"Constantly,
Girl, you play through my mind like a symphony,
There's no way to describe what you do to me,
You just do to me what you do,
And it feels like I've been rescued, I've been set free,
I am hypnotized by your destiny,
You are magical, lyrical, beautiful, you are,
And I want you to know, baby,
I-I love you like a love song, baby,
I-I love you like a love song, baby,
I-I love you like a love song, baby,
And I keep hitting repeat-peat-peat-peat-peat-peat,
I-I love you like a love song, baby,
I-I love you like a love song, baby,
I love you like a love song, baby,
And I keep hitting repeat-peat-peat-peat-peat-peat,"
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In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 62: Vertigo
Summary: Rose navigates the fall out of her handling of Crestwood's mayor, her intensifying liaison with Hawke, a surprise that comes from Skyhold and meets yet another legendary warrior.
Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.
Excerpt below the cut 👇
When Hawke returns, he motions for me alone to follow. We walk silently together ducking protrusions and stalactites and shimming through narrow passages, the lightness of yesterday, the brightness between us cast in the shade of today’s revelations. The doorway we push through is marked with a whitewashed skull with a red streak across its eyes, the old smuggling ring’s stamp.
“It’s us,” he says. A man rises from a makeshift table covered in scribbled and crumpled notes, his features overtaken by the kind of beard one doesn’t choose to have. His armor is nondescript, his Warden credentials hidden away for safety’s sake.
Alistair Theirin.
Another legend.
Perhaps this time I can keep it together. He looks about my age, with dark blonde hair and a noble brow, but his overgrown beard and generally haggard appearance make him look worn beyond his years.
“Maker, man, you look like shit,” says Hawke with a grin.
“Cave chic,” he answers, yanking Hawke in for a firm handshake that quickly escalates into a bear hug. Alistair’s hazel eyes land on me next, nearly as bright and mischievous as Hawke’s and then jump to investigate my hands. At this point it feels like my blush is merely part of my uniform.
“You must be looking for this,” I say, holding up the anchor.
“Maker’s breath ,” he says. “I’ve always maintained there’s too much bizarre shit in the world.”
“That’s me. Bizarre shit,” I laugh. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Rose, Alistair. Alistair, Rose,” says Hawke. “We’re good with first names here, right?”
“Of course we are, Garrett ,” says Alistair pleasantly and I suppress my smile. He comes forward to shake my hand. “I’m glad you’re here. I wish it was someplace less— moldy. And you’ll have to forgive my looks. The combined effect of fugitive life, cave life and a missing wife is pretty potent. If I’d known you were coming I might have broken out the fancy soap.”
“I’m just happy we found you before the Wardens did,” I answer.
“As am I, my lady Inquisitor,” says Alistair.
“Well. Here we all are,” says Hawke. “I’m as eager as Rose is to hear what you have to say about the Wardens. I haven’t heard from Carver. Last letter I received was from the Anderfels. I asked Aveline to try and track him down to convince him to stay far from Orlais, but I’m assuming he told her to fuck right off.”
“As far as I know Carver is back in the Marches,” says Alistair, “But that was months ago. Who knows how far this nonsense has spread.”
“Then we can’t waste time,” says Hawke.
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How do you feel about people headcanon-erasing the part in the beginning that describes you having your father's hair and your mother's skin? as a biracial person who is specifically black, I found it difficult to match the disparate hair/skin colors, even when I tried to race-swap my own parents (I like a self-insert baseline for my first MC) I'm not far in, though, so I understand it could be important, and I'd hate to be disrespectful in any case!
you are welcome to headcanon whatever you'd like, my dear 💙
genetics are a tricky thing. some people heavily favor one parent over the other, some end up looking like an even mix of the two, and some end up with traits from neither parent (my sister and I both have blue eyes, for example, despite having no blue-eyed relatives for a few generations back on either side). it can be hard to implement in a medium like interactive fiction
from a coding perspective, A) I wanted Speaker and Seer to mirror each other, and B) I wanted to make it so their parents weren't just some amorphous unseen entity. their presence is still felt in the story, even while they're not there
Mom and Dad will be showing up in later books, and I wanted the twins to have some visible connection to both parents while also having something unique to the two of them. it made since for their eyes to be the thing that was different, considering the role that visions play and the way Speaker and Seer have an approach to them unlike anyone else in their family.
so it may be a little jarring for you in book 2 or 3 when Mom and Dad show up and their appearance differs from the way you've been imagining them, but there's nothing saying you can't ignore those descriptor words entirely and see them the way you want to 😁
I love headcanons and encourage them*. I'm just building the sandbox, you get to decide how you play in it
*as long as no one is using headcanons to erase a character's identity
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