#hawkedith

[allaganexarch]

ok also if i get a bonus then how about generic ⭐star⭐ but like ⭐star⭐ not on a full fic like on a drill down like i want to hear about a SECTION or even like A TINY SNIPPET or like A SENTENCE you could even give me the directors commentary on ONE WORD

oooohhhhhhhh this is so fun okay so I chose this snippet from ch5 of The Chance You Take, and I am starting this by saying this fic is NOT!!!!!!! abandoned this is like the only fic that survived the 2020 ficpocalypse of my brain and I still desperately love it it’s just in the purgatory of me trying to convince myself not to edit the first part instead of just continuing it.

Meredith eyed Isabela curiously, then turned her attention to Hawke.  “What?” she demanded. Hawke made no effort to contain her amusement.  She shrugged merrily. Meredith’s glare hardened. “Nothing!  It’s sort of fun to watch when it’s not me, that’s all!” Hawke confessed. Meredith’s expression did not change.  At the very least, it did not get worse.  “To what are you referring?” she asked crisply. “Oh, you know,” Hawke waved vaguely, “the whole Scary Templar Lady thing.” “Is that what you think of me?” Meredith wondered coolly. Hawke startled.  “What?  No!  That’s not what I meant—“ “Isn’t it?” Meredith leaned in, soft-spoken and subdued, somehow even more frightening than when she towered or blustered.  “Allow me to repeat the question, Serah Hawke,” she continued.  “What is it you’re so afraid of?”

I liked this particular exchange because I think it highlights something very critical about the Hawke/Meredith dynamic, in this story specifically but also I think how I usually write them: Meredith tolerates a lot from Hawke, and on the surface what she does and doesn’t tolerate seems arbitrary.

This whole exchange is pretty fraught—first, Meredith is in a bad mood because Hawke is talking to Some Man when she arrives, but Hawke manages to talk her down from that ledge, to the point that they’re having a good time and Meredith is considering hinting about the gift she found earlier.  Then, Some Man comes back, and Meredith kind of reverts back into her Templar Persona, which isn’t so much different from how she is normally as it is a particular mindset that she has not been engaging with since she’s been gone.

And then Hawke has the audacity to treat it, to treat what Meredith feels is essentially the sum of her entire existence, into which she has poured everything, because tragedy gave her her purpose, and because she has nothing else—as a joke.

Meredith’s duty is not and can never be a joke to her, but more than that, her duty is so inextricably tied to her entire formative sense of identity that someone laughing at her, denigrating her, disrespecting her in her capacity as a templar can only ever be deeply personal.  And if it were anyone else (besides the fellow templars she respects and feels bound to), she wouldn’t care.  It would still be personal, she just wouldn’t care.

Without realizing it, Meredith has been living with this contradiction: she thought that despite everything Hawke is and does, Hawke still respected Meredith’s work and what had to be done, and supported her genuinely.  And, at the same time, she thought Hawke saw her as more than just her job.  Because their interactions up to this point have been so completely insane and nothing like Meredith has ever experienced before, she thought Hawke had somehow managed to differentiate Meredith from her work (still believing Hawke respected her work), even when Meredith could not separate herself from her work.

And that is almost, almost true!  Hawke very obviously does see Meredith as separate from her job, and even though she doesn’t always like it, she has grown to hold at least some respect for what Meredith does!  Pretty much everyone Hawke knows has some kind of deep-seated duty or calling that can never really shake—but the difference is that it isn’t the literal core of who they are.  Meredith lost her family when she was seven, and was pretty much raised a templar from that point onward.  Even if Hawke’s other companions don’t always like her teasing, they’re able to tolerate it because they’re able to separate the core of themselves from their duties.  From Meredith’s perspective, Hawke viewing her duty as something to joke about is akin to Hawke viewing Meredith as a joke.

Meredith pretty much shuts down, because she’s not used to being bothered by what people think of her.  People say horrible things about her all the time.  She’s surprised and hurt that Hawke admits to being afraid of her, but it’s not really about the fear—it’s about the lack of faith in her work, and therefore in her. Hawke is one of the few people who doesn't hate her or think she's crazy at this point, and that has been wayyyyy more of a source of comfort for her than she realized. (She thinks about this explicitly a little in chapter one, and somewhere else also I think.)

I don’t love some of the wording I chose here between the dialogue—this is what I mean when I say this fic makes me want to gently edit it LOL.  I think clearer, simpler connecting phrases would make the mood shift pack more of a punch.  I want it to feel like everything’s going fine, Hawke is having a good time, not grasping the danger, and then the mood just DROPS.  Maybe something like:

Meredith watched him go, impassive.  She turned her attention back to Hawke.  “What?” Hawke made no effort to hide her amusement.  She shrugged merrily. Meredith waited. “Nothing!” said Hawke.  “It’s sort of fun to watch when it’s not me, that’s all!” Meredith narrowed her eyes, uncomprehending.  “To what are you referring?” “Oh, you know,” Hawke waved vaguely, “the whole Scary Templar Lady thing.” “Is that what you think of me?” Meredith wondered. Cold premonition sent a shiver down Hawke’s spine.  She looked up, startled.  “What?  No!  That’s not what I—“ “Isn’t it?” Meredith leaned in, soft-spoken and subdued, a thousand times more frightening than when she towered or blustered.  “Allow me to repeat the question, Serah Hawke,” she continued.  “What is it you’re so afraid of?”

It’s not much of a change, but the connecting phrases supply the timing for the dialogue.  The way it was before, the pace was being slowed by the connectors before the mood shift rather than right after.  This way, the first part reads as quick and snappy, and then the pace grinds to a halt with the stronger word choice and heavier descriptions.  They’re in conflict after this, but it’s a tense, cautious kind of conflict where they’re choosing their words very carefully, juxtaposed against the loud, boisterous atmosphere around them.  So where you might normally want to escalate the conflict by speeding it up, in this case I think it makes more sense to slow it down.

Aaaaaaaah I can’t wait to go insane about DA2 again!!!  Thank you for indulging me, this was super fun, I love rambling about this kind of thing!!!

Fanfic Writer Director's Cut Ask Game!

[ziskandra]

Hi there! I only now found my way to the Meredith ships and gosh they're all so juicy and mad at the same time - I love this! Okay, so, Idk if you posted about this already somewhere, and if you did, please feel free to just share the link ;) but, I'm curious about how you see the dynamic between fem!Hawke mage and Meredith work out? Especially regarding the mage aspect.

Hello, and welcome to the club! Firstly, can I just say that I am super pumped that somebody is out there enjoying all the Meredith content that exists even when I've not been very active here of late? Just goes to show that it's never too late to get into a new character/ships! And insofar as f!Hawkedith with a mage Hawke, I haven't had too many thoughts on this matter because I generally tend to write her with a warrior Hawke (dig into their mutual mage sister angst, why not). THAT BEING SAID, I do have a very rough outline of a mage f!Hawke/Meredith fic in my drafts somewhere, where Hawke and Meredith are bathing together and Meredith is going on a Rant About Anders and Hawke is just like, "can we not talk about Anders right now?" and "I thought I was your favourite apostate? :<" I should work more on that one when the writing energies return to me next time... In the meantime, I'll take a moment to plug one of my favourite Hawkedith fics that my dear friend @dabs-into-oblivion wrote for me earlier this year!: lyrium-blue (just a heads-up that it contains first-person smut, which while is very much my cup of tea, I understand is not to everyone's tastes!)

[maybeathreat]

I don't think about you anymore, but I don't think about you anyless...

[juniemoe]

fandom: dragon age

rating: explicit (minors dni)

pairing: meredith stannard/female hawke

word count: ~1,000

A/N: hiiiiiii do people still care meredith........ because i do

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

Meredith is as still as a statue, and her blue eyes are narrowed and impossibly cold as she looks at Hawke with an expression that could freeze the blood in her veins.

Instead, Hawke is freezing hot under her skin, she feels small and helpless under Meredith's fierce gaze, she feels like she's in flames, yet so alive. More alive than she has felt in years, in fact. It's strange.

She is naked and her pale skin is scarred from the battles she’s fought, but also from the two identical slashes on her forearms when she required blood for her magic. She knows there's no use hiding them even if her shame can be read from her face with one glance.

Meredith is sitting behind her desk while Hawke stands before it and they watch each other like a predator and prey, Hawke's heart beating so hard under her rib cage that it feels like it will soon stop all together.

“Come,” Meredith commands, and Hawke takes a few cautious steps towards her.

Meredith raises one eyebrow at her hesitance, making Hawke swallow hard as she stops a foot away from the Knight-Commander. Meredith is dangerous, but Hawke couldn't care less at this moment. She needs it too badly.

And it’s both humiliating and exhilarating at the same time. She doesn't know what to do with herself, so she will do everything Meredith asks of her.

“Kneel,” Meredith commands, tone pure steel and storm. Hawke hurries to comply, her knees pressing to the cold stone floor and making her shiver. She looks down, cannot find the courage to meet Meredith's striking lyrium eyes.

[ ao3 link ]

Meredith touches her chin with her thumb and forefinger and lifts her head up. Hawke looks away as Meredith studies her. She's still wearing her gauntlets and her touch is both gentle and harsh.

“What a beautiful thing you are.”

There's something mocking in the words, the way she says thing, and Hawke's throat clicks. She can barely believe this is even happening and not just a forbidden fantasy somewhere deep in her subconscious.

Meredith presses her right thumb into Hawke's mouth and Hawke gasps at the intrusion of the metal gauntlet against her tongue. The taste is cold iron and possession, and Hawke eats it up like she's a starving woman who is suddenly offered a feast.

Then Meredith pushes her head down and offers her armored foot to Hawke's mouth. When Hawke looks up, she's smirking, sinister and huge.

Hawke is shivering and ashamed, but she has no choice but to comply, so she kisses Meredith's foot and draws a breath against it. She feels like crying, she feels like dying. It would be a good way to go, she decides.

There are tears on Hawke's face, she is barely even aware of it, but knight-commander Meredith Stannard sees all. She sees the weak, she sees the strong, she sees the malicious and righteous, and she sees Hawke. Hawke is laid completely bare under gaze. She is waiting for Meredith to comment on her scars, but so far she has said nothing.

“Good,” Meredith says. She strokes Hawke's messy black hair with her fingers, and it's not quite praise, it's too condescending for that, but Hawke revels in it either way; she bathes herself in that one word, knowing there won't be any more of them.

“Now,” Meredith begins, a flicker of true desire in her eyes for the first time, ”I want you to pleasure yourself while I watch.”

She crosses her legs and leans back on her chair, before gesturing to Hawke to continue, like she would a soldier to be at ease and continue what he was doing.

“W-what?” Hawke whispers. She is certain her eyes are wide and disbelieving. She wasn't sure what she expected, but it wasn't this.

Meredith doesn't bother to answer her, she just throws her an unimpressed glance and motions her to get to it.

Hawke wants to argue, refuse, tell her no in no uncertain terms, but she doesn't. Instead she does as Meredith commands her to.

She slips two of her shaking fingers into her cunt, and she's so wet it's embarrassingly easy. There's a horrifying snick snick snick sound, when she moves them, and shame burns hot on her neck. Meredith appears pleased, though. There’s a satisfied smirk on her face, and, Sweet Andraste, Hawke despises her and still wants her more than anything. 

Everything about this is humiliating and arousing in equal measure, so Hawke continues to fuck herself on Meredith's orders, while she watches a maleficar to do her bidding.

The position is poor, so Hawke widens her thighs and rises slightly to her heels to reach better. She glances at Meredith under her eyelashes. She is still watching, but her face is almost expressionless, only her eyes remain sharp like needles. Hawke has no idea what she is thinking at this moment. It's not for her to know, she supposes, though just once she would like to see beneath that mask and see the real woman.

Hawke grunts as her fingers’ pace speeds up and she finds her clit with her right hand and presses underneath the hood with her nail. It's sensitive and almost hurts, but she doesn't care, because it feels so fucking good. She rolls her clit with her thumb and keeps fingerfucking herself while biting her lower lip to avoid screaming. And Meredith just watches her through it. Damn her.

It takes humiliatingly little time for Hawke to come apart at the seams, she orgasms under Meredith's hawk-like gaze. There's tears gathering in Hawke's eyes, when she stops, panting like a mabari in anticipation of a bone.

Meredith hums under her breath, looking please, as she watches Hawke for a moment. Hawke stares at her right back under her messy fringe, waiting for something. Anything.

But then Meredith turns back towards her desk and shuffles with a few papers, looking bored out of her mind.

Hawke swallows hard.

“Dismissed, Champion.”

[milesmentis]

Every few weeks I think to myself "DAMN those are some really great ideas I have about f!Hawke being taken to the Gallows instead of Bethany and the way her interactions with Meredith would serve as a mirror of both Hawke's relationship with her mother and Meredith's memories of her sister and the mutual predator-prey opinion they would have of the other could be so yuri in the most toxic and trauma-riddled way. What if they could only be honest with each other as long as the other lied and told them what they wanted to hear" and then I remember I absolutely do NOT have the skill to pull that off and I sigh and put them back on the shelf with the vast majority of my other DA2 plot hooks

[gaeldricge]

Thank you @mjsharizai 😊

💛 a favourite familial relationship

Rhaenys and her grandmother Alysanne. I think their bond was incredibly tight and strong.

🤍 a new ship

Meredith/f!Hawke - this is all about dysfunctional people finding love in each other and having a not exactly healthy relationship. But then again it opens the door for some redemption and my head usually finds a way to give everyone a happy ending xD

[ineedmyknightcommander]

Fic: Champion

They'd had an agreement. DRAGON AGE | FEMALE HAWKE/MEREDITH STANNARD | WORDS: 300 | RATED M. (AO3 LINK)

The problem was that they had both cared far too much about a city that would never love them in return. Hawke might've worn the title of Champion but her voice carried further than the sight of her distinctive armour, forever marking her as Fereldan, an outsider. And Meredith, a native Kirkwaller, ruled with an iron fist and a heavy heart. Of course the people would never understand the sacrifices Meredith had made for them all, for they'd never experienced the burden of command themselves. Even Hawke herself couldn't fully empathise. She had her freedom, the option to dip in and out of city politics as she pleased, or at least, until Meredith begged. And she begged often, so often, with her head buried between Hawke's thighs, tongue putting forward a most persuasive argument indeed.

Everything had conspired to put them in the loneliest positions possible, so it was natural to find comfort in each other's presence,  in each other's arms, even if they could not fully bridge the differences between them. The agreement between them was tacit: Hawke would help Meredith secure the city, and Meredith would keep Bethany safe. Hawke knew, more than anyone, the lengths that Meredith would go to in order to protect a vulnerable sibling, a mage sibling. A sister.

That was why it felt like the stab of twin daggers, the way Meredith had called for the Right of Annullment, giving up on everything she and Hawke had so carefully built together as the twin protectors of this city. They'd had an agreement. When Meredith implored Hawke to do her duty, her eyes met Bethany's for the briefest of moments before she whispered a prayer, an apology. Sorry, she said, more to herself than anyone else, as she pulled her daggers from her back.

[kettlequills]

For the kisses, 7 virawen or 16 hawkedith, please?

You get both because I love you.

7. Forehead kisses, Virawen

16. A kiss that wasn't supposed to happen, Hawkedith (nsft)

It is early morning, and Vira is not awake. She clings stubbornly to sleep, scrunched shut against an influx of morning light and her arm thrown over her eyes. She is too warm and comfortable to move. The world will wait another few hours; it would not dare move on without her.

The silly, reckless, beautiful girl curled up beside her has not yet grasped this. She is stroking Vira's hair, worshipping the silky strands between her long fingers and occasionally burying her face in them like she wants to drown there. Her breath makes the hairs on Vira's nape tingle and stand straight. Her spine is a long, silvery line down to the centre of her throbbing thighs and weak knees. Elenwen's lips against her forehead are softer than rose petals as she dots little kisses over her temple. But Vira is not awake, and so the girl's coaxing goes manfully ignored.

"You're so beautiful, Lady Sinahl," murmurs Elenwen in her ear, her body pushing up eagerly against hers.

Vira groans in soft displeasure, thinking disparaging thoughts to all lovers up at unreasonable times everywhere. Elenwen is truly no better than Faseladil, awakening her with his pawing and then soothing her with his clever tongue before she saw fit to kick him out of her bed for good. Truly, the girl has no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

Elenwen laughs, a hoarse little chuckle in her throat that makes some parts of Vira perk rather more swiftly than others.

Slender, elegant fingers cup the joint of her wrist and skilfully slide down her forearm to dig into the meat of the muscle. Smoothly, Elenwen digs her nail into a pressure point, just enough to make Vira's arm twitch without her consent. The pain is bright and sharp as a fox's grin.

"Leave me," says Vira, and Elenwen sighs warmly against her shoulder.

"I love your voice in the morning."

Vira cracks open her sandy eyes and irritably blows a strand of hair off her face. There's too much of it. Luckily, Elenwen saves her from having to contemplate cutting it all off by rescuing the strand, tucking it behind Vira's ear complete with a reverent caress over the tip.

"Good morning," she says, her golden eyes crinkling with amusement, and Vira sourly misses the days when Elenwen was too afraid to look higher than her waist.

"I meant it," Vira threatens toothlessly, her hand creeping over Elenwen's skinny waist and anchoring her there in the bed, in case the girl gets any silly ideas like actually believing her, "Go away and let me sleep."

Elenwen kisses her forehead instead, soft and lingering. It is so unexpectedly sweet it makes her ache. Vira trembles lightly when she pulls back, feeling her breath fan across her face and remembering the intoxication those wicked lips are capable of against her own mouth.

Perhaps she has one redeeming quality. One.

-

-

It was an accident, Hawke later insists hysterically to anyone who will listen. The Knight Commander of the Templars does not kiss mages, and the Champion of Kirkwall does not kiss Templars. It was an accident, a brief, temporary madness of votive candles and Chantry wine. The madly burning red candles wink and flicker at her, like they are calling the lie for what it is.

The sunburst brands itself into Hawke's back when Meredith lifts her against the wall of the Chantry, behind the altar where Andraste's enormous bronze skirts hide them from view. Chanters murmur and sing somewhere, and incense drifts thick and languid like snakes coiling round corpses. No one interrupts them, even if they dare to, this far back in a dusty corner marked by only two sets of feet. The rasp of Meredith's armour is steely as her voice when she hoarsely orders Hawke to come closer, to prove her mouth will follow her promises.

Meredith's mouth tastes of blood and lyrium, and her metal-plated hands are hard as her lips. She kisses like a fist, forceful and blunt, chipping her teeth against Hawke's lips and groaning harshly when Hawke yanks down her hood and yanks her closer by her golden hair. It spills over her hand like the sunshine she denies her charges, and the gimlet flicker of the cursed sword she wears over her shoulder illuminates her pale cheek like a blush. It does not hide the stress shake, the deep bags under her electric blue eyes, the signs of an intense mind grinding itself to dust under its own passion.

It is not supposed to be like this.

Hawke is supposed to win the loyal and adoring hearts of the whole of Kirkwall, to fluster and flatter them into changing their minds, an ambassador of an entire jailed people. Hawke is the bright standard before the battlecry of justice-seekers and scoundrels everywhere. Hawke is a champion, relentless and tenacious as one of Kirkwall's pit rats, never too good to run a fetch quest or do some busy work for a bit of silver.

Meredith is a knight. Loyal and incorruptible, she is not supposed unbuckle her belt behind the statue of Andraste and drop the Chantry emblazoned tabard to the stone floor as a cushion for Hawke's knees. She is a templar, a warden, and not the woman Hawke is supposed to want to watch gasping as silently as she can in pleasure, eyes narrowed like even now she suspects a trick. She tastes like lyrium there, too, salty and tangy on Hawke's tongue. Her blue eyes turn to smoky pools in the half light, near glowing with the stolen power inside of her.

"Good," she murmurs, harsh and dispassionate, and Hawke shudders.

It is an accident, she insists every time, and nothing more.

[magician07me]

version no. 1 Hawkedith

[chocochipbiscuit]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Hawke/Meredith Stannard Characters: Female Hawke (Dragon Age), Meredith Stannard Additional Tags: Wrestling, Strap-Ons, Fighting As Foreplay, Established Relationship, Emotionally Repressed Summary:

Meredith and Hawke wrestle with their feelings.

I aten’t dead, check out this fic. :’)

[allaganexarch]

ASKS hmmmmmmmm 5 / 8 / 20 ?

👀👀👀

I just need to say I love that these eye emojis are coming into my house sdkjnfjnkfknjf they're so big and for WHAT tumblr LOL! Saving 5 for the end so I can readmore the snippet!

8. Is there a story idea in your mental vault that you’ve never been brave enough to try writing? Is this the year? Can you tell us about it?

kjndfsnjkdfsknjfsd literally the only things I'm weird about writing are smut ideas okay!!! and they're not even that weird it's me i'm the problem!!!!!!!!! So idk, the LiandrinxReader fic will probably be a nice challenge for me on that front, and who knows, maybe this is the year the Hawkedith light bondage fic sees the light of day. oh actually you know what for a non-smut idea I've always wanted to do a tropey time travel fic! but i think i would make myself insane LOL. maybe this will be the year!!!

20. Any plans to work on original fiction this year?

OHOHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! It's honestly so hard to choose and prioritize what to work on!!! I have 2 big original ideas, both of which I have rambled at you about extensively LOL. I think I can make a good chunk of progress on the nano nonsense fic this year, since the style is pretty firmly in my wheelhouse and I have a pretty strong idea of the main plot through-line. We'll see how I'm feeling, but I think once I get a few of my lingering fanfic projects done I'll be ready to focus on my original things again! Month-long challenges like nano actually work really well for me when I can manage them, so I might try to do something like that eventually to make some significant progress!

5. Which WIP is first on your list to complete this year? Will you post a snippet?

Again, it's soooooo hard to choose and prioritize!!! Scorched earth is in general my top priority because I just don't want to drag it out too long--before the most recent time my schoolwork beat me to death w a stick I was under the delusion that I could have it almost finished by the new year LOL! But since it's fairly simple in structure and I have it pretty clearly planned out, I mostly write chapters in one or two sittings. Second priority is advancing/finishing ghost of you, since the next chapter is literally almost done, I just got too busy to work on it. But instead I shall offer youuuuu Liandrin x Reader nonsense! It is once again a long snippet because I cannot just be normal.

--

You heard a lot about Liandrin Sedai during your first year or two as a Novice.  There was a rumor, never confirmed but nonetheless ubiquitous, that a Novice had died under Liandrin’s tutelage not long before you had arrived.  As a result, she was no longer permitted to teach Novices.  Furthermore, it was suggested, Novices would do well to avoid her.  Reasons for this varied somewhat, from ‘lest they remind her of her very recent tragedy’ to ‘lest they become the next unwitting targets of her deadly ire.’

You’re sure you never saw her in all that time, though, and eventually you heard the story repeated less and less, only really trotted out when new students arrived to the White Tower.  You learned later that Liandrin had left the Tower for a long while after the incident of legend.  It’s common for sisters of the Red Ajah to take extended leave, and the unfortunate fate of the Novice in question had certainly not impeded her ability to perform the functions for which she is best-suited.

You have also learned since then that for every extended absence, there is a corresponding extended stay in the Tower, particularly for the powerful and influential.  Liandrin is quite popular, if perhaps controversial in some circles, and it has thus been impressed upon her how very much her talents are needed within these walls for the foreseeable future.

Nevertheless, you are nothing short of shocked to see her perched atop the teacher’s desk when you arrive for your afternoon lesson.  You glance out the window, perhaps to catch a glimpse of the dire emergency that must have incapacitated so many Aes Sedai that Liandrin has been deemed a suitable substitute.

Liandrin is technically allowed to teach Accepted students.  Technically.

Liandrin herself looks about as pleased as any of the Accepted.  She pays you no mind as you enter, her piercing gaze fixed on some imagined point on the far wall.  Her arms are folded, her lips are pursed, and it looks like she’s biting the inside of her cheek.  Given her storied reputation, this understandably puts most of the students ill at ease.

“No need to trickle in,” she says, so sharply that you notice a few students flinch.  “You’re all in the right place, I should think.  I am Liandrin Sedai, and I will be overseeing your practice for the afternoon.”

She says all of this as though each word causes her great distress, gaze still fixed somewhere above the students’ heads.

“I am unaccustomed to teaching, and it’s been a long while since I was Accepted, so you will have to forgive me my unfamiliarity,” she continues, but gives absolutely no impression that she is asking forgiveness for anything.  “Adeline Sedai was not generous enough to inform me which weaves you are currently studying.  Would anyone be so kind as to enlighten me?”

The room falls eerily silent.  You cast a surreptitious glance toward Briallyn, who is usually the sort to raise her hand at any opportunity.  She is gazing at Liandrin like she is something inhuman and incomprehensible.

You swallow your nerves and raise your hand.

Liandrin turns her head sharply.  “Yes?”

“Weaving Spirit,” you say, although your voice falters under her exacting gaze.

“Weaving Spirit,” she echoes with a mocking lilt, inclining her head and smiling with false sweetness.  “Could our esteemed little sister perhaps narrow it down, just a bit?”

You feel your cheeks flush hot.  “The basics, I mean,” you stammer.  “Just starting.”

Liandrin scoffs.  “I suppose I should have known better than to expect anything more than that,” she says with a theatrical sigh.  “What was our dear Adeline Sedai having you do, just…” she waves vaguely, “pick at threads of Spirit out of nowhere?  No direction, no purpose?  No wonder it’s taking so long.”

She points at you, and you nearly startle out of your skin.  “Come forward.  Since you’ve been kind enough to volunteer.”

You can hear a low whisper of fear starting up around you as you obey her command, feel the eyes of your fellow Accepted upon you although you keep your head bowed low.  You are shy and unused to this kind of attention.  You can feel your face flushing all the way up to your ears.

Liandrin is perfectly average in stature, yet somehow seems to tower over you through her presence alone.  She ducks her head to catch you eye, and now her subtle smile bears no tinge of mockery.  “Look,” she bids you, gesturing out toward the classroom.

You attempt, quite unsuccessfully, to swallow down your embarrassment.  You look.

“Your classmates are afraid of me,” Liandrin observes, with the kind of neutrality one expects of a particularly uninteresting weather forecast.  “No doubt you’ve all heard stories about me.  Or, should I say, one in particular?”

You glance surreptitiously in Liandrin’s direction.  Her eyes are alight with cruel amusement.  She is enjoying this.  She leans in toward the class, as though to share a secret.  “Let me assure you that what you’ve heard…is absolutely true.”

The whole class visibly recoils, and the frightened whispers culminate in horrified gasps, followed by a deafening silence.

“Look at your classmates,” says Liandrin.  “The same way you would look for threads of fire or water.  Look for their fear.”

A part of you considers that you can see their fear perfectly well without looking very closely at all.  Another part of you is preoccupied with the way Liandrin’s eyes light up watching people recoil from her.  But you know from experience that Liandrin has very little patience, and she will not be pleased if she has to repeat herself.

You tear your eyes away from Liandrin and look, focusing on the class as a whole rather than trying to stare at any one person.  You squint and tilt your head, think of the frightened whispers and all the different versions of Liandrin’s story you have heard repeated over the years.  Some of your classmates are much younger than you, and their precocious talents allowed them to graduate to the rank of Accepted sooner than most.  They must have heard the story of the Novice who died under Liandrin Sedai’s tutelage very recently, and they do not have the benefit of experience to tell them that Liandrin means them no actual harm.

You think you start to see it then, something red and wrong hanging about them, brighter in some places than in others.  On instinct you reach out to pull at the threads.

You are not a talented channeler.  Threads do not respond well or quickly to your beckoning.  But the threads do come to you, slowly, and in this aspect alone, Liandrin is endlessly patient.

“A useful trick, to draw upon strong emotion,” says Liandrin.  Her words are for the benefit of the class, but she speaks quietly, and she is standing close enough to you that her voice makes you shiver.  “Spirit is that which is not strictly tangible, and yet you can feel it, can’t you, when there is a room full to the brim with terror?”

You can see the change in some students then, the ones who understand that this was, at least in part, a play upon their emotions in an unusual effort to educate.  You see the shift not in their faces but in the threads you are attempting to weave, a subtle change in the color and shape as fear gives way to confusion, or brightens into excitement.

You can’t help but wonder what others see, when they look at the color and shape of your own emotions.

New Year Fanfic Asks!

[ziskandra]

DRAGON AGE ABSOLUTION SPOILERS FOR ANYONE SCROLLING . . . . . .

me after that ending: okay here's how hawkedith can still win--

everyone just like “hawke failed this and hawke failed that” and yet here we are just like THAT’S HER GIRLFRIEND—

[papersketch]

Dark

A hawkedith drabble

--

Hawke was a puzzle. A thing of mystery and misfitting parts that nagged at the back of Meredith's head, persistent, like a stain, a black-haired black-clothed stain.

She couldn't help but to linger at it, follow her trail of papery steps stamped in bureaucracy. Hawkishly.

There's a magnetism in things that shouldn't be where they are. They eat at your waking hours and keep you awake in the long night, a sore you keep worrying, as much as you know it would do better left alone. Meredith simply couldn't leave anything alone.

The thing with the dark is that it spreads as time goes, fills every corner, swallows every secret and embraces every creature.

Hawke was a shadow with glittering eyes, and in the pitch blackness, Meredith's left hand didn't know what her right hand did, hot and hidden.

[sharksister]

hawkedith because @superfluouskeys and her beautiful wonderful fics sent me down this damn hole

[rat-spit-village]

in some (frankly, freaky) hawkedith feels