#the deep roads are the worst

[feykrorovaan]

Sometimes I think about what lyrium actually is and I just

[ludicrousladybug]

It's Always Sunny In Ferelden

[ipaintthesky]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age II Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke (Dragon Age) Characters: Anders (Dragon Age), Female Hawke (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Post-Dragon Age II - Act 1, Post-Dragon Age II Quest - The Deep Roads Expedition, the deep roads are the worst, Red Hawke (Dragon Age), but the red option is a defense mechanism Summary:

After returning from the Deep Roads without her sister, Hawke isn't doing so well. After a particularly bad night of drinking and brawling, she ends up in Anders' clinic.

-

Finished one of my WIPs. This one was inspired by my first playthrough with red Hawke, who is actually pretty great. If only I hadn’t accidentally locked myself out of the Anders romance in the process - but that’s why we have fan fiction.

[alejandrolover23]

@leafing-charm-eb is voring me!! help!!!! they eat organ!!!!!! vomits!!

[alexanderpearce]

if you knew me you would understand that this is tantamount to a death sentence. they want me dead. they mean to kill me.

[rivilu]

disjointed fandom posting sorry but it just hit me that pwotr is like. the only rpg where a companion never once left my team

[alternativeulster]

swiftie mutuals please know that i still love you i just cant help but be a hater

[shivunin]

vibes into your ask

Cullen and Salshira- finally kissing the person you’ve been pining for . :3

Oh hi! <3

Had to take a minute to check what I'd written for them already! (I know pining usually is reserved for people who haven't been together romantically yet, but I took it in more of a 1800s-ish"I long for your touch" kind of way c: ):

After the Dark

Salshira kept pieces of Cullen with her always, in the form of the coin in her pocket, the mark on her jaw, and the ring on her finger. 

The first was a memory of the years he’d spent alone in his own darkness, as much as it was a gesture of love. The second was a tether, something that told her without a doubt that no matter how far away from each other they might be, Cullen was still alive and well. 

The third—well, that was the one she clung to all through those long, cold months in the dark caves of the Deep Roads. 

The Inquisitor pressed it to her lips late at night when it was her turn for watch, willing his presence here, willing herself to believe that the warm metal was somehow a link to him. The nightmares were awful down in the dark, in the deep. Every night, she was a child again, screaming for her best friend while the giant spider dragged her limp body into the depths. Every day, she fought through endless waves of darkspawn, stinking and foul and grinning endlessly. But in the evenings, in the quiet—in those moments, Salshira had Cullen, at least until it was time to curl up on the cot alone again.

They’d been so long in the dark that when they finally completed their mission and climbed back out again, Salshira’s eyes flinched away from direct light. She felt like she rode back to Skyhold with her eyes half-closed, wincing at the brightness of the sun on the snow, at the shine on the others’ newly clean armor. 

When at last they crossed over the drawbridge a week later, there was no pale form on the drawbridge as she’d expected. They’d sounded her party’s return; that was her flag going up on the ramparts. So where…?

Lavellan saw him as soon as she rounded the corner toward the stables. The Commander paced there, his usually neat hair mussed and all in curls at the sides. Both of his hands gripped the hilt of his sword, and he didn’t even seem to see her, so focused was he on scowling at the dirt. 

“Cullen,” she said as soon as her mount passed most of the vendors at their stalls, and had to clear her throat to try again when his name came out in a croak.

“Cullen,” Salshira called, and his head snapped up. 

She didn’t give him time to run for her. Instead, Salshira threw herself from the saddle, very nearly twisting her ankle when it caught in the stirrup. 

In an instant, all the clever words deserted her. All the little jokes she’d thought up on the road here, eyes squeezed shut against the unfamiliar light—all the things she’d wanted to ask him about how he’d been while she was gone—all of them deserted her. There was only him, taking her elbows when she nearly tripped in the process of throwing herself in his general direction. 

She couldn’t seem to see him. At first, she thought it was just the same sun-blindness, but no—it was  a haze of tears instead, when Salshira was loath to cry at all and doubly so in public. 

“Cullen,” she said again and again, the only sensible thing she could force out between her cracked lips. 

Cullen pressed his forehead to hers, murmuring words she couldn’t seem to make sense of— “missed you,” maybe, and, “Maker preserve me,” and her name, over and over. He held her so tightly; too tightly, maybe, with their breastplates shoved hard against each other, but Salshira couldn’t bring herself to care. She just rested her forehead against his and waited, the relief of having him here—actually him, not a piece of metal or a mark on her skin—too powerful for any other thoughts to sneak in around it. 

When they kissed at last, it was almost an accident. Cullen’s mouth still whispered words that might have been prayers or questions, her own trembling with unspoken emotion. 

It hurt, just a little. Not the kiss, which was achingly gentle as soon as he realized that’s what he was doing. No—it was the relief of being home again, in his arms where she ought to be. After months of fear, after that final battle all but on her own, it was almost more than she could stand to finally let it be over. 

“‘Ma sal’shiral,” she said at last when they could tear themselves away, and her fingers at last found the warm skin of his neck beneath the ruff and his armor, “How I have missed you.”

To her surprise, he laughed—a watery sort of laugh—and shook his head. 

“Love,” Cullen told her quietly, “You’ve no idea.”

There would be more words later; better words perhaps, or at least ones she’d planned to say. But here and now, their own stumbling attempts were enough so long as they held on tightly to one another. 

So long as they let go only as much as they must.

[argiopi]

got the cops called on me for the most hilariously sensible reason last night

So i have a new industrial piercing (my first piercing..! i love it •w•), and it got infected because of course it did, it's a cartilage piercing and i live outside. Context i've been living in my car for the past few weeks, which has been pretty good but one of the tradeoffs is i do not have a bathroom. The piercer told me if the piercing got infected I could soak it in saltwater, so i needed a source of 1. salt, 2. water that is warm or at least not the below-freezing ambient temperature i currently exist in.

Gas stations have both these things. (I have yet to purchase salt for my occasional propane stove cooking). Only problem is it was past midnight in a rural area, so I didn't find a 24 hour convenience store until around 100 miles into my route for the evening.

At 3 AM local time the store was inhabited by just One stern-looking employee who was mopping the floor. My grungy ass walks in carrying a small collapsible bowl and immediately begins casing the place like the world's shittiest thief, looking for those little free salt packets. I looked around the (empty, no hot food at 3 AM) hot dog stand and saw only wet condiments so i circled back around to the grocery section in case they were selling salt shakers I could buy. No luck so i desperately returned to the hot dog counter in case I missed the salt, and noticed a cabinet labeled CONDIMENTS below the dog cooker, which did conceal salt packets. I stuffed a handful of them in my pocket and hoped the mopping woman wouldn't ask, then pivoted to the bathroom where I locked myself for the next fifteen minutes.

I filled my bowl with hot water which was actually cool water but at least it wasn't frigid, and mixed salt into it and held it to my ear. After a few minutes the staff, who had been understandably watching me from around corners the entire time I was searching for salt, knocked on the door. I replied "hello?" and she didn't respond, so I assumed she was just checking if anyone was in there before she tried entering to continue mopping. I finished cleaning my sad little ear and bought a bag of yogurt pretzels as a gesture of good will because I felt bad for taking her salt and taking too much time in the bathroom when she needed to clean.

Enter The Pig. I had returned to my car and grabbed my first aid kit to apply antiobiotic ointment, when an officer entered the store. Trepidation when he arrived since I knew I was being a freak, but then i thought he was just doing his own shopping, then he came back out and approached my vehicle.

Rolled down my window and he asks what was going on in the bathroom. (What if i had been just taking a long shit??). So I showed him my ear and my bowl and explained, as Alertly, Calmly, and Soberly as i could after driving for multiple hours after midnight, to the face of someone who can ruin my life with a penstroke, that I was on the road and had to soak this infected piercing. Luckily it was a confused young cop who was too bewildered to inquire much further, not an old hardass who might start asking more challenging questions such as "where are you going" or "where are you staying tonight and why are you washing your ear at the gas station and not there." He clearly barely even looked at my car - asked if i was a local when my license plate is from two timezones away - and let me go without even collecting my information.

That was the sixth time that police have confronted me for acting outside social norms. The first time was because I was plucking an invasive plant species from the side of the road and he thought I was falling when I walked up & down the slope. The second time I was walking home alone at night, and maybe someone called because I had a backpack on and they thought I was trying to rob a house. I was just walking home from the train. The third time I had been biking home in the dark without a headlight, and i fell on my face and didn't know I was bleeding until a bastard pulled up and told me someone called because they thought I got hit by a car. The fourth time was when I fell in the river last winter and i was knocking on random doors asking for directions home to minimize my risk of hypothermia, and I suppose the woman who drove me home called to send someone to make sure i was okay? The fifth time was the first time I slept in my car, which ironically was before I started serially sleeping in my car. I was falling asleep on the highway after an all-nighter so I took the next exit and took a nap in my driver's seat at the end of a random residential street before I ended up on the news, and that's how I learned suburbanites are paranoid as all hell about anything out of the ordinary because a cop knocked on my window and asked me if I was drunk (who would say yes to that question?). Now I select my sleeping sites very carefully, which is probably the most annoying thing about hashtag vanlife, but I haven't gotten The Knock again yet and sometimes when I pull into random public lands after dark I wake up to mountains I've never seen before and that fuels my soul.

Lesson learned is that if you need to snort sodium chloride in a gas station bathroom at 3 AM, just have an ear piercing and dampen the hair around it and carry a bowl around, and you've got a story that's Too Weird To Be Making Shit Up.

[persephoneggsy]

I’ve made the executive decision that actually Marian exists in my Viohan Hawke worldstate. But in that world she’s a distant cousin on Malcolm’s side who’s minding her own business somewhere far from Kirkwall. Like, she’s in Nevarra or something.

Just so I can comfort myself with the idea that Sebastian will eventually meet her and they’ll fall in love. Because this worldstate needs a happy Hawke, and it sure as hell isn’t gonna be Viohan.

[urbanbirdbud]

it’s been. a very rough afternoon

[milimeters-morales]

my scaredguy ass could NEVER drive a vehicle

[theseancekid]

bruh

[crossdressingdeath]

there is a skip the deep roads mod

You're gonna say that and not link it??????? Come on. Where's the mod.

[thinkinonsense]

FANTASIZE❦

old!logan howlett x fem!reader

*mdni

cw: cursing, nsfw, age gap (reader is twenty-five)

wc: 1k+

a/n: i have no idea where this came from. i was supposed to be working on something completely different but apparently, this needed to be written first instead. yes it is inspired by the unreleased ariana grande song.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Logan couldn't read minds. He never longed for the ability or power; he was better off not knowing what others had going on in their heads. He only wanted to peek into someone's mind when he caught your twinkling eyes lingering in his direction. Luckily, he could still read your mind even without the mutation because your fantasies were written all over your face.

It was obvious to anyone caught in the same room as you and Logan, that there was tension. You burned holes all over his body with your intense gaze. If Logan was in the mood to entertain your little crush, he could compliment you in a way that was sure to make you blush.

"Good form today, kid."

"Lookin' pretty today, sweetheart."

"Lemme fix that lipstick, dollface." That one left you with an ache in between your thighs as his thumb brushed your lower lip. "Can't have you walkin' around here a mess, now can we?"

Logan wasn't sure if he would ever make it to heaven but seeing your lip tremble with need was close enough for him.

If he saw you in a dress with a pair of mary-jane's, he would try to catch a glimpse of your underwear in the reflection of your shoes. It didn't always work but it made him feel young again.

No one was brave enough to address it due to him being twice your age. Despite being twenty-five years old and already having graduated from the school, it was still considered taboo to some. If anyone asked Logan about it, he would brush it off as a schoolgirl crush that you would eventually grow out of.

It was truly harmless he thought. You got the attention you craved and Logan got to see a pretty young woman squirm in her seat because of him. It never went further than flirtatious comments and lingering stares.

❦

Today might be the worst day of your life. You and Logan were being sent out together on a mission to find a mutant that lived two hours away. It wasn't the mission that worried you; it was being stuck in a tiny car with only Logan for one hundred and twenty minutes.

"Why aren't 'cha talkin', dollface?" Logan asked, almost teasingly.

For almost twenty minutes, he was aware of your eyes watching his hand hold the wheel. Logan was also incredibly aware of the effect it had on you. A little broken sigh escapes you when his hand clenches tighter around the leather, making his veins pop even more.

"Too busy fantasizing 'bout me?"

No matter how much you tried to find someone your age to be with, your heart always went back to Logan. He treated you differently than anyone you've ever met. Sure, sometimes he made you feel like a kid but he also knew you could handle your own. Logan wouldn't let anyone underestimate you; that kept you crawling back to him.

"Maybe I am." You shrug, fed up with his games.

"Oh, yeah?" He says, taking a deep inhale of your sent. "What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours, hm?"

You were used to Logan's overly confident personality that he tried to use to intimidate you; and make you stumble over your words. It wasn't gonna work this time. Logan wanted you just as much as you wanted him, but you needed him to admit it first.

"Us in the backseat of the car." You admit, biting the inside of your cheek nervous for his response.

"Really? And what are we doing back there?" He asked, cocking his head curiously as his eyes remained glued to the road.

"You're on top of me, makin' me feel good." Your words were coy but that was the point. Logan liked being the tease; having all the power.

"Keep talkin', dollface."

There it was. You had him right where you wanted him.

You pretended to think about it for a moment before shaking your head and telling him, "No, I shouldn't"

"Why not?"

"Because an old man like yourself can't keep up with me, right? At least that's what I heard you tell the Professor."

Logan couldn't believe you had heard their conversation earlier this week. The Professor was the only person who knew the truth of how Logan felt towards you. When Charles asked him what was stopping him from pursuing you, all Logan had to say was, "I'm too old for her; can't keep up with such a young thing like her".

Which was far from the truth.

"So obsessed with me that you're listenin' to my conversations now?" He growled, pulling the car over.

"Stop acting like you aren't obsessed with me too." You smile at him. "I know a few pairs of my underwear 'mysteriously' disappear from my hamper. I know that you can hear me through the walls late at night, panting your name."

With each sentence, you inch closer to him. Logan could only compare you to the snake in Eve's garden; encouraging him to give into his temptations.

"I also know that you want me." Your eyes were dark with desire, making his pants tighter. "So, if you can't get it up or claim that you don't want me then that's fine with-"

Logan fumed with irritation and lust. Not thinking twice before slamming your lips into yours. He tasted exactly like you imagine; tobacco and mint. You were addicted; no one could ever compare to him.

In a rush, his rough hands pulled you into his inviting lap before one cupped your jaw and his other made its way up your skirt, toying with your lacy underwear. He wasn't going to give it to you that easily.

"L-Logan, please," You moan against his mouth, trying to create some friction on his lap. "Need it."

God, he's waited a long time to hear that; to see you so desperate in his arms. When he pulled back to look at you, Logan couldn't be more pleased with the image in front of him. Your eyes shut tightly, face scrunched, trying to concentrate, and lips pouty with annoyance. Logan removes his hand under your skirt; causing the prettiest whine to escape you. He thought you might be what finally kills him.

"We aren't done, sweetheart." He groaned in your ear. "Get in the backseat because you are gonna tell me every single one of your fuckin' fantasies."

[emeraldbabygirl]

I wish someone would edit scenes or screen caps of the high & low fight scenes with the manicures and hoop earrings and long eyelashes template thing imagine Jamuo with goblin claws skskskskk