride out to a lake where he can fish while they talk for hours on end. Obviously there’s a bit more actual conversation to be had post-Revelations.

5. Who is most likely to carry the other? While both my ladies can lift their guys a couple of inches off the ground, between height/weight differences and the gals being built for speed not strength, full-on bodyguard style carrying is out of the question. So, Alistair and Blackwall are far more likely (and successfully) to do the carrying.

[serbarris]

omg happy birthday!! 🥳

Thank you Isabella!! 💕💕

[pinayelf-archive]

@hell5bell5 replied to your post “@hell5bell5 replied to your post “a thing I’ve been meaning to draw...”

cullen gets his fat ass in the gudetama plushies and ellinor is like ��

its all good! his ass knocked down the one gudetama plush ellinor wanted!!!

[icarlydotcorn]

cinnamon and spearmint :)

Cinnamon: What’s your favorite smell?

Vanilla!

Spearmint: What’s an interesting fact about you?

Ooof I don’t know. My go-to fun fact is that I’m double-jointed in both my thumbs but that’s kind of boring!

Send me a cup of tea!

[kagetsukai]

🌠

Oh hello! :D

No-nonsense opinions, quality fic, supportive of all the writers! :D

[ladylike-foxes]

DWC! “I’ve always felt numb and foggy between autumn and spring.”

Both you and @hell5bell5 sent the same prompt, so my thanks and love to both of you! As well as @galadrieljones, as her recent commission inspired this ficlet for @dadrunkwriting ❤️❤️

“And from there, we’ll move in on…Inquisitor?” Cullen stopped moving his markers around the map, his shift in attention causing the other Advisors to perk up, “Inquisitor, are you well?”

“Huh? Yea–Ahem,” Halesta straightened up, folding her hands neatly on the table before her, “I mean, yes. I’m sorry, Commander. Do go on.”

He hesitated, sharing a glance with Josephine and Leliana. That same, glazed look had already returned to the Inquisitor’s rather blank stare. They had each noticed it over the past few weeks, her unusual behavior: sleeping in, eating less, always distracted. The Advisors weren’t alone in their concern. Her companions had asked after her nearly every day for the past week. Dorian especially was worried sick, going so far as to pester Solas for answers as to the Inquisitor’s sudden relapse. She had finally been recovering from the aftermath of the break-up, but this recent backslide since their return from the Frostback Basin had everyone scratching their heads.

“Inquisitor, why don’t you get some rest,” Josie fluttered over, a hand to her forehead.

“Really, I’m fine,” Even her objection was half-hearted, “It’s just a little touch of the blues.”

“Well then, go do something fun to cheer yourself up,” Leliana came around to lean against the table beside her, “Go see what Sera is getting into.”

“Uh, maybe not Sera,” Cullen offered, catching Josephine’s flinch, “But perhaps a game of Wicked Grace with Varric?”

“Yes, that sounds lovely! I’m sure Master Tethras would be happy to oblige,” They were shooing her from the War Room with gentle insistence.

“Okay, okay, maybe I will,” Finally submitting, they allowed her to walk down to the Hall on her own.

She decided not to disturb Varric, buried deep enough in paperwork that he didn’t notice her pass by. She wasn’t up to Dorian’s mothering at the moment, so she made her way down the stairs into the weak light of the afternoon sun. Cassandra was nowhere to be seen, no doubt curled up with a book, avoiding the biting wind that seemed to slip through Skyhold’s strangely temperate atmosphere. Without any better ideas, Halesta headed for the Herald’s Rest. Bull and the Chargers were all gathered in the far back corner, loud laughter and shouting conversation: Halesta opted for the table tucked out of the way spot, to the left of the bar. Cabot brought her a mulled cider and a glib comment before leaving her to stare at the wall.

“Inquisitor.”

A deep, rumbling voice both familiar and strange, she looked up into sharp aquamarine eyes. A smile tugged insistently at the corner of her lips, though she didn’t remember feeling like smiling.

“Inquisitor,” She moved to stand, to return the bow, but his hand, heavy as stone, kept her in her seat.

“Might I join you?” Ameridan, in his fashion, sat without allowing her answer, already gesturing to Cabot for a drink.

“It doesn’t seem I have a say in the matter,” It came out with more of an edge than she intended, and his piercing eyes met hers again.

He seemed solid, unyielding: real in a way that nothing else did, lately. He looked her over, very slow and deliberate, such a long look nearly bringing a flush to her skin. She thought back to the moment the Anchor had sliced him free of time. Even Solas had looked surprised. She hadn’t spoken to him much, he’d waited a week or so before following them back to Skyhold. But she thought about him a lot, him and Telana. The weight of his sacrifice, her loss of him, the endless waiting.

“I hear you haven’t been yourself of late, Inquisitor,” His voice was so heavy, gently demanding.

“It’s been a rough few years,” A bitter, shallow smile was all she could offer, “And winter doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Have you noticed how oddly mild the weather is here?” As if he were retroactively reading her thoughts.

“It’s one of Skyhold’s many mysteries,” He barked a laugh in response, giving her a start.

“Mm. What is it about winter that is so difficult for you?” He thanked Cabot and returned his intense focus to her.

“You know. The shorter days, the haze that sets in,” She took a sip of her cider, staring intently at the bottom of her cup.

“The haze?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always felt foggy and numb between autumn and spring,” Shrugging at her drink, “And this year, with Sol—with everything, it’s worse, it's…. Have you ever been so numb it hurts?”

“Yes. I think I have.”

Ameridan watched her steadily, holding her gaze when she looked back up. She felt naked, but not without clothes: raw, like an exposed nerve. One that, in some way, he managed to understand. After a long moment, he nodded, smiling slowly.

“You’re stronger than I was at your age.”

“I’ve been through more than most people my age. Even outside the Inquisiton,” The admission came too easily, and she hesitated, wondering at herself.

“I’d like to hear about that sometime, if you wouldn’t mind sharing,” Sitting back in his seat, his shifting weight made the chair groan, “But— and forgive me if I cross the line, Inquisitor— I think, sometimes, you put yourself through more than you need to. You relive the worst of it, over and over, as a sort of self-punishment.”

“Hm. You’re probably right,” She thought for a moment, then wrinkled her nose, “Not all of it, though.”

“Ahh, your Fade Expert,” Ameridan arched a brow and crossed his arms, “Yes, I’ve heard word of that too.”

“Oh, fantastic!” She crossed her arms on the table, hiding her face in them.

“Fond of older men, hm?” She buried her burning face deeper as he chuckled, “Shall I punch him for you?”

“I can defend my own honor, thanks,” She glared up at his satisfied smile.

“I’m sure you can. I’ve heard some fearsome things. And I believe he’s a pacifist, anyway, is he not? A physical confrontation would only make him more contrary.”

“Not if I just killed him and saved us all the trouble,” Dropping her face back into her arms, “Ughhh.”

“How are you feeling? A little less hazy?” Propping up her chin, she looked him in the eye again.

“Yeah, for now, at least,” His smile fell slowly as she finished her sentence.“Though, for someone so far out of time, you seem more present than anything else here.”

[talesfromthefade]

Anders (Post-”Here Lies the Abyss”, Cadence Tabris x Anders), for @dadrunkwriting

“You’re here,” Anders calls out into the vast expanse in front of him. “I know you are. I know you are,” he repeats, though the words are softer the second time, a little more like he’s trying to convince himself as much as the air and the spirits around him. “Might as well come out so I can scold you for running off without me and we can have it over with,” a short, almost obligatory laugh following the words before it’s abruptly cut off.

“You are alive,” Anders speaks again, continuing to make his way through something resembling water, climbing hills and stairs passed floating columns of rock. “I know you are because you can’t die. Do you hear me? You’re not allowed. Because I love you, and we’ve had this conversation before, so you know what will happen if you don’t keep your promise.” Anders’ voice breaks a little, choking on the words even as he shouts them into the Void itself. “I will chase after you and revive you myself, just to tell you off and possibly do you in myself for leaving me.”

“Don’t leave me,” Anders whispers softly, tears welling looking out over the seemingly endless and otherwise empty landscape before him. His fist clenches tighter on his staff as Justice pushes closer to the surface, reminding him of the dangers of showing any potential weakness in the realm of spirits and demons. The spirit within falls silent as they resume their trek, seemingly satisfied there are no immediate threats and willing to acquiesce the mage’s request to remain in control during their search unless Justice’s intervention proved absolutely necessary. It’s been years since the last time he was in the Fade, awake and aware like this. Certainly, none of his walks ever looked anything like this, but he cannot stop. Not now.

“You are alive,” Anders repeats once more. The words a kind of chant as much as a cry to the one he desperately seeks. “They told me-” he begins, before shaking his head. “But they’re wrong. So, I had to come. I would feel it. I would know if you weren’t- because that’s not your heart you’re carrying in your chest anymore, it’s mine. I have yours, Cadence Tabris,” Anders calls, free hand reaching up to cover his breast, “and it’s still beating, so I know. You’ve never once given up on me, so I’ll be damned if I’m just going to accept all this without a fight. You’re here somewhere, and I will find you.”

“I followed you to Skyhold,” Anders continues a little while later, several whisps and spirits now trailing behind him, curious what to make of this newcomer or perhaps see the outcome of his quest. “I was only a few days behind. A few days and I might have… I’d have been here sooner if your new friends didn’t try to detain me. On a possibly related note, we may want to steer clear and just write Varric a nice note once we are very far away. They weren’t quite as impressed with my pyrotechnics display in Kirkwall as you were. For Andraste’s sake, why couldn’t you have waited? Why didn’t you take me with you? I would never have let them leave you here alone, you stupid, noble… Cadence!” Anders nearly stumbles, once, twice, a third time, legs tangling beneath him in his efforts to close the gap between him and the slumped familiar form lying back against a strange and mangled behemoth atop a yonder hill. The spirits whisper, an excited and nervous cacophony of noise, but Anders hardly notices.

“Cady,” he whispers, carefully pulling their body into his lap, quickly casting spell after spell to assess. A dark black ichor seeps from several cuts and what looks like a bite to his right thigh, drawn to the surface by the magic pouring from his fingertips as the elf draws a shallow and shaky breath and Anders releases his own, chest loosening a little, fighting to see through the tears that flood his eyes while he finishes his work. It takes nearly all the mana he has, but Anders parts with it gladly, without thought. He will fight whatever he must, however he must to ensure he does not lose him again.

Cadence’s eyes slowly fluttering open as one of Anders’ hands combs gently through the tangles of their long brown hair. “An-”

“Shh,” Anders shushes them, shaking his head, even as he can’t help but smile. “Rest,” he instructs. “You need rest.”

“No,” Cadence protests, sluggishly attempting to sit up before collapsing back into the mage, still not entirely recovered from what they endured.

“I’ll be here,” Anders promises, seeming to sense his fears. “We still need to have a talk about you leaving me behind.” This, ridiculous as it is, seems to calm them, assure them somehow that he is more than spirit or imagination, and Cadence smiles weakly, then finally nods, hand weakly reaching up to clasp one of his for a moment before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Utterly spent, Anders slumps-as protectively as he can manage- around Cadence’s prone body where they rest in his arms. They can do no more. Can move no more. They’ve no mana left to summon any spells against anything that might discover them here, having drunk the last of his potions to heal everything he could. They are vulnerable, and Anders is so very tired, but he fights it all the same. He will not stop. Cannot. He will not have come all this way to lose him again.

YOU HAVE DONE WHAT YOU SET OUT TO DO, Justice’s deep booming voice echoes in the back of his exhausted mind. YOU HAVE FOUND THEM. THIS IS JUST. NOW LET ME HELP YOU ANDERS. LET ME HELP OUR FRIEND. LET ME CARRY YOU BOTH FROM THIS PLACE. Anders nods, a sensation of slipping softly back into a kind of a cool pool as he allows the spirit to take over. They’ve become better at this, since learning how to properly coexist, working towards both singular and mutual goals together. The transition is easy, almost effortless now. PEACE, HEALER, HEAL YOURSELF.

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

okay more Skyrim questions: who do you usually marry? what’s your favorite hold?

I’m really drawn to Windhelm. there’s something about the aesthetic that just really gets me. slightly severe...the snow, I’m not entirely sure.It’s also my favorite house you can get in Skyrim. whiterun is also charming. I would like Solitude more but I find it kinda spread out too much? 

and VILKAS. I marry Vilkas <3 grumpy were-husband. <3 

dang now I gotta write my smut with him.