#and once Malcolm is gone and Bethany is the one who needs protecting

[herearedragons]

Okay, but… what if Secret Hawke wasn’t a mage.

What if her attention-drawing, humorous attitude was not a way to cope with the stressful reality of being an apostate, but a distraction tactic. That’s right, look at me, listen to me, laugh with me. Keep looking at me.

Don’t look at my sister.

[wicclan]

Thinking about how much pressure Leandra has always placed on Hawke. It's like when Malcolm died, Leandra lost the person who took the leader / protective role of their family, and since our Hawke was the eldest born before the twins and clearly would eventually be as powerful if not more than him, Leandra basically forced Malcolm's role onto Hawke.

So Hawke watches over the twins and Leandra, and since Leandra doesn't seem to know how to take on any blame or responsibility for their unpleasant circumstances of their life now that Malcolm is dead because of (probably mostly) shame. Exactly what her parents were worried about happening basically happened and she was stuck with 3 kids, an ocean and a country away from her old family and noble roots.

Leandra blames Hawke when the first twin dies, like immediately. Hawke just lost their sibling, same as Leandra lost her child, and Leandra's first instinct is to blame Hawke, when Hawke wasn't even near the twins and Leandra. Leandra was right there. Bethany/Carver dies while protecting Leandra.

Yet then she blames Hawke, saying "how could you let this happen?"

Later, If you take your surviving twin to the deep roads and they either die, or are saved by the Wardens, Leandra blames our Hawke yet again, despite the fact that whichever twin is still with you, gets pissed if you don't take them. They insist on going and if you relent and agree, Leandra blames you. As if you're the one still in "charge". Like you all aren't a family, with fully grown adults making their own choices now.

Then when Leandra dies, the game nearly tells you without saying outright that it's basically your fault because you're the one investigating the murders as your mom is being targeted as the next victim.

And if you weren't out galavanting through Kirkwall, making the money your now 2 person family's needs ( Gamlen doesn't count ) to keep living in your fancy mansion - you might have noticed the suspiciousness of your mom's new "boyfriend", or perhaps if you'd been one or two days faster in your investigation, you could've saved her!

The Hawke family is tragically poetic, and i hate that if you make a certain series of choices, everything that Leandra threw in Hawke's face and blamed them for...would seem true.

But I think that it also comes down to the fact that maybe actually Leandra just blames Malcolm for dying and leaving her all alone with the life they were supposed to have together - a life she doesn't know how to live without him.

She's grieving, and Malcolm is gone, but Hawke? Hawke who is supposedly the spitting image of Malcom, and very similar in personality and even power is right there. The only thing Leandra probably loves and hates and resents and adores all at once. Bitterness is all she really seems to know when Malcolm dies, and Hawke being the oldest, took the brunt of it all until Leandra herself died and left Hawke all alone with the guilt.

[kirkwallgremlin]

Memories of a Little Boy

1873 words, Carver & Malcolm Hawke featuring his relationship with Hawke and Bethany. Brothers can be a pain in the ass, especially when you're the one that always seems to get in trouble. Carver talks about the latest problem his brother is causing with their father.

[read on ao3]

“Go away,” Carver shouted, kicking the sticks he’d been building with aside in frustration as the entire thing crumbled to the ground again. Garrett just poked his tongue out. “This is why nobody likes mages.”

“Carver!” he heard their mother snap and he spun in alarm, not realising she had exited the house, let alone moved close enough to hear them.

Of course she’d heard him and not seen Garrett being a pest. It always happened like that.

“Apologise to your brother,” she told him, the look on her face telling him that he was in big trouble. But Carver stood silently looking at her, his fists balled defiantly by his sides. His lip wobbled but he clenched his jaw, determined not to let any of them see it.

Garrett should be apologising to him. He was the one using his stupid magic to make things impossible for Carver for absolutely no reason except to be the most annoying person in the world.

“He deserved it,” he said, watching his mother’s frown deepen. He knew he was in trouble, knew he’d only get in more trouble by refusing to apologise, but he couldn’t. Apologising was like admitting he was wrong and he wasn’t.

Tears burned in his eyes, threatening to fall and he tried to blink them away. The effort of holding them back made his throat hurt.

Garrett folded his arms, standing beside their mother. He poked his tongue out again and Carver stamped his foot, frustrated.

“You always take his side,” he yelled. “You like him better because he’s a mage. But I’d be happier if the Templars came and took him away.”

He knew he’d gone too far but he felt like sometimes it was true and the words were out there now. Determined not to let either of them see him cry, he turned and ran, heading away from the house, hoping he wouldn’t run into anybody else.

“Carver Aristide Hawke!” he heard their mother yell after him, the full name further compounding evidence that he was in Big Trouble. “You come back here right now.”

Maybe by the time he came back, she’d be less mad and he wouldn’t be in as much trouble.

Maybe he wouldn’t come back. That’d show them.

There was a rocky hill near the lake outside the village and Carver found himself there, tucked in behind a boulder where he could keep himself slightly hidden from the main road. He didn’t know how he felt, really. Angry yes, at Garrett, at their mother, at himself. Upset. Frustrated. He felt like he was shaking.

A tuft of grass grew nearby, almost out of arm’s reach and he scowled at it, imagining it was Garrett’s head. If he focused hard enough, maybe he’d be able to do something magic to it. Set it on fire. Freeze it. Shake it out of the ground or suck the life out of it like mages could apparently do.

Nothing happened.

Nothing ever happened when he tried. Not like the others. Not like Garrett or Bethany.

He ripped the grass out of the ground instead, flinging it away as hard as he could.

“Whoa there,” somebody said and Carver curled in on himself, legs tucked up against his chest. “Careful, Junior. You’ll take somebody’s head off.”

His father came into view beside the rock. He didn’t look angry but Carver didn’t want to take any chances. If he was here, then Mother must have told him that something had happened. He just hoped she hadn’t told him what Carver had said.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

The urge to cry was still there and Carver didn’t trust himself to answer. Instead he just shook his head. He really wasn’t sure if he was saying no, I don’t mind or no, you can’t, but his father sat beside him anyway.

“Want to talk about it?”

Carver just pulled out another tuft of grass, throwing that one away too. It didn’t go anywhere near as far as he hoped, the weight of the plant not enough to stop it from falling frustratingly short.

His father pressed something against his hand and he took it silently. A rock, one of the small fragments broken from the larger rocks around them.

“This one’s a bit heavier than grass. Might travel a little further,” he said as Carver wrapped his fingers around it. Carver glanced at him quickly, looking away when he thought their eyes might meet, pulling his limbs tighter around himself. “Just aim that way, away from the path. We don’t want to be responsible for any injuries.”

The edge of the rock was rough under Caver’s skin as he ran his thumb along the broken edge. He finally gave in, releasing himself slightly from the ball he’d curled into, pulling his arm back as he threw it as far he could, the distance much more satisfying than the grass had been. Before he even had time to lower his arm, another rock was being offered.

“Think you can make it all the way to the water?” his father challenged him, lifting his own rock. “I bet I can.”

None of their rocks made it even close to the water, but Carver didn’t really care. It felt good to throw them, like he was throwing parts of his anger and frustration away with every pebble.

“Hey Junior, this one looks like a heart,” his father said, holding the rock up to Carver. Carver did his best not to smile as he took it.

“Can I keep it?” he asked shyly and his father laughed, nodding as Carver slipped the rock into his pocket, flipping it between his fingers. It was the perfect size to hold.

“So Junior, ready to tell me what happened yet?”

“Garrett was using his magic on me,” Carver said, still fiddling with the rock in his pocket, trying to stop his mood from dipping too much again. “I was trying to build a wall so Bethany and I could be knights attacking a castle and he set one of my sticks on fire. And then he kept making the ground shake so they’d fall over. And he wouldn’t stop even though I kept telling him to.”

“Ah. We’ve been practicing that one,” his father said. “I wondered why he was so enthusiastic about practicing it. I’ll talk to him about that.”

“He always does things like that. But then I always get in trouble. Mother didn’t even want to hear what happened. She just yelled at me when he was the one who did something wrong.”

Carver’s lip wobbled as he gripped his new rock tightly. He ran his thumb over the smooth surface, rubbing circles against it.

“Must have been frustrating,” he said and Carver sniffed, trying to stop his nose from running like it was threatening to do. He nodded.

“I didn’t mean what I said though. About nobody liking mages or the templars taking him away. I’d miss him if that happened.”

“I know. And I’m sure Garrett does too. ” His father wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in for a sideways hug. “It’s easy to say things you don’t mean when you’re angry. But it’s important to be careful. You can’t always take things back once they’re said or done.”

“I know.” Carver looked down at the ground. He’d felt guilty about it ever since the words had left his mouth. “Why do you all get to be magic though? Why am I the only one who isn’t?”

When he and Bethany were younger, they’d pretend to be mages like their father, bravely casting their spells in the privacy of their own homes, with nobody around to wonder how the Hawke children knew so much about magic. Then Garrett had discovered his power and the twins had been fascinated, wondering what it was like, wondering if they would be magic too or if they’d be like their mother.

They shared so much that they always imagined they’d share their magic or lack thereof as well. But then Bethany had thrown somebody across a field trying to protect Carver and now he sometimes felt like he was losing her. Instead of the two of them playing together, she’d disappear with Garrett and their father to practice, doing Maker knows what, while he was left behind.

Now, instead of Carver and Bethany, a united force against the world, against Garrett, he was the one on the outside.

He’d tried so hard to make something magic happen, so that he could be like his sister, practicing with his father and his siblings, but no matter how hard he tried, how hard he’d practiced, nothing had ever happened. Bethany had told him how it felt, tried to teach him, but he was starting to lose hope.

“I don’t think anybody really knows how it works,” his father said. “It’s not always a blessing, Junior. It can be scary and dangerous and it’s forever. You’d always be looking over your shoulder, forever.”

Carver couldn’t help but think he didn’t care. He could face that danger with Bethany, both of them together. It wouldn’t matter, not if they were together. But instead, she was facing it alone.

“You have an important job too, Junior,” his father said. “There’s lots of ways to protect people without magic. Things you can learn to do when you don’t already have magic. Maybe we can practice those some more if you’d like to learn to fight.”

Carver looked at him, nodding with wide eyed enthusiasm. They’d done play fighting before but never proper teaching, and he liked the idea of that.

And what use would magic be against a sword? Maybe he’d finally get the upper hand on Garrett.

“Alright, tell you what, kiddo,” he said, ruffling Caver’s hair. “We head back and I’ll see what weapons I can find for you some time. You ready to go?”

“Can we start now?” asked Carver, still full of enthusiasm as he bounced to his feet. The rock in his pocket bounced against his leg as his father laughed.

“Maybe not today,” he said. “It’ll take time to find something and I’ll have a think about the best way we’re going to practice. I’m a little rusty with a sword, haven’t needed one much. But we’ll find something, won’t we, Carv?”

Carver nodded, a grin spreading across his face. Maybe he couldn’t do magic but he could protect his family in another way. Maybe he could be the best warrior in the Hawke family.

“You’ll still need to apologise to your brother and mother though.”

Carver frowned, his lower lip stuck out.

“Fine,” he said.

But even the idea of that, of admitting that he was wrong even though it was definitely Garrett’s fault, wasn’t enough to outshine his new excitement as he took his father’s hand and they headed home.

If being a mage was so dangerous, then maybe the reason he wasn’t one was because it was his job to keep his family safe instead.

Maybe he wasn’t ever meant to be Carver Hawke the mage.

Maybe he was meant to be Carver Hawke the warrior, protector of his family instead.

[goldshitter]

in which i wrote some shit

A Tragedy Named Hawke - Chapter 1

ao3

tw: references to depression, references to suicide ideation

Summary:

She asked him once, ankles crossed on a high chair back, what he would classify her as if she were one of his stories.

“A tragedy,” Varric’d said without thinking, partly because he was tipsy on a dozen flagons of shitty tavern wine, mostly because he’d watched his friend over half a decade lose everything over and over again, and tragedy seemed about right when it came to Hina Hawke.

She’d cracked a smile at that, half amusement, half grimace.

“And pray, Varric, how would I get out of my own tragedy?”

For one of the few times of his life, Varric knew of no reply.

Hina Hawke held her childhood memories near and dear to her heart, so close that even those nearest to her were not always sure she remembered her past, fondly or otherwise. But Hawke did remember, and she treasured the flashes she could still see to this day - her father and his beaming, proud smile, helping her and Beth carve out their first staves - her mother, who always looked younger, less burdened in these memories, sharing glimpses of worlds caught up in leather-bound pages with the family - Bethany, young and carefree, running screaming with laughter through plains and hills - Carver, ever determined, chasing after his sisters, but always a step behind Hina, never to fully catch up - all this, Hawke remembered, carried with her like a portrait of a lover captured in the space of a locket, so small, so easily missed, and most of all, hers to keep.

Because if Hawke were honest, and she was often honest, even when her own mind ached and screamed for denial, she rarely had, in her nearing thirty years of life, anything that was truly her own. Everything she cared for, everything she loved, she shared with another, often family, and when family died off, then with friends, friends that were now all but family in name if not blood. Even the few toys she had as a child she shared, with Carver, who wanted what he thought were cool older kid toys (they were just dolls dressed in fancy wooden armour that Father had carved for Hina), and with Bethany, who Hawke always thought deserved the world (and barring that, then the toys that Hina thought of as her own best friends would suffice). Hina shared her Father with everyone he loved, with their mother, who was never the same, emotionally, physically, mentally, after his death, with her siblings, who looked up to Malcolm Hawke like he was the Maker Himself come to mortal realm, even with neighbours, who always seemed to like the man even while suspecting, or knowing, his magical secret. Hina never minded, not back then, not when she knew nothing of loss and thought everything would work out, just because it always had. Hina was fine with sharing, even after her father died, because she still had Bethany, Carver, and her mother, and if there was one thing Hina did best, it was to love so hard she would break before she relented.

Hawke always thought she would kill herself before letting anything happen to Bethany. She saw her sister still, often in dreams, sometimes in waking moments, captured in frozen moments, of glee at one of Varric’s myriad stories, of stony frowns when Carver was being an ass, of exasperated sighs when someone in the group was doing something terribly stupid and so true to the epithet of “Hawke’s group of misfit friends” that there was nothing to do but to sigh in exasperation. She saw Beth even more clearly than she could recall her death, could see the glint in her sister’s eye as she responded to one of Fenris’ sardonic quips with equal wit with more clarity than she could remember the sight of Beth’s crushed skull on the ground. It wasn’t that she thought Bethany still lived; Hawke wasn’t delusional. She just had a good memory, and could oft-times translate her past into her present, so that figures from the dead would ghost into her present vision, blurring the lines between loss and now without Hawke losing sight of reality. She was a mage who had survived nearly three decades after all. If she couldn’t distinguish fantasy from reality by now, she would have lost herself to demons long ago.

You should have protected her, Leandra Hawke had said to her eldest daughter once. You should have saved her from herself, Maker damn it! Why, why didn’t you do something, anything? You just stood there and let your own sister be killed, murdered in front of you!

Carver tried to intervene, he always did, when Leandra was on one of her tirades. It didn’t help that neither woman paid much attention to the other Hawke, which probably didn’t help with Carver’s increasing sense of inferiority and invisibility.

Lay off, Mother, he’d said, for once outright standing up for his sister. You know very well Hina did all she could. You did all you could, too. There’s no need to go blaming anyone but the ogre that took Beth away from us.

She should have lived, Leandra sniffed, never one to let others get the last word in. She should be alive. She should be here.

And what of me, Mother? Hawke had wanted to ask, but didn’t, knowing full well the answer to the question she’d held for a long time now. Would you rather Bethany be here with us, and me in her place with Father?

“She doesn’t mean it,” Carver said to her later that night, when Leandra had gone to sleep and he’d found his only remaining sister sitting with knees drawn in front of a simmering fire that had died hours ago. “You know she loves us, and you especially. Without you she wouldn’t be here. Without you, none of us would be here.”

Hawke looked into embers that barely glowed, ashes that dusted logs that Orana had placed in the pit, Maker bless her strength even though she looked a wisp of a girl. She knew things must be bad if even Carver was there in an attempt to comfort her. Through great effort, she pulled her gaze from the fireplace and, failing at a genuine-looking smile, nodded in her brother’s direction instead.

“She’s tired, Mother is. She’s never been as strong as you, could never be as stoic as you’ve managed to be all these years.”

I’m tired too, Hawke thought, but would never say, least of all to her family. The only time her friends could ever pry admissions of weakness from her was when she was drunk and no longer had control of her faculties. So far, Carver did not know that strategy. Hawke meant to keep it this way.

“I know,” she said instead, and dropped her gaze back to the firepit. “I know.”

[shannaraisles]

In Marcher Fields - Chapter 21

Poppy Hawke was never the daughter her mother wanted, the sister her twin preferred, the hero Kirkwall desired. They do not see the woman who stands between them and the chaos that threatens. No one takes the time to look, until she crosses the path of a certain Knight-Captain with demons of his own to battle …

[Read on AO3]

9:42 Dragon, Late Drakonis

The journey back to Skyhold was oddly subdued. Despite the victory, the Inquisitor and her inner circle were very aware of what had been lost to ensure that victory. Everyone was very careful around Poppy as the army made its slow way back toward the Frostbacks. Thus, when Cullen announced that he and his wife would catch up with them in a day or two and drew her away toward the town of Val Firmin, no one argued.

"Why are we stopping here?" she asked as they rode into the town together, but all he gave her was a mysterious glance, almost a teasing glimmer in those whiskey-warm eyes of his.

Val Firmin was a jewel, she had to admit. Built on a sloping hill overlooking Lake Celestine and the Imperial Highway, it sparkled in the gathering dusk as torches and candles were lit to hold back the night. The Chantry dominated the top of the hill, as many chantries did in Orlais, but that was not where Cullen was leading her. He drew her to a quiet district, to a neat little inn, claiming her hand in his own with an encouraging smile to lead her inside. A few words to the innkeeper, and they were sitting down to a hot meal together in a corner of the taproom while a room was prepared above them.

"Why are we here?" Poppy asked him again, curiosity overpowering the faint numbness of grief that had overshadowed everything in the past days and weeks.

"Am I not allowed to gift my wife with comfort and privacy every now and then?" Cullen countered, the sheer force of suspicious innocence in his expression drawing a weary smile from her in return.

"Cullen. I'm fine."

"You don't have to be fine, Poppy." He reached across the table, enfolding her hand within his grasp. "Not with me."

She shook her head, her smile regretful, letting her thumb stroke over his knuckle. "I don't know how to not be fine," she murmured back to him. "I've always been the one everyone else leans on."

"Lean on me," he told her, raising her hand to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"I don't know how," she whispered hopelessly.

Cullen smiled tenderly at her, turning her hand to kiss her palm. "Let me show you."

How could she refuse? She had been strong for him. And, despite her protests, there had been occasions when she had leaned on him in the past. She knew he would look after her, wrap her bleeding heart in his love and hold her until the pain eased away, however long it took. She knew she needed it; she needed to feel the pain and let it pass through her before it congealed and turned her bitter in its wake. Alex wouldn't want that. Not even her mother would have wanted grief to change her into a bitter parody of herself. Leandra may not have been the mother she would have liked, but she had loved her eldest daughter, in her own way.

Hand in hand, Cullen drew his wife to their reserved room in the quiet tavern above the taproom, where a fire was lit in the hearth, the light dancing over the surface of the steaming bath set before the fire itself. The air smelled of honeysuckle, and for the first time in what felt like an age, Poppy actually smiled without being prompted. Honeysuckle. The oil she used on her hair and skin for preference, and somehow Cullen had convinced the innkeeper to infuse the bath with that same oil. He caught her smile, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, and pulled her across the room to gently divest her of her travel-stained clothing.

Only when she stood bare in front of him, tired eyes watching his gaze flicker over her skin, did he pull his own mantle from his shoulders, shaking his jerkin away and rolling up his shirt sleeves. Then he pulled her into a gentle embrace, callused hands soft against her skin, reveling in the sensation of an embrace that did not include leather or plate or weapons. He waited for her to relax, until he heard the faintest hitch in her breathing, and bent to lift her into the bath, easing her down into the steaming water as she shuddered through her aching hurts.

The water was just hot enough to sting, the heat sinking into her bones, forcing her muscles to relax as Cullen guided the cloth over her skin, the soap into her hair, working the lather in until she lolled in the bath. His hands were still chilly, thanks to the lyrium withdrawal, a pleasant counterpoint to the heat that seeped into her. Each pass of the cloth was punctuated with a gentle kiss to her shoulder; the rinsing of her hair was done so gently she might almost have been a small child in his hands. And she knew he had learned to do this for her. Somehow he had learned to wash hair and skin without scrubbing or becoming impatient, just for her. How had he known he would need these skills? How long had he been quietly dreading the day when she would be the last of her bloodline to stand?

When he lifted her out of the bath to dry her down, she tried to still his hands.

"You don't need to -"

"Poppy."

He paused, curling his palm to her jaw, meeting her eyes with fierce certainty that made her melt a little inside. What had she done to deserve a man who loved her like this?

"I know I don't need to," he told her softly. "I want to."

She actually laughed - just a gentle huff of amusement, but it was a genuine laugh, a sound that lit up his eyes with relieved affection as he rubbed the water from her skin and hair.

"You are impossible to argue with these days," she murmured fondly, smiling as he leaned in to kiss her.

"I learned from the best," he answered, letting the damp towel fall only to wrap her in the warmth of a blanket and lift her into his arms once again.

Poppy sighed, strangely contented as he settled in the wide armchair in front of the fire, holding her curled up on his lap, She nestled into him, her forehead tucked into the crook of his neck, and just ... let herself be. She could hear the crackle of the fire, the rattle of hooves and wheels over the cobbles outside, the rumble of conversation from the taproom below; closer to, she was aware of the sigh of Cullen's breath, and the gentle beat of his heart. And slowly, she became aware of something more.

Cullen was singing.

"Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee all through the night ... guardians shall the Maker send thee all through the night ..."

An old Fereldan lullaby, a song her father had sung to her when she was small and could not sleep. When shadows had threatened her peace and nightmares had haunted her young mind, Malcolm Hawke would kneel beside his children's beds and sing this lullaby to them as sparkling lights danced on his fingers, his low voice a promise that he would always be there to guard them against the fears of the night.

"... soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and dale in slumber sleeping ... I, my loved ones' watch, am keeping all through the night ..."

She remembered snuggling down into her blankets with Alex as their father sang; remembered the nights when Bethany would join them, and Carver, too, the four Hawke siblings protecting each other against the nightmares that might come for them. Through the years they had dropped away, one by one ... Father, Carver, Bethany, Mother, Alex; all gone ahead to a place that had to be better than the world that had hurt them so badly, and only Poppy remained.

"Hark, a solemn bell is ringing clear through the night ... thou, my love, art Maker's hand winging home through the night ..."

But not alone. No, she was not alone, not abandoned. Despite her grief, she had love still, and hope. As Alex had said, she had a future. She had Cullen, her husband; Varric, her friend. She could gather new friends around herself as she had done once before, build a family from them to cushion her against the loneliness of knowing her own kin were lost. She was loved, and that made all the difference.

"Thedas dust from off thee shaken, soul immortal shalt thou awaken ..."

Curled in the arms of the man she loved, bathed in firelight, wrapped in gentle affection, her bleeding heart began to heal, secure in the knowledge that she would never again be alone.

"... with thy last dim journey taken home through the night."

[niceness-before-knives]

get to know my character: 01, 05, 11 for Suibhne; 21, 31, 40 for Arlette; and 43, 46, 48 for Mir.

Thank you so much for all the questions! ;;v;; They were all great and I had a blast with them!!

01. What does your character’s name mean? Did you pick it for the symbolism, or did you just like the way it sounded? 

Suibhne means well-going in Gaelic (says behindthename). This is actually the name of my Cousland but I ended up reusing it for my Tabris because I couldn't find either S(vowel)-name I liked better than Suibhne. /shrugs I thought it worked pretty okay with his cousins’ names too, so yeah. It was picked just for aesthetics reasons! And because I enjoyed that way it sounds too.

05. Are they sexually confident or more of the shy type? 

Ah, Suibhne is asexual actually!  Sexual attraction and him aren’t really the best of friends, hah. I’ll still tuck him into the more quiet confident side though because he isn’t sex-repulsed. He was okay with Zevran's advances and took them with ease because sex isn't a bother to him. It's just not something that’ll come up when left to his own devices.

11. What is something that would make your character fly into a rage?

Okay, so. I'm really weird about words sometimes. Case in point, rage is not a word I associate with Tabris because it's a hot anger kind-of word and he’s not a hot anger kid. Rage is for lashing out, and Tabris doesn’t lash out at people. He gets revenge.

And the easiest way to do this is to hurt someone in his family. If someone does hurt one of them (either of his cousins, his dad plus Zevran, Morrigan and now Kieran), it's a promise they'll die a slow and painful death as soon as Tabris can make it happen since he doesn't have much and his family is the dearest thing he can imagine. So, yeah. Don’t hurt anyone in his family. No one wants to incur Tabris’ cold wrath.

21. What is one of your character’s biggest fears? How would they react when dealing with this fear?

Failure! Or, like failing her family. Arlette lived for her family, especially Bethany and Carver and it was always her biggest fear that she wouldn’t be strong enough to protect them, that she’d lose them one way or another.

And that’s exactly what happened! :D Malcolm died and she didn’t want to live Lothering because Carver wasn’t there with them. They left too late and Bethany died, and Arlette will always blame herself for that. In response to it, she tried so hard to keep Carver close and safe that he ended up having to join the Grey Wardens or die at the end of Act One. Which again, she blames herself for immensely. 

Neither had to leave her, but because she failed, they left her. It honestly haunts her more than she ever admits to people. She reacts by trying to compartmentalize all that pain and regret, and just try to move on. She actually tries very hard not to fill the void left by them because she’ll fail again and it’ll hurt and no thanks. But you know, the Kirkwall crew is more endearing than she would’ve guessed at first. And she trades one set of siblings in for another and does her best to keep them all safe and happy.

And in return, they try to do their best for Arlette too.

31. Would your character be the kind capable of killing? Would they enjoy killing or only use it when necessary or, perhaps, refuse to kill no matter what?

Yup! Arlette is more than okay with killing! It's not her favorite course of action because death is messy and people tend to ask questions but she rarely feels a sense of regret over the lives she takes too. She grew up in a family of apostates, so life or death was a really real consequence in her mind's eye. She'll never have a problem killing if it's done in order to protect those she loves. They will always matter more than the soul she killed, always.

40. Does your OC have any guilty pleasures they enjoy? Hobbies, past times, music, etc that they wouldn’t want known by others?

Honestly, for the vast majority of her life, any hobby, past time or pleasure Arlette took apart of she didn't want any one to know. She took to being the step-in caregiver of the family to an absurd degree and doing anything that wasn't for Bethany & Carver seriously made her feel like the worst person on the planet. Of course, that is a ridiculous thought but Arl always felt it very hard. She tried being the best caregiver she could for the twins (and Leandra on her bad days), and that sadly, to her, meant suppressing a lot (a lot!) of her own desires.

Moving to Kirkwall especially post-Act One was kind-of a weird experience for her because it's the first time she's honestly free from those thoughts. I mean, they still exist and exist hard but there's nothing that cements them into reality like before. Bethany is gone. Carver is gone. Her mother has a new life she seems to enjoy and Arlette is like ??? with all this new free time. 

She takes up cooking for fun (and teaching others to cook too like Sandal) and reading (especially light-hearted romantic fantasies and smutty things because she's always like those books the best~). But, she shares these things with her friends all the time. She needs connections too much to hide them when most of her family has left her in some way or another. Bonding moments are good!

43. Does your character have a switch that changes aspects of their personality whether they are around friends, family, etc. Is there someone who gets to see their true self?

Yes? Mir has two weirdly different personality sets he uses. One is his “Inquisition” personality. It’s a bit of an over-exaggeration of his real self: more loud, sarcastic, playful and carefree. He acts all on impulse and falls into a nasty habit of not thinking anything through. This isn’t closer to his self per se, but it’s the one he likes better and feels more at ease in. It’s like a comfortable worn-in sweater.

The other is a more subdued version of his real self and it tends to pop up around the Dalish. Growing up, he hid in Mahre's shadow a lot and ended up being a lot more quiet and standoffish as a personal safety measure. He didn’t like letting people close to him, so he put up his defenses as high as they could go. A few people got in there and here, but it was rare. Even during the Inquisition, he still switches back over it too when he’s around other Dalish clans. I’m sure people assume it’s a Dalish thing, but it is definitely ‘my twin is an abusive asshole and I have a hard time disconnecting sometimes at first’ thing.

As for his 'true' self, eh. What Mir considers his true self he does not like letting people see it. It has all his negativity and twisted emotions in it and no one needs to see that, iho! But it still happens. Sometimes he lets people in to see it (Dorian, Thuril, Iseult & Asa) because he at least trusts them all enough not to hurt him with what they’ll see. Sometimes people just lucked out on his bad days and stumbled over it (Vivienne, Varric, Souvelani) and sometimes the Fade casts you into a nightmare hellscape made up of your worst traits and fears for everyone (namely Blackwall, Sera, Bull) to see! :D

Seriously. Fuck the Fade.That shit was the worst.

46. What is some random affectionate thing that your character always does to their lover?

He just touches them, a lot? o: Mir is very tactile person and needs to touch things for his peace of mind be it walls, tables, sleeves, rings, fabric, something just needs to occupy his hand space and it definitely doesn’t stop around his lovers.

He loves giving out simple touches, brushing back bits of hair, reaching out to hold their hand or tracing patterns over their skin as he talks up a storm next to them. Like kid has a lot of trouble communicating his romantic feelings verbally, so he resorts to trying to physically communicate them instead. With every touch, he just wants to say, ‘I'm here. I like you. I hope that's okay.’

48. Is there anything in particular that would ignite your character’s jealousy? Or does your character not get envious?

Mhm. For all his own internal insecurity and odd trust problems, Mir's not really a jealous person. He knows what it's like being restricted in a relationship, be it for love or friendship, and it would hurt his soul if he ever inflicted that on someone he liked. That being said, he’s a territorial fuck though especially once boundaries have been established in a relationship. Other people crossing them will definitely spark him to be like 'excuse me, hold up', unintentional or not.

Bull's loyalty mission definitely a sparked a bit of that too. If he was reasonable sure Bull still enjoyed the Qun out of love for it, the whole Gatt and Hissrad tango wouldn't have bothered him much. But, he felt otherwise and oh god, did it ever bother him something fierce hence why taking 'his name is Iron Bull' option feels so good and in-character for Mir. It’s his lovely claim that ‘no, you are wrong and don’t talk to my friend like that’.

He still apologizes later to Bull though because making claims like that on people is still really shitty to him and it’s not really one of his fave personality flaws, if he’s being honest with himself. :l :l :l

[ramblinganthropologist]

Inktober Day 26 - Introspection

Summary: Avery Hawke is fucked up. Ok? She’s just... fucked up.

---

The worst part about nights in Hightown was the lack of noise.

Avery grimaced as she got out of bed, lower back aching. Next to her, Fenris and Chewy never stirred. They were lost in their dreams, safe under the warm blankets. She tuned her back on them and walked the cold floor, alone in the darkness of a quiet house.

The fire was low but there in the living room. She curled up in a chair, staring at it for something to do. She didn't need the light – she could see just fine without it. But it was good to have something to focus on as her mind and shoulder pulsed in tandem.

Had to be a reaver night... had to be. No doubt if she looked in a mirror her eyes would have been slits right then.

“Fuck.”

Avery closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, her remaining fingers massaging her mangled shoulder. Anders had told her she would have days like this; days when the pain pulsed through a limb that didn't exist anymore as a reminder it once had. Was it her arm's last revenge that she had removed it? Or the universe reminding her that she was indeed that much of a fucking dumbass?

Not that it had seemed like a good idea at the time – cutting your own dead arm off never is. But it had kept the Arishok from killing a lot of people, so it had gotten the job done.

Getting the job done; protecting people. These were things woven into her life, ever since she had been a small child watching over Bethany and Carver while her parents were busy. Once her sister started setting things on fire with her mind, the watch doubled when their father wasn't keeping an eye on her, teaching her. She was more of a guard than a sister some days, and though she loved the woman... it was tiring to think about.

But if she admitted that, the ghost of her mother would probably rise up and slap her for even thinking that about her favorite daughter.

“Ugh, can I not think about her tonight?” Avery grit her teeth as a spike of pain coursed through her shoulder. Then the adrenaline hit and coursed through her veins. Self activated reaver mode, no broken bones required. “Shit.”

Sitting there was now out of the question. The half elf groaned as she found her cloak and pulled it on over her clothes. Her boots waited for her by the door, as did the knife an old friend had given to her once for protection.  It slipped on as easily as her shoes as she exited quietly out into the Hightown night, closing the door behind her.

She walked quietly through empty streets, flitting between the shadows and going nowhere in particular. It was the need to move and use up her reaver energy more than anything. Her mind continued to wander as she walked, glancing around houses, remembering old fights.

There were a lot of them. It was kind of her thing.

Why was it her thing?

Avery stopped at a corner and stared out at the darkness. A cat's glowing eyes met hers, and it darted away. She watched it go, blank faced, mind reeling. Why was it her thing? When had she decided to make it part of herself?

“Wasn't the Blight that did it...” Avery mused to herself, frowning. There were plenty of fights before that, in Lothering and the cities before it. It was almost like as soon as she had learned how to use her hands, they had turned quickly into fists. “Shit.”

She kept walking, feet leading her from Hightown. For most people, that would be stupid. However, she had made a name killing mercs and bandits ever since she had gotten to Kirkwall. If they were any, they ignored her for the chance to live another day. Maybe they didn't, and the fact she walked right past them without taking up their chance for a fight really messed them up. Either way, no blood spilled in her wake.

What was it?

Avery eventually stopped by the docks, staring up at the large tower of the Gallows in the distance. Somewhere, Bethany was inside. Wherever she was, she could only hope her sister was ok. They didn't let letters in, and if she had to go over Meredith made sure to keep them separated. The Templar was going to get stabbed for that one day, and hopefully it was her sword that did the cutting.

Bethany.

She blinked. An old memory, from when she had been small, filtered through. Her father's voice whispered to her from beyond the grave, still the same as it has always sounded. Malcolm had been sitting next to her, talking quietly.

“You know... your sister is a mage now.”

They had discovered it a few days prior in an event they weren't allowed to talk about, not even with each other – Leandra had said so. Bethany had gone off with their father, leaving the rest of them alone to wonder what was going on. Avery had worried she would never see her sister again. In a way, she had been right to worry – look where she was now.

Malcolm's voice had been soft but firm as he instructed her that day. “If ever there comes a time Bethany is in danger, do whatever you can to make sure she gets away. They'll take her to the Circle if they catch her.”

She had nodded then, drinking in his words. They had come true months later, when a Templar had gotten too close. Avery had wound up with a split lip and a black eye for calling the man a walking tin can, but her sister had gotten away. The blood had been worth it.

As it had been countless other times.

“No... that...” Avery frowned. “Why would that?”

A new voice replaced her father's. It was Leandra, telling her to keep her eye on her siblings as they went off to collect berries together. She had been a little younger, but even then she had seen the look in her mother's eyes. To her, she was just a babysitter – not a child, certainly not her daughter. But she was at least good for something.

Carver had wound up breaking his leg, and she had carried him home the entire way. They wee able to set the break and heal it just fine, but the look she got from their mother as she stood over her son was pure murder. Back then, she wasn't used to it as much – it had hurt.

It said everything: you couldn't even do this right.

That look would come back years later as Leandra held Carver's broken body, tears in her eyes as the ogre's corpse rotted in a backdrop of flames and agony. Why hadn't she taken the blow for her brother, they had asked?

Why hadn't she done her job?

Her job.

Avery blinked back surprise as tears trickled down her face. ��What?”

It didn't seem real as she found a box to sit down hard on. The memories were all lining up, from childhood to recently. The answer was so simple: she fought because it was her job. She had to protect people. It was the only thing she was good for.

If she couldn't fight, she was useless to those she cared about. Then they would abandon her.

Maybe it was the cold that made Avery shake as she sat there on that box, staring down at the dirty streets with a tear streaked face. Maybe it wasn't, though, and that was the scary thing as she continued to sniffle in the darkness.

Good for her to realize it now when she was down her shield arm. Now she really couldn't protect anyone. Of course, she could still serve as a warm body if it came to that – and she was good at that. Split lips, bruises, and a missing arm was proof of that.

“I am so fucked up...”

Her words were soft in the dark night there on the docks, meant for no one but the bastard of a god who had made her that way. Avery curled up under her cloak and just stare into the darkness, to the sea, to whatever was beyond it.

Fucked up; that summed her situation up pretty nicely. Just a fucked up meat shield with nothing better to do than to die for people. It was her only skill set.

“Shit...”

She would eventually need to go home before anyone noticed she was gone, but Avery just didn't have the energy then. Until she did, she was just going to sit there, alone in the dark along Kirkwall's docks that smelled of fish and stale beer, and think about just how fucking awful she actually was. Then... well she'd get up and go back and act like it never happened.

Apparently, pretending she didn't have feelings was something she had picked up from her parents too. Leave it to Leandra and Malcolm to install one hell of a coping mechanism for her fucked up personality.

Shit... she was really fucked up. What the fuck...

[this-basic-mage]

4+5 for all 3 of your girls :')

4. What is their relationship with their parents? What’s a good and bad memory with them? Did they know both parents?

Ashanna: Growing up Ash was quite the daddy’s girl. He would take her walks around the alienage to satisfy her need to explore when she was really little and be there to clean her wounds and deliver sage advice after fights with kids that were mean to her and her cousins. Of course he could never condone such behaviour, in fact it was him who taught her ‘the greatest victory is the battle not fought’, a motto she tries to live by whenever she meets a new opponent (though how easily completely depends on the opponent), but he always low key agreed the kids had it coming. However, this started to change as Ash got older and her attention turned to outside the alienage. As a teen, she and some friends became Red Jennys, which worried Cyrion no end and even led to a few arguments about whether all the pranks on rich humans were really worth the risk. She came eventually agree with him when a couple of her friends were caught and brutally punished for their crimes and hung it up, if only for his sake. The resentment this caused expanded when announced her arranged marriage, which she protested but begrudgingly accepted once again for his and the family’s sake. Since the events of Origins they’ve patched things up, be it a bit awkwardly (he still worries too damn much), and he’s always the first person she visits whenever she’s back in Dernerim.

As for her mother, she died when she was about 5 so her memories of her are really hazy but what she does remember is a compassionate and fierce woman who’s probably the one installed the compulsion to do whatever you think is right no matter what. So she must’ve made a deep impression on her young mind.

Alindra: Lin got her dorky sense of humour and all her best jokes from Malcolm. So he’s to thank/blame for her not taking life too seriously. Their childish banter around the dinner table amused/annoyed Leandra to no end. Although this bond remained strong up until his death she did find it hard to accept most of his free time would be spent with Bethany after her magic showed and often felt resentful whenever her and Carver were waved outside to play while he taught Bethany how to do a new spell inside. So much of her relationship with her father is a paradox of closeness and distance and she’s never been able to fully articulate how she feels about that.

Meanwhile, much of Lin’s insecurities can be traced back to Leandra. As the eldest, she expected her to be the responsible one, especially after Malcolm died, which did not gel well with her originally more laid back attitude. Which meant she often got the blame when things went wrong, which she was actually happy to take cause it spared her siblings and she thought she deserved it anyway.  Although really Lin owes a lot to Leandra, she taught her to be cautious, to think before she acted, and the importance of family. If Lin had a problem she couldn’t solve it was her mother she turned to, as much as she hates to admit it. Malcolm taught her to be funny, Leandra taught her how to turn that humour into charm. The best times they had together was at the fancy high town parties where they could finally relax and laugh, even if Lin was secretly laughing more at the high-class guests than with them. 

Ariel: Ari doesn’t remember her real parents very well as she was adopted by Clan Lavellan when her magic manifested at age 6. But she does remember them quietly indulging her interest in humans by giving her a few trinkets they found during raids on Shem camps, even if in most other memories they come off as quite harsh to others.

When she came to Clan Lavellan the Keeper took her under her wing and became like her adoptive mother, making her see her magic as a gift rather than a danger and encouraged her inquisitive mind and kind heart. They would debate about many things, particularly Ariel perhaps straying too far alone on her explorations and her curiosity of humans sometimes winning over her caution. But Ariel respected her wisdom and would come around in her own time unless it was something that really mattered to her then she would just agree to disagree or negotiate hard. Sometimes she wondered if the Keeper just played devil’s advocate to test her wits. So it was quite a surprise when the Keeper agreed to her going alone to the conclave without much explanation, although she didn’t let her leave without assuring her ‘you still have much to learn da’len’.

5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults?

Ashanna: She doesn’t have any but Soris and Shiannai are pretty much her siblings in all but name as both look up to her as like a big sister. They were always playing together as kids, with Ash and Shiannai even dragging the more cautious Soris off on what they thought to be real adventures with the Red Jennys when they hit their teens. As adults, they’ve all matured and gone their own ways in life, so they don’t get to see each other that much, especially Ash. But when they do get back together it’s like their kids again.

Alindra: As mentioned Lin was expected to be the responsible role model to her younger siblings, though in practice this proved to be the more mature Bethany. She’s often Lin’s voice of reason when her need to joke about everything becomes too much and knows her better than anyone, which is why she’s her perfect sidekick that can stay positive when she can’t. But it wasn’t always like that, as a child, Lin was jealous of how much time she got to spend with her father, and how protecting her was always the family’s top priority. This has subconsciously followed her into adulthood, manifesting as resentment and frustration at the constant pressure of protecting her. But she’d never ever let Bethany say she was a burden. She really missed her after she was sent to the circle, but she was happy Bethany was is happy and they wrote regularly, something they’ve kept in practice every time Lin has to go off and do Hawke stuff.

Carver was the annoying little brother she was always having to pull away from fights. So of course when he enlisted in the army she had to follow him. After all, she was responsible for him and the two had the kind of begrudging but unbreakable bond only two siblings in the shadow of another can have. She really misses their bickering and beating his ass every time he annoyed her into sparing with him.

Ariel: She doesn’t have any though Sera has become like her little sister. They debate/bicker about elf things all the time but Ari appreciates her unique perspective on things and how she’s taught her not to take some things too seriously, and there is no one in the world Sera trusts more.