#also this would make merrill so fucking haunted.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Does Teddy kill Anders? In her playthrough?

No.

The world state: Mistakes Make Us Human is based on the idea of redemption and over coming the mistakes you make.

Thea Surana, my Warden, is a woman who fucks up badly in the beginning of her story and stones for it, coming to terms with what she’s done.

Teddy is someone who never addressed her mistakes and keeps making them. Over and over again. Loving Anders is not a mistake- and she does love the man. Truly, honestly and deeply. Just because she still loves Fenris doesn’t make her love for Anders less. (In a perfect world she would be in a poly/open relationship to have both because she loves them both)

Her not killing Anders isn’t a mistake, it’s a choice. She loves him so much it burns inside her and knowing he doesn’t love her the same way, knowing Justice will always win over her? It hurts. It burns and she hates him a little but she loves him. More than she can say.

Teddy’s mistakes haunt her. Feynriel, Merrill, Bethany, her mother, Carver- it hurts.

But her father is never far from her mind. Teddy had been so stupid, so trusting when she let a demon into her. She hates herself, hates herself, hates herself thinking about it. It’s her fault her father died freeing her. Her fault that she had to become the adult in the family and let her mother wallow. It’s her fault Bethany wasn’t trained enough so she died, and it’s her fault Carver became a Warden.

She’s tired of losing people so she won’t kill the man she loves even as she wants to scream at him and shake him.

She loves him oh so much.

She also hates him a bit to.

[80s4life]

Not What I Had Planned Pt.2

Word Count: 1,244

Status: Requested!

Ask: “Hi, I was wondering if you could do a part 2 from Kiefer Sutherland’s request? If your not too busy” + “Umm how about it’s first time changing his daughter diaper and he’s a little nervous about changing her?”

A/N: This was a request on my Wattpad account that I brought over here lol

Fandom: Stand By Me 1986

Relationship: Ace Merrill x GN!Reader (x baby girl)

Summary: Having a child is an all new adventure to every parent, especially when with your first child. There’s a first feeding, first word, first walk, run, bruise, cut, cry, kiss.... and even your first diaper. Follow Ace and Y/N through their highlights in the world of parenting!

Warnings: langauge, fluff, humor if I do say so myself

Masterlist Stand By Me Masterlist Part One

{Gif is not mine, credits to @mistress-gif​}

To say that parenting was easy would’ve easily given away a person who has no clue about kids in general. Unless they are some saint or angel, then any kid could be a goddamn monster. The only defense, they don’t act like this on purpose, it’s just in their nature. And, in order for them to be raised properly, certain points or changes in their lives must be tackled in different forms of parenting.

For instance, when the child is only an infant or toddler, crying, pain, and attention-cravings are just the few things that are typical. Infants are delicate, unable to properly explain or do anything themselves, crying and attention being essential. As toddlers, they start to learn things on their own, cry and attention still to be expected, as they now reach their clumsiness period, consistent falling, stumbling, and tripping now.

To say Ace was prepared for this was a full-proof lie, him not knowing or being understanding for shit. He didn’t know how to be a father, especially when the father figure he’s usual supposed to take notes and go by, was a complete ass that could’ve cared less of who he had fathered and unsupported.

Y/N, however, was the opposite of Ace. Having supportive, loving, close-knit bonds. That’s what had drawn Ace into their little circle, being complete opposites, yet undeniably attracted to one another. Y/N’s father was the father Ace never had, playing football, watching sports, talking politics, hell even cooking barbecue on a damn grill; was just a few of the things observed and learned.

Y/N’s mother also played an amazing role, prying her way into Ace’s life just as her child had. Delicate, kind and caring. Y/N’s mother taught Ace sympathy, more control on his emotions, how to love and be loved by family, and of course, their child, Y/N.

All of these things, that may tend to be simple knowledge, was introduced to Ace as if it were a whole new world, and, when the pair had introduced their new addition, he applied everything he could. He was as caring as he could manage, which although he thought otherwise, was the kindest he had ever been to any human being in the world (besides Y/N and their family of course).

Ace carried a camera always, worked some extra hours during the night just for extra cash in the future, carried his baby girl everywhere, and despite his hard feelings for his family, he had created the beautiful name of Christina Poppy Merrill. Since their first kid was a daughter, Christina came in the honor of his brother Chris Merrill, and her middle name had come from his father’s nickname, ‘Pop.’ 

Y/N, being their ever supporting self, quickly hopped on the bandwagon, loving the name completely, not completely caring as long as their baby carried their Ace’s last name, just as they always dreamed of in the future. Marriage was something Y/N nearly craved, but never brought it up to Ace, him still knowing secretly but haunted by yet another touchy topic on its own level.

They understood though, knowing now that that topic would have to wait, their new addition coming first. 

For a while, Chrissy had slept in their bed during the nights, while Y/N and Ace built the very room she would soon reside in for the many years to come. Y/N painted the walls pink and blue hues, mixing in some places to make them a slight purple, like a sunset. Ace busied himself by building a handmade bed, “Something sturdy so she doesn’t fall through the fucking floor,” is what he claimed, stealing giggles in answer to his ever-questionable train of thought.

Music blasting, people working, and a baby playing in the center of the room. Bliss. Everything Y/N wanted, especially when their beloved boyfriend made sure he checked on the baby girl every so often, sometimes taking a break to even play cars with her. They fell for Ace long ago, but moments like these strike right to the heart, knowing damn well that they somehow can fall even harder for him.

Even the dumb, giggly moments. 

Y/N had changed Chrissy for a while, eventually getting somewhat annoyed as they would get up throughout the night just to change the baby in question, Ace claiming innocence and, “I don’t know how to... baby.” 

Y/N didn’t even bother to question what the fuck he was trying to say, sleep creeping into his being, but not long enough as Y/N yanks his ass out of bed, pulling his hand along with theirs.

Entering the room, Y/N goes to the changing station and Ace grabs Chistina, giving a resting bitch face to Y/N for waking him up. They ignore him however, quite tired of his excuses and deciding to teach the man exactly what to do, so that he didn’t have any excuses to give.

Pointing things out every now and then, Ace takes the advice, doing what was instructed...hardly. He almost gagged as he took the spoiled diaper off his baby girl, the shit coating some of her back. Y/N had laughed at that, finding some satisfaction at the fact of him probably having the worst diaper yet as his first.

He does manage to clean her up though, Y/N had to admit, doing quite well for a man so out of his comfort zone. He was the ‘bad boy’ for Christ’s sake. It was towards the end though, when Ace fucked up royally. Going to grab the baby powder and lightly dab some on the baby’s diaper, but dumping a mountain of the stuff instead.

The couple stare for a moment, Christina even silencing questionably, looking at the mess of baby powder both coating Chrissy and Ace. Y/N, trying not to be the immature one in this situation, takes steps back, but loses it the second they get a good look at Ace’s face, shocked and confused as hell.

He turns towards them accusingly, but soon gives into the humorous situation too, chasing Y/N as he goes to coat them in baby powder as well. They squeal, racing around the house until Ace wraps his arms around their waist, dumping some of the powder on their head. 

Within seconds, they are a laughing mess, running back towards Chrissy, almost forgetting she was still sitting on the changing station. Y/N shows Ace how to change the baby properly now, doing the rest of the cleanup and changing themselves as Ace watches adoringly.

Placing the baby in the crib, Ace rids himself of his shirt, clad in his underwear only now, and continues down the hall back to the shared couple’s bedroom. Y/N follows closely behind, admiring his muscular back, as they really couldn’t help it in their case. 

The couple lays back down, content smiles on their features. Ace’s arms reach towards Y/N’s form, bringing their back against his chest, right arm cradling their head and the left delicately draped across their waist, his head placed in the crook of their neck. 

The utter comfort and love in the embrace quickly reassures Y/N, their joints finally loosening from the long day and events of the night. And, just as sleep comes to overtake them, they could just hear Ace below a whisper, “One day I’ll get ya’ your ring, and one day, you’ll steal my last name, just as you’ve stolen my heart.” 

[squeaksquawks]

tell a lil bit more about your Hawke and your Inquisitor 👀👀

HELL YEAH LET'S GOOOO

I kind of uhhhhhhhh went WILD and wrote POSSIBLY TOO MUCH so!

Athena Hawke entered Kirkwall as a cheeky but kind like 20 year old and left Kirkwall as a shell of a person HAHA. She's a warrior, so she had Bethany by her side and they were INCREDIBLY close, so taking her to the Deep Roads and making her a warden (a choice she made in a panic without thinking of what Bethany wanted) genuinely haunted/still haunts her.

She has the...worst case of RBF and people avoid her on the street when in reality mentally she's like "What should I get for dinner. Chicken? No. I had that for lunch." and Varric absolutely ribs on her for it and calls her some variation of grouch/grouchy which she HATES.

She romanced Fenris and it was very much a love at first sight of seeing a mans heart torn out of his chest while Bethany was in the background like "Athena. No. NO." She tried really hard to be Cool About It but it just lead to her like, glaring at Fenris a lot and him being like "...?" because, again, horrible case of RBF. When he left in Act 2 she was like "of course, take all the time you need." and then burst into The Hanged Man 20 minutes later like "VARRRICCCCCCCCCCC" in like, TEARS LMAOOOO. Eventually she and Fenris settle down and she finds a lot of comfort in how blunt he is, and I like to think he finds comfort in the fact that she tries to stay kind despite her life circumstances.

She loves Varric, adores Merrill, and would (and literally nearly did) die for Isabela. She and Anders are very co-workers esque and she thinks Sebastian's a drag HAHA

Athena's big thing is that she thinks Literally Everything is her fault and she could have, should have, done better. It informs a lot of her choices and obviously does not lead to the healthiest of mindsets. She also resents the fuck out of being The Champion because she resents that all of a sudden she is in charge of things and how did this HAPPEN (a common thread in my protags in different ways LMAOOO)

I think post Kirkwall she and Fenris shack up for a minute before they get back out there. I like to think all my protags take vacations after their games LMAOO THEY DESERVE IT. She also cuts her hair because it makes her think of her mom and is still keeping it short by the time Inquisition happens.

By the time Inquisition happens, because I love spice and sadness, she and Fenris are not necessarily broken up but they are a bit strained because of Hawke's tendency to throw herself into things even when they could be deadly, which Fenris would Prefer She Stop Doing.

Also, lil fun fact - Athena has a lot of patience and tries to stick to "no unnecessary murdering" until she snaps and goes wild. She IS a reaver, so. Circe........I do not have favorites, but, hypothetically, if I did, Circe Lavellan may possibly be my favorite.

She has the strongest personality out of her, Hera and Athena which was REAL FUN. She DOES NOT WANT TO BE INQUISITOR which is a very fun journey because by the time Samson tells her something isn't her business, I got really into playing as her and OUT LOUD, IN DISCORD, AS HER, I said "I am the INQUISITOR. EVERYTHING IS MY BUSINESS." When anyone would ask her if she thought she was the herald/believed in Andraste she HARDCORE AVOIDED THE QUESTION, just like she hardcore avoided questions about her intentions for the inquisiton after corypheus. (she did not know and she very much was like "we should be focusing on SAVING THE WORLD FIRST, HOW IS THAT NOT YOUR FIRST PRIORITY)

Circe was..............very popular. The way Cullen was animated made it seem like he had a GIANT CRUSH ON HER which my entire discord had a field day with, because for Circe humans are Always On Strike Two. (at some point there was a scene happening and Circe left the room and Cullen watched and my friend went "I THINK HE JUST CHECKED OUT HER ASS I AM NOT KIDDING") This became funnier when Cullen's plan was what ultimately saved Clan Lavellan because she very much was like "I owe this human man a life debt. I hate it here." Solas took her on that whole fade date and she was like "ahaha yes, FRIEND, FRIEND WHOSE FRIENDSHIP I VALUE," and she and Blackwall had a whole Flirty Thing going on until Bull showed up, which really tells you about what Circe's tastes are LMAOOO.

Circe and Bull are..............they...........mean so much to me..........They very much have a murder pact ("If I go mad"/"If I become an abomination") that they openly joke about to horrify people but ultimately would not if possible/would be in great pain if they had to go through with it! Which is fun! Circe would find comfort in Bull being like, a Thoughts Free Zone for a bit and then she'd be like Unfortunately I Now Have Feelings For This Man. She'd be very embarrassed about it all until she finally fessed up and then they'd be DISGUSTING TOGETHER LMAOOOOO. Just UNBEARABLY CORNY. Also, Circe would absolutely let Bull throw her in battle, and since she's a Knight Enchanter it's all very fun and chaotic.

Side note: Cole is absolutely a little brother to her, she dotes on him like crazy and adores being with him. She gets very defensive of him and spends a good chunk of her free time with him, especially after he becomes human and she can track him down more easily

Circe also would become more and more anxious of losing her personhood, of everything she's done be for nothing, of being remembered as a concept and not a living breathing thing - i'm talking like full on panic attacks, unable to sleep, having to be calmed down about it. - ESPECIALLY after Ameridan. She tries to (somewhat) prioritize joy after that, finally visits Clan Lavellan after avoiding them for literal years (I played Descent and Hakkon after the main game to give the game a better sense of time passing before Tresspasser), ect.

By Tresspasser she is Fed Up, not sleeping, not eating, and also her arm is doing That Whole Thing concerning the fuck out of Bull LMAOOO. The ongoing joke was that Bull had DEFINITELY suggested cutting her arm off at multiple points in time, and when it actually happened it felt very monkey's paw HAHA. She definitely freaks out on Solas and is like oh I gotta KILL THIS GUY!! Also, because it feels relevant, she DID NOT LIKE MORRIGAN and drank from the well.

Also! Playlists. Everyone has a playlist! I use these while drawing to get me in the mindset so they're not in chronological order but here's Hawkes, Circes, and Heras which is the most work in progress since I just finished Origins and need to.....maybe take out the MULTIPLE songs about dying HAHAHA

EDIT: also because I played the games out of order and used the default world states for 2 and inquisition due to some Choices I made during Origins Circe is uhhhhhhh going to have either Fenris try to kill her or Hera and THAT'S GONNA BE FUN FOR HER

[goth-surana]

Different Violence: Chapter Two

Main pairing: Anders/Male Hawke

Main Tags: hurt/comfort, whump, aftermath of torture

Chapter 2/3 (it grew! What can I say, chapter two got away from me)

Summary: This wasn’t the rush of battle, this was the aftermath of torture. This was methodically produced pain left in the silent air, left over after anything could be done about it. It was sickening. Hawke was a warrior, he was used to violence… but not like this.

Read on AO3 or below the cut

Anders slept restlessly, tossing and turning all night. Hawke couldn’t sleep at all, haunted by the events of that night. He felt so bloody useless, especially towards the end when he couldn’t even pull himself together and Isabela had to step in. 

Hawke had thought of himself as a strong person, but he was not strong in the face of harm to those he loved. He was frightened, scared shitless and panicked. How did Anders manage to heal him the number of times he had been in mortal peril, especially after the duel with the Arishok?

Whenever Hawke was in trouble, was hurt, Anders kept his calm and did what needed to be done. He had the iron will of a healer. Lives depended on him every day and he dealt with that, he had to watch his lover throw himself into danger countless times and he dealt with that. 

But Hawke also supposed that this wasn’t some normal danger. This wasn’t the rush of battle, this was the aftermath of torture. This was methodically produced pain left in the silent air, left over after anything could be done about it. It was sickening. Hawke was a warrior, he was used to violence… but not like this. 

Hawke sat up in bed, and looked over to see Anders peering up at him with tired eyes. Before he could think about what he was saying, he asked one simple question. 

“Who?” His voice came out scratchy, dulled.

“Who do you think?” Anders responded with the ghost of a wry smile. “Templars.”

Of course it was Templars. Deep down, Hawke had probably known it was Templars but desperately wanted it not to be Templars. Templars were so often anonymous in their helms, and so protected by the Chantry. If this had just been the Coterie or Tal-Vashoth or any other threat in Kirkwall… 

“Fuck,” Hawke whispered into the air. But his resolve held firm. “I’ll still make them pay.”

Anders’ eyebrows shot up, and he made to sit before hissing in pain and laying back down as he spoke. 

“No, Hawke, that’s too dangerous! You can’t get Meredith any more furious with you than she already is!”

“I don’t bloody care!” Hawke cursed, trying not to yell. Tears were forming in his eyes again, stupid useless tears. Tears because he was so useless. Deep down he knew Anders was right. What could he do to the Templars?

Anders regarded him with pitying eyes, and Hawke thought it was just rich that Anders was giving him pity right now. 

“Did…” Hawke’s words caught in his throat. He had to ask. He had to know, but… but this was Anders’ story to tell. 

“Did?” Anders prodded, lying back on the pillows and looking almost as sickly as he had last night. 

“What did they do to you?” Hawke asked in a whisper. 

He could tell Anders was tense. “Uh, hurt me?” He supplied, clearly a little confused. “Love, you saw what they did to me. It’s all over by body.”

“But they didn’t… they didn’t touch you? Not like…”

Fuck, this was hard to say. Maybe he shouldn’t say it. Maybe he-

“Did they rape you?” He asked before he really thought it through. The possibility was gnawing at the back of his mind. 

“No,” Anders said immediately. “No, love. They didn’t.”

“Your clothes-“

“They took them to get at my skin better, that’s all,” Ander assured Hawke. Once again, he tried to rise but fell back.

Thank the Maker. It was horrible that this had to be a fucking relief, that somehow what had happened to Anders wasn’t the worst it could be. But Hawke knew even if he had been violated, that still would have been better than dead. And even if he had died, it still would have been better than being tranquil. 

The idea of tranquility made Hawke sick. The idea that a fate worse than death was thought of as mercy, that every mage had to fear their mind being taken from them… it was horrible. Anders had once made Hawke promise to kill him if that ever happened, and Hawke had agreed with his heart in his throat. It would kill him to do it, but he would respect Anders’ wish. 

Really, what happened last night was so much better than it could have been. Anders was here, alive, with his mind intact. 

“I hate that I have to be grateful,” Hawke told no one in particular. “Grateful it wasn’t worse.”

“As do I,” Anders told him solemnly. “But nevertheless, I am. They did return me to you, as they said they would.”

“Why did they do this?” Hawke asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Because they could, love,” Anders sighed. “Because it gave them pleasure to hurt a mage they couldn’t control.”

Hawke hated this Maker-forsaken world, and especially this Maker-forsaken city. If it weren’t for Bethany, Hawke would suggest they pack their things right away and leave to a place where the Templars had less power. 

But even then, he knew Anders wouldn’t leave his clinic or the Underground. For better or for worse, Kirkwall was their home. 

“You do so much for this place,” Hawke told Anders. “You do so much and this is the thanks you get.”

Anders chuckled. “You get so angry on my behalf… I’m angry enough, you know. No need for you to be too.”

“No,” Hawke said. “No, I need to be angry because my lover was brutalized and I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“There are many things we can’t change,” replied Anders. “That’s why I do what I do. To make a world where things can be different.”

“I know, I know…” said Hawke fondly. He managed a smile. “You and your crusade for justice.”

From anyone else, it would have sounded patronizing. But Anders knew Hawke supported him, loved him even more for what he did. 

“Guilty,” Anders smiled back. They looked at each other, and Hawke was flooded with relief that he could be looking into Anders’ eyes right now. 

Eventually, Hawke moved the conversation to more practical matters. “I was told by Fenris that elfroot might help the pain. He said they likely poured magebane in your wounds.”

Hawke didn’t want to make Anders recall what had happened, but it was in service of aiding his healing. 

“They did,” Anders confirmed. “I can’t say I’d ever heard of that before last night.”

“It’s common in Tevinter,” Hawke explained. “Fucked up shit magisters do to each other and all…”

This also reminded Hawke of something. “Fenris told me to tell you he hopes you recover soon.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “He’s not happy I’m finally getting a taste of what Tevinter is like, then?”

Hawke frowned. “He would never. I keep telling you you’re more alike than you give each other credit for. No, he was quite rattled by what happened.”

Anders considered this, but didn’t reply. That was as good an answer as Hawke would probably get regarding Fenris. 

“I’ll ask Merrill to help me make an elfroot poultice,” Hawke said. “And when you’re better, you’ll have to teach me. Last night made me realize how little I know about healing. That has to change.”

Anders smiled at him. “You did well last night.”

“No I didn’t,” Hawke replied with a shake of his head. “I could barely keep it together. I couldn’t stand seeing you like that.”

Anders looked like he didn’t know how to respond, so he just looked away. 

Anders sometimes did have issues reacting to how honest Hawke was with his feelings. It was to be expected really, with how he was raised. True feelings were never spoken of in the Circle, only half truths and witty deflections. 

Anders was nervously fidgeting with the blankets, and Hawke took the opportunity to place a hand on his. 

“You’re too good to me,” Anders sighed. Hawke didn’t like when he said things like that, never had. But that was an argument from long ago, one Anders was too delicate to handle right now. He may be putting on a strong face, but he had been through trauma. 

Hawke stroked a thumb across his knuckles, hoping to coax out whatever Anders was truly feeling. 

It worked. 

“I really was scared I’d never see you again,” Anders admitted quietly. “That was almost worse than what was happening.”

Hawke didn’t say anything, just kept up his ministrations and listened. He had often found that he had to give Anders space to think through what he felt and then to work up the courage to say it. The man may be a lit fuse when it came to his cause, but any deeper hurt was always buried. 

“I hadn’t felt that scared in a long time, honestly. I couldn’t even hear Justice. I was truly alone with those bastards.”

“They’ll never touch you again,” Hawke said. 

“You don’t know that,” Anders laughed bitterly. “I didn’t even get a good look at all of them. Their leader did most of… the work. I think he almost got off on it. But anyway, what’s most likely is that we’ll be in one of your meetings at the Gallows and the bastards will be right there, sharing their private joke while we both remain oblivious.”

Hawke hadn’t even thought that far ahead. Anders was right. 

“You shouldn’t come with me anymore, if I go there.” Hawke had never liked it when he did in the first place, but Anders insisted on following Hawke into that pit of snakes. 

“Probably not, no,” Anders agreed. He sounded so defeated, so sad. 

“Who knows how Justice will react now,” Anders continued. “It’ll be even worse than it was before. I can’t know I won’t lose control.” 

That wasn’t what Hawke had been worried about. 

The two men stayed in bed, silent, for a long time. Soon after Hawke had to leave to procure an elfroot poultice, which Merrill was all too glad to help him make. 

She seemed shaken by the events of last night. 

“They really just hurt him because… they wanted to?” She asked after needling Hawke with nervous questions. 

“Yeah,” Hawke told her. 

Merrill wasn’t oblivious to the abuses of Templars, she just didn’t involve herself in Kirkwall politics as much as most mages would. 

“If you need my help getting revenge, I’ll go,” Merrill told Hawke as she handed him the finished poultice. Hawke was a bit startled by the conviction in her voice, but he nodded and thanked her. 

He didn’t even know if he would be able to enact any retribution. No Templar would be punished for his actions, especially not when apprehending an apostate. But Hawke had always operated outside the law, as everyone in Kirkwall did.

He could find out who the Templars were, there had to be a way. And if he found out who they were, he could tell them in no uncertain terms that they would die if they ever touched Anders again. 

Or maybe this was all just wishful thinking. Hawke desperately wanted to do something about what happened, he hated feeling so useless. Anders deserved some kind of… some kind of justice. 

Hawke hadn’t thought of himself as a violent man before Kirkwall. In Kirkwall, all there was was violence. All avenues of change, of changing any little thing went through violence. 

And as nice of a man as Hawke was, as charming as the nobles found him for some fucking reason, he would do what it took to defend his family.

When Hawke returned with the poultice Anders was asleep. Even then, he didn’t look at peace. His brow twitched, he whimpered slightly. 

Hawke placed a hand on his cheek, stroked gently. “Shh,” he whispered, “it’s okay.”

“S-stop, p-please,” Anders whined into the air, voice weak. 

“Love,” Hawke said out loud. He gently nudged his lover’s shoulder, hoping to wake him gently. Whatever the fade had for him, it didn’t sound good. It never was with Anders, it was always Darkspawn or Templars or a cold dark cell. 

Anders shook his head, whimpered again. Hawke shook his shoulder a little harder this time, trying not to agitate the wounds but unable to let Anders stay in whatever torment his mind created. 

Anders gasped as his eyes opened, and then looked at Hawke. Panic turned to relief, and he slumped back against the pillows. 

“I brought the poultice,” Hawke told him. He wanted to say something about the nightmare, but often Anders didn’t want to talk about it. 

Anders nodded, and began to push the covers down. Hawke helped the rest of the way, and his heart ached at the sight laid out before him. 

Anders reached to undo one of the bandages, but Hawke caught the hand in his. “I’ll do it,” he said. Anders acquiesced with another small nod.

The wounds on his chest were still angry and red, but at least the wounds were healing. 

“How long until you get your magic back?” Hawke asked as he dipped a hand in the poultice. 

“Probably another day,” said Anders. “They gave me a lot of magebane, so I can’t be sure.”

Hawke applied the poultice gently to the first cut, feeling Anders flinch beneath him. 

“Sorry,” Hawke said for what felt like the thousandth time. Hawke kept going, applying the substance gently and slowly, trying his best not to aggravate the wounds he uncovered.

Anders watched him the whole time, surveying his own wounds in an almost detached manner. 

Eventually he did begin to relax, the elfroot taking effect. 

“Will these scar?” Hawke asked as he put away the supplies and re-tied  the bandages. “Or will you be able to heal them in time?”

“The one on my thigh might, but the others are shallow. If I get my healing back tomorrow I can just fix them the rest of the way, and that should prevent scarring.”

Good. Hawke didn’t want to have to be reminded of last night every time he saw Anders without a shirt, and he suspected Anders felt the same way. Hawke already didn’t like the sight of the massive sword wound on his lover’s chest, which apparently would have been fatal if not for Justice. 

“I don’t know what I should be doing with myself right now,” Anders said to no one in particular. “Justice would normally be telling me to go to the clinic or write… but I’m in no state to do either and Justice is still dull. Must be the poison.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Hawke told him, running delicate fingers across an unharmed area of skin. He had at first gone to stroke his arm, but had to stop himself. 

“Just… lie in bed?”

“Probably, yeah,” Hawke told him seriously. “That’s what people do when they’ve been injured.” Hawke didn’t say “tortured,” but that’s what he meant.

“I guess I’ve always been able to heal it right away and then walk the rest off,” Anders mused. 

Even if he did have his healing, Hawke knew this wasn’t something he could walk off. Did Anders know that yet, or was he still trying to pretend? 

The day was spent with Hawke in bed talking with Anders, trying to alleviate his boredom. Hawke could tell it bothered Anders that he couldn’t hear Justice, so he tried to take his mind off of it.

Eventually the poultice began to wear off, and Anders winced in pain whenever he moved. 

“Let me redress the wounds,” Hawke offered. 

Anders nodded and lay back with a huff. 

“I want a bath,” he complained as Hawke began to work the poultice over his chest wounds. 

“Those tunnels were bloody filthy. I know you already cleaned the wounds, but the rest of me still feels…Well, still feels like I got pushed around on a dirty stone floor…”

He said that with indifference, irreverence, but it made Hawke’s heart freeze. That was another detail Hawke hadn’t known before, another element his mind could add to the mental picture of what happened. 

Through the thundering in his chest Hawke heard Anders call his name. 

Hawke looked over quickly, and realized he had frozen in his task. 

“What?” Hawke asked, trying to shake off what his mind was showing him. 

“You just went away for a second,” said Anders. He had so much worry in his eyes for someone who shouldn’t be worrying about others right now.

“Sorry.”

Anders gave him a searching look. “It’s okay if… well, it’s okay if you’re not okay. I’m sure last night wasn’t fun for you either.”

Hawke’s heartbeat still thrummed fast, he still felt the pit in his stomach. This wasn’t about him, why did it hurt so much?

“You’re okay now,” Hawke settled on saying. “That’s what matters.”

“But you were still hurt.”

“Love, you were hurt. You were tortured.”

The word hung in the air, and Hawke realized now that this was the first time either of them had plainly called it what it was. Torture. 

“Many mages have gone through torture,” Anders said calmly. “It was just my turn, I suppose.”

When the bastards at the Circle locked him away for a year that had been torture too, but Hawke didn’t want to bring up any more painful memories. 

“It’s still fucked up,” Hawke said, barely a whisper. He felt his eyes well up with tears, tried to will them away. 

How could Anders lay there and downplay what had happened, write it off as just another thing that happened to mages? How was Anders so messed up, so used to his shit lot in life that he just played it off when this happened? Was this Justice’s influence, thinking that others had it worse? 

Hawke loved Anders more than anything, but sometimes he was infuriating. Sometimes Hawke was just baffled at how he laughed away what he had gone through, how he pushed down his own distress until it consumed him. Would he push this down too?

Anders was easy to love, but loving him was hard. It was hard because loving him meant someone you loved had been hurt over and over again, in ways you can’t begin to heal. 

Tears were sliding down Hawke’s cheeks now, his breathing hitched. All he could think about was last night, and how last night would not be the end of it. Even if somehow Anders truly did just walk this off, the sight of Anders screaming in pain and covered in gashes from literal torture would haunt Hawke until he died. The feeling of being utterly powerless would haunt Hawke until he died. So many things already did.

“Just let it out,” Anders encouraged softly. “You don’t have to be strong around me. Wasn’t that what you said to me last night?”

It was, but it was also hard advice to follow. However, Hawke would try. 

Hawke let himself cry openly, stopped trying to hold back the tidal wave of emotion. His shoulders shook slightly, and Anders reached up and beckoned him to lie down. 

Hawke went with him and lay with his head on the pillow next to Anders, Anders reaching over to run a hand through his hair.

“We’re both alright, love,” said Anders, “we’re both together and we’re both okay.”

Hawke tried to keep remembering that instead of dwelling on what the future might hold. 

[blarrghe]

“Wrapping arms around them when they make breakfast” Dorian x Anders, because I imagine Dorian has NEVER had a lover make him breakfast before (and Anders probably as a cat-shaped waffle iron)

Ok, as much as I love “his boyfriend makes him breakfast and it breaks Dorian” I also like, JUST did that over in my pavellan fic. It was very sweet and all, but consider: neither of these men are functional adults so who the hell is making breakfast? Still, got Anders his waffles. Anyway this directly sequels the last one again, because I’m using prompts to generate this story now I guess, and I’m really invested in this slow burn friends-to-lovers angsty mess now, so this got super long. I’m gonna start posting this as a series on AO3 I think -- also taking title suggestions XD. Thanks for dragging me into this hell :’) Here’s Breakfast:

He told himself that he was just coming along to keep an eye on him. A designated driver of sorts, just one without a car, or driver’s license, for that matter. He showed Dorian to the bar across the street and ordered himself a glass of water while Dorian asked for “the worst swill you have", with a rather large tip slapped on the bartop. He was handed something astringent smelling in a foggy glass, downed it in one quick backwards toss of his head — arching his neck, snapping back again with a shudder — and then he asked to have the bottle. 

Dorian took two more shots before he spoke. “Did you know that there was an author, horror novelist, whose mother disapproved so wholly of her marriage that after she died, she and her husband took their revenge by having sex right on her grave?” 

So. This was going to be an interesting evening. “I did know that, actually.” Anders said. 

“I’m rather a fan of hers, of her work, I mean.” he took another shot, “and of her misbehaviours. Only, do you think it would be too gouache, seeing as it’s already been done?”

Anders coughed. “Because if it hadn’t been, it wouldn’t be?” 

Dorian shrugged, and took a fourth shot. Maker, he’d finish the bottle within half an hour, at this rate. 

“I’m a fan of hers too,” Anders attempted to steer the conversation into something somewhat more...appropriate, “of her work.” He was also a fan of the story, but maybe not at this particular moment. 

“Oh?” 

Anders took a sip of his water, and signalled to the bartender to put a water glass in front of Dorian, too. “I tend to enjoy stories about misunderstood monsters,” he shrugged. 

“Me too.” Dorian ignored the water glass in favour of shot number five. “Of course, she was married to a like-minded soul, I’d have to find myself a willing participant.” 

“Strange thing to put into your dating app profile,” Anders agreed. Dark humour came easy — though he wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea.  

“Mm. Man seeking man to fuck on father’s grave, must be willing to break cemetary locks and city bylaws. Risk of haunting, serious inquiries only.” 

Anders tried to stifle his laugh. Man seeking man, though. No. Nope. Very terrible idea. 

“I don’t suppose you’d be game?” 

Anders coughed again, his cheeks flaring up, and shook his head. “I — uh — I think that must be against...one of my oaths.” he stuttered, still flushing. 

Dorian took yet another shot, which made six. What in the world was he made of? "Yes I suppose it must be. Or should be, at any rate." His cheeks were a bit flushed too, even in the dim light, but just from the alcohol; evidently the man had no concept of shame, because next he said, "well, it was worth a shot." 

Speaking of shots. "Water," Anders instructed, moving the water glass closer to Dorian, "you should drink some water." 

"Yes doctor." Dorian obliged, taking the glass to his mouth but raking his eyes up and down Anders as he drank down the entire thing. Anders just kept on blushing. 

"I take it you and your father didn't get along?" It probably wasn't the right question to ask the recently bereaved, but he'd nearly failed that psych 101 course he'd taken in first year, and it was a step away from morbid propositions. Void, where was Merrill when he needed her? 

"You met him, didn't you?" Dorian raised an eyebrow, and with quickly failing coordination, poured himself one more shot, while spilling enough to fill another over the bartop. Anders grabbed a napkin, while Dorian threw his shot back without seeming to notice. "My father hated me." He said, once he'd swallowed. 

Tear soaked apologies and an alcohol soaked "celebration" of his death. Anders felt something in the pit of his stomach plummet that was quite removed from the growing pangs of hunger his measly lunch — a granola bar five hours ago — had left him with. 

"I'm sure he didn't —" Dorian stopped him with an ice cold look, intimidating even as he swayed in his seat. Anders frowned, there had been something in that psych course about not sharing your own traumatic experiences with a patient, even if they were relatable. Muddies the waters of who's caretaking who, or gives them ideas, or makes you look crazy too, so they lose confidence, but — "mine did, too." He gave Dorian's arm a tentative pat, and waved the bartender down for a refill of water. Dorian drank it without prompting this time, but his eyes watched Anders again, waiting for more. "Or he must've, got rid of me quick enough." 

"Ah," Dorian leaned back, a little too far, Anders tensed to catch him in case he started to fall, "then I'm an ass. Sorry." 

"No, you're —" Dorian swayed back forward with a bit of a jolt, like he'd forgotten how to stop and needed to grip the bartop to keep level. He reached for the bottle again, and Anders shot a hand out to grab it first. Their hands met, Dorian's falling on top of his over the bottle, and then in an instant Dorian's flew away again. "You're drunk." Anders said. 

"Yes," Dorian agreed, "marvelous." He went back to the water, then cast Anders' hand, still on the bottle, a hopeful look. "Though not to the point where I won't remember any of this miserable day, yet." 

Anders raised an eyebrow, and kept his hand on the bottle. 

"Not that I'm saying I wish to forget you," Dorian's eyes were pleading with him, glossy as they were, "you've been rather kind, really, it's just…" when Anders still didn't release the bottle, he groaned. Then he straightened out his face again, a mask of sensibility that was barely holding: "I'm afraid you aren't seeing me at my best, doctor Anders." 

"Just Anders." Maker, but the sadness behind it all was killing him. You're heart's too soft, Anders, he scolded himself. 

"Anders, then. Quite the name." 

"More a point of origin." Anders explained with a shrug. 

"Yes, the hair rather gives you away. And the complexion." He reached out and slipped two of his long fingers through a strand of Anders' strawberry hair, which was falling in a straggled mess about his temples. Anders flinched, pulling his head back, and Dorian frowned apologetically. "Pretty. You're very pretty." He said. Anders shook his head and rolled his eyes — the man was drunk — but blushed again. 

"It's what the circle gave me," Anders explained the name with another shrug. He wasnt entirely sure why he was volunteering so much personal information to this perfect stranger. Perhaps he felt it was owed, after witnessing the death of the man's father, and all he'd overheard. Or maybe it was those eyes...

"Oh." Another apologetic frown, "and you ran away to Tevinter? Well, you wouldn't be the first." Anders nodded. "Where from?" 

Anders chuckled dryly, "Kirkwall, most recently." 

"Oof." Dorian grunted a drunken sound of disgust, and Anders chuckled again, "how in the world do you manage not to drink?" 

Anders’ laugh grew stronger, he shook his head and took another sip of his water, while Dorian redirected his attention once more to the bottle still protected by his hand, as though just now remembering his plight. "One more, I promise I'll be good." He begged. 

"Speaking as a doctor, I think you've had enough." 

"I thought you were off duty." 

"You're going to make yourself sick." 

"Then it's lucky I'm with a doctor." 

Anders sighed, and poured him one more slightly scant shot. Dorian frowned at the way the alcohol didn't reach the rim of the glass, but threw it back with a grateful sigh. 

“Can I call you a cab, Dorian?” Anders offered, watching worriedly as Dorian gave his head a dramatic shake and swayed a little more back and forth. The bar was emptying out, and last call was coming upon them. He cast a glance at the old watch ticking away on his wrist, mentally calculating how long it would be until he could be at home, in his bed. Not that he minded keeping the miserable man company, quite the opposite, despite everything. He had a pull to him Anders couldn’t quite explain; the eyes again, probably. But the bus came once an hour at this time of night, and didn’t stop at the closer stop, just the well-lit main hub that lay several blocks from his apartment — another fifteen minutes of walking after he got off, so a good hour or more to get home, altogether, if he left now. 

“Is it that time already?” Dorian sounded disappointed, spinning the empty shot glass around on the bar, then with a sudden spark of concern in his eyes he turned his face to Anders, “I’ve kept you too long, haven’t I? How dreadfully selfish of me, I —” he was sputtering a rather pitiful apology, and Anders’ stomach fell again at the sight of it. 

“It’s alright,” he said gently, muscle memory finding the soft smile he used for giving bad news to patients, “your father died today, you don’t have to apologize to me.”

“Yes, father died…” Dorian got a far-off look in those cold eyes of his, and then directed them back at his empty glass, “and you — you had to, I mean, here I am wasting your time when you must be — selfish —”  all at once, his face crumpled, and the guilty muttering gave way to tears. Shit. 

Anders patted his back once, carefully, and Dorian seemed to utterly collapse under his touch, sobbing into the sticky countertop. Anders took a deep breath, and dragged him up again. He tossed a tip of his own onto the bar as the bartender shot them an aggravated look, and hauled Dorian away, draping his arms over his shoulders. Dorian slumped into him, heavy, hunched over, still crying, as Anders pushed through the door of the bar and into the balmy night air, awash with the putrid stench of dumpsters in the alley and the sick coughed up by the bar’s less restrained patrons. It all made him a little homesick. Dorian, hanging halfway off of him, lurched forward like he was about to add his own mess to the stink in the alley, but then he righted himself again, and propped himself up using Anders’ shoulder. Anders took the opportunity to pull out his phone. 

“Where am I sending you?” he asked helpfully. Dorian made another face that seemed to threaten that he was about to be sick. 

“I’m not going back there,” he muttered, less to Anders than to the ground. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “Just help me find my car?” 

“You can’t drive.” 

“I’ll sleep in it — I left it in the lot.” 

“No.” 

Dorian pushed himself off of Anders, propelling himself away from his shoulder, and staggered forward a step. Then he seemed to change his mind, or realise he was in no state to walk on his own, and reached an arm out to fall back against the wall of the alley.

“No?” He asked, incredulous as Anders took his arm and draped it back over himself, walking them out of the alley and the stink. 

“I’m not letting you sleep in your car,” Anders shook his head as he dragged the man forward. He was heavier than he looked. Strong, too, if the grip on his shoulder was any indication. “Besides, I can’t risk leaving you in a vehicle, if you did something stupid that would be on me.” 

Dorian snorted, “do you think I’m stupid?” 

“I don’t know you well enough to judge.” Anders answered honestly, which seemed to amuse Dorian. 

“I’m not stupid.” he said, “very, very smart, actually.” he insisted. Anders nodded appreciatively. 

“Alright then, so you see why I can’t just leave you in the hospital parking lot, in your condition.” 

“Mm. Kind of you, but I can think of worse places.” So could Anders, but he shuddered to think what could happen to Dorian if he left him alone like this, drunk and stumbling and wearing the most expensive looking suit he’d ever seen; he’d already flashed his overstuffed wallet far too openly when ordering his drinks inside. “Is there a hotel? I could buy a hotel.” Dorian slurred. 

Anders was fairly certain he’d forgotten a word in his suggestion, but given the suit and the wallet, maybe not. Before Anders could answer, he lurched forward and away from him again, back towards the alley, and into a spasming sort of crouch, retching. 

Anders took an instinctive step back as Dorian gagged and sputtered out a vomit of mostly liquid and bile onto the broken stone of the alleyway, then remembered his physician’s training, and rushed forward to steady him. Between coughs, Dorian swore, and when he finished (miraculously, his suit and shoes were still unharmed), he began to cry again. Anders sighed, and once more feeling a little bit homesick, he breathed out an all too familiar refrain: “well, shit.” he said. 

“Not —” Dorian was stuttering apologetically at him now, “not my best.” He wiped at his tears, swore again, then got up from his crouch and began to stumble forward once more, heading the wrong way down the alley. Anders took him by the shoulders and led him out again. 

“Hotel?” The word smushed out of him with so much drunken misery that Anders felt almost like crying for him, and he sighed again, pulling out his phone. 

“I’m taking you home,” he dialed the number and gave the taxi company their location, then propped Dorian up against the wall of the bar that faced the street, rather than the alley, keeping an eye on his paling face and shaky breathing. 

“What, your home?"  

Anders nodded, “if you choke on your vomit and die in your hotel room, I’ll feel responsible,” he explained as Dorian looked up at him with a perplexed, and dare he say it, even eager look. 

“Very kind of you, doctor Anders.” he said, but before Anders could correct him on the honorific again, he stooped and threw up, so doctor Anders it was. 

——

Dorian all but fell asleep in the taxi, head drooping down into his chest, swaying this way and that as the car rounded the corners, but thankfully he kept from throwing up any more. The luck didn’t hold once they were inside Anders’ apartment though, and soon Anders had him steadied in a kneel over his toilet bowl, getting out the rest of it. Dorian flung most of his clothes off before throwing up this time, wrestling himself out of the suit jacket and tight shirt beneath it, while Anders tried not to be impressed. He had a really remarkable physique, but he was also lurching and coughing miserably into Anders’ toilet, so it was definitely not something to admire. Then he got him onto the couch, set a large bowl on the floor by his head, and coaxed him into one more glass of water before letting him lie down. Dorian offered him another tearful apology, and then tearful thanks, and then he passed out. Anders sat back in a chair across from him for a while, watching as his breathing slowed to a steady rise and fall, ensuring that his head was turned to the side, mouth facing the bowl, in case he was to vomit any more in his sleep, and then he finally, finally, stumbled his own way to bed. 

He woke to the sound of his cupboards banging shut and the kettle screeching to a whistle.

Anders stumbled out into his kitchen to find Dorian standing there with a distraught look on his face, pouring water into two large mugs. He was dressed again, and looking remarkably perfect, actually. Hair all in place and posture all upright once more. The bowl was gone from the floor, too, and nothing smelled off — just a little like tea. 

"How are you feeling?" He asked, suddenly aware of his own shabby pajamas. 

Dorian turned, still looking distraught. "You don't have any food." He complained, "I fed your cat —" Anders looked down to the corner of the kitchen where Ser Pounce's food bowl was, and found Ser Pounce there happily nibbling from a bowl filled to slightly too full, "I hope that's alright. I woke up with him on my chest and he wouldn't stop pawing at that cabinet so I figured…" 

Anders smiled softly, and not in a practiced way, he'd entirely forgotten to check the food bowl when they came in the night before, occupied as he'd been. 

"And then I saw you had a coffee pot, so I was going to make coffee, as a thank you — well, actually, I was going to have some delivered, but I don't rightly know where I am —" Dorian ran a hand through his hair, and he was talking quite speedily, cheeks going just slightly pink "but you don't have coffee. Or anything." 

Now Anders blushed, embarrassed for the nakedness of his cupboards. 

"Anyway, thank you. Tea?" 

Anders nodded, and took the few remaining steps to the counter to grab one of the mugs of still steeping tea; he liked to keep the bag in. He moved from the counter to the couch, cupping the mug with both hands, and sat down. 

"117 Orseck Ave.," he said, "that's where you are. How are you feeling… how much of last night do you remember?" 

"I remember making a fool of myself, if that's what you're asking. And you being uncommonly kind." He paused, "it is Anders, right?" Anders nodded, "is there anything else I should remember, Anders?" 

Anders shook his head, "that about sums it up." 

Dorian chuckled. When he wasn't drunk or crying, it was a nice sound. He leaned against Anders' counter — stunning, how was he stunning after a night like the one he'd just had? "Well, you've certainly wasted enough of your time looking after me, and I can get out of your hair now, but —"  

"— I wouldn't call it a waste of time," Anders interrupted, because something in him always seemed to speak up whenever Dorian went about making statements like that. It kind of had been a waste of his time, Anders tried to protest against that something, he'd lost a great deal of sleep to it, anyway. But somehow the look that his interruption gained him from Dorian was impossible to remain grumpy with. 

"Have you been to Marc's?" Dorian asked suddenly, brightening with a hopeful smile, "since I know where we are now, and its nearby, and you have no food," he went on, "and personally, I'm starving —" 

"I imagine you would be," Anders said, though at the mention of hunger his own stomach took the opportunity to awaken too, noisily. Dorian raised an eyebrow at the sound. 

"Might I buy you breakfast? I feel I owe you that much." 

Anders hadn't been to Marc's. He'd been by it many times, a busy little brunch place, always smelling of bacon and pancakes and with a line out the door. It was a bad idea to say yes to this, he thought, a bad idea to say yes to anything involving absurdly handsome men who just lost their fathers, who were obviously walking disasters waiting to happen (you always had a thing for disasters waiting to happen) — shush. His stomach grumbled again. 

"I haven't been," Anders answered, "there's always a line — and I am on call, I might not have time to —" 

"Oh, we can skip all that." Dorian brushed the protest aside, "so? Don't try to tell me you aren't hungry." 

Anders kicked at a bit of cat hair fluff adorning the edge of his couch, "alright, sure."

Dorian was certainly good at getting him to say yes to things he should know better than to say yes to. If he kept going on like this, the next thing he knew he'd be having sex on his father's grave. 

---- 

They arrived at the restaurant, just a short walk from Anders' building, and yet in a considerably nicer part of town — the new money was creeping in towards his end of things, but where he lived at least was still very much no money — and Dorian walked straight up to the front of the line. Anders hung back, watching skeptically as Dorian performed a series of intricate maneuvers: some charm, a smile, a handshake Anders recognized from Varric — the kind with a bill snuck inside — and then he turned, waving Anders over. 

"We can wait ten minutes for a table, or have our food prepared now and take it outside. Your choice." He smiled. Maker, such a good smile; straight teeth and a brilliantly white gleam. "But you're on call, right? And to be honest with you, the fresh air is making me feel considerably less queasy. Park across the street?" Anders nodded and shrugged at the same time, a gesture that seemed to satisfy Dorian into continuing to take charge of the situation. "Alright then, to go. And fast, if you can. We're both very busy and important." He winked at the young hostess as he was handed two paper menus, and Anders could have sworn she blushed brighter than the checkerboard red on the apron she wore. "What do you fancy?" Dorian asked him, handing over one of the papers. 

It was diner food, but not really. Poached eggs with house-smoked bacon over an heirloom tomato coulis, waffles with Orlesian creme sauce and glazed berries, rare wheat pancakes with apple cinnamon compote and vanilla syrup  — just a few options, all of them coming with a detailed list of decadent flavours. In addition to those few confounding main courses was a fresh juice list filled with exotic fruits Anders had never even heard of, and approximately twenty different kinds of coffee. 

"Uh, waffles?" He said, squinting at the menu, "waffles and coffee?" 

Dorian beamed some more, and took back his menu to point out the waffle dish, as well as several other things, confidently ordering far more food than could possibly be necessary as well as coffee and one of the strange fruit juices while insisting that Anders simply had to try it. The patient employee nodded and hurried away, and not ten minutes later came back with two plastic bags stuffed near splitting with cardboard containers, and a tray of drinks. Dorian thanked her with another winning smile and secretly-funded handshake, and then they were off. 

The park across the street had benches, so they sat on one — finding one in the shade of a great, leafy tree, as even the morning sun was warm. Then, Dorian began a conversation, and the whole thing was far less awkward than Anders had expected. Dorian asked about his work, so Anders described some of it, though he avoided anything too close to topics of death and dying, and Dorian held his gaze while he talked and asked compelling questions. He seemed to be, as claimed, very smart, and the food was practically otherworldly. Then Anders asked Dorian about his work in turn, and Dorian sighed. 

"Well, you're new here, aren't you? How much do you know about Tevinter politics? The intricacies of it all can take a lifetime to wrap one's head around. That's by design; keeps things all tied up with the upper classes who have it in their blood to be intollerable bureaucrats." His air was flippant, but altogether disapproving, which Anders appreciated. 

"I've been here a while now, actually. A couple of years, anyway, I understand it a bit. Political science was always my…'' downfall? "Second passion." He washed down a heaping forkful of creme covered waffles made of pure fairy dust and clouds with whatever exciting fruit drink Dorian had handed him — it tasted like bright green, with a hint of citrus. "I feel people should be informed — active. Healthcare is as political as it is practical." And mage freedom, that was political too, but they didn't have to get into that. Mages were already free in Tevinter. Other kinds of people, however — something bitter bit at the back of his mind. But it was too sunny, and the food too good, for that sort of conversation. 

Dorian nodded approvingly, his eyes lighting up. "Alright then, I'm an Altus. I argue things in circles in the house a lot, these days I've been losing all sorts of friends arguing this Sopperati electorate reformation bill," Anders' eyes widened, impressed. He'd been following the progress of it, a huge step for increased class equality, if it passed. So maybe it was just sunny enough for such a conversation. "but of course it can only go so far without approval from the Magisterium," Dorian went on, a slight growl of frustration colouring his tone, which was appealing in a different way, "and for that we need to convince those with seats in the — in the —'' he stopped, and some of the light fell from his eyes. "I just remembered that my father is dead." He said. Shit. Not a sunny conversation, after all. "His seat passes to me, you see, because nepotism still runs stronger than good sense and he's written my name into all these continuations of his legacy and…" he sighed, and stabbed hard at a piece of brilliantly poached egg, which honestly didn't deserve it, "sorry. It's going to be a very hectic and difficult few weeks, with all the ceremony and paperwork and the whole ordeal of burying him…" he scooped up some of his bleeding egg yolk with a wedge of toast, and went silent in favour of eating, while Anders took an uncomfortable sip of juice that seemed to have lost some of its vividness. "You've been here for years, you said?" Dorian changed the subject, refocusing on Anders. Anders nodded, still awkwardly sucking up juice through the straw of his cup. "I would have sworn you were an escapee fresh from the harbour." 

"Why?" Anders bristled a little. 

"Your apartment. You have no food or furniture," Anders bristled a little more, "and you've never been to Marc's", Anders frowned, furrowing his brow at the impossibly good, impossibly expensive waffles, "and you're too nice." Dorian finished. Anders looked up in surprise, catching Dorian's eye. They were still a bit lost for light, but soft on him. 

"I'm just very busy," Anders shrugged. And very poor, but, well, Dorian probably thought anyone with fewer than a thousand acres of family land was poor, given his status. He didn't need to know the extent of it. 

"Hm," Dorian's eyes were still on him, soft and thoughtful, "what else haven't you done?" Anders shrugged, and Dorian began listing things. Tourist attractions and famed galleries, but also other, lesser-known offerings of the city that Anders had never even heard of. 

"Ferry through the archipelegos?" 

"No." 

"The volcanic sand beaches?"

"No." 

"Dinner at the top of Tidarion Tower?" 

"No." 

And on like that, until he finally said yes to something — taking in a show at the infamous burlesque playhouse in the city's red light district, which elicited an eyebrow raise.

"Priorities, I see." Dorian chuckled, "at least you have good taste." He reached an arm up over Anders' side of the bench, as he finished with his food and slid the box away, very smooth. "I'd have offered to take you. Maybe one of the others sometime, then, if you've a mind." He suggested. Anders could feel his cheeks beginning to run hot again. Still a bad idea, he reminded himself. Apparently sensing his unease, Dorian removed his arm from its perch near Anders' shoulders. "May I say something painfully honest?" he asked. 

Anders swallowed, but he managed a smirk as he replied. "I think we're well past that," he said. 

Dorian shook his head with a dry chuckle, "yes, well. I'm all out of sorts, as you may have noticed." 

Anders chuckled too, but with him, not at. 

"And normally, if I'm to get drunk and go home with a stranger, it all goes a certain way," then he actually winked, which on him was somehow charming and not over the top at all. Anders swallowed again, "and, not that I'm opposed, but, well, as I said: you've been uncommonly kind. I could — I've been losing friends left and right lately, it seems, with this bill, and…" 

"I'm a fan of the bill," Anders said, "in fact I'm not sure it goes far enough." 

The interruption seemed to lend Dorian some more confidence, as though he needed it, "so, pretty as you may be, I could use a, uh —" 

Anders blushed again, but finished for him, "a friend?" He could use one too, if he was being honest. Near everything seemed to be making him homesick, lately. 

Dorian nodded. "If that's not too forward." He said. 

"You fed my cat," Anders replied, "as far as I'm concerned, we're already friends." 

At that, Dorian smiled. He asked Anders his cat's name, and chuckled at the answer, and then they exchanged phone numbers and Anders stuck a little cat next to his own name as he entered it into Dorian's contact screen, which had him laughing even more. Anders offered to put the puking emoji next to Dorian's in return, but he insisted on a snake, because he “had a reputation to uphold”. Then Anders’ pager went off, and he groaned inwardly, wishing he could spend the day in the sun for once. 

“Duty calls?” 

Anders grimaced, and stood up. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said, meaning it. Dorian stood too. 

“You should take the rest — actually, this may be awkard, but I think we’re going the same way.” His car. Of course. 

“You’re going to have a small fortune to pay in parking tickets,” Anders realised, frowning. 

“Oh that’s fine. I have one of those — big, actually.” he winked again, “very big.” Sweet Maker, he just never stopped. 

Dorian insisted on a cab, and then he insisted on paying for it, and then he insisted on Anders taking the rest of their uneaten brunch items to store in the breakroom for his lunch, and then finally he was ready to let him go, with a promise to be in touch. He extended his hand for Anders to shake. Anders took it, holding fast with a sure grip, and then, drawn in yet again by those cool, sad eyes, he pulled Dorian’s arm towards him, and wrapped him up in a tight hug. 

Dorian stumbled back afterwards, cheeks flush, eyes glinting with surprise. “What was that for?” 

“Just seemed like you needed it,” Anders said. 

Dorian was still blushing, and his smile warmed Anders’ own cheeks. “Suppose I did,” he agreed. 

“Take care, Dorian.”

“As you say, doctor.”

[ollifree]

gib 3, 10, 20, and 38 for terron pls

thank you i love you

3. How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Terron’s the lucky asshole who can go “I sleep now” and then just? Fall asleep? What the fuck bro?

As his Calling gets more and more advanced he switches gradually to a semi-nocturnal schedule because one of the few ways he can sleep then is if he’s somewhere very warm, and the sun usually manages that. This being a major change from his previous schedule of waking up before the sun rose, no matter what time he got to sleep.

Staple of sleep ritual after the Blight? Arm around Zevran.

10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

H’okay so, I don’t know that everyone has played the Dalish origin as many times as I have to remember this, but Tamlen asks “hey what are you doing out of camp you’re supposed to be helping Ilen.” one of the options is more or less “You know I like to wander.” (Fun fact: Tamlen’s line in-game is a flub and mentions Varathorn, Zathrian’s craftsman. I feel like I should know less about this? But also fuck knowing less about this I like knowing more about this.)

Anyway, Terron has Disney Princess level wanderlust (all the origin is missing is an “I Want” song) and, on his way out of the clan that day, was stopped by Merrill who wondered why he wasn’t currently with Ilen. Terron smiled and told her they were already done. Yes, that early. Bye lethallan.

He knew Tamlen. If Terron hadn’t come across him and the shemlen, Tamlen would have come back to camp to show him the artifact and tell him what the shemlen had said. If they’d been in camp, Terron could have probably convinced him to tell the Keeper rather than go explore it on their own. So, yes, one could say he thinks about that lie a lot, and what might have changed if he hadn’t told it. It calms down some after he’s over his grief, but it resurfaces after the clan falls apart in DA2. Because what else could the truth have saved?

20. If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Get his demiaro ass.

Platonic and familial love are one and the same for him: if you’re close enough for him to consider friend you’re close enough for him to consider family. It all falls into one categorization for him. Clan.

He’s only ever felt romantic love for one person, and it’s difficult for him to quantify what makes it stand out from the rest of his feelings. The best way for him to is to say that more than anything Zevran’s a home.

38. What memory do they revisit the most often?

Despite what the answer to that lie question might have you believe, Terron’s very much a “live in the now” person who doesn’t spend much of his days reminiscing. His head’s already loud enough, what with the Calling, he actively does his best to silence it in his moments of quiet.

That being said, when he does spend time in recollection he has a few of Zevran that are his favorites. Particularly their weddings.

[buttsonthebeach]

Lost Horizon, Pt. 2

@scharoux is the sweetest and most patient soul for waiting so long for part two of this story - thank you, dear friend, for trusting me with Rhaella and her epic tale!

This long fic picks up almost directly where The Last Game last left off - with Rhaella pregnant and alone in a world where Solas has removed the Veil, despite her attempts to stop him.

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions

Part One of Lost Horizon can be found here

Other pieces about Rhaella I have written include:

1. All Things Green and Growing

2. The Long Road Back

3. The Turning of the Year

3. The Same Kind of Scar (contains explicit content)

4. World Without End (contains explicit content)

5. The Last Game Pt. 1, the Last Game Pt. 2, and the Last Game Pt. 3 (contains explicit content), and the Last Game Pt. 4

Pairing: Rhaella Lavellan x Solas, post-Trespasser

Rating: Teen for violence, references to sex

Warning: Directly referenced character death for a character from DAI, general references to death and destruction

********************************

Merrill and Rhaella’s journey to Skyhold was slow. Isabela’s ship carried them swift and true - that part wasn’t the problem, even if the ship and all the crew seemed haunted, even if Rhaella could feel the absence of a woman she had never met as surely as she could feel the sea breeze - but once they were back on land, and traveling via horseback, her pregnancy proved a problem once more. She felt impossibly huge, her belly as big and round as the horse’s it seemed. Years of practice had made her a good rider, but the extra weight and the shift in her center of balance was even more pronounced now than it had been before, when she had ridden from Skyhold to Jader for her journey to Kirkwall.

The slow going meant she had plenty of time to take in how much had changed since that last journey, when she had been on her way to stop Solas. The burned out villages, and also the rapturous displays of light in the night sky - the dance of spirits thrilled to be free of the Veil. They rarely had to use a campfire for light, in fact. Wisps were drawn to them the way moths used to be. They frequently went to Rhaella’s belly after floating near her head and Merrill’s.

At least you’ll get beauty like this, little one.

Her magic surged towards each and every wisp when they came, but she tamped it down. Solas would know the feel of her magic, even across the distance, as surely as he would know the sound of her voice. They had not been pursued as far as they could tell, by people or by spirits, and she wanted to keep it that way. Merrill had known a draught to keep her from entering the Fade, which was their other means of concealment since they’d left.

“Poor Feynriel,” Merrill said the first time she brewed it. “I wonder what’s become of him in this world. If it makes more sense to him now, or less. Marethari made this for him while he was staying with the clan, and I learned it when we visited once. He was a Dreamer, so a draught like this didn’t always work for him, but it will be good enough for you and I. It feels like a different life to remember those times, when he was one of my biggest worries..”

“It does,” Rhaella said, even if she was only remembering a few weeks ago, when she’d been on this road going in the opposite direction, convinced she could stop the tide of Solas’s power from sweeping through and changing everything.

Sometimes on that long slow journey she lay there and was convinced the baby would never be born. She would be trapped like this forever, huge and waiting, adrift. She wondered how many other pregnant mothers lay awake in Thedas staring at the same moons and feeling the same way. They’d conceived their children in one world, and they would be born into an alien one.

Rhaella was grateful for Merrill’s training as a First, and her involvement in Kirkwall’s alienage since then. She still knew enough about pregnancy and babies to act as a midwife. She seemed less puzzled than the other midwife about the size of Rhaella’s belly, how it was bigger than they were expecting.

“Solas is not a small man,” she said with a shrug. “As long as you feel well, and you can still feel your little one wriggling about in there, I’m not worried.”

Solas is not a small man. The words sent a shiver of memory through Rhaella as she envisioned the days and nights that had led her to this moment. The size and weight of his body, how sheltered it made her feel, how whole. She pushed those thoughts away. She imagined, instead, a son that was as tall as him, who had only his kindness and not his narrowed vision, his pride. A son who reminded her of her own father.

I will love you no matter who you are, she promised anyway, feeling the child move.

The journey grew slower and more difficult as they climbed the mountain paths towards Skyhold. Rhaella struggled to lean far enough forward in the saddle to make her horse comfortable, so they had to walk the steepest parts of it. But, the feeling of being further from civilization, and the giddiness of having evaded Solas for nearly two weeks now, loosened their tongues a little, and Rhaella and Merrill were able to talk more freely. Merrill told stories of Hawke that she had not heard from Varric, and they shared their memories of growing up Dalish, compared notes on the Arlathvhens they had been to, speculated on whether or not they had ever met at one of them. It started to feel a little normal. Almost like Rhaella was back to being Inquisitor, and Merrill was one of her companions. 

(It was probably a testament to how upside down things were now that Rhaella could think back to that time with fondness.)

Then they arrived at Skyhold, and all that warmth, all that strength she’d built, drained away.

It was not so much that the building was different. Its ancient stone was largely unchanged. It had weathered the creation of the Veil, after all. It was not even the scorch marks all over the courtyard, or the charred ruins of the stables.

It was the sound of the empty hospital tents flapping in the breeze. Of wooden shutters banging listlessly against stone walls.

It was the total, absolute emptiness of the place that had become her home.

The castle stood, but the people were gone, and the emptiness of that threatened to swallow her whole.

She should have been wise enough to expect this, to know that things would not be as she left them, that she would not return home to rally the people she’d left behind to some sort of unlikely victory. She had not heard from any of her forces in the weeks she’d been in Kirkwall. She’d hoped that was because Solas was intercepting their messages, that against all odds, there was still a home to come back to, a chance to set things right. Still, the blow of the silence struck her as true as any kick or punch ever had.

Then there was a high, hollow sound - a call, almost like that of a bird’s - but bigger, and then louder, like a trumpet, coming from the lower courtyard, and the sudden movement of a big brown blur -

“Thistle!” Rhaella called, and her hart galloped to her, drawing up short when he reached her, and then snuffling her with his warm, soft nose, whining again in his throat. She rested her forehead against his, breathed in the warm, woodsy smell of his hide. She scratched the place behind his ears that always made him stamp his feet with delight.

“Hello, friend,” Merrill said, approaching. “You’re a delight! I haven’t seen a hart like this in a long time.”

“He has been my constant companion for years now. I can’t even tell you how good it feels to see that he is okay.” Rhaella leaned her head against Thistle’s again and took another calming breath. She did not need to jump straight to despair. She had not even gone inside the keep yet. Who knew who else she would find, or what signs would be left behind - maybe everyone had moved somewhere else, or gone out into the world to help make a difference -

She wasn’t sure whether to feel reassured or afraid when the first arrow flew and landed at her feet.

Merrill’s hand flung out instantly, as if to shield her, and Rhaella’s magic crackled beneath her skin, longing to cast a barrier. She had to actively work not to cast the barrier without the Veil in the way, and it made her grind her teeth. Her son kicked wildly in her stomach at the sensation of the caged magic.

“It’s okay,” Rhaella called out when the urge to cast her spell passed. She looked in the direction the arrow had come from - the old tavern. She started in that direction, brushing off Merrill’s arm. “It’s me, it’s Rhaella.”

Another arrow flew, this one passing over her shoulder, so close that Rhaella could hear the pitch-perfect whine as it cleaved the air by her ear. Thistle snorted and stamped behind her, spooked, and Merrill took her staff off her back. The third arrow struck the barrier that Merrill cast, splintering into a shower of wooden shards, but Rhaella had seen where it was headed. Straight for her head.

Then Rhaella saw her, in the upper window of the tavern, leaning out now, bow in hand. Sera.

“Sera!” She called, waving her arms, walking closer. Surely it was an accident. Surely Sera had not actually meant to aim for a killing blow. “Sera, it’s just me.”

“Yes,” Sera said, nocking another arrow, half-drawing back the string. She stepped out onto the roof of the tavern. Her skin was even paler than usual, but her eyes were rimmed as red as the plaidweave armor she wore. “Who the fuck do you think I have been waiting for?”

Rhaella’s heart sank.

“Sera -”

“They’re all dead!” Sera shouted, the tears coming now. “All of them! Every person that mattered to me is gone now. Every person who trusted you to lead us. They all paid the price, and for what? So you could get a good shag with a man who never really loved you? And you didn’t even have to see it, did you, oh high and mighty Inquisitor? No, you got to be somewhere far away when it all came crashing down, all the fire and magic and shite, all the screaming and the dying. But I didn’t get that. I had to be here. I had to see it happen. I had to watch and even when I shut my eyes I had to listen. D’you know what it sounded like when your precious Commander died?”

Cullen.

No, not Cullen.

He was many things - not all of them good - but Rhaella prayed in that moment to the gods she didn’t believe in that Sera was lying.

“D’you know what it was like for him when all that bloody magic came rushing back, after all those years he’d worked to stop taking that Maker forsaken lyrium? I bet you didn’t even think about it when you went rushing back to your arse-wiping Dread Wolf. About how he would fucking scream -”

“Stop!”

Rhaella was aware that Merrill had shouted the word, that Sera was still talking, but the sounds were distant, covered up by a roaring as real as the sound of an ocean storm, of an earthquake. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even think beyond the roaring sound. It was only the kicking and rolling of her child within her womb that brought her back to the surface.

“You don’t understand,” Merrill was saying. “Rhaella went to Kirkwall to stop him. She tried her best. She never stopped trying. She fought him until the very last moment, but there was nothing anyone could do. He was too strong for anyone but another of his own kind. And Rhaella didn’t stop there. She has been aiding the wounded ever since then, and once she had her first opportunity to flee from Solas, she did. How do you think she ended up here?”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” Sera said, and there was a sudden wave of magical heat rolling off of her, sparks at her fingertips. “Shite!” 

She threw down her bow and Rhaella could see the trembling in her fingers. Sera had never wanted this, and now she was cursed with it. Magic.

Rhaella opened her mouth but no words came out. Her chest felt like it was caving in. Like all of Sera’s words had lodged there, true as arrows, true as morning sun.

“Please, believe us,” Merrill was pleading. “Neither of us wanted this. We’re trying to make our way in this world, the same as you.”

Sera shook her head once, viciously, and picked up her bow. She nocked the arrow again and started to draw it back. Rhaella realized that her hands were over her belly, feeling it warm and tight as a drum, but her magic was not seething inside her this time. She was making no real move to defend herself. Merrill grounded herself, started gathering the energy for a barrier. Then Sera lowered her bow.

“Get whatever supplies you need to get somewhere else. And then get gone.” Her eyes bored into Rhaella’s. “If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”

Then she disappeared back into the shadows of the tavern.

Rhaella felt rooted to the ground where she stood. Like she might never move from this spot again.

It was one thing to see the devastation of Kirkwall - a city that was not a part of her, another vein through which her own heart’s blood flowed - it was another to stand here in Skyhold and witness the magnitude of her failure. To hear those words of accusation dropped not from the mouth of a stranger but from a friend.

Cullen.

“Rhaella. Rhaella. Come on, love. I don’t think we want to stay here long.”

Merrill was using the same voice that Rhaella herself used to gentle Thistle when he was spooked. Her hands were on Rhaella’s shoulders, guiding. Their steps towards the keep were slow. Thistle whined, high and loud and mournful. Rhaella wondered what stories he would share of the day the Veil fell, if he could speak.

She tried not to study Skyhold as they walked through it. Tried not to see the blood or the winding patterns of lighting etched into wood and stone, the overturned tables, the shattered glasses. The kitchen was ripped apart but there was still food enough in the storeroom beyond it, and she and Merrill filled their packs with as much of it as they could reasonably carry. Rhaella felt the burden of her pregnancy all over again, how she would need more food than she ever had before on the road.

“Is there anything else you want to get?” Merrill asked when they were done there.

Rhaella nodded, and went wordlessly towards the long staircase that led to her chambers. Merrill did not follow. She was grateful for that.

Her chambers were exactly as she had left them. That was the most eerie part of all. She was not the same woman she was the last time she slept here. Her bedroom should have reflected that. But everything was in its place - each pillow on the bed, each paper on her desk. She picked up her field journal, which she’d left behind in her haste to get to Kirkwall. Then she saw the one thing that was out of place. A letter in an envelope, right in the center of her desk.

Rhaella

It was Cullen’s handwriting.

D’you know what it sounded like when your precious Commander died?

Rhaella tucked the letter quickly into her bag. She couldn’t read it. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Merrill had distributed everything they gathered between Thistle and their other two horses by the time Rhaella returned. After a brief discussion, they agreed that they would keep both horses, using one for supplies and if one of their other mounts got tired.

“So where do we go now?” Merrill asked, her eyes shifting towards the tavern and then back to Rhaella.

“The Emerald Graves,” Rhaella said. “It has plenty of resources, plenty of places to hide, and it isn’t terribly far from here.”

“I have always wanted to see them,” Merrill said. “All those tombs of the elves who came before us, who fought for our people.”

Rhaella half wondered if the tombs had broken open when the Veil fell - if those elves had stepped out to a brave new world where their people had both won and lost. 

She cast one glance back at Skyhold as they rode through its gate. The towers and battlements she’d come to know as home. It was lost to her now, like so many things were. Another ghost of her own, standing stark and sad against the blue mountain sky.

She took a deep breath and rode on.

*

They rode until nightfall, back down the same road they’d taken up the mountain, until Rhaella’s lower back ached so badly that they could not continue. She warmed damp cloths on a stone over the fire that Merrill built and then had Merill place them where it ached. She’d never wished so desperately for a bed in her life as she did in that moment, lying there on her side on the nest of blankets they’d arranged, unable to curl up into a ball or lie on her stomach, anything to relieve the pain.

“Warn me if it gets more intense,” Merrill said. “Sometimes that’s how it goes for women - the start of labor, that is.”

Rhaella felt a surge of panic and joy alike. Would tonight be the night she met her son, the person that made all of this worth it? The reason she continued putting one foot in front of the other on this road that had no real destination yet. At least not one she could see or count on. But the pain in her back did subside eventually. There was a new chill in the air by that point, a wind coming down off the mountains that made them both shiver. Rhaella looked to the saddlebags they’d removed from their pack horse, hoping for another blanket - and spied something familiar sticking out of one of the ones Merrill had packed. Red and fur-lined.

Cullen’s cloak.

She rose, went to it, pulled it out, half-hoping she was wrong. She wasn’t. She’d have known it anywhere, and of course Merrill would not have. She’d just seen something warm that might help them on their journey, and not another dagger aimed directly at Rhaella’s heart.

Merrill was a few paces away, standing watch since they didn’t want to risk setting wards. Rhaella went to her bag and pulled out the letter she’d found on her desk, the tears already rising in her throat, the guilt already swimming in her stomach. She found a tree that she could sit against, looking away from Merrill, and eased herself to the ground, cloak and letter clutched in one hand.

She read.

Rhaella,

I am never going to see you again.

That's the worst part of this. It isn't the pain or the screaming or the uncertainty. It's knowing I will never see your face or hear your voice again.

My hand is shaking. I hope you can read this if you find it. When you find it. I refuse to believe that you did not survive this. You and the baby - you have to survive. I have to believe this was all worth something, and if the two of you are still out there, it was.

You are the most incredible woman I have ever known, Rhaella. Your quiet strength - I know it will see you through. I have watched you move mountains and I know you will move them again and again.

(I hope this all makes sense. I was never good at words, and my hand is shaking, and everything hurts -)

I wish I could be there to see you move those mountains. To see your baby. The baby I thought of as ours no matter what. I understand that what we had was never going to be real. I am at peace with that. I would have given you everything nonetheless, Rhaella. You and the baby deserved that and I would have been whatever you needed me to be. If - if this isn't the end - if I can withstand this - if we are both alive - I will still give you everything. Not because I want you to wake up one day and love me. But because you deserve that as my friend.

Whatever happens - when you find this - I want you to know that I believe in you. I wish I had words good enough to express it. I don't. I believe in you the same way I believe in the Maker and his Bride. Maybe that is the closest I can come to explaining it. I believe in you, and if anyone can stop Solas, it is you. 

If I die today, I die with nothing but faith and devotion in my heart. It was how I always wanted to go, Rhaella. It's okay. I am at peace.

Yours always,

Cullen

She was crying before she finished the third paragraph, of course. Deep, wracking sobs that hollowed out her chest, carved up her ribs, scratched up her throat. They were animal sounds. She wasn't sure how long they went on. It seemed there was no beginning or end to her grief as she thought of everything Sera said, how she'd sacrificed everything for a man who never really loved or deserved her. Were they both right? Was that really the source of her weakness? Had there been some final part of her strength locked behind a door with Solas's name written on it, where she hid all the memories that were good? Had that been the strength she would have needed that day in Kirkwall?

Rhaella cried into the folds of Cullen's cloak, her mind a maze of questions with no answers, and grieved.

*

Solas generally prided himself on being the master of his emotions. Controlling them, subduing them, and, when all else failed, simply hiding them away.

He did not bother hiding his frustration when he returned from his fight with the Evanuris.

He came into his Kirkwall base of operations and threw down the helm he'd been wearing, reveling in the loud sound of metal striking wood as it hit the table. Maybe if he did that over and over again he could drown out the sound of his failure - of half of the Evanuris's forces escaping into eluvians and shattering them as they left. He'd wanted to pull them out, root and stem, to be done with all of this, to focus on what came next - rebuilding, helping those that remained find peace and meaning in the new world he'd made. Helping himself find peace with what he'd done. Finding time to mourn the friends he had lost (sacrificed).

Mending things with Rhaella.

"We have not been able to trace them yet," Abelas said, calm and even, but with a hesitance that Solas noted at once.

"What else?" He barked. He'd tried not to be the kind of Commander who yelled unless it was truly what the situation warranted. Then again, he'd tried a lot of things. And yet here he was again, with nothing but ash and loneliness to show for it.

"Rhaella and Merrill are gone."

Abelas said it swiftly and calmly, with the precision of a surgeon making his first cut.

Solas felt the air leave the room.

He felt his power leach into the vacuum it left behind.

Raw mana, undirected, uncontained, filling up every object and person around him, lighting up the room with a blue glow, filling it with a subtle roar. He felt his advisors shield themselves in barriers, as if he would attack them. Perhaps he would. (He would not.)

Solas took a breath and drew his mana back in.

“When?”

“Not long after you did as far as we can tell,” Abelas said. Another surgeon’s cut.

“Together.”

“Presumably, yes.”

“Where?”

“Unknown. We have not been able to track them via traditional or arcane means, though perhaps you will have greater success with the latter. You know Rhaella better than any of us, after all.”

For a moment, Solas considered letting her go. It would be kinder in the long run. He’d told her that once, when he was a stronger man. But he still had dried blood under his fingernails, the screams of the dying in his ears. He still had unfinished business, and people who would seek to hurt Rhaella and his child. 

(The child, the child, the child, he could hardly bring himself to think the word at first but now it was ringing through his mind like a struck bell, an endless echo. He might not get to meet his child if he could not find her, and perhaps that was what he deserved -)

He had to find her to protect her. To tell her one last time that he was sorry. If she went her own way then - if they went their own way then - he would just have to find a way to endure.

Var lath vir suledin, she had said to him the day he took the Anchor and her arm. Perhaps that was when she was a stronger woman. Perhaps he had broken them both.

“We leave for Skyhold at dawn,” he said. He turned on his heel and left. He had enough control, enough composure, not to spill his tears before them. He waited until he was in Rhaella’s room, surrounded by the smell of her, to do that. 

He would endure, he told himself over and over again. He would endure. He simply wasn’t sure what it would cost.

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Midsommar

Well you knew this one was gonna be a trip. After getting an incredible sophomore effort from Jordan Peele this year with Us, now the second big new auteur in horror cinema, Ari Aster, is back with his follow-up to last year’s mind-blowing Hereditary. Those are some big expectations to live up to, and I confess I was eagerly awaiting a chance to see what he was going to deliver in his sunlight-soaked tale of Dani (Florence Pugh) who has recently lost her family in a tragedy and tags along with her on-the-verge-of-breaking-up-with-her boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor) and his friends on a trip to a remote commune in Sweden to observe their mid-summer festival. Obviously, because this is a place where everyone is wearing white robes and taking mushrooms all the time, it becomes very clear very quickly that this is a murderous cult type situation. For anyone who saw Hereditary, you’re probably thinking “um grief and cults were already on the menu that first time around...is there something more going on here?” Well...

I would say yes, but it’s not nearly as satisfying as I wanted it to be, and I don’t think it’s handled with the same grace and care as the way Hereditary handled its big themes. I know it’s not fair to base a review solely on comparisons to other work, though, and I confess the curse of expectations is part of why this movie didn’t wow me. But more than that...I honestly didn’t think it was that shocking, certainly not scary at all, and I didn’t connect with it emotionally in any meaningful way. Is it a good movie? Technically, yes. Is it a good story? Eh, medium.

Some thoughts:

Three things Ari Aster loves: scary violin sounds, naked people with full bush, and long, lingering shots of people doing repetitive things like chanting or dancing. Sometimes all three happening at once.

The first ten minutes of the movie is one of the most haunting horror movie sequences I’ve ever seen. It’s completely self-contained and perfect as its own short film. I felt more anxiety, dread, and emotional connection to Dani than I did in the entire rest of the movie, and its visuals will haunt me for a long, long time. THAT is the only part of the movie that I know will really stick with me.

There is 1 Very Good Dog seen in the background herding some sheep. As far as we know, nothing bad happens to this dog. There is also 1 presumably very good bear, but I can’t say that he fared as well as the dog :(

I appreciate the excellent use of silence to explore and cue us in to the characters’ emotional states. More filmmakers should embrace this to the degree that Aster does.

You know what he doesn’t do well though? Self-edit. The movie is 2 hr 27 min and it could have been a cool 2 hr flat. I understanding wanting to let moments breathe and build the tension through a slow burn, but when, for example, you have a scene of women scream-crying that goes on so long that it generates nervous laughter, then genuine horror, then circles back into actual “this is ridiculous” laughter, it means you need to stop slamming your dick into your own camera and actually pay attention to the pacing in your movie.

Florence Pugh has to carry pretty much all the emotional weight of the movie, and her performance is honestly incredible. I was so impressed by her truly ugly crying and the force of her grief, which is sudden, raw, and wounded animal-like. She has to try to fit herself back into the shape of a normal girl when all this raw emotion is threatening to spill out of her at the slightest provocation. She’s also constantly accommodating and making excuses for Christian when he’s being the kind of vaguely shitty boyfriend we’ve all had at some point - until she’s NOT, and the transformation is really interesting.

I sure didn’t care for that curtain-faced man. Didn’t like that at all. 

Another thing Ari Aster loves: close-up shots of gore-ified faces. Loves em. Can’t get enough.

From what I can tell, the biggest thing this movie was trying to explore was the nature of, and relationship with, Dani’s idea of family. But this is only revealed in one long conversation with Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren) and his relationship with the idea of family. There are no other places in the film where Dani interrogates her feelings about family after she experiences her loss other than this one scene, and that’s why this just didn’t have the depth that Hereditary did for me. 

Did I Cry? No. The closest I felt to anything at all was in that first ten minutes, but that was mainly dread and then horrified shock. No tears then, though, and certainly none through the rest of the movie.

Maybe I’m fucked up, but I just didn’t really find anything to be THAT shocking or disturbing in the film. Horror as a genre isn’t just about being scary, it’s also about being disturbing or horrifying - leaving a lingering unease. I got none of that. It’s clear from the get-go we’re dealing with an isolated group of people living apart from society so...murder cult. Like, I just don’t even think that’s a spoiler at all. That’s just how the world works. So for me, there’s no tension or dread when our American characters arrive all “oh what simple and charming rustic customs you have here” - like y’all gonna die sooner rather than later and I’m supposed to be...shocked? Disturbed? Ok, yeah, the cult is doing things that I certainly am not in favor of but. It all feels pretty standard, run-of-the-mill culty stuff. 

Here’s my biggest beef with the movie - it feels full of significant things that go nowhere and do nothing to explore or support any meaningful ideas. Like breath. Breath is everywhere in the movie - it’s vital to the tragedy that begins Dani’s story, it’s heard repeatedly in the soundtrack, it’s part of the rituals the Swedes use, it’s the main focus of every scene in which we see Dani crying - and it leads nowhere. I don’t need a fucking M. Night Shyamalan explainer ending like “Swing away Merrill” in Signs, but give me something. Have the final prayer be about breath as the beginning and ending of life. Have the final shot of Dani end on her taking a breath of relief. GIVE ME FUCKING SOMETHING. 

Same with all the shots of people reflected in surfaces. There are lots of conversations in which characters are talking and both are in the same shot because one person is being reflected in a mirror or window or tv screen. Ok, so did you do that because the themes of the movie suggest a duality of identity in these characters, a shadow self that gets revealed? Or did you do it over and over cause you just thought it looked baller, Ari? If something pops up over and over again, I want it to mean something and it just doesn’t here, which really grinds my damn gears. 

In case you can’t tell, I just wasn’t really a fan of this movie. There is certainly a purposeful craftsman at work here, and I think Ari Aster is still talented but I am hoping for his third effort he spends a little more time developing his story and a little less time on naked women chanting.

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[shepherds-of-haven]

who would the ROs romance in Dragon Age in a modern au?

I realized I answered this as if the Dragon Age ROs were real people existing in the same AU instead of who they’d romance in the video game, but I’m leaving it

Blade: Leliana probably, or possibly Cassandra (but they’d break up pretty quickly)

Trouble: Alistair if Alistair was into dudes, probably Iron Bull or possibly Isabela, but the latter would have to be the initiator and it would probably only be a fling?

Tallys: Fenris, because they get to be tortured angsty brooding Elves haunted by their pasts together! Leliana pops up sometimes too

Shery: Merrill at first because they’re both sweetie pies (but no one knows who tops), but it’s really Josephine who makes her weak in the knees

Riel: He has a big fat crush on Solas but Solas isn’t into dudes, so he guesses he’ll just hang out with Dorian or whatever what’s the point

Chase: Isabela obviously but neither ever trusts the other and someone gets fucked over as a result, sometimes he and Zevran hook up on the side

Red: He’s into Anders at first, but that whole situation spirals south as he tries desperately to save Anders from the darkness inside him, but eventually he ends up with Dorian (but has a big crush on Vivienne for a while shut up)

Ayla: Probably Sera (but they ultimately fight too much and break up), then she’d hook up with Iron Bull while having a minor crush on Cassandra and/or Morrigan

Briony: she’d fall head over heels for Alistair or Cullen, depending on the situation… or would take both 😳 She’d also have a fat crush on Fenris for a while but they’d probably have a messy breakup down the road!

Lavinet: Honestly if Lavinet weren’t straight, she’d be an amazing fit with Josephine or Leliana, but she likes the forbidden romance with Solas (I know she’s not an elf but let’s just pretend) or driving Blackwall crazy!

Bonus:

Mimir hangs out with Cole and they’re both super weird together

Halek and Dorian probably chill together; could also see him having a thing with Morrigan

Caine trails after Varric like an excited puppy wanting to hear all of his stories

[breachy-breeches-creation]

Drabble [Check-ups]

The sound of wooden door creaks open wide, followed by the clunking of the glass bottles as the box is settled on the floor "I brought you supplies, Anders" 

"Just leave it there" The blonde mage was just finished healing the last of his patients and looks up towards the voice, " I'll take care of it later, thank you--Oh Hawke! you don't have to."

"Don't worry about it" The woman with honey locks smiled " I just happened to bump into Lirene at the market. The poor lady, there seem to be not enough helpers so she has to run the errands herself. I was already on my way here looking for you so I decided to lend a hand."  

"Looking for me? Is there something you need?"

"Don't be silly, can't I check on a friend? Oh! I also brought some tea that Merril gave me a couple of days ago." Hawke holds up a small plain pouch. 

"I...um, thank you, Hawke"

"No no, thank you! Last time was a bit of a clutch, isn't it? I never doubt my brother's skills in battle, but sometimes his overconfidence and stubbornness can get to his head and didn't check his surroundings."

"That's what I'm there for" the healer grinned at Hawke, and earned a giggle in return.

"I had a friend like you once. Got in all kinds of trouble, dragged me along. Didn't think I'd be doing that again" Anders remembered Warden-Commander Cousland fondly back then, or perhaps she should be referred to as "Her Majesty" since she's also the Queen of Ferelden. Strange how that works; Young, passionate, gracious, fiercely loyal, 'and righteous', his spirit friend hums in the back of his head.  "I got a bit weighty the last time we talked. Sorry for putting that on you" "You'd be surprised how people just tell me their darkest secret. I must look trustworthy" she shrugged. 

"You look...something. True, Proud. Like even if you don't agree with me, you'll be honest. I just...I hope I didn't seem too selfish when I told you about Justice.” the mage rubbed his hand behind his neck “I didn't know what would happen. I figured a willing host, a friend...it had to be better than playing the demon and haunting some corpse" Furrowed brows knitted together, Anders couldn't help but feel a bit guilty for dumping this sort of information on her. 

Hawke tilted her head in a thoughtful manner, "We can't always predict the outcomes of our actions, We can only make them with a true heart." a knowing nod and a reassuring pat on the arm.

Anders never expected such gentle, warm, and most of all, understanding response, his heart blossom a little. "Kind, wise and beautiful. You must have made a deal with some demons, yourself" as soon as the words left his mouth Anders find himself in a blushing mess, scratching his own cheeks sheepishly.  " I'm sorry, I shouldn't presume. I just... we've hardly met and I feel like I know you...Am I making you uncomfortable?" 

Hawke blinked several times with a face of astonishment. 'Well done, Anders, well done. You have just stab yourself in the foot' Anders thought to himself. 

But then, she laughed ” Doesn’t mean I want you to stop” such crisp voice lightens the mage’s heart once more. 

“I’ll keep that in mind”

  "Growing up in the Circle, everything is about order and rules and the Templars." Anders huffed. He doesn't know why he is telling Hawke such intimate things and yet admittedly, there's an air about this woman in front of him that for whatever reason that made this usually anxious and overworked healer relax and trust her somehow. The words just come out so naturally  "The apprentices, we found ways to make that bearable. Karl and I, he was the first. We could forget that out in the world, we are nothing but the Templars' slave. We hadn't been together for a long time, but still, it hurts." 

"I'm sorry to hear that." 

"It's the bloody Templars!" Anders curls his fingers into a fist in frustration. "They don't see us as people. They don't care that Karl was someone's son, someone's lover." He can feel his rage intertwined with Justice...or perhaps it is 'Vengeance' now, boiling underneath the skin, biting every word as he speaks.  "If you are born with magic, they hear about it. They search your little rat bit village and find you. They tell your parents they'll be thrown in prison if they ever ask about you, stripped of their rights in the eyes of the Maker. And if you run away, they hunt you down, again and again, and ..." 

But then the mage noticed pools of water had gathered around the pair of stormy blue, glistening like crystals. The next moment, streamed down her rosy cheeks. Just like that, extinguishing any hint of anger within him. 

"You are....crying" Anders speaks softly. It warms and breaks his heart at the same time.

"Oh, I...I didn't notice haha" Hawke quickly wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. "I just…I can tell that Karl was more than just a friend when you have to… ‘give him peace’ ” she sighed, ”No one should have to go through that. I’m sorry."

“No, thank you. Hawke” for lamenting for a stranger.

Hawke’s expression was quickly replaced with a beaming smile, like a sun that appears from behind the clouds. “Well, would you like some tea?”

“Ah yes, sure. I suppose I could take a break. I’ll go and prepare the water” Anders promised to himself, and Justice: he would never want to make her cry again. 

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

A/N: It's been sitting in my google doc for a while. Basically a bit of "rewrite" on one of the companion check-ups on Anders in Act 1. The second half of the dialogue was supposed to be like ‘exclusive’ to m!Hawke in-game. But fuck that, I can still see Anders telling this kind of information to my lavender (Purple/Blue) Hawke

Messy amateur writing and not very descriptive I know. Just need to get it out of my head. Whatever I guess.

They are not a pair; Anders did have a crush on Hawke for some time, but later eventually develops into more like sibling-like care.

I will get to write about Fenris/Thea Hawke at some point, I swear lmao

[musingmycelium]

da 20 questions

i was tagged by @goblin-deity thanks dear <3 and i’ll tag @lyrium-lovesong @raymurata @pegaeae @veridium-bye and @crystal-grace <3 no obligations of course <3

01) Favourite game of the series?

ooooghghghghghgh Origins is my Favorite, the Story........

02) How did you discover Dragon Age?

i recieved a copy of inquisition as a gift, became immediately immursed but i didn’t dig more into the series for a good half a year or so? at which point i discovered the other two games and went Oh Fuck

03) How many times you’ve played the games? 

oh, uHHHHHHH, Far Too Many. i’ve sunk over 1k hours into dai alone, origins and da2 probably have about 1k combined?

04) Favourite race to play as?

i’m always a slut for elves 

05) Favourite class?

me, a staff wielding bisexual: i’m Mage, all the way. though i don’t mind rogue if i mix things up [which is like, i think i have three or four rogue play throughs out of all of them?] i NEVER play warrior bc i’m a bottom i’m not about that life

06) Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time?

i play in character! so i’ve got some Wildly different world states depending on which playthrough/oc i’m on

07) Go-to adventuring group?

for my Canon world states i’ve got origins gang: sten, zevran, morrigan. da2 gang: fenris/aveline, anders/merrill, varric. dai gang: dorian, bull, solas/sera  i sense a theme...... 

08) Which of your characters did you put the most thought into?

oh god, ellanis and noure are my most fleshed out origins kids, wren and galahad are less fleshed out, sorta, but i Love them, idrilla and da’ean are pretty fleshed out as well -though linayel and mithra are also fairly fleshed out i just never write about them 

09) Favourite romance?

ZEVRAN -god i love him so much hhhhhHHHHHHHH he’s got Everything, everytime i play ellanis and he goes ‘the grey wardens die here’ i’m Fucking Lost Already man. hhhhhoooohhghghghghghgh i’d go on but i’m running on cough syrup and midol so it would be even less coherent than ususal

10) Have you read any of the comics/books?

lmao i own all the books but i haven’t been able to finish them because My God are they poorly written. LIKE good Characters, good characters, shit prose.

11) If you read them, which was your favourite book?

the one i’m furthest along in rn is stolen throne so i’ll go with that one

12) Favourite DLCs?

jaws of hakon -holy shit as an archaeologist grad student i cannot tell you how much i Fucking Loved the lore dump in site form that was jaws of hakon JUST OH MY GOD it was AMAZING the first time you talk to professor what’shisface with the hot accent and he starts talking about chronologies via buckles i was fucking lost in nerd heaven

13) Things that annoy you.

homophobia and transphobia and racism. the games are Rife with bad correlations between real people and grey morality and poor handling of sensitive contents, though i don’t know if it was all done for ‘woke’ points or if some came from legitimate good intentions, most of my problems lie in those areas. fandom also hits a lot of my annoyances but that’s what block is for

14) Orlais or Ferelden?

antiva bitch

15) Templars or mages?

mages

16) If you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one?

same one! ellanis is my canon hof but noure is a part of his backstory and they meet during the blight [ellanis frees noure from a sentence of tranquility and conscripts them, uh, temporarily] noure leaves the group after like a week?ish and goes to nevarra. wren and galahad are twins, wren being the older one and the main rabble-rouser hawke. da’ean is the only quizzy but idrilla, linayel, mithra and a handful of other lavellan ocs all exist within the clan -idrilla and linayel and a few others come to skyhold after clan lavellan handles the unrest in wycome with da’ean’s help [my canon there is a bit wonky as of yet as i’m still working out the kinks]  

17) What did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc)

this is the part i suck at, i think ellanis named the mabari something after the flower that saved him? but i don’t remember tbh, and that’s the only one i cna think of rn too lkjlkjlkjklj

18) Have you installed any mods?

oh yes. ohhh yes i have an extense amount of mods on all three games, mostly cosmetic ones but a few gameplay ones

19) Did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden?

ellanis didn’t no, he thought warden’s were a bit of reality mixed with myth. when duncan shows up he’s more skeptical and curious than anything else, and his joining is less than enthusiastic but he makes the most of it for a good five years, before he fucks off to do his own research in antiva in seclusion -he just leaves, with an encripted note for nate making him warden-commander of ferelden while he’s gone and tells him not to tell anyone where he’s gone. only nate and velanna know where he is in the wardens

20) Hawke’s personality?

wren is a purple hawke! she knows what she wants and she is not afraid to go after it, although she does care deeply and shows her affections loudly. she’s a fucking chaotic stupid mess and i love her.

galahad is blue throughout. a natural big brother, super loving and patient and caring. he’s always looking to help, though when things go wrong he tends to blame himself only, he’s more together than wren though. 

21) Did you make matching armor for your companions in Inquisition?

....yes.......  my inquisition is a fashion disaster, everyone has a palatte but i do complimentary colors for my parties and lis Of Course

22) If your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change?

yes, ellanis would go back and kill the shems before they could crash the wedding -to prevent shianni from ever having to live through what she did. he would still have probably been conscripted by duncan soooo not too big a change for him but, for shianni it would be huge. 

ellanis has another but it’s tied up with noure’s: noure would go back and ambush the templars before being captured and then run for their life. without ever having lived in the circle i don’t, know exactly how noure would come out -probably happier, less jagged, less terrified and paranoid. but probably not by much if they had to live their life constantly looking over their shoulder. they may have ended up in nevarra this way too, but they wouldn’t have ever made it to kirkwall and they never would have met anders or karl, they may have never fallen out of love with ellanis via distance/assumed death, it would be far different than what happened.

wren and galahad both would go back and save bethany. doesn’t matter how, or what the cost to themselves would have been that’s their little sister and they would do anything to save her if they could.

da’ean’s is much the same. his biggest regret, the thing which haunts him the most is ashalle’s [not dao ashalle lmao] death. he was supposed to protect her and after what happens in that field and that month, da’ean blames himself for how his sister died. though he isn’t the one to blame, and later [far, far later] he is able to come to terms with what happened. though he never Truly shakes the guilt.

linayel would probably try to save his mother’s sight. he would tell her to stay with him by the fire, or would try and find a cure faster for her. the illness wasn’t his fault and he knows it wasn’t but given the chance he would save her sight if he could.  

23) Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon?

lmao canon? never heard of her, a shitton of what i write is either me taking canon and making it Good/Useable or me shitting on it and saying this is My Castle Now

24) Who did you leave in the Fade?

this choiice always pissed me off, or it did after i knew who they were. when i first played i had no idea who hawke was or who the grey warden contact was [stroud for my first couple of play throughs] at all. so i would flip flop between them without care really. 

now, in my canon alistair stays behind while hawke physically drags da’ean out because he was going to stay and fight or find a different way out. i still think its shit and a naratively piss-poor meta punch though

25) Favourite mount?

i’m a dirty gatherer so i don’t actually use any mount. the only time i Have used a mount was the royal 16 for screenshot purposes, which i lost when my harddrive crashed a couple months ago D:

[vvakarians]

DA 20 Questions

Tagged by @goblin-deity ! Thank you fam! If anyone wants to be tagged consider yourself tagged!

1. Favorite game of the series

Inquisition! It’s the one I started with! It’s an amazing and beautiful game. 

2. How did you discover Dragon Age? 

There was a cosplayer I used to follow here on tumblr that cosplayed as this character named Dorian, and then they cosplayed as Fenris. I looked into both characters because I really liked the designs. From there I checked out the game from the library and fell in love with DAI!

3. How many times have you played the games?

I’ve played DAI too many times to count, I can probably count on my pc, which is a handful of times, otherwise on my ps4 at least 25. DA2 I’ve completed exactly twice, played it four times. DA:O I’ve completed exactly once, but played multiple times, like three times I think.

4. Favorite race to play as?

Elves or qunari!

5. Favorite class?

I absolutely love mages, always have. In DAI I play as a necromancer or knight enchanter, in DA2 I play as a blood mage or a spirit healer. I have a harder time playing as one in Origins, but I usually play as a blood mage or an arcane warrior. Other than that I play as a Double Handed Warrior, usually a Reaver or some other scary subclass lmao.

6. Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions?

In general I usually make the same choices kind of? Mostly because I can’t push myself to ally with the templars. I do edit my canons outside of the actual games, like Calliope allies with the Mages but they do end up saving the templars as well, just after they get to Skyhold. Artemaeus, my city elf who was adopted by the Dalish, sided with the mages but left the templars to fend for themselves (save for Barris who did not deserve to die). Honi, my Adaar, sided with the mages and conscripted the templars, she was pretty harsh on them but decided that both sides could benefit from coming together. In general I haven’t changed my stance on the Grey Wardens, it wasn’t their fault that Clarel had a moment of weakness in being manipulated and I couldn’t find my Inquisitors justifying anger towards them enough to banish them. With Halamshiral I can’t in any way place Celene on the throne, it’s just my personal thing. After reading Masked Empire I said nah. But if ya like her that’s cool. I don’t usually have someone drink from the Well, I considered it with Callie, but I felt that shit could go down from a Solas perspective and I was not about that angst. 

7. Go to adventuring party?

1st World State: Tauriel Mahariel /Ophelia Hawke/ Calliope Lavellan

DAO: Alistair/Zevran or Leliana/Morrigan or Wynne 

DA2 (When I need Anders): Anders/ Aveline/ interchangeable rogue

DA2 (When I need Fenris): Fenris/ Sebastian or Varric / Merrill

DAI (Base Game): Solas/ Sera or Cole/ Iron Bull

DAI (Hakkon): Dorian/ Iron Bull/ Sera or Cole

DAI (Descent): Vivienne/ Iron Bull/ Sera

DAI (Trespasser): Dorian /Iron Bull / Interchangeable rogue

2nd World State: Aviel Tabris / Valentyne Hawke / Honi Adaar

DAO: Alistair / Leliana or Zevran / Wynne

DA2: Anders (or Merrill)/ Isabela / Fenris (or Aveline)

DAI: Dorian (or Vivienne) / Sera / Iron Bull (or Blackwall)

3rd World State: Mah’Vir Surana / Sparrow Hawke / Artemaeus Lavellan

DAO: Zevran / Morrigan / Alistair (or Sten)

DA2: Fenris / Merrill (or Anders) / Interchangeable Rogue

DAI: Dorian (or Solas) / Cole or Sera / Cassandra

8. Which of your characters did you put the most thought into?

Calliope 100%, I put most of the thought into my first world state characters. Tauriel was the easiest to make and her canon hasn’t changed much, same with Ophelia, but all three of my heroes were well, well thought out. I’ve had four or five years of making them under my belt.

9. Favorite romance?

For angst, absolutely Solas. You can’t get much more angsty than that. Other than that my most favorite romance is Fenris’, he’s a character that I love greatly and as a sexual abuse survivor with PTSD I related to him a lot lmao. 

10. Have you read any of the comics/books?

I have all of the books except for Last/First Flight (?), I’m currently reading Masked Empire. I also have the World of Thedas Volume...2? And I have the first Magekiller comic.

11. If you’ve read them, which was your favorite book? 

Masked Empire for sure, it’s because I love Felassan.

12. Favorite DLC’s?

Trespasser or Jaws of Hakkon, I absolutely love the stories in both. I’m also biased towards my favorite of the series/I love killing Dragons. And Veil Quartz, I love Veil Quartz.

13. Things that annoy you?

The fandom mostly. I fucking hate some of y’all shits. I hate the lack of rep too, they did fucking great in DA2 with almost every LI being bisexual. Could have done that with DAI with the straight LI’s but, shrugs. Other than that I don’t hate it much. 

14. Orlais or Ferelden?

Orlais, it has the Emerald Graves and I love big ass trees. 

15. Templars or mages?

Is that even a question? Mages

16.  If you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one?

I have three separate world states, and then an AU with @trans-aloth . Calliope’s has at least 25 separate oc’s in it because I’m a fucking menace. Other than that they usually stay seperate. Alexx and I combined worldstates with Cianan and Callies for that AU. 

17. What did you name your pets?

I only have names for Calliopes world state pets, but I will def name the rest of the others when I play. 

Tauriel: Kili (mabari)

Cassiopeia: Ser Claws (mabari)

Merielle: Howl (mabari)

Serynn: Athena (mabari)

Fen’Asha: Pluto (mabari)

Ophelia: Willoughby (mabari)

Calliope: Bones (Deepstalker) , Enasalin (Dracolisk) 

18. Have you installed any mods? 

I did way back when I thought my computer could handle it. Still got all of them downloaded but I play primarily on my ps4 or ps3.

19. Did your Warden want to be a Grey Warden? 

Tauriel had accepted the fact that she needed to become a Warden and only was angry about it when Duncan said that it was no place for the children. She managed to convince him to let her take them however. Cassie did not want to become a Warden and fought it tooth and nail, but had nowhere else to go. Serynn had accepted it wholeheartedly, it wasn’t much of an issue. Merielle wanted to get out of the Circle but was difficult in taking the Ritual because she didn’t like the fatality rate. Fen’Asha was also in that same boat and at first saw it as another injustice. 

20. Hawke’s personality? 

Ophelia is a securely purple unless dealing with templars, then it’s Red through and through. Halcyon (their eldest sister) is a Red Hawke, Blue with her family, and Hero is a Blue Hawke, Red with templars.

21. Did you make matching armor for your companions in Inquistion? 

Yes! I usually do! I use a gold/red/black color scheme, so it involves a lot of fucking Dragon Bone. 

22. If your character could go back in time and change one thing what would it be?

Tauriel would have gone back and saved Tamlen. She would have insisted that they look for him and at the very least if they found him they would make him a Grey Warden too. If that wasn’t an option she’d make sure Evra and Krie didn’t get traumatized by the fact their father was killed by a mirror of all things. 

Ophelia would go back in time and watch their mother more closely, or perhaps ask Carver not to go to the Deep Roads with them. Leandra’s death was the hardest thing they ever had to go through aside from handing Carver over to the Grey Wardens. The estate just felt so empty without Leandra. 

Calliope would go back in time and save their best friend from being taken by the templars. But they also realize that things would have been vastly different or the both of them that way. And they also realize that they were pretty young when Isi was taken from the Clan, they wouldn’t have been able to do much. It’s just something that haunts them to this day. 

23. Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon?

Calliope is a mage and a warrior, SO I MEAN. Calliope’s home clan is also from Orlais and their mother is a former slave from Tevinter who then went to the Kirkwall Circle after being captured in the Free Marches.Other than that they end up with a First Enchanter that’s an oc of @trans-aloth ‘s. I also have an oc that ends up with Varric, because I have a distaste for the real life Bianca. Tauriel also ends up in a poly relationship with Cassiopeia and Alistair. Other than that, Alistair, Zevran, and several other people are trans. 

24. Who did you leave in the Fade?

Stroud, all three times.

25. Favorite mount?

Dracolisk’s or any of the Harts, I love ugly boys and giant elk.

[royal-babey]

mass effect au or a modern au? ^^

I did want to do Mass Effect, but I have no ideas ‘’^^ so modern it is!~Tw for mentions of child abuse and mentions of attempted sexual assault. Also vomiting, sickness, and car crashes!~1) In a modern au, Adair is in college studying to be a doctor after the death of Mahanon (car crash), Solavellis is studying to be a lawyer after the injustice to his cousin, Kit is in the foster system after his abusive parents finally kicked him out after seventeen years of imprisonment, and my wardens, Nico Mahariel And Aya Tabris, are still grey wardens, but in this verse they’re just an elite group of soldiers. Nico has a debilitating disease that he lost Tamlen to, and later it causes him to have to leave the wardens. He starts volunteering at a wolf rescue shelter! Aya is there because he would rather be a soldier than in jail. He had those two choices. (I don’t have any ideas for Percy, Bel, Tarot, or my twins ‘’^^)2) Adair meets Dorian off campus when Adair is dragged to a party by his friends, and whoops they end up in bed together both hungover. Still clothed though, much to Adair’s relief. They had just been talking drunkenly and passed out. Vis meets Cassandra when the security guard calls for her to come down and take custody of Vis after he was caught vandalising a wall with graffiti. As the head of security, she has to endure his endless flirting. In the end she says ‘’If I buy you a coffee, will you shut up?’’ It works ;D. Kit meets Bull when he’s 19, two years out of the system (he was adopted uwu ) Bull saves Kit from some guy trying to take advantage of him (Kit’s naivety and muteness are both great weaknesses, and make him an easy target for /very/ bad people....) Bull beat the shit out of the guy, managed to calm Kit who was in ‘’bite, kick, and scratch’’ mode, and called Krem to come help out since he was less intimidating than a giant horned man with lots of scars. They took him to the nearest coffee shop and spent the rest of the afternoon drinking coffee, and even ordered lots of pizza! Nico meets Zev in the wardens. Zev isn’t to /become/ a warden, but they do meet on the barrack grounds a lot. Zev is in an elite group called ‘’the crows’’, and they kind of hit it off. (The crows in this verse are not child kidnapped/torturers/etc. Just another group of soldiers experienced in assassinations)3) Adair has a pet duck called mango, Kit adopts a cat and just falls it Kitty, Vis gets a dog called Millie, Nico adopts a wolf and calls it Falon, and Aya adopts a green cheek conure and calls it grass :/4) Adair haunts the local bookstore, witch craft store, and frequently buys books on the occult and different healing herbs to mix into beverages, or just have as incense. He also smokes elfroot. Vis kind of sleeps around the campus and goes to a lot of parties, whilst causing a fuck ton of trouble. Kit basically just hangs around with the chargers and /finally/ starts dating Bull after a year of knowing each other when they just finished being in a bar brawl, and it’s an impulsive victory kiss followed by more victory kisses, and Krem yelling at them to get a room. Nico is unfortunately in hospital a lot and spends more time there than the field, but he is one of the fastest rising officers in the grey warden ranks. Aya is close as his second in command, and frequently berates Nico to take better care of himself. When he isn’t soldiering, he’s doing charity work at refugee and homeless centres.5) Mahanon died in a car crash, in a car /Adair/ was driving. Adair’s anxiety got the better of him, and he crashed into an oncoming truck. Mahanon died upon impact, where as Adair was knocked unconscious and was hospitalised for a month or so. That’s why he’s so interested in occult. He wants to talk to Mahanon again. When he does though...It’s quickly replaced by a demon, and he’s semi-possessed. Mahanon’s spirit is the other half trying to protect the rest of Adair that /isn’t/ possessed. Tamlen and Nico had been messing around in an abandoned warehouse, trying to find ‘’ghosts’’. Instead they found a tainted mirror, and Tamlen accidentally broke it. The taint infected them both, and when Merrill came looking for them, she found them both unconscious and barely alive. They were rushed to hospital, and where Tamlen died just a few days later from it, Nico barley survived, but it still affects him. He collapses every so often, is feverish and vomits a lot, and has to spend a few days in sick bay.

[himbowelsh]

I LOVE that you incorporated snafu into gene's family. I would love an extension of the gator fic where the philly squad interacts with him more

Anonymous asked: Part 2 to the Philly crew in the bayou or if possible expand on the gene/ Merrill cousin relationship? I love what you wrote!!!

AN: y’all are ravenous

They make it for six days -- which is nearly a week longer than Gene had been sure Babe would last. Six days after Babe and his friends rode up in their gaudy yellow taxi, Gene's boyfriend pulls him aside. 

"We need to talk," Babe declares, sober as a judge. It’s rare that Gene sees this amount of gravity from his boyfriend, who prefers to deal with serious matters lightheartedly if he deals with them at all. The solemn look in Babe’s eyes lets him know that this isn’t a joke, so Gene is prepared for anything when Babe tugs him into the hallway.

"We've just gotta find another way to do this,” Babe declares, and some of Gene’s alarm fades to be replaced by dismay. So that’s what this is about.Gene blinks back at Babe and sighs. He's been expecting this conversation for a long time.It's not rocket science. Gene's childhood home is far from big, with just three bedrooms and a sofa to fit a lot of people. His siblings are all living out of the home, but Gene's still got his room at his mother's place. He's been letting Babe stay in his room. Bill and Fran get the guest room, Julian has been camping out under the kitchen table, and Spina was the one unlucky enough to wind up sharing the living room with Merriell.He isn't envied. No one wants to bunk up with Merriell.His mother fretted over having so many guests in such cramped quarters, but Gene knows she's eating it up. His mother is a born hostess, and since Gene's father passed away early this year she hasn't gotten many chances to entertain. Gene may have moved back to Louisiana from Philly to keep an eye on her, but it's a well-known secret that she's been lonely. That's the only reason Gene doesn't regret imposing all his visitors in his poor Maman. He knows how grateful she is to have a little life in the house again."You've got a wonderful boy, Gene," she told him several nights before as they washed dishes side by side. "And he's got some fantastic friends. They're good people, Gene, and I couldn't be happier for you."Hearing such words from his mother made Gene feel impossibly warm inside. Knowing that she approves of Babe is a massive relief. Every one of Gene's siblings, who've all met Babe throughout, have declared him a catch.However, the situation is far from that simple. Babe didn't just have to win over Gene's family. He needed to learn to live with Merriell.And, well, that's a tall order for anyone.Bill and Fran were weary around him for a few days, which was understandable. Gene didn't know how to tell them that Merriell was the type of man who'd be far more interested in Bill than his girlfriend; thankfully (?), Merriell wasted no time making that clear.He's been fascinated by Julian for the past couple of days. The youngest of Babe's friends doesn't seem to know what to make of the attention. When Merriell is intrigued by someone, he locks onto them like a vice, unwilling to let go. Julian is obviously not prepared for this kind of attention. He responds to Merriell's unflinching stares by ignoring them, and his teasing the only way he knows how -- firing right back."You clean yourself as well as you clean your plates, boy?" Merriell drawls after dinner one night. Julian's brow furrows into a glare."I do bother to shower every day. Not something you'd know about, huh Shelton?"Merriell leaned back in his seat, a slow grin spreading across his face. A flicker of discomfort crosses Julian's face, and Gene almost feels bad for him.(He's just happy Merriell is keeping his eyes off Babe. On the first night of their visit he got a little too handsy, and Gene nearly bruised his wrist for it. Merriell looked startled enough by the reaction from his soft-spoken cousin that he hasn't tried anything again. If he does, Gene might well kill him.)"Why is he here?" Spina hissed to him at breakfast. Merriell sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, as he crunched on an apple. He wasn't even trying to pretend he wasn't eavesdropping; Gene tries to ignore his smirk over Spina's shoulder."He's a wanderer. When Merriell don't have anywhere else to go, he winds up with family. That makes this his home for as long as he needs it."Spina crinkles his nose. "Some loyalty. My Ma's best any of us silly if we tried a thing like that with our aunts."Merriell's taken more than his fair share of beatings, Gene thinks. Maybe he just can't act like a normal human being because he didn't grow up in a normal home. He did not get the happy childhood of Gene and his siblings, with two devoted parents and a strong support system. For Merriell, nothing was ever stable.So Gene can understand where his Maman is coming from when she insists that Merriell needs to stay. He only wishes his cousin weren't so good at souring this visit for everyone else."I know," Gene says to Babe, holding up a hand. "I know. It's too cramped in here, and Shelton ain't easy to live with. You don't gotta tell me.""He stole my cereal this morning, Gene. He just slid it out from under me, sat at the other end of the table, and ate it. Stared at me the whole time." Babe looks haunted by the memory. "Who does that?"Merriell Shelton, that's who."He took Spina's hat. We don't know where he put it." "Try under the couch cushions," Gene suggests. He knows Merriell keeps a large horde of odds and ends there, most of them stolen. He found an entire pair of shoes under there once. He still has no clue who they belonged to. There was also a fork, a pair of earrings, a few seashells, a dictionary, empty shell casings, and acorns. That's just what Gene managed to see. He knows Merriell’s got a lot more.

Babe shakes his head, looking exasperated. "And he keeps grabbin’ Julian's ass. There's nothing there for him to even grab, but the bastard's determined. Julian feels harassed."Gene heaves a sigh. "I'll tell him to keep his hands to himself.""That's all I ask, Gene." Babe looks regretful. Just to show there are no hard feelings, Gene grabs him around the waist and pulls him into a kiss.

When they pull away, Babe is grinning at him; he leans in close to Gene’s ear, both of them reluctant to let go. What Babe whispers, however, is the last thing Gene expects.

“Can you get my wallet back too?”

He pushes Babe away. “He took your wallet?”

“I don't know how! It was in my damn pocket, and next thing I know my driver’s license is taped to the front door. He won't tell me where he put it, Gene!”

Gene closes his eyes and sighs. He only knows one thing for certain; this Merriell situation is getting out of hand, and it needs to end before there's any bloodshed. (This isn't a metaphor. With Merriell and the Philly crew in the house, anything could happen.)He has to find a solution.

"I'll give you a hundred dollars if you get outta here."

Merriell cranes his neck up from his bagel. Somehow, with his head at a 90-degree angle, he still manages to stare Gene straight in the eyes. Gene can feel that crocodile gaze smoothing over him, picking out any tick that could let Merriell know he’s lying. After a long second, the other man lets out a huff of breath. 

“Generous offer, cousin,” he hums. “You that desperate to get rid of me?”

“Yes. A hundred dollars, final offer.”

Merriell’s eyes sharpen, go from scrutinizing to predatory in the space of a breath. His lips curl back in a caricature of a grin that leaves Gene’s skin prickling. “Make it five hundred and you got yourself a deal.”

Gene grits his teeth. “That ain't happening, Merriell.”

His cousin sighs, leaning back in his chair, and swings his feet up on the kitchen table. If Gene’s Maman could see him, she’s smack him so hard his teeth rattled, but she’s showing the Philly visitors around town, and Merriell knows he’s safe. His smirk drips with smugness, thick enough to drown in.

“Then I guess I'm staying right where I am,” he replies, and turns back to his bagel.

So, he could have taken the high road and not tried to bribe Merriell. That would be the right thing to do. Gene knows that, and there’s a part of him that regrets ever stooping so low.

It’s just... he has needs, alright? He wants to spend some time with his boyfriend, and he can’t do that with Merriell haunting the house and constantly leering at Babe like he’s a piece of raw meat.

Gene has already taught him to keep his hands far away from Babe, but the same can’t be said for eyes. He suspects (not just from the attention Merriell pays to Babe, but the picture of an unfamiliar ginger man that serves as his phone’s lockscreen) that his cousin has a special interest in redheads.

“You ain’t gonna stare at my boyfriend like that again,” he warns one night after Babe has retreated to bed (and safety). Merriell looks disinterested in what he has to say. He’s busy using his knife to trace patterns on his aunt’s nice tablecloth, stopping just short of tearing the fabric. He doesn’t look up at Gene, only smirks and clicks his tongue.

“Or what?”

“Or you won’t have eyes to look at him with.”

Gene’s threat is so deadpan that it jolts Merriell from his nonchalance. He looks up to find his cousin staring at him, unflinching. Something in Gene’s expression must make it clear that he means business, because Merriell prickles up like a gator’s mouth and starts getting twitchy.

“You threatening me, cuz?”

“I am,” Gene replies evenly. “This is me being nice. Don’t make me be mean, Shelton. You won’t like it.:

He leaves Merriell gaping after him, and doesn’t let himself smile until he’s safely out of sight. He might not be taking lessons from the Bill Guarnere School of Threatening People, but he thinks he does pretty well on his own.

Speaking of Bill Guarnere.

“I’m gonna wring your neck and use your spine as a fuckin’ toothpick!”

Gene and Babe jolt awake in each others’ arms to the sound of Bill’s thunderous bellows echoing throughout the house. Babe lets out a groan, burying his face in the pillow. Reluctantly, Gene extracts himself from his boyfriend’s embrace. The last thing he wants is to be stitching anyone up tonight, Bill or Merriell. 

When he steps into the hallway, he doesn’t even know why he’s surprised to find a nearly-naked Bill Guarnere cornering his cousin against the wall. Fran lingers in the doorway behind him, equally unclothed and looking fit to explode. Spina and Julian both have the good sense to stay out of the way, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire of Guarnere’s rage, but Gene charges straight through.

“What the hell’s goin’ on here?” he demands. There’s fire and brimstone in his voice; but he sees his mother’s silhouette at the end of the hallway, and he knows they’re in for much worse if this situation doesn’t get settled now.

“He busted in on us!” Bill shouts, at the same time Fran exclaims, “The little fucker was watching us!”

“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. Sounded like a dyin’ animal in there,” Merriell replies. He’s not even trying to hide his grin, and looks as thrilled with himself as a kid in a candy store. That’s the most unnerving thing.

Gene rounds on him, incredulous. When his cousin shrugs, he’s tempted to grab him by the scruff of his neck and shake him.

Thankfully, he doesn’t get the chance. Maman charges in at that moment, armed with her broom and the fury of a woman who only gets six hours of sleep a night, and puts an end to the whole thing. “Merriell Shelton, you get back to bed and don’t bother anybody else! The two of you, simmer down! There’ll be no fightin’ in my house otherwise you’re all welcome to leave, and that includes my son!”

Shamefaced (for all his brashness, he’d never dare to disrespect someone’s mother) Bill heads back into his room. Fran follows, casting one last glare at Merriell over her shoulder. Merriell bares his teeth as the door swings shut.

“I don’t want to hear one more complaint,” Maman warns, wagging her broom in Merriell’s face. Merriell is solemn until the moment she vanishes back into her bedroom.

Gene finally turns his stone-hard glare on his cousin. “You’re a damn catastrophe.”

Merriell says nothing; he just whistles as he turns on his heel, slowly sauntering back into the living room. 

“Babe,” says Gene -- very calm, all things considered. “Who the hell is in bed with us?”

There is a bony elbow digging into his ribs, and a leg twined with his that definitely does not belong to his boyfriend. When he fell asleep, it was with Babe by his side. Now someone’s pressed up against him, alright, but it sure as hell isn’t Babe.

To his credit, Babe doesn’t seem alarmed at all. He shifts in bed, reaching out an arm, and in the darkness Gene feels it close around his shoulder. He might be unfamiliar with whoever’s lying next to him, but he’d know Babe’s touch anywhere.

“Don’t get mad. Julian wanted to sleep here tonight.”

“Let me guess,” Gene sighs. “He needed to get away from Merriell.”

“He’s watching him sleep,” Babe confirms. Julian, who Gene had assumed to be sleeping, lets out a dissatisfied grunt.

“I’ve never felt so hunted,” he grumbles. Babe’s comforting touch leaves Gene’s shoulder to clap his friend on the back.

This is it, Gene decides. It’s one thing to ruin this vacation for him and everybody else, but now Merriell Shelton is inadvertently taking away the one sacred place he gets to share with Babe -- the bedroom.

Merriell needs to go.

So, Gene discards his morals again, and steals his cousin’s phone.

He’s out of options at this point. Bribing Merriell won’t work; threats just get him excited; and the more everyone else chafes at his presence, the more inclined Merriell seems to be to stick around. Gene has to go to a higher power -- and if his mother won’t kick him out, well, he has to go to someone who’s authority matters to Merriell even more.

What’s the harm of one more guest, anyways?

“Hi... Snafu? I don’t know any Snafu, sorry... no, this is Merriell’s cousin. My name’s Eugene Roe... no, I’m sorry, I don’t know why he hasn’t called you. I don’t know why Merriell does half the things he does... well, why don’t you come down here yourself and ask him? Door’s always open.”

When he hangs up the phone, it’s with the renewed knowledge that he’s fighting a war worth winning. Merriell has his own personal problems; instead of sorting them out, he’s mucking everybody elses lives up. Gene is doing him a favor.

Morals be damned, he needs his peace of mind back.

Eugene Sledge shows up at their front door that Sunday.

Merriell takes one look at the serious-faced redhead and drops Maman’s teapot to the kitchen floor. No one has a chance to register what’s happening before Snafu has torn out the back door and is taking off through the bayou.

“Shelton!”

Now, just from one look at him, Gene can tell that Sledge is no more equipped for trudging through the wilderness than Babe is. He must have less experience with alligators than any of the Philly crew; he’s wearing white slacks, for god’s sake.

None of this stops him from sprinting after Merriell as fast as his skinny legs can carry him.

For a few seconds, the other residents of the kitchen simply gape after them in shock. There’s not much else they can do. It’s not like they can have any more tea.

Then Spina exhales and grabs a piece of toast from the place in the middle of the table. “Someone pass the OJ, please?”

So, breakfast continues as normal.

No one worries about Merriell or Sledge until about twenty minutes later, when there’s still no sign of either of them. Gene would like nothing more than to push his pain-in-the-neck cousin out of his mind; but the lingering worry that he’s managed to drown himself, or drown Sledge, or they both had an unfortunate run-in with Etienne, nags at him. His last few bites of breakfast are heavy in his mouth. By the time he’s finished, anxiety has him tapping his feet against the tile floors.

His mother is the one to finally notice. She rolls her eyes at him. “Well? Go find them, if you’re so interested.”

Gene springs up from the table, and Babe follows in the next second. Together, they rush out the back door and begin to scour the Roe’s lush homestead for any sign of either runaway.

Gene has no luck for about five minutes before he hears Babe’s immistakeable hiss of his name. For a moment, he’s startled. Then he catches sight of Babe crouched behind some bushes at the far end of the yard, gesturing to him.

He crouches down next to him and almost gasps in surprise at what he sees. His cousin is in the ground; Sledge, somehow, has pinned him down and is sitting on top of him. For a second he’s sure he’s about to see Merriell get his face pummeled in (finally, a wicked little part of his brain thinks) before he realizes they they’re not fighting at all. Sledge is on top of Merriell, leaning in so they’re nose-to-nose, but they aren’t arguing.

They’re... talking. In calm, low voices, too quiet for Gene to pick up. He can���t hear what they’re saying, but the quick kiss Sledge presses to Merriell’s lips a few seconds later makes the whole thing pretty clear. When he pulls back, Merriell’s face is bright red; but Sledge is grinning.

“That ought to teach you a lesson,” Sledge tells him in a louder voice. When he leans back in, both Babe and Gene have the decency to look away.

For a moment they can only stare at each other, blinking in surprise. “Huh,” says Babe. Gene echoes the statement. “Wow.”

Leaning back on his heels, Gene sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “You know, Babe,” he says to his boyfriend, “I don’t think Merriell Shelton is gonna be our problem anymore.”

[ravel-puzzlewell]

Hi, this is a bit apropos of nothing but I'd like to ask: do you think a Fenris/Hawke/Isabela OT3 could work and be happy? Fenris + Izzy seem to like each other quite a bit, so that prob wouldn't be an issue, but they both also seem to need a lot of encouragement, attention and reassurance that they're worthy of love and wanted for themselves and... idk, I'm not sure whether poly relationship wouldn't make them feel like they alone can't even keep your attention? If that makes sense.

Ugh, tough question, as I presume we’re talking healthy long-term stable relationship with all parties feeling satisfied and content? Because I think that would take addressing a lot of issues these people have.

I mean, they are clearly attracted to each other, which already gives fundament to that ot3. But as you mentioned yourself, both Izzy and Fenris need a lot of encouragement, because they have terribly low self-esteem.  Both of them end the relationship with Hawke after the first night because they think they’re too much trouble and Hawke would be better off with someone else, Fenris outright admits - “I thought it’s better if you hate me.” They only attempt to reconcile things if Hawke do not find anyone else in 3 goddamn years. So I imagine it would take a lot of transparent communication to negotiate the relationship, which… they are extremely bad at? Both of them struggle to talk about their feelings, let alone their needs and anxieties, and both of them are bad at establishing boundaries, especially Fenris. Which, I mean, understandable, since he wasn’t allowed to have any boundaries for the most of his life, but it still complicates things immensely.

Also there are ways their personalities and survival mechanisms clash pretty badly. Fenris can be a  hugely judgmental jerkward who thinks that the best thing to do for a person after something terrible happened to them is to spell out harsh life lessons so they can do better next time. He also insists on  forcibly confronting people with consequences of their decisions in no polite terms (“You are a monster” to Merrill right after her friend died, frex). While Isabela prefers to dismiss or try to escape the consequences, lowkey labeling herself a bad person so whatever, nothing she does matters, which, you know, is pretty much contradicts with how Fenris views things. They even have a conversation in Act 3  where Fenris basically shames her for qunari invasion and tells her that she’d be chemically brainwashed if it wasn’t for Hawke. (Yikes, way to be a dick, Fenris) In a long-term relationship where your decisions affect each other, you need to be able to discuss them in better terms than Fenris’ judgemental accusations of “Look how hard you fucked up” and Isabela’s “Haha,  guess I’m just a lying thieving snake then ¯\_(ツ)_/¯”, because it doesn’t lead to a productive way to solving issues.

And then there’s Izzy’s defensive mechanism of making fun of traumatic experiences, as when she’s joking about his former master ”oiling him up. “ I don’t assume bad intentions from her, on the contrary, I think for Izzy making fun of bad shit is a way to show that you’re strong and don’t care about it anymore. But we know that Fenris *is* still haunted by his past and abuse from the private conversations with him and his PTSD episode after first night with Hawke. But as I said already, he’s very bad at establishing boundaries, so instead of showing his discomfort he just closes off - “Fenris maintains an appearance of calm, but it is only a facade. Every wound he takes stirs at his deeply buried resentment, increasing his attack damage.” When Fenris thinks his pain is mocked, he gets defensive - in rivalmance, he lashes out at Hawke when he thinks that the sword he’s gifted is a mockery.  I don’t mean to say that after that banter with Izzy he went to cry in a corner, but instead it leads to him keeping his guard up around her, which prevents him from really connecting with her emotionally. Even when they’re having an affair, Izzy starts the conversation with “I can’t stop thinking about that night”, which from her is downright intimate and not her usual carelessly rowdy, but Fenris cuts her off with “then I’ll see you tonight”, and when she’s surprised at his bluntness, he answers with “Did you expect flowers?” This is from the guy who can be ridiculously, poetically romantic, but there he clearly keeps emotional distance and insists on being casual.

And this is just Fenris\Isabela issues, I’ve never been in a poly relationship, but I imagine that bringing in Hawke complicates things hugely, as Fenris and Izzy are both insecure about how much they are wanted, but too proud to admit\discuss it. You need Hawke to manage to balance a relationship with two survivors of sexual and emotional abuse with conflicting defense mechanisms. And like, I’m sure it can be written, I’m sure there are fics where it’s been done, but I personally think it’s gotta be pretty fucking hard to write it believably, without glossing over character conflicts and dynamics and without turning Hawke into a full-time therapist.

[ageofdragon]

Supernatural trucker AU? Please tell more!

Alright, it’s kind of one of our younger ones that we work on only when we are driving to like the airport in Washington D.C. at 6 in the morning or to a convention center (for a comic/anime/game convention) at night. But I’ll share what we do have so far.

The premise is that Everett Hawke (the older twin and daniel’s) and Niul Hawke (mine, younger) both work for a trucking company owned by Isabela. They do long-haul team trucking together with their little dog and sort of moonlight as ghost whispers, but not on purpose.

Like they didn’t even mean to come to know about supernatural things, but ended up finding these things in the liminal spaces that are truck stops, rest stop starbucks, and 12am Wafflehouses.

For example, there is this one starbuck rest stop on their usual route. Everett and Niul would stop there for drinks and this one guy who works there that promises to fulfill people’s greatest wishes, but the twins kind of shrug. They’re good and live decent lives, they don’t really want anything. So it frustrates the hell out of the guy, to the point every time they stop in at this particular starbucks he is there and offering something. Money, Fame, Sex, ANYTHING. But no, they just want a caramel macchiato and a mocha latte.

And eventually, the twins realize this guy is crossroads demon and just accept that crossroads demon Zev makes one hell of an Americano, is a pretty okay guy, and is a good friend. While Zev complains about how awful human food service is and how he sometimes just misses the days when you could buy a soul on a dirt road for 10 years of sick guitar skills.

Anders is a client they truck for and that Everett goes on “not” dates with when they’re in town for a delivery. no idea what Fenris does yet though.

Isabela and Niul are technically a thing too, like when they are out on the road and can afford to stop at an actual hotel or something he’ll call her and they’ll talk for a while. Sometimes Everett talks with her too and/or Merrill will join in on Isabela’s end, Merrill working for Isabela but also having more insight of the weird supernatural things that happen to them out on the road.

Also, the tiny dog. It’s Niul’s dog and he doesn’t always bring it with him, but sometimes he does and it freaks Everett out sometimes. Like they’ll pull into one of the liminal bubbles and Niul leaves the truck for whatever reason, this dog will turn its head towards Everett and talk to him in a very deep, deep voice. Everett just stares and listens to this dog talk and accepts it’s just another weird ass supernatural thing he has to deal with, except all by himself because this never happens when Niul is around. Is the dog possessed? Is it not a dog and something else? Is it just Everett who is being haunted???? NO IDEA! (but it’s probably justice or something latched onto everett or the dog).

Edit: Oh! I also forgot, they also find this batman (kind of mothman-ish) in the road during one of their drives and Everett pulls out a sawed-off shotgun (courtesy of Merrill) to see what is up with this bat guy. Anyways, he is like shaved and has a bunch of stitches and track marks. So Everett offers to give him a ride and help this guy out, because it kind of is their side job. He ends up talking with the bat guy and finds out that he was experimented on, essentially some people were trying to make an artificial shapeshifter (because actual ones exist) and it’s pretty fucked up. He basically escaped before they could kill him and so Everett and Niul spend an arc helping this bat guy get used to being a part of the supernatural community, while also coming to terms with himself. Which Niul gets to wake up and find out about all this later, when he sees giant bat man in their truck.

Bat guy is actually another Dragon Age OC too, from our tabletop (Antivan rogue guy, who is based off of pete wentz)