#Hawke's first kaddis

[theluckywizard]

hi lucky! from the artefacts of thedas prompts, maybe "a small pot of kaddis, partially used" for hawke & any family member? 😊

Heyyyy! Happy Friday! I wrote some Hawke sibling fluff because that's all i have in me apparently! Just a whole pile of dialogue. For @dadrunkwriting Characters: Garrett Hawke, Bethany Hawke, Carver Hawke WC: 575 Rating: Gen

“What are you doing, Gar?” Bethany asks, her tone appropriately snappish as Hawke works at her small herbalism bench, grinding with the mortar and pestle.

“Mixing up my kaddis,” says Hawke.

“So you’re a dog, now?” she asks, raising her brow, a little edge of flippance in her voice as she leans against the wall.

“Didn’t you see the front door? We’re all dogs. I just thought I’d better look the part when I go deal with those Lowtown derelicts.”

“What are you going to do, fight them all?”

“Only a little,” says Hawke, flashing his sister a grin. “Enough so they think twice about smearing dog shit on our door again.”

“You think you know who did it?”

“Oh I know who did it. And I know which tavern they haunt.”

Bethany approaches, tucking her chin around his upper arm and he looks down to cast an affectionate eye on her. There’s always been an uncommon warmth between them, their thoughtful natures and mutual protective instincts wrapped up inside a playful veneer of teasing and ribbing. She returns it with a smirk. 

“Try the walnut oil,” she suggests, gesturing at the small bottle on the top shelf. When he fumbles the small bottle in his hands which are truly a hair too big to be of use for such delicate tasks, she speaks again. “Here. Let me.” She nudges him aside with her hip and sets to work whipping up the pigment with the oil.

“Where did you get this anyway?” she asks, concentrating carefully on working out all the little lumps. 

“Lirene’s. It’s a fine Fereldan import, is it not?”

“Bitty isn’t even a trained war dog,” Bethany notes, glancing over her shoulder at the potato on the floor in the other room.

“Porkbit is of the finest Mabari stock. If I ever felt compelled to train him, he’d be a king amongst fools.”

“You’re deluded, Gar. As usual,” she grins, offering him the little pot of kaddis. “Are you going to cover your body too?”

“Oh, I think a streak across the nose will suffice. What do you think?” Hawke ducks low to look in the clouded mirror and smears a finger full from cheek to cheek across his nose.

“You look like an idiot,” she says, but there’s a laugh fluttering behind her voice and she reaches up to ruffle her hands in his hair. “Are you roping Carver into this terrible plan of yours?”

“Rope him? I’m not sure I could stop him,” says Hawke, admiring himself in the mirror. “You’re right it’s a little ridiculous. But I’m nothing if not a little ridiculous.”

“Well, at least you own it,” she says. “It will pair nicely with that hideous pointy armor you picked up.”

“Says you. I look like a proper legend in it.”

“You look like an oversized mace.”

“A legendary oversized mace,” he corrects her. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

“Oh I’m not sure drawing the attention of roving templars over a little dog shit is worth it, Gar,” she says. She turns her head to holler into the other room.“Carver!” Gamlen’s grumble is immediate.

Carver pokes his head into her room.

“Maker, Gar, really?” he says, grinning.

“A proper Fereldan dog,” Hawke grins. Bethany lays her hand on Carver’s shoulder as he dabs his finger for his own streak of red.

“Do us a favor and keep Garrett from doing something irreparably stupid. And vice versa. Unless you both decide to go full moron simultaneously.”

[vigilskeep]

Hiya, do u have a carrd or anything with info on your ocs? I love reading about ocs n all that crap but the tumblr search function is like actually evil. Keir seems super interesting but it’s like killing me trying to find posts to recap his lore 😭

i don’t i’m afraid!! it’s just his enormous mess of a tag as the lore built up... i might make something sometime??? i hadnt thought abt it tbh. in the meantime feel free to ask me any and all questions even if it’s something i’ve probably already said, i love going over this stuff and will do so forever if even slightly prompted. on that note, if it helps, here is a briefly condensed version:

keir is a red personality (aggressive/direct) non-mage hawke. i did his full playthrough as a warrior, i sometimes talk about switching him to rogue, but the only really important thing is that he’s a reaver and will bite you for real

he’s a man of few words, extremely blunt and threatening to the point of being absurdly over-the-top with pretty much all strangers, and much softer but still bluntly earnest with the small group of people he considers his own. he considers himself first and foremost a protector and would do anything to keep those people safe. his father malcolm was a strict man who raised him to do this and he accepted that wholeheartedly. consider him a guard dog. killed his first templar in defence of the family aged 15

he adores and idolises magic and fiercely supports mage freedom, though ultimately he would absolutely sacrifice a wider “cause” if doing so would keep his mages safe. fortunately or unfortunately, he can’t do that because the two are inextricable

he’s a proud fereldan and cares very little for kirkwall (hates kirkwall. hates kirkwall. someone please get him out of here) and its nobility, which tends to show in his appearance and behaviour. long braided hair, the streak across his nose is kaddis, and takes his mabari, silla, absolutely everywhere

he’s elf-blooded via his father, who was the bastard son of a fereldan elven servant girl and an orlesian chevalier who was with the occupation

his playthrough has circle mage bethany. he adores her and he would do anything for her but her acceptance of her fate and disillusionment with his overprotectiveness meant they had an increasingly strained relationship. it was because she was trapped that he couldn’t leave the city. once he was champion, meredith essentially had a knife to his sister’s throat whenever she wanted his compliance, not to mention the looming threat to anders and merrill, making those three years the worst and most terrifying in his life

he romances anders! friendmance and they escape kirkwall together in the end. not always easy but he really loves him, justice half included. there’s a lot of lore here ummm if i mention the “and they were housemates” timeline, that’s my silly mutual pining alternate version of events where anders moves into the amell estate for safekeeping before he and keir actually get together. if i mention aura hawke, that’s the potential daughter i occasionally hc for them

he had previous relationships with morrigan (in lothering as young 20-somethings) and merrill (during act 1). you cannot keep him away from those romanceable mages

he’s still close friends with merrill. isabela is his best friend. he has a complicated, semi-antagonistic friendship with varric, who was really closer with anders but now after the fact doesn’t want to remember that. he deeply respects and is friends with fenris. he did rivalry with sebastian, but in an agree-to-disagree way where they considered each other friends nonetheless until All That happened. he had a more genuine rivalry with aveline though still coloured by their trauma bonding

i THINK those are the main beats of his lore but he’s my most discussed and developed dragon age character so i’m sure i’ve missed some of the assorted junkyard of thoughts

[nebulousmistress]

An Anatomist's Notes on Abomination

Written less as a story and more like the Scrolls of Banastor as snippets of research that might be found in some later game.

Something less serious after the last one. Anders is tall. To the point of uncanny. He was tall and skinny in Amaranthine but this? Goes too far. A palate cleanser of a codex entry.

I am taller than I used to be.

At first I thought I was imagining it. My robes wear out and require darning and repair so often that I honestly thought that’s all this was. My sleeves have never been long enough, I tie them closed with bandages, I thought it was wear. The trousers I wear fit badly no matter what I do, they’re tied and belted no matter what.

But shifts are supposed to be big enough to move in. Shifts are supposed to drape, to protect the body beneath and allow for the skin to breathe. They’re supposed to drape to the middle of the thigh, why is my arse hanging out?

Doors aren’t supposed to shrink. My staff glaive STAFF isn’t supposed to shrink. Varric used to be tall enough to make a decent armrest, now he doesn’t even reach my navel.

I haven’t noticed it so it hasn’t been a sudden thing. I thought growth stopped upon adulthood. I have to assume this is a side effect of Abomination. Though I wonder, is it Abomination in general? Or is it Abomination with you?

[the pen taps here in several dots, like tapping a quill on a page]

Justice, don’t hide this from me.

You are more comfortable like this.

That’s an odd way to put it. I’m more comfortable? Do you mean this is meant to comfort me? Or am I more comfortable for you to live in?

I was Avvar. Have you ever seen an Avvar, Anders? They tower over the men of Tevinter, commanding strength and magic the men of Tevinter could never understand. The kaddis that Kath smears into the fur of his dog and paints across his nose brought back the memory. I did not realize

wait wait So I’m getting taller because of a sense memory you had after smelling Hawke’s dog

[ink is smeared here, something happened but it wasn’t written down]

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

OC Approval Gifts

got tagged for this a while ago by @greypetrel!! <33 Couldn't choose who to do so i threw em i a randomiser and picked the first 4 xD

Neira - an embroidered herb pouch

Neira is. Not good with gifts and will feel terribly guilty if you were to spend a large amount of money on her, or if you were to give her something that she couldn't appreciate fully (read: would put away somewhere and not use). She's very practical and her old pouch is... usable. but it's got a good bit of wear and tear and so a new, pretty one is something she wouldn't buy herself (the old one still works, after all), it would appreciate greatly as a gift. She'll look at it and think of you every time and be all :) about it.

Liam Hawke - a painted wooden mabari figurine

He is a sentimental bitch who misses his home and his family dearly, so getting him something small that reminds him of both (and even looks a bit like Skippy!) is a sure hit with him. This one specifically will get him sentimental because of how when he was little he'd helped an older whittler with a bad back around his shop, and as a thank you he gave him a painted mabari figure similar to this one. And he'll go on an entire tangent how that one time he and Bethany got into a fight because she smeared kaddis all over it... You might have to endure a whole ass nostalgia ramble, but that's just proof that he is very grateful for the gift.

Lilian Hawke - one of those fancy orlesian custards

Ok first of all it is Orlesian so as a Fereldan admitting that she loves it feels like a federal crime. Secondly, even after moving to Hightown she is still very conscious about spending habits, and reluctant to spend much in the way of frivolous things like overpriced sweets on herself. However. She also has a big sweet tooth, and she cannot deny that those fancy vanilla custards with the orange blossom water and fresh fruits and garnish that they have at those awful high class parties sometimes are an absolute delight. So. If you happen to get her one (the means of getting it are unimportant)? Love, love for you for one thousand years

June Trevelyan - a tailored dracolisk bridle and saddle

I could say that if you got her a magic theory (or smut) book that is on the Chantry's blacklist or maybe a baby griffin that she would love you forever, which would be true but also hard to come by lol. So i am moving down one tier and saying dracolisk equipment. June is also not great with accepting sentimental gifts, but something that aligns with her interests and can be put to good use is a safe bet to win her approval. Sure she could get new equipment herself, but Poison is fussy and it's a pain to get new stuff for her, so if you were to do that work for her and possibly even get one that looks rad to boot? Amazing wonderful do you want to kiss

not sure who's done it already since i'm a bit late, but whoever sees this and wants to have a go, consider yourself tagged!! :]

[andnatiabrosca]

Hello! :)

So… What about

Glance, Formal and Favourite for Nat and Maran? :3 (and Miriam too if you'd like, I'm curious!)

hello!! sorry for asking for asks and immediately disappearing. we had a massive tomato harvest in today (multiple 5gal buckets massive) (last of the season) so I was unexpectedly processing that all day!

anyway. here goes! I haven't thought about maran in a hot second ngl

[prompt list]

cut for length because this became a bit of a character study as usual

glance: at first glance, what stands out most? what's their distinguishing feature?

Nat is stupid short. Dwarva are short to start with; Nat is short for a dwarf. She had tried to make up for her stature by taking her marks for her carta clan bolder and earlier than most, and wearing her conquested jewels (her locks) proudly in her ears and face. Prove she was worth fearing, even if she was small. She's still first noticed to be short.

Maran has bright silver hair. When she was little, she had been towheaded. Her hair had darkened over the years, as most towheads do, though she always preserved a few white-gold strands. Until the Conclave. When she woke from whatever funny business had taken place, her hair was a metallic silver. It does gradually fade through the events of Inquisition, coming close to returning to her natural dark brown with white-gold strands - but the events at Adamant turn those white-gold pieces permanently metallic silver.

Miriam is a Hawke. I mean, she's a Fereldan apostate mage with no fear and a disastrous ego. It's more a question of who is looking at her than what is universally most noticeable. She wears her kaddis, sure, despite not having a mabari to partner. She wears much less clothing than most of the Marchers, being so used to the colds of Lothering. She carries her fuckoff big staff with a bloody statue on the end of it. She has lightning scars up her arms. It depends who's looking.

formal: what's their formal look? do they like dressing up? do they have different looks for different occasions?

Nat has struck a delicate balance of Paragon and Commander in her formal dress. Technically she ought to dress according to her most relevant title at any given function - but she is not a thousand disparate Natias. She is Warden Nat Brosca, Commander of the Grey, Paragon of Duty to Orzammar, Advisor to the Throne of Fereldan, and Sister of the King of Orzammar. In broad strokes, as I still want to get an actual sketch done sometime, she wears the veil and gems as befit a Paragon and Warrior of Orzammar, and her formal warden blue and greys. Nat enjoys demonstrating her power. The clothes...not as important. In time, putting on her formal uniform becomes a ritual to center herself in her body before she has to go Be The Hero.

Maran knows how to dress well. She knows how to dress for an occasion. She enjoys the feeling of rich fabrics. Enjoys the drape and flow. Enjoys feeling correctly feminine - and a little like an imposter. Like she's playing dress up in her older sisters' dressers. Like she's stolen the fine silks and broad skirts and any moment her mother will catch and scold her. Maran loves to play the lady she should have been raised to be, had her parents fewer daughters to marry off and better matches to be made. But it will only ever be playing.

Miriam will not wear a dress. Nope. Not doing. So she fails at dressing formally (or even appropriately) in most contexts. Good thing no one argues with the Champion. (The last argument might have ended in an irate noblewoman slowly thawing off the side of her Hightown mansion. Maybe.)

favorite: do they have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? what is it? what is the meaning? do they always wear it or store it for safekeeping?

Nat is pretty simple - her oath. She has places she could store it, if she wanted, but it doesn't feel safe to leave anything she cares about away. Her oath hangs around her neck, every moment of every day. When she leaves to find the Cure, she adds a scrap of fabric tied around the chain. She's a terrible mother. A scrap of her daughter's blanket reminds her to come home, better.

Maran hasn't seen her favorite dress in years. It was once her grandmother's wedding gown, carefully cut and sewn and embroidered with snowdrops along the hem. Then her mother's, the sides let out to accommodate a just-couldn't-wait growing stomach. Then her sister's - and her sister's - and her sister's - and her sister's - and her sister's. Then it was too big for Little Mar. Then she wasn't enough of a lady. Then she took herself to britches - and then she left home. It might still be in her mother's cedar chest, waiting for a white-gold bride. It'll have to wait another twenty years, if it is. Maran has been a bride already, in muddy boots and heavy blue woolen britches, a snowdrop hastily (Badly) embroidered on the hem.

Miriam would never admit to enjoying anything ever. She's kind of a bitch. And horribly mentally unstable. Probably would do better if she could allow herself to feel joy not related to murdering templars and/or fucking her possessed boyfriend. Is that boyfriend Justice or is it Anders? Your guess is as good as hers.

[persephoneggsy]

Marian Regina Hawke, a tailor by aspiration, crafts little accessories and trinkets for all her friends. But the first and most beloved recipient of her gifts is her loyal mabari, Brick.

Instead of kaddis, which was in short supply in Lothering and something Brick had no use for in the first place as a farm dog, Marian would tie a smart little scarf around his neck. Perhaps a braided collar of pink and black. A little bow. He even has a few different sweaters.

All crafted and enchanted by Marian's own hand to lend him an extra edge in battle. Though primarily, they're there to make him look even cuter than usual. Brick is very proud of his mistress's gifts and shows them off proudly to anyone who stops to admire him.

At one point, she makes him a little crown, as half a nod to Sebastian's tendency to bow to her mabari as if he's royalty, instead of the other way around. It's Brick's favorite accessory.

[sunrisetune]

Directly off that last post (*Eta: this one), DA2 headcanon no one asks for:

Hawke Twins AU implication that except for individual sets of armour, Marian and Garrett have exactly the same style of clothes. At first their friends think it’s because they’re poor as mice and there’s just a limited pool of outfits that minor smugglers / low-stakes mercenaries’ wages can buy, but no, they’re just like that

They get the Amell mansion back, and immediately have the same set of house clothes ‘finery’ made in different measurements. Marian forgot to include the pants on her order so she and Garrett steal the one pair back and forth depending on who’s in the house at the time. Of course they can’t just order another one. They both wear the kaddis stripe. They buy the same colour & style of formal wear in case they ever need to crash a fancy party.

Leandra thinks it’s sweet; Bethany and Carver both despair for them in different ways

[sunflowerdales]

Some little Carver headcanons of mine:

Though he feels like he has nothing in common with his father, he looks strikingly similar to him - especially when he grows out his beard and hair.

He has more than just a mabari tattoo (on his right pec), he also has tattoos coming from that over his shoulder and upper arm in the style of kaddis.

Besides being a swordsman, carver is quite skilled with a bow. he lacks the elegance and dexterity of most archers and rogues, but he was taught archery with the purpose of hunting.

Carver's hair is naturally on the curlier side, but in his teenage years he was insecure about it and styled his hair to be more "tame" like what was in fashion in Lothering. After the blight, he stopped caring about such a non-issue and embraced his natural hair more

After kicking up a fuss to begin with, Carver was taught how to cook by his mother, among other useful skills to know, like sewing. He'd often help his mother to cook dinner for when his father and siblings returned from their magic lessons.

Carver has a scar under his right eye that he got as a child. When Hawke was still learning to control their magic, they got into an argument and Hawke's magic responded to their emotions and struck Carver. Thankfully, Malcolm was able to calm Carver down and show him that magic can be used for good by healing the wound.

Bethany and Carver would have a little competition to see who could wake the other up first on their birthday to give the first birthday wishes of the day. Carver would almost always win only because he was used to waking up early in the morning to help out on the farm. After she died, he would spend most of the day in bed, not uttering a word to anyone.

Carver suffered with anxiety-related nightmares even before the blight, and the only person who knew was his father who taught him to make a sleeping draught to help him sleep better. The nightmares got worse after the Ostagar and joining the Wardens.

[transfenris-truther]

Unusual Muse Associations

Thanks for the tag @rakshadow​! I’m answering these unconventional muse associations for my favorite OC Julian Hawke. Tagging @blarrghe @gaysolavellan and @merrybandofmurderers if any of ya’ll are interested, but no pressure!

SEASONING: Julian thinks anything that’s well-cooked should only need salt and pepper. This is because he cant handle anything spicy and is a little nervous to try new things. He enjoys herbaceous flavors like sage, thyme and rosemary, but he doesn’t cook at all.

WEATHER: His favorite time of year is the late fall and winter, when it’s finally not so hot! He likes the snow, but other people would associate him with sunshine and warmth more because of his personality than his preferences.

COLOUR: He loves green, but tends to wear red.

SKY: Blue open and full of fluffy clouds.

MAGICAL POWER: Crap at healing but improving. Excellent at destructive forces of nature.

HOUSE PLANT: A fern maybe,or something easy and hearty like a spider plant. He doesn’t need it to be fancy.

WEAPON: Stave

SUBJECT: Never been a particularly strong student. He likes practical things, with his hands. His favorite thing to learn about in cannon ends up being magic, particularly limiting, controlling and concealing magic. In a modern AU, he’d probably enjoy science for its explanatory power and usefulness.  In Kirkwall, he gets into literature only because Fenris likes it so much.

SOCIAL MEDIA: In a modern AU, he calls all social media “The Facebook,” he posts a lot of thirst traps, photos of his boyfriend, and calls for political action on Instagram, but literally doesn’t know how to do anything with the app except post single unedited photos and share posts to story. His most-frequented website is Wikipedia and he’s BARELY online.

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Kaddis on the nose to cover up a scar or, in a modern AU, blemish correcting cover up for hickeys.

CANDY: Rock Candy. Just straight sugar, honestly.

FEAR: Being alone. Hurting someone by accident. Spiders.

ICE CUBE SHAPE: The big orb ice from a special mold. He actually enjoys making small ice sculptures with magic. He started doing it to impress the twins as kids, and now it’s like his best flirt. Fenris was NOT impressed the first time Julian tried to seduce him with it.

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL: Dragon! Or, honestly, probably just winging it and taking what he can get.

ART STYLE: Semi-realistic small ice sculpture apparently

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: He likes dragons for sure

PIECE OF STATIONERY: the back of an envelope which he’s going to inevitably lose.

THREE EMOJIS: 🍆🐕💪

CELESTIAL BODY: He would say Jupiter, make some joke about being big and weird and full of gas. Fenris would say Julian is the sun.

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

WIP Wednesday!

Thanks to @thevikingwoman, @ser-thirst-a-lot, and @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold for the tags!

Here's an excerpt from "Stay," Varric x Marian Hawke

Mare, he murmurs, just as she sighs, Varric—

They fall abruptly silent. Her eyes are blown wide, rings of icy blue around pools of dark pupil. She snorts and they descend into giggles, but neither pull away. If anything, she leans closer, her perfume wafting over him. Varric’s fingers fit easily at the hinge of Marian’s jaw, and he can feel her laughter, the movements sending him into a confusing cascade of sensation.

Go ahead, he says when the laughter subsides, and if he’s a little breathless she does him the kindness of not mentioning it.

She’s so close that her shaky breath is warm where it caresses his skin. Marian rubs her cheek against his palm, smearing the remaining kaddis and making a mess of both of them. You first. What—what were you going to say?

Varric’s stomach clenches. His tongue lay heavy in his mouth, wrapped in cotton. Stay here tonight?

Yes, she says immediately, before he can even finish the offer. Where else would I go?

Tagging below the cut! If you see this, feel free to play along and tag me so I see your excerpt!

@buttsonthebeach

@pikapeppa

@barbex

@hoochieblues

@midnightprelude

@faux-fires

@dismalzelenka

@everestv-themuse

.

[kingvamps]

[ID: four panels of siobahn hawke. they are a pale person with a fluffy brown mullet, brown eyes and a sharp jaw. they are wearing a red turtleneck, a dark brown jacket, silver shoulder armor and dark brown archers gloves. they have a pair of earrings, black lipstick, and blue kaddis smeared across their face. in the first panel they are smiling and have their pointer finger up. the background is green and the caption says “it’s okay to ask for help”. in the second panel they’re winking with a smile and waving. the background is blue and the caption reads “you’re not a burden”. in the third panel they are grinning with a thumbs up and their eyes closed. the background is pink and the caption reads “murder is okay”. in the last siobahn is smiling and has their hands up in small fists. the background is yellow and the caption reads “your feelings matter”. End ID.]

i think blue hawke deserves to be a little fucked up. as a treat.

[pinkfadespirit]

♗ one falling asleep with their head in the other’s lap or ♚ head scratches (or both!) for anyone you like (: 💜

Thank you for the prompt! I decided to write some Fenhawke for this one. I hope you like it! 

Hawke looks different like this. It’s not just the absence of the smear of red kaddis she usually wears over the bridge of her nose, or the way her short black hair looks slightly fluffy after her bath. Nor is it the orange glow cast onto her pale skin by the fire burning in the hearth. Those things are part of it. They’re certainly a reason to look but not quite why his attention has been so captivated. The difference is in how she lies with her head in Fenris’ lap, her eyes closed, her face entirely relaxed as she dozes. It’s the absence of that guarded expression he’s become so used to over the years they’ve known each other. Hawke looks comfortable with him like this in a way he’s never had the opportunity to appreciate until now. Even when she’s awake he sees it more and more every day; every morning they wake up together and he sees her start to trust a little more how he meant it when he told her he wanted to stay.

He gives in to the urge to lightly brush back some of the black strands that frame her face. It had taken some time to get used to being able to touch her, to not having to hold himself back, convinced that he was the only one still holding on to something he’d ruined himself when he walked away from her. In the three years following, they’d both worked so hard at keeping their distance but Fenris had never imagined their reasons to be so similar. That she felt the same. Now he finally sees it. He’s been learning what to look for, spotting each of the gaps in the defences she’s slowly been letting down for him. When she smiles and the look on her face is oddly shy—not smug, or sarcastic—that means something. And so does this; Hawke making a pillow of Fenris' legs as she naps in the library where he’s trying to read. She probably didn’t mean to distract him but he doesn’t mind it. It’s the last thing he’d ever think to complain about. This being his life now; how it’s almost like a dream except that under his fingertips Hawke feels absolutely real.

He thought he was being careful enough not to wake her but she turns and makes a small noise of contentment. She smiles before even opening her eyes. That’s another thing. He’d been able to keep count of her smiles—her real smiles—at first but now he’s losing track. Because he makes her happy just by being there. The same way she does for him. He too, doesn’t remember ever smiling so often as he has in the past few weeks.

Fenris can feel the heat from the fire on his skin but that’s not the only warmth he feels. Part of it is the heat she gives off, cuddled up against him. But the warmth inside him isn’t due to the fire or even her closeness to him, it’s just how he feels about her. Nothing could convince him to let go of this now. There are certain to be challenges ahead but Fenris’ fear of that is growing less every day. Hawke’s presence is only a part of that. The rest is in what he has achieved with his own hands. The second chance he’s been given with Hawke is more than he could have hoped for. He won't waste that. Not for anything.

[vigilskeep]

hi hello @demandthedoodles was kind enough to tag me in wip fridnesday, that well-known day of the week, so i dug up a little keir and anders snippet. it’s not that deep it’s essentially just 1k of anders being embarrassing

(context: this is set at the end of the Act Break Breakdown™️, so basically keir hasn’t been in town for nearly a year in the time between act 1 and act 2. this also makes it set before any kind of relationship)

As soon as light bloomed inside the lantern, Anders nearly jumped out of his skin. There was a figure, waiting, in the dim light.

Hawke was in the doorway.

Hawke, of all people, was in the doorway.

As a mage, Anders was in the business of altering reality. Somehow no spell he had ever cast had seemed quite as improbable as the mundane fact of Hawke’s broad shape filling out the doorway of the clinic. He was a little hunched over, lending an awkward slant to the thick fur pelt worn over his shoulders, and letting his ragged dark hair fall loose to one side. It was longer than ever, almost to his waist. That was what startled Anders, more than anything: the reminder that it had been almost a year since the last he had seen of the man.

Frankly, he had not expected to see him again at all. “Hawke?” said Anders, baffled.

Hawke blinked, slow and cat-like. There was something strange to those yellow-gold eyes that had not been there before. Before Anders could place it, a motion of Hawke’s right arm, cradled to his chest, drew his attention. Anders only realised it was, in fact, an arm, when his sleep-deprived vision had cleared enough to see past the blood.

The blood. In an entirely different voice—an uncharitable listener might have called it a yelp—Anders said, “Hawke!”

“Healer,” answered Hawke, with a grimace. He was only wearing light armour under the fur, nothing more than a chest-plate, pauldrons, and bracers, no doubt a born and raised Fereldan’s concession to Kirkwall’s latest bout of sweltering summer heat. It left the injured arm mostly bare. It was drenched in red, which had poured down from a thick, ugly gash across the meat of his bicep.

“Maker’s breath,” said Anders, rushing over and immediately taking his other arm by the shoulder to pull him into the clinic. He was mildly aware it was a liberty to take, after almost a year, but there was no standing on ceremony in the clinic, and Hawke had never minded before. “What happened?”

Allowing himself to be moved, and Maker knew Anders could never have moved him otherwise, Hawke said, “Carta.” Right. Never one to waste words, this one.

Anders headed for one of the cots, manoeuvring Hawke approximately in its direction so he’d take the hint and sit down. How long had he been standing out there? “Why didn’t you just come in?”

Hawke did take the hint and sit down. With his free arm—his left hand, and Anders idly noted the dexterity he had with it—he loosened the distinctly Fereldan brooch that pinned the fur pelt around his shoulders, letting it slide free, and raked his long hair to one side, out of the injured arm’s way. “The lantern wasn’t up yet,” he said, like this explained everything.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Anders. “You must have heard me moving around.”

Despite the pain the movement must have cost him, Hawke shrugged. “Lantern wasn’t up.”

There was no use standing over him, at Anders’ height. He sat next to Hawke on the cot so he could face the wound. He was dismayed, almost immediately, by how distracted he was by Hawke’s closeness.

Nearly a year, and he wasn’t over this? A little mortifying, he had to admit. Maybe it was just the surprise. The sudden immediacy of him, after such an absence without any thought of his return. The familiar smell of blood and sweat and kaddis, and an excuse to zero in on the muscular thickness of his arm. That was all. Anders reminded himself he had a job to do, and focused on examining the wound.

The first thing he noticed was that the cut had sliced a tattoo raggedly in half. It took Anders a moment to piece it together as the sword and anvil of the Red Iron’s sigil, a souvenir of Hawke’s indentured year with the mercenary band. Justice flashed like a throbbing headache behind Anders’ eyes, remembering the onslaught of refugees that they had both poured in with. So many forced to lower themselves to such depths, all for the questionable privilege of feeding into this meat grinder of a city. “Glad to be rid of this, are you?” he said lightly.

Hawke frowned down at it. Too late, Anders remembered who had done that year of service with him, who also wore that mark on her arm, and he cursed himself for ever forgetting. As long as Bethany was in the Gallows, he couldn’t let himself forget. “I can live without it,” he said.

Not on Anders’ watch.

He lifted his hands and began using his magic to feel out the shape of the injury, to understand the cut that had made it and the stitch that might weave it back together. In the heat of battle and desperation, he might have done quicker, clumsier work, but Hawke wasn’t in danger. (Though Anders dreaded to think what might have become of the arm if Hawke had waited for the bloody lantern an hour or two longer.) He could afford the luxury of taking his time. With any luck, he could save the tattoo with almost no scarring at all.

After several long minutes of near-silent work, Hawke said, “I missed this.”

Anders blinked, and looked up from the wound, outside of which he had almost forgotten that Hawke was there. Hawke was looking back at him, steady and contemplative. Anders kept noticing details he’d almost forgotten. Hawke had longer eyelashes than you’d somehow expect of a man of his roughness, hidden a little away into the fold of his eyes, only visible at this angle.

“What?” said Anders, backtracking from all thoughts of eyelashes to parse out what Hawke had said. “You’ve missed getting cut up? Tell me you’ve found a line of work that doesn’t involve that and you’ll really give me a fright.”

“Not that.” The corner of Hawke’s mouth had turned up slightly.

Well, that was worth pursuing. “Having your own private healer, then?” he said, and he added his best suggestive raised eyebrow, just for masochism’s sake. “It must have been a trial to do without me.”

“It was,” said Hawke, entirely seriously, as ever, which flummoxed Anders so thoroughly he looked back down at what he was doing, which was probably a good idea. “But I meant magic. I missed it.”

That stunned Anders even further into silence. He flexed his fingers as he pulled the seams of Hawke’s wound together, binding flesh to flesh, and tried to remember if he had ever heard anyone else say the word magic the way Hawke said it. It was not unlike the way the Warden-Commander had spoken the words: In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. It was not unlike the way Justice had said justice, when he’d had a voice of his own to say it. It was not even particularly unlike the way Anders had heard Chantry sisters utter the Maker’s name. Reverence. For magic. He had not thought to hear it again.

[aglaecan]

“It was blood the first time,” Hawke says without looking up from her work. The pestle grates against the mortar, a small, rhythmic sound. Between the stones, some mineral or clay is reduced slowly to a fine red powder; later, she will mix the pigment with beeswax and oils, and the extracts of certain plants long known to her people. “Mine.”

Hawke knows what people think of Fereldans; turnip, hayseed, doglord… the names speak eloquently of the attitudes which underlie. The truth of things is that perhaps, in Ferelden, the common folk are not quite so far from the tribes from which they sprang as elsewhere in Thedas. The old stories are still told, the old traditions are still cherished, though some of them in altered form.

“I’d show you the scar, but I’d have to lift my shirt to do it. Suffice it to say, Qunari horns are not only for show.” Hawke grimaces, expressive. “It was an impulse. Being a damn fool show-off, my brother would have called it, probably.” She shrugs. “It seemed right, at the time. Warpaint has a long history in Ferelden, but usually these days we just put it on our dogs.”

A jerked thumb indicates her own grey-blue mabari where he sleeps nearby, his white belly turned up to the cold Frostback sky. His forepaws twitch in his sleep; his mismatched eyes are closed tight as he dreams. Chasing slavers, no doubt. Good boy. She smiles fondly, wishing she could sleep in the sunlight with so few concerns upon her mind.

“Kaddis, it’s called. The patterns are very old, most of them, some right back to Alamarri days, and they all mean something. I don’t know all of them. I always used the ‘kaddis of the courser’ on Huan. It’s easy to remember. Just a lot of red stripes. So it was easy enough to just start adding one to my own face as well.” Her smile this time is mildly deprecatory; she wrinkles up her nose, feeling the stripe of dried paint there catch at her skin and pull slightly.

“Let them think me a barbarian if they want. They would have anyway, and I’d hate to disappoint.”

[5lazarus]

BTV Artober 2020, Day 9: Mabari

Day 9, Mabari: Dog fights the Arishok. Read more at Overhead at the Hanged Man.

The Arishok challenges Hawke to single-combat, and they heft their daggers and look at the Arishok’s massive sword, and then back at their daggers. Isabela had made fun of them when they first got them, said they were ridiculously large and unsubtle. Now they seem puny. Hawke feels puny. “Does it really just have to be me?” they say. “I’m all for the honor of Kirkwall and not getting smashed by the will of the Qun, but I’m really not built for single combat.” They look at their companions. Dog barks excitedly. Hawke had painted a kaddis on them for the hell of it yesterday: how far away and innocent yesterday seems. Still, Dog seems ready for battle, like the proud Ferelden he is. Hawke thinks: well, I assimilated. Kirkwall coward, that’s me. Dog growls and thumps his tail. “Can I bring my dog? He’s a war-dog. I’m Ferelden. That’s what we do. Fight with war-dogs.” The Arishok raises an eyebrow. Hawke feels like they scored a point, somehow. They look at Fenris for help translating this to the Qun. Hawke mouths: help. Fenris sighs and steps forward. “As the Qun considers the blade the soul of the self, so do Ferelden warriors their mabari,” he says. Dog barks excitedly. Hawke nods sagely: yes yes, Dog is definitely an extension of my soul, they are trying to convey. The Arishok considers Dog. Dog considers the Arishok. Isabela  mutters, “You gotta be kidding me,” and Fenris elbows her to shut her up. Finally, the Arishok says, “This satisfies a demand of the Qun. Hawke, alongside their mabari, will duel for the fate of Kirkwall.” At some point during the battle, Dog clamps onto the Arishok’s butt while the Qunari leader attempts to impale Hawke on his sword. The whole interlude is too ridiculous to be believable, and Varric decides not to put it in the book. “You’re the hero,” Varrics tells them, as they’re pouring over the first draft and complaining. “I have to give you the semblance of dignity. People look up to you, you know.” “Oh, that’s not a good idea,” Hawkes says, and Dog barks in agreement.

[marquis1305]

The Language of Flowers

A commissioned fic for the amazing @le-mooon, gifted by the wonderful @tessa1972 

This fic is inspired by this amazing art right here done by Le-mooon. AO3 link

Hawke x Anders, Flower Shoppe/Professor AU

------------------------- The funeral was this evening. I had taken the time to tidy my ever unruly hair, as much as it could be tidied. The lines of my black silk suit stark and neat, mother would have been proud. 

Even as she would have hated the Kaddis that I smeared over the bridge of my nose. She had always hated it, said it made me look too much like a dog lord.

Say that the to mabari at my side. 

Maybe she had a point.

I shifted the sunglasses on my face as I headed for the door, a cup of coffee in my hand. I just needed to stop by the office to drop off the papers that I had graded last night. It didn’t matter that the head of my department had told me to take the week off, those kids were counting on that grade to be entered. I hated letting anyone down. Especially them. Especially after mother…

The walk was an easy one. I lived on campus after all, the professor pads weren’t too terrible, and the rent was cheaper than anything else in Kirkwall. Dragon padded along beside me, tongue lolling as he obviously considered the weight that the day held. Meaning he was looking at the young man kneeling on the sidewalk and slipping something that might have been a tuna sandwich to a stray cat. 

Or more to the point he was looking at the sandwich. 

Maybe I was the one looking at the young man. 

It took a moment before I could gather up the breath to whistle and get Dragon’s attention, forcing myself to tear my gaze away. We had things to do. Now wasn’t the time for my head to wander. No matter how much nicer it would have been to let my thoughts linger on the way the man wore his jacket, or the way that the raven feathered lining of the hood contrasted with golden wheat colored hair, or how honey colored eyes beamed with affection down at the tabby. 

I cleared my throat as we passed him, keeping my head down. My gaze on my shoes. Watching as I put one foot in front of the other. Watching each step that brought me closer to saying goodbye to the woman that raised me. That praised me each and every time I brought home some certificate of achievement. Who scolded me for staying out too late with my latest fling, or for sneaking out with the Bethany and Carver to get them drunk for the first time at my high school graduation.

To the woman who had loved each of us more than life itself, especially after we had lost dad.

Time blurred, and suddenly I was standing in my office. Fading into focus on the leather carrier bag as I took it off my shoulder. Pulling out the stack of graded papers to leave on my desk, Merrill would make certain that those were passed out during class. 

She was a good bean.

And if she forgot, then Varric would probably remember, considering that half the lesson plan I had left to help him sub for me was going over those papers. Of course he was just as likely to get distracted by the telling of some story or another. 

Well, there was always class next week to properly go over them. The funeral wouldn’t last forever. Even if it felt like it would. 

I slipped a finger into the tie about my neck, trying to tug it just loose enough that I would be able to breathe again. Swallowing past the sudden tightness of my throat. The raw pressure building behind my eyes.

It had been like this since I had gotten the phone call from the sheriff’s office. The way that everything would just bulldoze over me at once. 

And then the way that it would rush over me like a wave, calm waters on the other side before the next build. I rode it out, gripping the edge of the desk tightly. Dragon pressing his weight into my hip. It was his warmth that calmed me. The soft whines that brought my attention of the crashing sound at my ears. Lifting a hand slowly to scratch along his head. Letting him know that I was alright again.

Best idea that Aveline had ever had, emotional support Mabari. Got Dragon certified the next day, so he could stay on campus with me. Something to do with ptsd and anxiety attacks, and how his mutt nose could sniff out the symptoms, calm me before they happened most of the time. 

Or bring me out of it, like now. 

Smiling down at Dragon, I nodded, then moved to lock my carrier bag into my desk. Only pulling out my wallet and keys, I wouldn’t need the rest of it for the next few days, and not having it in my apartment would help keep my mind off work. I hoped. 

The walk off campus was much more difficult. I would be arriving early, I had to. Greeting everyone, accepting condolences. Bethany and Carver wouldn’t make it from the airport until later, and I was expected to pick them up. Luckily they were sharing a hotel suite, so I wouldn’t have to deal with Carver’s endless bickering, or Bethany’s tears. 

I was a shitty older brother sometimes. But right now I barely had the strength to keep moving. 

Dragon’s barking drew me once more from my brooding. Turning my gaze up to see the same tabby from earlier. Or it looked like it. The coloring was similar. My brow furrowed as I glanced around. We were near the university’s shop center, which was as quietly thrumming with life as usual. A few simple stores lined either side of the street. A coffee shop that was more tempting than it should have been; yet another used book store; a grocery store; and on the very corner of the street, a small flower boutique. 

The tabby was curled up near the door, looking rather unperturbed by the foot traffic that passed it by. Not entirely unusual for the cats that thought they owned the campus, but to see it twice in just a few hours…

With a heavy sigh, I gave into the urge. 

I needed flowers for today anyways, just thought I would end up buying them later on. Well, no time like the present. 

Dragon stayed close to me as we approached the shoppe, though I could feel the way he would occasionally twitch at the thought of a cat chase. But he was too well trained to just go bolting off, thankfully. I gave him the command to stay outside, making sure he was on the opposite side of the door of the cat. Watching carefully as he laid down, gaze locked onto the stray. 

The sound of a bell tinkling warned any inside of their imminent doom with my arrival.

A pair of honey colored eyes glancing up from the counter had me stopping in my tracks. Blinking as I tried to convince myself that I hadn’t had a complete mental break down and started hallucinating overly attractive men.

His hair was half pulled up into a bun to keep it from his face while he worked, jacket exchanged for a green grocer’s apron, which exposed the white button up I hadn’t had the chance to notice earlier. A daisy tucked just behind his ear on one side. 

He was half bent over the start of a flower basket of some kind, and obviously waiting for me to say something as I attempted to shake myself from my sudden stupor. 

“I ah… flowers!” I blurted out, trying to say anything that would break the silence.

“Yes, I do believe that we sell those here.” His lips quirked up in a wry smile that had me seeing stars. “Was there any particular flower? Or will any of them do?”

I let out a surprised laugh, feeling more at ease for the joke. Clearing my throat as I ran a hand through my hair. “I was looking for a bouquet actually.”

“Is it for any particular occasion? Are we talking ‘romantic first date’ bouquet, or ‘I’m sorry I forgot our anniversary again, please don’t make me sleep on the couch again’ type bouquet?” The quip coming as easily to his lips as the smile had before it. 

“Actually, it’s for my mom.”

He blinked, caught slightly off guard with the answer before he was standing straighter, wiping his hands clean on his apron. “Oh… well, we’ve got a few bouquets of daisies that are always popular. A few yellow roses. Is there anything in particular that she prefers?”

I chuckle softly, shrugging. “She always had a thing for white lillies.”

“Hmm.” He pauses, lips pursing slightly as he heads over to the computer tucked on a back desk. Drawing me further into the room, wanting to keep him in my eyeline. I am a terrible person, and I know it. But he is just… “Well, lillies aren’t really in season right now, we have a few from the greenhouse, but the price has gone up because of it. I don’t have enough for a full bouquet either, but I can make an arrangement if you don’t mind a few other flowers mixed in.”

Pulling out my wallet, I gently toss a card onto the counter. “Anything you can manage, thank you. She just deserves something special.” 

He raises a single brow before nodding. Heading towards one of the refrigeration units. “I have to ask, but you seem really familiar. I’m fairly certain I haven’t seen you in the shop before though.”

“I’m an anthropology professor at the university, you may have sat in on a class or two?” My gaze follows his movements, seemingly unable to tear myself from this magnetic attraction. 

“Right! Fenris had your class a few times, my roommate. I went with him now and then. I remember thinking you were too attractive to teach something as stuffy as anthropology.” A bright peal of laughter fills the room. 

The blush that stained my cheeks was likely bright enough to be used as a lighthouse for lost ships at the harbor. To which my immediate reaction was to turn my attention to the roses that were set up by color. Running my fingers over their petals as gently as I could. 

“Maker.” Forcing myself to snort a laugh. “If you think I am, you should meet Varric. I can say for a fact that we have witnessed women quite literally swoon for his chest hair.”

“Always been a fan of facial hair myself. But beard burn is much more difficult to swoon over.” I could almost hear the wiggling of his eyebrows. I wasn’t sure if the groan that slipped through my lips was entirely due to the terribleness of the joke. At the very least I could pretend that it was and hope he hadn’t noticed. 

“Maker’s ballsack… Right, well…” Chuckling and clearing my throat before glancing over my shoulder. Catching sight of him starting to trim the stems of the flowers he had picked out. Wetting my lips before I was heading back to the counter. “Not really sure I have a counter to that, but it might make Varric cry. Considering how much we all tease him that his beard fell off and stuck to his chest instead.”

His lips pulled up into the most brilliant smile. Laughter following soon after. “Oh… Oh no… I have to tell Fenris that one… He’s going to die…”

Chuckling along with his mirth was easy. It was infectious, how bright he was, how easy the conversation was. 

“Alright so this is going to be fifty gold.” Offering the bouquet over, a beautiful mixture of white lilies, red roses, baby’s breath, pink wax flowers, and greens for filler. 

I suddenly felt reality come crashing down on me. Right, this is why I had been here. Not for the cute guy. “Just put it on the card. Thank you. I know that she’ll love this.” 

Taking the card, he rung everything up. Then handing it and the receipt to me. Allowing me a moment to tuck it away before presenting the bouquet. “Well, I hope you and your mom have a good evening.”

“We usually do.” I offered a smile as I tucked the bouquet into the crook of my arms. “Have a good one then.” Waving as I weaved my way back out of the store, Dragon popping up immediately from where he had sat to follow me. 

I had to say, at least this had been a bright spot in a rather overcast day.