#Alistair never lives this moment down

[a-gay-bloodmage]

Just experienced the most incredible moment in Dragon Age Origins

I was in the temple of the Urn of Sacred Ashes doing the god forsaken floating tile puzzle, and when I clicked on Alistair, he just went my love?

And while a simpler man may acknowledge this as a glitch, I, for one, elect to fully embrace this as canon

Orest, in the middle of a floating, magical bridge, just calling out to Alistair to ask him to move to the next spot, and Alistair responding with my love? and Orest's jaw just dropping as he tries to fight laughter and responding next tile, my love?

Alistair realizing what he said and the inside of his helmet starting to heat to a hundred degrees while Orest just keels over laughing, Alistair threatening to mess up the puzzle and let him drop, all while Leliana and Wynne look on, half in amusement and half in horror at the fact that this is happening in the Temple of the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

[notebooks-and-laptops]

We all know that the real reason you hate Veilguard is that non-white people have agency and power in the story, unlike your precious BG3 fetishizing racism. Imagine you giving a shit about the fact that Karlach's story is incomplete because Sven Vincke believes that oppressed minorities deserve racist abuse.

Okay so obviously this ask wasn't sent in good faith (and bizzare considering Karlach, Lae'zel and Wyll are my favs in Bg3 and I've been outspoken about disappointment in their treatment by Larian compared to Astarion but I digress). But it has prompted an interesting thought because....

What agency do characters (any, but especially our non-white as anon has pointed out) have in Veilguard? I think of any RPG (maybe even any videogame?) the Veilguard companions have the LEAST agency I've seen.

All RPGs involve an element of helping to decide your companions fate; will Merrill smash the mirror or keep it? Will Isabela come back? Will Alistair become a warden, a king or a drunk? Will Leliana let ruthlessness or compassion rule her? And how you play does effect this; often there are important choices at certain moments.

I think these decisions in general work better when they're slowly built up over a number of choices (e.g. Leliana in DAI, who will be divine) or come from approval/disproval (Merrill smashing the mirror if she feels she has nobody on side vs. keeping it if she feels she has you at her back). This is because in these situations the characters are not just asking what to do to the player they are influenced by numerous situations and circumstances and that effects the decisions they make.

But veilguard...well. the approval system doesn't exist. None of the companions can hate or dislike Rook, they can only like you to various degrees of intensity. So that doesn't effect anything. They have no agency over their relationships and whether or not they like someone. And there is a total of one choice which I would say truly affects the game long term (maybe you can argue two if you say a meaningful decision with long reaching consequences can happen an hour before the game ends) and even making that choice won't really sour Lucanis or Neve against you fully.

I've mentioned a few times that veilguard companions have no line in the sand; they're very maluable to just...whatever Rook tells them. None of them have strong opinions about magic, religion, race, culture, society. Is that agency? Is it agency to water down a character so they have no stance on anything? Can a companion HAVE agency if they don't have any real negative opinions ever? If they never truly get to be influenced by the world to make decisions for themselves?

Each companion has a choice of two endings and Rook makes them for the companion in question. DA has done this kind of decision before (Bull comes to mind) but they've never followed such a formulaic system in which everyone looks to Rook at one moment and decides the fate of their lives (and in Bellaras case their people) from one decision the player makes. The companions don't push back against Rook for making a choice they dislike or regret letting Rook make for them. When you chose to kill Avelines husband for her she is pissy at you YEARS later for making that decision for her in the moment. In veilgurd there is just. Nothing. They lack any real agency in the narrative at all that can last beyond the scene they're in.

This I think is particularly aggregious with Bellara and Taash; Bellaras agency in the narrative is completely bulldozed by the fact that Rook is allowed to decide whether or not she keeps the archive spirit; something with deep significance to the Dalish/her culture. There's an excellent post about how this is akin to book burning even if DA didn't mean for it to be. You can just tell her to get rid of it and she does! No regrets! Because her culture is never truly at the forefront of her storyline it's viewed as something tangential to who she is; something she can easily discard if you tell her to. Is that agency? She doesn't get mad at you for any particular decision, is that agency?

And then Taash...God Taash deserved so much better. They're living a story about lack of binaries and yet every single choice is about forcing them in one. Taash says they're happy being multicultural at the beginning of the story and you slowly but surely strip that from them and you're FORCED to do so. Is that agency for them? Is that what you think giving characters agency Is? Is that not one of the more racist/insensitive options Bioware has EVER placed before a player.

Davrin spends the narrative learning there is more to him than having to die at the end of a hard fight; he becomes a father, and allows his love of Assan to guide him in the sense that Assan acts as a mirror; just as the griffins can be reframed as protectors of Arlathan rather than just wardens doomed to die so can Davrin...but then they decided that Davrin should be up as the choice of who dies and not only that but they made that decision because they thought players would find it hard to chose between ASSAN and Harding not Davrin and Harding. Which. Is gross. I do think Davrins storyline is handled the best out of everyone which is why he's my favourite, but the ending just adds a bad taste to my mouth.

Neve, Dorian, Mae and the Black Divine are happy to leave their countries future political situation to a complete outsider no questions or disagreements mentioned. Is that uhhh. Is that agency?

Even Solas is stripped of any agency in this narrative; Mythal made him do it! If she says he can stop he will! What? Where did THAT come from? How uninteresting does that make Solas?

As for if the Veilguard companions have power or are in positions of power....I guess? Maybe? Neve can be the leader of a smuggler gang (don't think too hard about what they might smuggle in the slave capital of the world) which is a position of power. Or an...inspiration? Which gives her very little concrete steps towards actually helping docktown. Lucanis can lead the crows I guess? That's powerful...altho he doesn't seem to want the position or be able to refuse it or even complain about it. We have no idea or clue what happens to Harding, Davrin, Taash after the game but hey maybe that's because they could all be dead.

The characters ARE powerful ill give you that. We have some immensely powerful mages in our party and I LOVE every scene where Neve throws up a sheild or places herself as a shield to protect her friends. I wish we'd got to see more of Bellaras science and tinkering smarts but what we get is GREAT. But having a powerful character isn't the same as a character having agency in their story or being able to effect meaningful change.

So yeah. I mean. Obviously bad faith anon straw manning me because I dared to have an opinion about a game they happen to like (and liking the game is fine! I like parts of the game! I think the characters deserved better but hey ho). But I think it's interesting to think about agency and power in this narrative because....I don't think anyone actually gets much of it. Certainly not in comparison to previous DA characters like Blackwall, Leliana, Viv, Zevran, Fenris, Anders, Merrill, Isabela etc.

[frantic-fiction]

Happy Birthday

(Gif: Alistairs)

Prompt: The gang throwing Spawn Astarion and Redeemed Durge a joint birthday party 😭

Credit to @bauldersgrave69 for letting me use their idea. Hopefully, you like it.

Astarion x F!Reader (Mostly Gender neutral but reader does wear a dress)

Warning: None. No spoilers just durge's memory lost and violent tendencies. This is pretty much pure fluff.

Word Count: 3.1k

It's been almost a year since you found yourself aboard a mindflayer ship, forcibly shoved into an adventure - one with life-changing choices. Choices that left you with a family not bonded through blood and torture, but one of trust, acceptance, and a chance to change something in yourself that you didn't fully comprehend when you woke up in that pod.

And the most important piece of the puzzle is currently walking next to you. As close as appropriate in public, moving away from the waterfront, Astarion would occasionally drop kisses on any exposed skin he could reach. But for the most part, he was content to hold your hand in his, just happy to be with the love of his life.

It was your date night. After the chaos had died down, you and Astarion had established this weekly tradition. Neither of your previous lives before the tadpoles allowed for much personal exploration or relaxation. The dates aimed to help take back both the agencies that had been torn away violently by cruel masters.

It was Astarion's week to choose the activity. He decided to push his boundaries just a bit and go dancing - not the stifling ballroom dances Cazador demanded be performed during various public events. No, Astarion wanted liveliness, drinks, and a wonderful band.

So, he bought a lovely pale yellow sundress from a stall by your apartment and added his personal style, ending with a beautiful garment - swirls and intricate patterns embroidered as accents. Donning himself in a dashing doublet, dark greys, and black accented with a similar shade of yellow.

The blushing mermaid was brilliant, the band jovial with pounding drums, and excellent lute and violin playing. Drinks were shared until heads were fuzzy. It took a bit for Astarion to work up the courage to dance, but he quickly offered his hand. The moment it was offered, your drink was down, and with a flushed face and a smile, you took his hand and pulled him to the dance floor.

The rest of the night was spent spinning and dipping until you were dizzy. You had never really danced, and if you had, that memory was lost and not worth finding. At times, you would stumble into a spin or out of a dip, but Astarion was always there to make sure you stayed on your toes with a firm hold.

When the energy of the night waned down and the band began to play a slower tempo, Astarion didn't hesitate to pull you flush against his body. His coolness was a pleasant contrast to the stuffiness of the mostly crowded tavern.

Astarion bent down to kiss you below your ear, whispering, "I don't think I will ever run out of thank yous."

"For dancing with a handsome man, I can say it was tiring but I'm having fun." The word is still a foreign concept, but one you and Astarion have become incredibly good at together.

"Yes, this night has been the best dancing I've done in years." You card your hand through his curls; his hand trails the curve of your spine. "But my thanks go beyond tonight, with you, my love. I have felt - you see I..."

Words seem not to be able to grasp what Astarion wants to say. So, he simply smiles and captures your lips in a kiss. Not everything needs words to express.

****

"My sweet, I believe we forgot dear Evelyn's oranges."

You had just entered the neighborhood where your house resided. It wasn't anything big; neither you nor Astarion liked the idea of a big space with rooms that would stay empty and cold.  

Thankfully, you came across Miss Evelyn, a sweet elderly gnome who owned a multifamily home. Her son had sadly died when the Absolute took Baldur's Gate. His wife and child went back to her parents, leaving Evelyn with a lot more space than she needed.

Astarion and you rented the upper portion of the home. The rent was cheap and you wish to pay more, and when you tried to explain just how much wealth you could spare, Evelyn shut it down immediately. She said that her price was fair and all she needed to make it for herself.

There was no room to argue after that, so you and Astarion took it upon yourselves to help her in any way she would allow - like getting oranges.

"I'll run out early before she wakes. Eve won't even notice."

"If you try to throw me on the chopping block again, I will not be making any cookies for a month."

"You would never!" You gasped, clutching your chest in dramatics.

"Don't tempt me, darling; I can be very stubborn." He said this, holding the gate to the property for you.

"Star, you know how her disappointed look makes me feel," the gravel crunched under your feet, the porch light to the house breaking through the dark.

"Yes, well, you'll just have to hope she made her bedtime." He kissed your cheek smugly and walked ahead, taking the stairs two at a time.

His shoes hit the wood boards of the porch when you heard, "Oh good evening Evelyn dear, I do have to apologize; my love completely forgot to get you oranges. By the time I realized their mistake, the vendor was already gone for the evening."

Handsome fucking asshole. Hands bunched up the skirt as you followed up the steps. He is going to have quite the time having any post-date fun with the way he's playing.

Making it to his side, Evelyn's in her chair, a basket of walnuts beside her. She didn't say anything for a moment, leaving only the crickets. Grabbing a walnut, she placed it on the table and slammed a hammer you did not see, cracking the shell before popping the flesh into her mouth.

"I figured, you two never get the things I want when it's your date night. Whatever, just get them tomorrow; your visitors gave me these walnuts so I'm not too bothered." The words were jumbled between almost toothless gums and walnut bits. A few pieces flew outwards with trails of spittle.

"Visitors?"

"Yeah, that little ragtag group you got. The bald one gave them to me. Told me something about 'Boo' thinking it would be polite since I let them break in and all."

Astarion and you met eyes, confusion reflecting each other's. Why was Minsc here?

"Did you plan something?" You asked.

"No," Astarion quickly turned to Evelyn, " I hope our little friends haven't been too much of a bother. Have a wonderful evening, my dear. Your oranges will be in your fruit bowl come morning."

He grabbed your hand and made for the stairs to your floor. Evelyn simply grumbled "They better be, pointy," before slamming the hammer down again.

You started to pull Astarion faster up the remaining stairs. But as soon as you reached for the door, Astarion halted you with an arm snaking around your middle. His mouth captured yours in a kiss, fast and heavy before you could even speak.

You melted. It's automatic, instinctual. You sigh carding you finger in his hair tugging on the roots. The orange incident quickly forgotten and the heavy annoyances with it. Not even the question of why your friends have broken into your home during date night mattered. His lips were gone too soon.

"I don't know about you, my sweet, but I believe our little weirdos have been very rude to us." He breathed into your ear before giving it a nibble. You nodded slightly, pulling his face to your neck. The he scrapes his fangs against you throat and you gasped

"I think they should have learned by now that I like to keep you to myself at night. And on our lovely date night, where you have been teasing me all night with this garment."

He pressed your back roughly against the door. The hinges whined against the force. You kiss him again, feeling his leg press between your legs. "And how am I to know that I shouldn't be ravishing you right here against this door."

"OKAY, OKAY. WE GET IT, ARESHOLE. DON'T INTERRUPT DATE NIGHT," Gale yelled.

"Maybe the next time we think about doing something nice for you two shits, I'll remember to bring earplugs," Wyll followed.

Astarion stepped you both back fully on your feet. "Maybe this time they will finally learn." Placing one last soft kiss on you cheek, he fully pulled away and moved to open the door.

You couldn't say what you had expected to see walking into your home. But this was not it.

Bright colors of balloons cluttering the floors, strings of paper tossed haphazardly around your living room. Your dining table is scatered with wrapped gifts and a frosted cake.

Each of your companions stood, all staring at Astarion and you, a mixture of disgust, excitement, and boredom (though that was mainly Lae'zel, who stood brooding in the farthest corner with a purple cone on her head). Oddly, they all had pointy hats tied to their heads. Even little Boo.

Scratch, who with all the excitement of seeing all of his friends back at his home, had begun to use his as a chew toy. Minsc pleaded with him to stop and seemed to be having a three-way conversation between the dog, Boo, and himself.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Karlach screamed as if the words had been burning in her mouth for hours. This had each and every one of your companions repeating the same phrase.

The shocked and confused looks Astarion and you shared must be very evident because Wyll was quick to jump in. “You both shared with us not knowing when your birthday was, so we’ve all decided what better time to celebrate than the start of our journey.”

This had Astarion's hand tightening in yours, his posture stiffening. Your heart hammered against your ribs, tears brimming over, trickling down flushed cheeks.

You don’t deserve this. The little voice echoes, the same voice that chokes you at night when you lay crying in Astarion's arms as he helps you calm from a panic attack. These people. This beautiful, caring family you stumbled upon was too good for such a broken, tainted person like you. To even think about this, planning a party with cake and presents simply to celebrate you and Astarion just living another year.

Him you understand; you had already been silently planning something similar for him for months. But it’s Astarion. The man who saved you, the one who reminds you each day that you are loved and safe and no longer the puppet of a cruel god. Yes, Astarion deserves to be celebrated and showered with gifts and affection. But you? The same person whose hands are stained so red with blood you still can’t comprehend the full extent of your depravity. No, you don’t think so.

"Well," Astarion’s voice cracks, and he takes a shaky breath, clearing his voice. "I guess being the center of attention for the night should make up for postponing my plan to bend my beloved over the cou-"

This snaps you out of your self-deprecation. You clamp your hand over his mouth loudly saying, "Thank you guys; this is… well, this is just perfect."

You rip your hand away when you feel the wet glide of Astarion's tongue and the scratch of a fang. "Seriously," you groan, wiping your hand off on his chest before stepping away and walking up to give out your first of many hugs.

****

"You cheated, you fucking bastard!" Astarion points accusingly over the coffee table, glaring at Gale. "I can sense a spell; you're not as clever as you think, wizard!"

You rub his arms, silently telling him to chill but shooting a glare of your own at the man. "Not to mention Karlach is not a very good actor," you say bluntly, causing the tiefling to scoff in offense. "You know I love you, Kar, but you have never been a good liar. Gale, if you won't play by the rules, I won't be responsible if Star gets violent."

Getting up from the couch, you peck Astarion's cheek and collect the pile of dessert plates. Astarion stands to start his turn of charades, beginning to mime out his word as Gale, Wyll, Karlach, and even Lae'zel tries to guess. Though Lae'zel only seemed to guess various ways to harm an enemy.

Minsc has himself in a deep talk with Boo. The two sat close to the bay window where Halsin and Jaheria had found themselves in a game of chess. By the looks of it, Halsin was winning, and Jahiera was none too happy.

Placing the dishes in the sink, you quickly wash the cake crumbs and frosting off. You carelessly toss each on the drying rack, Astarion always hated when you did dishes always complaining of the many chips you keep putting in the ceramics. 

Once done, you walked up to Shadowheart where she was dividing the small pile of presents into two.

"Thank you," you said softly, catching the half-elf's attention. It had come to light that Shadowheart had been the one to bring the idea up. "This has been more than I ever expected."

"We're family," was all she said. And you guessed it was all that needed to be. Just a simple act of love for two people in a large, slightly dysfunctional family. You move automatically, practically tackling Shadowheart into a hug.

"This means more to Astarion and me than we'll ever be able to express." The two of you don't mention the hoarseness in your voice. And if Shadowheart felt a few tears drop on her collar, she doesn't say.

She simply hugs you back just as tight. Once you break away, Shadowheart calls for everyone to gather for presents.

It's a novel concept to open gifts while everyone stares on, waiting for expressions of happiness and thanks. It's awkward, and both Astarion and yourself share the feeling of being out in the deep end. But it's kind of fun.

You open boxes to find books and painting supplies (a hobby you picked up after you saved that rather stuck-up painter from the Zhentarim last year.) But the best is a medium-sized portrait of the party together, something you've been begging everyone for months to do. It's beautiful, and you are already thinking of the perfect location to hang it up.

Astarion receives new embroidery supplies, a shiny new dagger, and a small box. It's black velvet, and when he opens the hinged lid, a plain-looking copper band sits in the middle of a makeshift pillow.

Never one to hold his tongue, Astarion cheekily says, "Oh how quaint, look at this darling; doesn't it look just like the magic ring the tiefling boy tricked you with."

You shoulder him, and he laughs. "Actually, it's a bit more magical than that little trinket; we went to a lot of trouble for that thing, so hush," Jahiera scolds.

"Oh then please regale us with the story of this mysterious gift," Astarion smirks.

"They call it the Sunwalker's gift. It's a rare magical artifact that protects a person from light sensitivity," Shadowheart says.

It doesn't process for Astarion right away, but your breath instantly catches. You freeze in shock; how in the hells did they find this? You thought it was just a legend.

"Gale got a lead, and long story short, it's real, it's here. Fangs, you can walk in the sun mate." Karlach smiles bouncing on her feet, her flames flickering a bit brighter in her excitement.

"However, it's not perfect. You can still succumb to some effects of your hypersensitivity. But the ring should allow at least a solid 8 hours of sun exposure." Halsin quickly adds.

Astarion doesn't take his eyes off the ring. His pointer finger smooths over the tarnished band. He swallows dryly, blinking back tears as quick as they come. "This… this" he's lost for words, and no one rushes him. They all know. "Thank you, will you excuse me?"

He's gone before anyone can react. There is no judgment; everyone knows strong emotions are not something Astarion can process anywhere but alone or with just you.

"This is amazing. I'm pissed you didn't let me in on this surprise, but from both Astarion and I, thank you all." You motion for a hug and they all pile in. 

Astarion doesn't return, but no one expects him to. The party wraps up quickly after that; everyone says their goodnight and departs into the night. You lock up the house and retreat to the bedroom. He sits by the window, staring out into the silent city. He's shirtless, his pale skin ethereal in the moonlight. The ring dances across his knuckles absentmindedly, his chin in his other hand.

You make your footsteps purposefully loud as you approach the vampire. Your hands snake themselves around him, caressing his smooth skin of the chest. He catches the ring and turns his face to meet your eyes. You push some hair out of his eye. He's been crying.

"Hey handsome," you smiled, kissing his lips. He turns towards you. Pulling you on to his lap and cups you face. There's no rush to the dance of your lips. Just soft brushes and tongue caress. You pull away panting. 

"Gods, I'll never get tired of this."

"Good cause I'm quite smitten with you." You grab his hands, taking the ring from his palm. You slide it onto his left ring finger, the magic tightening the metal to fit perfectly. You press a soft kiss to it sliding off. "Now come; I want to cuddle."

He helps rid you of your dress, slipping on one of his shi in replacement. You both slide under the sheet, Astarion pulls you onto his chest, strong arms enclosing you. Your head is tucked under his chin. He presses a kiss to your hairline whispering I love you.

You play with his hand, taking it off and putting it on each finger, watching it shift to fit each one. It was quiet for a while. Both of you are just soaking in each other. 

"Our family," Astarion says quietly, his chest rumbling under your ear. You drop his hand and look up. He has a look of pure love. "The term has been one that has only caused me pain for 200 years. To think I would find a new one that could contest 200 years of shit is…pleasant. Something I didn't expect to have again"

You smile brightly, grabbing his face and pressing your lips back onto his. "We really lucked out, didn't we. Now how about we get some sleep, and in the morning, we go get Evelyn's oranges together."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just running his hand down your spine, stopping at the swell of your bum and back up again. He kisses you again. "There is nothing I'd like more."

Feedback is welcome and always makes me smile, hate does not! Have a nice day, cheers!

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 3 MATCH 3

Edelgard propaganda:

“to summarize, she started a war but she was right. maybe her means weren't the best, but I'll always support my wife to tear down the church and end fodlan's reliance and discrimination on Crests”

"FODLANS MOST ELIGIBLE LESBIAN BACHLORETTE"

Alistair propaganda:

“this man is my first love and i was heartbroken when he lost </3 i believe in you baby”

“Alistair and the player are the last known surviving members in the country of an organization sworn to save the world from the recently reappeared apocalypse. You travel together to gather allies and he is very sweet and adorable if you choose to romance him. Depending on your choices he can become king and make the player his queen, or you can stay side by side in the organization. If you try to sacrifice yourself to save the world at the end, a romanced Alistair will take the killing blow in your stead if he’s by your side in the moment”

“He's the sweetest pun-iest man and it is so hard not to fall for his goofy charm, especially since he is the first companion you meet. He has a tragic backstory as a bastard child of royalty who was sent away to protect the heir. I always try to go in to date someone else when I restart the game and I always give in and pick Alistair.”

“I love his puns and sarcasm. He may be kinda dumb and like the epitome of boring white boy to some people, but i just love the humour he brings to the party.”

"alistair was literally forced to live in the stables growing up because the man who had stewardship of him remarried and she didn't like him; he's a bastard prince and tries to keep it secret but is almost identical to the king and you meet those two within 5 minutes of one another; he finds a rose in the middle of a battlefield and thinks how impossible it was to find something so beautiful in somewhere so terrible and it reminds him of finding you - so he saves it to give it to you; he's 20 and if you tell him to he will take the throne (even though it's always been his greatest fear - he'll do it if you're at his side); he doesnt know he's a half elf and its possible for him to live in the same castle as his mother later; he notices she looks at him strangely but he never finds out why; he's doomed to die young and so are you"

[wanderingsoul6261]

Thanks to the Dare

gif credit goes to thepalmofyourfreezinghand

James Beaufort x Reader

Synopsis: The group starts the night of a party by playing truth or dare. Someone dares James and Y/N to kiss, knowing that the two had feelings for each other but didn't want to act on them. Later on, after the group gets bored and stop playing truth or dare, they go down the line admitting confessions. Y/N admits that she has never had an orgasm. James wants to be the one that gives her, her first. Happy ending. Fluff.

Sorry if this is poorly written. I might come back to it in a few days and touch it up. Finished it at 3:30 am in the morning and feeling a bit burnt out.

Warning: 18+ SUBJECT. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT. SEXUAL ACTIVITIES ARE DESCRIBED. other mentions include alcohol. probably some swear words

The party continued to bustle around the group of seven. Cyril, Wren, Y/N, the Ellington siblings and the Beaufort twins currently sat in the living room of Cyril’s house. Wren, Alistair and Elaine sat together, with Lydia and Y/N sitting together, and Finally James and Cyril. Some of them filled the furniture while others sat on other chairs or even the floor, in the midst of the game of truth of dare. 

Y/N was slightly buzzed, a glass of wine currently in her hands. A bottle of water belonging to her sat forgotten somewhere. She had attempted to keep herself hydrated while drinking throughout the night to alleviate the effects of the hangover in the morning, but that didn’t seem likely at this moment. 

Cyril and Wren were definitely well on their way to getting drunk, while the rest of them were being conservative about what they were drinking and how much of it. 

“Okay. Y/N. Your turn.” All faces turned to her at the sound of Cyril’s voice. She raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Truth or dare.” The last one she did was a dare, in which she had been told to sensually dance in the middle of the group. She knew for a fact that Cyril and Wren had taken a very specific delight in watching her. Alistair, Lydia and Elaine could have cared less, but she definitely didn’t miss the hint of a certain look in James’ face. He watched her, a small smirk on his face, as he watched her move and sway her hips. His reaction to it had definitely caused Elaine to be salty towards her ever since. 

Her eyes turned back to Cyril, her mind made up. 

“Let’s do truth.” 

“Ok. Is it true…” Cyril trailed off, likely trying to think of a good one to ask her. He always wanted to know the juicy bits of a person’s life. It didn’t matter who you were. “You fancy someone, specifically within this group of seven?” Y/N rolled her eyes, not surprised in the slightest that this was the question that he would ask. 

“It’s true.” She responded. 

“Who?” Wren piped up, leaning forward to match the same posture that Cyril was also in. The two focused their attention on Y/N, obviously very keen on finding out who she had the hots for. 

“That’s more than one question. You can ask it if I allow it the next time through.” She teased, taking a sip of her wine. Her gaze trailed over to James, who watched her with curious eyes. The smirk from several minutes ago was still pulling at his lips. Y/N put her glass of wine down as Cyril and Wren continued to whine. 

“Come on. You can’t tease a man like that.” Cyril said. With the way he was acting, Y/N wouldn’t have been surprised if he suddenly got on his knees and started begging for an answer. It would be embarrassing for sure, but Y/N figured that Cyril wouldn’t have wanted to be subjected to that kind of embarrassment, and Y/N wasn’t a monster. 

“I can and I will.” Y/N smirked at them. Elaine had only rolled her eyes from where she sat next to Wren and Alistair. 

It had taken several moments to get Wren and Cyril to drop the subject and allow them to continue. James and Alistair had actually had to step in, pulling their attention away from Y/N and to Lydia’s, whose turn it was now, and as they continued the game, Y/N had wondered if she was safe from the potential question that was likely to be asked, and for a little bit, she was safe. Both Cyril and Wren had seemed to have forgotten about the question, and pestered the others when it was their turn to do so, asking for truths and forcing dares. 

However, a certain Beaufort twin herself was a little curious on who Y/N liked,albeit she had an idea, and had therefore come to be the reason that Y/N’s peace and quiet was short lived. The Beaufort twin turned to her brother, a sweet smile on her face. 

“James.” A soft hum left her brother’s throat, his attention now solely on her. He sat forward in his chair his elbows settled on his knees, awaiting the infamous question. 

“Truth or Dare?” she asked. James looked around the room, giving his answer some thought. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tilting his head back and forth. 

“Putting alot of serious thought into this, aren’t you?” Y/N teased, a smile hidden behind her wine glass as she took another drink. His eyes moved to hers, a look of amusement on his face before James finally looked back at his sister, and thinking that no harm would come of it, gave her his answer. 

“Dare.” Her sweet smile had then turned into a devilish one and for the first time, James had wondered whether or not he should fear his sister. 

“I dare you to kiss Y/N.” The jaws of Cyril, Wren, and Alistair dropped open. Of all people to have asked that dare, they did not expect it to be Lydia. Elaine looked like she could have smoke coming out of her ears. Her arms were crossed and she looked upset. Everyone knew why, which is why it would be funnier if James actually followed through with it. 

Y/N hid herself, looking everywhere around the room but at the six people that were around her. It was her goal to avoid eye contact, especially with Elaine. 

James stared at Y/N, taking in her appearance. He knew Elaine was burning eye holes into him at that moment, but he never did care for her. James knew that she was watching and waiting to see what would happen, but had also known better to know that she wouldn’t make much of a scene. Sure, she would probably make a snide comment or two, and maybe even try the whole cliche “oops sorry, I didn’t see you there” and spill her drink. It was a classic and a go to for every jealous silver spoon female out there. 

Lydia was smirking, watching and waiting, just as Elaine was, but for a different reason. Cyril, Wren, and Alistair looked back and forth between the two, their eyes wide, but also waiting. 

James' eyes had bounced between the five before he turned his attention back to Y/N. She continued to stare at anything else but them. He knew that she was only attempting to avoid the wrath of Elaine, but he had already told himself that he would prevent anything from happening should Elaine try anything. 

He stood up, casting a look towards his sister, who only widened her smirk. With only a few strides, he had crossed over to stand in front of Y/N, eventually getting down on his knees to be more her height. 

She finally looked at him then. His eyes searched her face, looking for any telltale sign that she didn’t want this. Yea, it was a dare, but it didn’t mean that he was going to do anything first without making sure that he had her consent. So far, she showed him nothing. 

“If you don’t want to do this Y/N, we don’t have to.” Elaine snorted from somewhere beside them, and James had only rolled his eyes. Y/N stifled an amused laugh, the corner of her mouth quirking up. 

“No one is saying no.” She whispered, only loud enough for the two of them to hear. “Do your best Beaufort.” James stared at her for several seconds, before surging forward and capturing her lips into a kiss. His hands cupped her cheeks, pulling her into him, feeling relieved when Y/N leaned into it. One of her hands rested on his bicep, while the other came up to tangle itself in his hair.

Catcalls and whistles could be heard coming from Wren and Cyril. Lydia and Alistair had watched as Elaine stood up and walked away, obviously not liking the display in front of her. No one cared, except Alistair, who knew that Elaine liked James, but he himself wasn’t sure if she actually liked James or had just liked him for his name and the riches that came with it. 

“Alright you two, get a room.” 

James and Y/N finally pulled apart, breathing heavily as they looked at each other for several minutes before turning around to face the others. James remained seated next to her and the group, minus Elaine, had continued their game of Truth or Dare. 

However, eventually the group had grown tired of playing truth or dare and had resorted to making confessions that either no one or most people didn’t know about them. 

Y/N listened to most of the confessions that were being said. Cyril was held back in his earlier years of school, prior to coming to Maxton and meeting them. Lydia went a deeper route, confessing something about their parents and the family business. James had nodded along slightly with that, as if he understood where she was coming from. Of course he did. He lived the same life, and Y/N knew all about it.

Her eyes trailed down to their thighs, brushing up against each other ever so slightly. She listened to James' confession.

"I've never loved anyone I've been with. It's just been for pleasure. Especially Elaine." He looked at Alistair and apologized. "No offense." Alistair raised his hands in understand, having taken no offense from it. He knew how his sister could be. Alistair experienced it more than the others. "Although, there is one that I have my sights on." He admitted. Wren and Alistair went on to do their own confessions, Cyril jumping in to admit some more.

But Y/N had turned her attention to James. She looked up at him, her eyes tracing his jawline, the scar on his cheek, the way his hair fall in a soft manner around his face. She watched as his eyes moved to look at her out of the corner of his eyes, and Y/N watched as a soft smile pulled at his lips.

She ran the image of the kiss back through her head, glad that she was sitting, as she grew weak in the legs.

"Hey, Y/N." She finally turned her attention to the others, who all were now staring at her, James also included.

"It's your turn to confess." Wren stated. "You haven't made a confession yet.

"Goodness. You guys are acting like we are in church, and I just committed a sin." Some of them stifled a laugh while the other cracked a smile.

"Who knows. Maybe you did." Cyril added, wriggling his eyebrows. Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to think of something to confess.

Then she paused, her eyes trailing across the group. Many would see this as surprise, as she has sexually interacted with ex boyfriends or one-night stands. But they were never good enough.

"I've never had an orgasm." Jaws dropped open as she looked around the group, thankful that Elaine had walked away earlier in the night.

"What?" Cyril asked.

"I've never had an-"

"It was a rhetorical question, no need to answer it."

James looked down at her in question.

"Haven't you had-"

"I have. But none of the ones I did it with were ever good enough to get me to that point." She explained. "The sex was really poor." Lydia stifled a laugh, in which Y/N smiled in response. "Your sister may know more than she lets on." James glanced between the two, a twinkle appearing in his eye, a smirk upon his lips.

He then turned his attention back to the rest of the group, as they lost their minds at Y/N's confession. She found it amusing in fact, as both Cyril and Wren both refused to believe that her confession was the truth.

It was known that she slept with a few, mostly old boyfriends, but those boyfriends were boys, and didn't know exactly how to actually treat a lady.

--- SMUT BEYOND THIS POINT. MINORS, PLEASE DON'T INTERACT

After a little bit more time had passed, Y/N had stood up addressing that she needed to use the bathroom really quick. James watched her go, downed the rest of his drink, and claimed he was going for a refill. The others watched the two leave, suspecting that neither of them would be back anytime soon.

Upon walking out of the bathroom, Y/N had been pushed against the wall, looking up to see James. The stance he had over her made her weak in the knees.

"James?"

He leaned forward, keeping eye contact with her. James maintained eye contact with her for several moments, before he leaned forward some more, until his lips brushed gently against her eye. She shivered, and she could feel the smirk form on his lips.

"You want to know what an orgasm feels like?" He asked, his breath fanning hotly against the side of her face. And just like that, arousal filled her entire body. A low whine escaped her lips and James pulled back to look her in her face.

"Words, sweetheart. I don't know what you want unless you tell me."

"Are You making a promise, Beaufort?" His blue eyes grew darker with arousal.

"It's not a promise, love. It's a guarantee." After a few more seconds of the two staring at each other, they pulled each other in for a kiss. It was sloppy, and definitely spoke true to the moment and their desires. James looped his arms around her thighs, hoisting her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He made his way towards a guest bedroom, one that he dubbed as his whenever he stayed over.

James made easy work of opening the door and closing it behind him. He wasn't wasting any time. He wanted to spend as much time as he could, showing Y/N how she should be treated.

Y/N fell backward onto the bed with a soft 'oof', staring up at James as he stared down at her. She grew self-conscious, her cheeks growing red as she grew flustered.

"Absolutely gorgeous." He crawled onto the bed, pressing kisses up her neck and along her jaw. When he finally reached her lips, he pressed his hands against her body, slipping underneath her shirt and trailing softly across the expanse of her stomach. She gasped at the touch and James reveled in, moving his hands and helping her take the shirt off.

He sat back, taking in her appearance. She stared at him with hooded eyes, drunk with arousal. Y/N was an angel. A bright light in the shadows of darkness that he had hidden himself inside. She was a positive and happy thing in the life that his father had forced on him.

James brought his hands up to his shirt, unbuttoning it until he was able to slip it off and tossed it towards the floor, joining her own shirt. He watched as her eyes immediately moved down to his chest and stomach, taking in the appearance. She raised a hand, reaching out for him.

Taking her hand, she pulled him back on top of her, pulling him back into a kiss. His hands moved up her waist, one wrapping around her back and unclasping her bra. It joined their shirts on the floor. His hands grabbed her boobs, his thumbs rubbing her nipples.

She gasped into his mouth, arching her back as he grinded against her.

"If we are going too fast, we can slow down."

"What if I like it fast?" A low groan rumbled in his chest. He felt her smirk against his mouth, and grinded into her again, instantly turning the smirk into a whine.

Her hands went down and started messing with the buttons to his pants. When it proved a bit difficult, and she couldn't get it undone, she stopped.

"Help, please." James huffed out a soft chuckle, before sitting upright and doing it for her, shucking his pants down his legs as Y/N took the time to take hers off as well. He leaned back down to kiss her again. The kiss was sloppy and heated. James grabbed her thighs, looping them around his waist as he started to grind against her again. Y/N's head fell back against the bed, a low whine falling from her throat as James watched her, taking in her reactions and drowning in him. He wanted to absolutely ravish her.

His head fell into the crook of her neck, enjoying the noises that fell from her throat as he pressed lingering and bruising kisses to her neck and shoulder.

"James." She gasped out. He let out a hum.

"Yes, sweetheart." He spoke between kisses.

"I-fuck" she let out a noise mixed between a gasp and whine when he grinded particularly hard against her. "Need you." He pressed another kiss to her lips before he moved down her body, taking in the sigh she released. James kissed down her body, maintaining eye contact with her as he did so. His lips pressed softly against her stomach, trailing down to her thighs. James let his fingers run over her body, trailing softly and causing her to shiver beneath him, goosebumps forming on her skin.

"I got you sweetheart." He murmured softly against her thigh. His hands looped gently into her panties, pulling them down her legs and tossing them onto the floor as well. James looked up at her, making sure that she was okay to continue, and if the look of pure bliss and arousal on her face wasn't enough to tell him to continue, he wasn't sure what would.

Y/N pulled him back up to her as he slipped two fingers inside of her. He started slowly, thrusting his fingers in and out, letting her adjust to the sensation. She had pulled him into another kiss, this time slower than the first ones. Her arms were wrapped around his shoulders.

One of his hands had one of her legs folded and pushed towards her chest. His thumb rubbed her clit, drinking in the gasps that she let out as they kissed. He leaned into the kiss, putting a bit more force into it as he quickened the pace with his fingers.

When his chest starting to burn, telling him that he needed to breathe, he pulled away and looked down at where his fingers disappeared inside of her. Her own eyes followed his, soft whines and whimpers falling from her lips.

James dipped his fingers down to where his fingers disappeared inside of her pussy, replacing his thumb with his lips. A gasped escaped her chest, and her back arched, a whine getting stuck in her throat and her breathing picked up. James was drowning in her, flicking his tongue against her clit, watching as she slowly became unraveled beneath him.

"That's it sweetheart. Such a good girl." He murmured quietly. After a few more seconds, he pulled his fingers out of her. James scooted up, listening as she whined at the loss. He knew she was close to an orgasm and that he had denied it to her.

"You still want to do this?" he asked. Y/N nodded, and James used his mouth to rip open a condom, sliding it on. He pressed the tip to her pussy, giving her a few seconds before he started to slowly push inside of her. She let out a gasp and he stopped, allowing her to adjust before he continued again, until he was finally all the way inside.

James proceeded to give her some more time to adjust, before he started to thrust in and out. Immediately, he had gotten her to the point where she was before he withdrew his fingers. Soft whines and whimpers escaped her throat and mixed with the grunts and groan that he let fall from between his lips. Her arms wrapped back around his shoulders, and he had looped her legs around his waist.

His head fell into the crook of her neck, groaning at the feeling of her around his cock. James never wanted to leave this moment, especially after he had been thinking about this moment for so long, and it had turned out better than he had previously expected.

"Fuck, Y/N." He captured one of her boobs in his mouth, his tongue flicking over the nipple while his other hand fondled the other. His free hand come down and vigorously rubbed against her clit.

She let out a sharp gasp, her head falling back against the bed, her back arching, and nails digging into his back. He let out a grunt, pulling his face away from her boob to watch as his cock disappeared in and out of her. Her breathing had begun to quicken, her whimpers and whines had turned into soft gasps.

James turned his attention to her.

"That's it sweetheart. You're almost there aren't you? You feel it building up." He spoke softly to her, watching as she nodded, and quickened the pace of his thrusts. He watched her every reaction. The way her eyes clenched shut, her thighs clamped around him. He felt her nails dig into his back, and even if it might hurt in the morning, he didn't care.

And then suddenly she let out a sharp gasp, her eye lids fluttered and then her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She let out high pitched whine, before it was as if she forgot how to breathe. Her body shook and as her pussy clenched around his cock, it threw him over the edge as well. Pleasure filled their bodies as they reached orgasm, their noises filled the air before they finally quieted down, and soft sighs and heavy breathing filled the room.

James threw the used condom into the bathroom trash, and came out with a warm wet washcloth, with the intention to clean Y/N, and after doing so, he crawled into the bed with her.

She immediately scooted closer to him, nestled close to his chest. James wrapped his arms around her, pressing a gently kiss to the crown of her heads. And just like that, the two of them laid in silence, taking in the post coital bliss.

Y/N drew lazy patterns against his chest, when she finally spoke.

"I don't want this to be a onetime thing." James took in what she said, a smile forming on his face as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. His hand rubbed lazily up and down her back, taking in the feeling of her being pressed up against him.

After several moments, he lifted Y/N's face so that she was staring at him. His eyes searched for any signs of a lie in her own, and when he saw none, he pulled her in for a soft and gentle kiss.

"Me too. It was always going to be you, Y/N. I want you, and no one else."

----

@sillyfreakfanparty @honethatty12 @lifeonawhim @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @maryvibess @wheredidmyeyesgo @imasimptoowth @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @benbarnesprettygurl

[clairescotcoutts]

So, about The Veilguard.

This post is:

Long.

Spoiler full.

Read at your peril.

So.

The fact that I devoured the game in virtually less than three days should speak for itself; I was worried about the playing style, I was unsure about the combo system, and having only two companions travel alongside the MC felt a little alien to me and also added to my anxiety. (Yes, I’ve played Mass Effect, yes, I’ve been in a fighting trio before, but never in Dragon Age.) I thought, “There’s only three of us?! We’re gonna die so much and so hard.”

Turns out I didn’t die so many times as I’d expected, so yay me.

I had refused to watch anything that had to do with the plot, with the exception of the trailers, because I wanted my experience to be fresh and untainted by expectations. Of course, I had hopes — but other than that, I dove in blind and without any sense of direction.

As you know, the depths of the ocean hold both horror and beauty, so here are mine; I shall start with the horrors so all the bad air is cleared out first.

My primary horror is that, save a few points, the game very clearly follows BioWare’s own canon, in which the Hero of Ferelden must have died to stop the Fifth Blight, and thus there is no Kieran. Morrigan plays a pivotal role yet again, but her presence implies that the decisions made in previous games are… well, your own, but not the world’s own. So, no Kieran, and it is heavily suggested that it was Morrigan who drank from the Vir’Abelasan. Even if she hadn’t, turns out she ends up with a piece of Mythal inside her anyway, granted by a regretful (and finally gone) Flemeth.

Story-telling wise, well, I don’t know if it was the best choice— I just know it bummed me out a bit to find some of my decisions discarded, not considered at all.

My second horror is the absence of either Hawke or Stroud. The events at Amaranthine are mentioned, but (unless I missed a codex entry) there’s no word on what happened to the brave soul left in the Fade to fight that giant monster demon. Since I always leave Stroud behind (because Alistair is and always will be a king to me), I can’t say I’m suffering to know his fate, but it would’ve been nice to confirm something. 

At the end of Inquisition, Morrigan narrates that should Hawke live, they go to Weisshaupt, but soon all news from there ends. What happened?! Am I missing something found only in the comics or books?

Also what happened to the rest of the companions? What about the woman made Divine in Inquisition? Whether it’s Leliana, Cassandra or Vivienne, you’d think the Divine would have something to say about two ancient elven gods turning the world tits up.

What about the Qunari who are not part of the Antaam? Are they in agreement with Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain? Is Seheron torn asunder like Minrathous?

Why is nobody remarking on the fact that the Crows buy (or used to buy) people?! I love the Antivan Crows, I do, but one cannot forget Zevran and all he told us about them.

Those are my particular points of horror. 

Now, to the rest.

Veilguard is a game that doesn’t hold back. It’s out to punch you in the guts and kick you in the feelings, and boy does it do it brilliantly. The sacrifices are real. The choices are heavy and carry weight on them that slumps you down (especially if you’re extra sensitive, like me) throughout the game. The dilemma and problems your companions face are heart wrenching, and you want them all to thrive. Yes, even the one who was hardened because you can’t bloody be in two places at once. These companions are well fleshed-out, they’re alive, they’re complex and they are so beautiful to live and travel with. The emotional moments they have, I felt them, I suffered with them, I cried. I /cried/, which had never happened to me with a videogame before. And not just because this companion is my favourite or that topic hits a bit close to home— not just that. It’s because they’re amazingly written and acted out. They feel so real.

The locations are gorgeous (I especially fell in love with Treviso), and I love how much you’re able to explore. I love that you can pet animals. I love that you can interact with the world in front of you. I /love/ that you don't miss dialogue even if you get into a fight because the companions re-start conversations now.

The NPCs? My children. Isabela is fire, as always; Antoine, Evka, Viago and Teia have my whole heart. The Mourn Watch is fascinating and the Shadow Dragons are bold, united and righteous. I really like that the Veil Jumpers don’t diss on the Dalish just because they know more— they understand that, as a people, they are one. And they’re accepting of everyone, not just elves!

I simply adore Rook as a protagonist. Not just because they give purple Hawke, and I love Hawke, but because again, they feel human and real. They know this is well above their paygrade, and they’re in way over their heads, but they still step up and lead because damn, someone has to. Iron Bull would be so proud. They are fun, they are caring, they are talkative and they know they’re drowning, but can’t afford to stop swimming.

Both in Origins and Inquisition it felt as though we were The Chosen One, even if in the latter one tried to swear it off and deny any possible divine intervention, but in DA: 2 and here, we are just people trying their best with the worst circumstances, and to me, that’s beautiful. Rook is a delightful protagonist.

The game allows you to choose who you’re going to be and /how/ you’re going to be thus. You can be cis, you can be trans, you can be neither and you can be both. No limits now.

Which leads me to another point I simply adored: how the questions of gender are treated. It’s really big to have an NB character go through their own acceptance process before our very eyes. While in Origins (and a bit in Inquisition too) you have the choice to be shocked that there are people who like their same gender, this game is Thedas saying “The world is big, the world is complex, and people everywhere are not defined by your expectations or rules. It’s not even an option. Deal with it.”

Regarding the magic, I’m not even mad it looks and feels different. After all, Dorian used to say that “the South is so charming and rustic”, and now I see that’s because what he saw in Ferelden and Orlais was not what he is used to. Even in Absolution we see that the way Tevinter used magic is distinctly unique and not how it is done south of Arlathan. I understand it. I like it. It’s not as if there had been no changes in the designs of demons and darkspawn before, and now that’s what they look like. It’s fine. Time has passed and people are allowed to make different creative choices.

Now, to Solas… Solas. Oh, Solas. I understand you so much better now.

Veilguard really helps put into perspective some bits of dialogue from previous games. Why does this 8-ball care so much about spirits and the Fade? Gods, because he /is/ them, and the Fade used to be his home. Every time he has to hear that spirits are monsters or unreal he takes it personally, and how could he not? People are saying he’s a monster, he’s not real, and nobody knows any better because they wouldn’t believe him anyway. Now I understand why he gets so worked up if you make Cole more human—you’re doing to him what Mythal did to Solas himself. You’re forcing him to be something else and Solas knows it hurts. (Also, Cole is happier as a spirit— “Thank you for helping me find this again. For believing in me. You don't know what it means”, he says, and now it hits so differently.)

I have to remark on some things I’ve read that have shocked me— first of all being the interpretation of Solas and Mythal’s relationship. Like Taash, you can assume “they were doing it”, however, I don’t think they ever loved each other like that. Their bond, to me, is that of a queen and her most loyal knight, a “king and lionheart” sort of situation if you will. Solas knows her better than anyone else, certainly, but the way I see it, that right there is his commander, inspiration and also, his heaviest shackle.

Their relationship merits another post altogether, I believe, as does Solas and Lavellan’s.

All in all, the good, to me, far outweights the bad.

Give the Veilguard a chance before you discard them, enjoy the appearance of some of the characters you love, enjoy getting to know the new heroes. Give yourself the option of having an informed opinion before you love or hate.

Also, petition for Solas to let his hair grow out again.

That's it, for now.

[fadeling]

if it were up to me i could fix the alistair companion quest. i mean most people probably could but i definitely would. here's my pitch:

so alistair is a guy who is actually pretty even-keeled throughout the story, although undeniable that he's idealist and naive. the thing that makes him cool is that hes not simply a bumbling fool covering it up with desperate attempts at sarcasm, he knows his own weaknesses and his sardonic attitude lampshades that while also letting you in on the joke. hes always aware of the fact that hes like if a failgirl was a boy and instead of trying to fight against that impression, he shrugs his shoulders and lets it happen. he lives in a terrible world in a faction that exposes him to The Horrors, so he has to operate on a casual, malleable attitude even if that isn't really true to his heart

that discrepancy makes him confused, conflicted, and most of all: extremely vulnerable to moments of extreme genuineness. (his romance works much in the same vein i think) the way his personal quest starts in the game is actually perfect for showing that about him. he gets ahead of himself, he lets his hopes become known and it's obvious how much he wants to Try even if he understands why the warden may reject him. if the warden accepts, it reinforces him getting his hopes up and he unknowingly feels a bit safer in letting hid idealism just exist for a bit

it's for these reasons that i actually wouldnt change how it starts or the way it's initially presented. i'm even going to keep the fact that he thinks hes the son of a maid and has a sister, because thats what eamon told him and i'm sure it was reinforced by duncan too. i dont think it's a problem for alistair to be wrong about his lineage, but something needs to be done about that

so you arrive at goldanna's house (she would also be given a name that isnt fucking stupid btw) and she's not in a great mood because shes busy and these strangers just kind of demanded her attention to talk about he's her brother when it turns out her mother never died during childbirth at all. she worked at redcliffe's manor but she like, left, man. she did die but that that was a few years later and its actually really annoying that i have to talk about it to two strangers.

her rudeness would be more justified because shes just trying to live her life but this guy has to show up at her door and hallucinate a backstory and promptly get his whole world flipped upside down. it's not really something she had the mental capacity for she just wanted to do the laundry.

NOW this would mean that alistair went into this hoping to gain something, but actually lost more than what he started with. losing the ideal domestic family dynamic stings, sure, but the strongest familial ties he had in the first place were with eamon (a little bit) and ESPECIALLY duncan. now he has good reason to doubt both of them, one of them being especially difficult because it's tangled in so much grief too.

alistair takes a chance on something, finally sticks his neck out, and then he gets hurt. the warden can help him process that in a few different ways; you could coddle him by insisting she sucks and was probably lying anyway, or you could encourage him to acknowledge the truth and still persist anyway. there could even be the asshole third option where you tell him that hes too cringe to live idk. there could even be more things to say, the point is that the sentiment of the warden would accurately reflect how his attitude changes when hes hardened thats all

also theres a bonus opportunity for adding another layer of drama between him and eamon with very little extra effort, and thats always good

[thewardenisonthecase]

Four Years

Alistair x F!Cousland

Read on AO3

Summary: Alistair writes a letter to his love.

A/N: this is based on the @loveofdragonage prompt of A Lifetime of Devotion.

word count: 803

Today marked four years since Anneliese had gone out to look for a cure. 

“I won’t be long gone.” She had told him. “Besides, I’ll keep in touch.” 

It had been months since the last time he heard of her. The crown on Alistair’s head was heavier than ever. He had managed for this long without her but for much more would he have to suffer? 

Eamon had told him he needed to move on and accept that Anneliese had been lost. Alistair refused. He knew his wife well - she could not be dead. 

And even if she was, he would not turn on his vows. Years before, when they were young and with an Archdemon to defeat, he told her that she was the first and only woman he would lay with, if it depended on him. 

Alistair prayed more than he did when he lived in the Chantry. He’d beg for the Maker to keep her safe, for her to return to his side. He did not think the Maker was listening to him, however. 

When day’s like today happened, when he was feeling particularly mellow, Alistair would write letters. He did not know where Anneliese was and thus, he could not send them to her, but they helped alleviate his feelings. 

Sitting down, he began to write on a piece of paper. 

“It’s been four years since you’ve left and I keep thinking about the day we met. 

Duncan had sent me a letter in advance about you, the recruit from Highever. He hadn’t said much, and by the time the two of you arrived, I’d forgotten most of it. 

‘Nothing like a Blight to bring people together’ was the first thing I ever said to you. You had a haunted expression on your face, and yet, I saw a small smirk on your face and you told me you understood. No one had ever liked my jokes before you. 

I didn’t know then how much you would mean to me. I never expected to fall in love, much less to have that reciprocated. 

There was a moment when I thought you hated me. After all, with the way I lashed out after Connor’s death, I wouldn’t blame you if you did not care for me again. But then you returned my mother’s locket to me and I wondered how could you show kindness to someone who had just said the most awful things to you? 

I felt guilty. You had lost your family, your home and Ostagar, and there I was, adding to that burden - either by crying about Duncan or by questioning your decisions, even when I was the one who put you in that position. 

I said that then and I’ll say it again now: I thought I was fooling myself. How could someone like you - strong, charming, beautiful and smart - fall for a poor sucker like me? And yet, despite it being the worst time ever, you loved me back. 

The face you made when I gave you that rose…I won’t forget it. Just as I’ll never forget your smile and laughter when I made a stupid joke. Or how incredibly hot you looked whenever you were on the battlefield. Or the smell of your hair, or the feel of your hands against my skin. 

I’ll never forget the vows we made to each other on our wedding day. How long has it been since then? Ten years? Not a day has gone by where you were not on my mind. 

It’s been four years, Anneliese. I don’t know how your search fares, but please, come back home. 

You were always a fighter. If someone told you there was no other way, you would find one. You always found a way for us to live. But I have made my peace. 

We won’t get forever, my love. Such is the plight of the Wardens. 

We won’t grow old. We are beyond children at this rate. Perhaps one day we’ll have to make our way to the Deep Roads. But I can bear all that as long as I have you at my side. 

Please. Anneliese. I beg of you. Come back to me” 

A few tears had stained the words on the paper. He wiped his face with a handkerchief - the one she had embroidered with a rose. Silently, he folded the letter and placed it on top of the pile with all the other unsent letters and he made himself ready to face the day. 

Anneliese would not want him to give up hope. She especially would not want to stop living because of her. 

‘If she comes back and sees this country in a mess, she’ll feed me to the darkspawn’ Alistair thought and then shook his head. 

When. 

When she comes back. 

.

Thanks for reading! If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging it and leaving a comment, they're extremely appreciated!

[empresskadia]

I can’t stop thinking about Mistress Warden-Commnader Surana/Amell to King Alistair—it’s living rent-free in my brain! In my first playthrough of Dragon Age: Origins, I went with Warrior Cousland because, honestly, Noble Lady with an axe? Yes, please. But there’s just something about Mage Elf/Human Surana/Amell as Mistress to the King that scratches a very specific itch.

I mean, in that playthrough, I had Alistair marry Anora for the sake of stability and preventing civil unrest. But the idea of Surana/Amell staying on as his mistress and being the real power behind the throne? Absolutely perfect. Like, she’s just there, controlling everything, and everyone knows it. And the best part? She’s perfectly happy with that arrangement.

Picture this: Surana/Amell lounging in Alistair’s chambers, casually munching on chocolate-covered strawberries, when she makes some off-handed remark about a political matter—and of course, Alistair immediately goes through with it. No questions asked. She’s the one standing beside him at formal events, commanding respect and intrigue, with her full title trailing behind her like a reminder: Warden-Commander Surana/Amell, Hero of Ferelden, Mistress to the King.

And here’s the thing—Surana/Amell owns it. She’s content with her life because she gets to do her own thing: running the Grey Wardens, dabbling in magic, and occasionally poking at political affairs, all without anyone telling her what to do. It’s the ultimate freedom, and Alistair being head over heels for her is just the icing on the cake. When she’s away, he’s this sad puppy missing her terribly, but the moment she returns? Full golden retriever energy, tail-wagging (metaphorically, of course), and a grand ball thrown in her honor.

But here’s where it gets fun: Even Anora eventually warms up to Surana/Amell. They have this mutual respect, maybe even a friendship, built on tea-drinking sessions and political discussions. And when Anora needs Alistair to do something he’s dragging his feet about? She knows exactly where to go: Surana/Amell. Because, let’s face it, if anyone can convince Alistair to get his act together, it’s her.

That said, Anora can absolutely be a total bitch to Surana/Amell sometimes, and that adds some delicious drama to the dynamic. Surana/Amell, of course, doesn’t even flinch. She’s just sitting there like, “I’m a badass Warden, a mage who survived the Circle, and the king will never love you as much as he adores me. Try me.” And honestly, Anora’s frustration over this makes for some amazing tension. But deep down? Anora knows exactly how important Surana is to keeping Ferelden (and Alistair) running smoothly, so it’s this fascinating love-hate dynamic.

And then there’s Alistair. Once he figures out his lineage and starts to feel secure in his role, you know he’d push for a child with Surana/Amell to take the throne someday. The nobles would be losing their minds, but Alistair? He’d be 100% on board. It doesn’t help that, much to everyone’s dismay, he doesn't bother to visit the queen’s chambers. His heart—and let’s be honest, his brain—are entirely with Surana/Amell.

And then the drama really kicks off when Alistair decides to make it official. Imagine the court’s reaction when he publicly declares Surana’s/Amell's title: Official Mistress to the King. He does it at a grand event, all smiles and with a glowing introduction that only makes his adoration more obvious. The hall is dead silent for a beat before whispers ripple through the nobles like wildfire. Scandalized gasps, angry mutterings, and the occasional choking on wine—everyone has something to say about it.

For her part, Surana/Amell is unfazed. She just stands there, calm as ever, with a slight smirk as if daring anyone to challenge her. Alistair? Completely oblivious to the outrage on purpose. He’s too busy grinning at her like a lovesick puppy. Meanwhile, Anora looks like she’s trying to decide whether to laugh or scream, all while calculating how to manage the fallout.

The fallout is immediate, of course. Nobles protest, claiming it’s an affront to Ferelden’s traditions. Anora is bombarded with demands to “rein in her husband,” which she pointedly ignores because she knows better. The court is a hotbed of gossip and outrage, but none of it matters—because Alistair made it official, and Surana isn’t going anywhere.

Honestly, I love the whole dynamic. The Mage Elf/Human who broke free of the Circle, became the Hero of Ferelden, and now wields her influence not from a throne, but from the shadows, with wit, charm, and undeniable power. It’s deliciously unconventional and exactly the kind of chaotic energy Ferelden deserves. And half the court hates her for it.

Random written scene

The grand hall of the Arl’s estate was alive with the hum of conversation and the glitter of finely wrought jewels and polished armor. Nobles dipped their heads in deference as King Alistair Theirin entered, his golden hair catching the light like a crown all its own. The room seemed to hold its breath as he walked, his presence commanding every gaze, yet his eyes sought only one person.

Warden-Commander Surana/Amell stood near the far end of the room, a glass of wine in her hand and a bemused smile playing on her lips. Draped in a sleek, deep blue gown that complimented her features, she was impossible to miss. Beside her, a cluster of courtiers whispered in hushed tones, eyes darting between her and the approaching king.

As Alistair reached the center of the hall, the crowd dropped to one knee, bowing in respect. A wave of silks, velvets, and armor sank around him like a sea parting before its king. Surana/Amell arched an eyebrow, her smile deepening as she casually tilted her wine glass. She waited a beat longer than necessary before setting it down on a nearby table, preparing to follow suit.

But as she began to lower herself, Alistair was there, closing the distance in a few quick strides.

“No, you don’t,” he said firmly, his voice carrying just enough to stop her—and a few others—mid-motion.

Surana/Amell froze, her eyes narrowing in playful defiance. “Oh? Since when do I not bow to the King of Ferelden?” Her tone was light, teasing, but the room had gone unnervingly silent, every pair of eyes now fixed on them.

Alistair gave her one of his trademark grins, saved only for her, the boyish one that softened the edges of his crown. The one she loved the most. “Since the king decided that his lover doesn’t bow to him. Ever.” His voice was warm, but there was no mistaking the command in it.

The tension in the room thickened as nobles exchanged scandalized looks, some outright gaping at the open acknowledgment.

Surana/Amell tilted her head, considering him for a moment as if juggling her options. Then, with a small chuckle, she straightened back to her full height—or as full as her diminutive elven frame allowed. She crossed her arms and gave him a mock-glare. “You know, Alistair, you make it very hard to be properly deferential in public.”

“Good,” he replied, stepping closer until only a breath of space remained between them. His grin softened into something more tender as he added, “Because I’d rather everyone here remember you’re just as equal as me, not someone who bends the knee.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, but neither of them paid it any mind. Surana let out a soft sigh, shaking her head, but the smile that curved her lips was unmistakable. “You really do enjoy stirring the pot, don’t you?”

“Only if it means reminding everyone how lucky I am,” he murmured, so quietly only she could hear.

With that, he extended his hand to her, palm up, an unspoken invitation. Surana/Amell hesitated for half a heartbeat before placing her hand in his. Together, they turned to face the room, and Alistair’s voice rang out loud and clear: ���Rise, all of you. This is a celebration, not a coronation.”

The nobles stood, though many looked unsure, their gazes flickering between the king and the Warden-Commander at his side. This was the most public the king had ever gotten with his mistress. But Alistair paid them no mind, guiding Surana/Amell toward the head table with an easy confidence that dared anyone to challenge him.

And as they ascended the dais, it was clear to everyone: Warden-Commander Surana/Amell might not have a crown, but in the eyes of their king, she was already his queen.

[shallowseeker]

Okay, so, while I was thinking about love and love

and the big black hole that can't be filled with food or drink or even with sex (the black hole = being unworthy of LOVE).

I started thinking about the Cupid in My Bloody Valentine and specifically how Dean relates to love, and love.

It's a normal psychological thing, especially when we're very young people, that when we start to fantasize about "love," for it to look like familiar things in our lives, or even movies that we've seen.

Like most people, Dean's fantasy "Love" comes as a montage of all familiar things in his life: for the djinn, it's the specter of Carmen, a cookie-cutter recipe of a dream-woman he saw in a magazine. The male siren is a reflection of ALL of his familiar, more stable relationships: Dean himself, Bobby's quips, John's love language in the form of Led Zeppelin, Sam's non-threatening safety and stability.

It's normal for a young person to imagine an immature love as a constellation of all these things, especially for Dean at this moment, coming off the heels of intense, long-lasting sexual assault where he may not want intimacy per se (s3-4, in See Alistair and his time in Hell; also I can’t help but think of s7’s self-pep-talk with regards to Dean's bluster versus his actual behavior: "Come on, Dean. This is what you do.")

And the funny thing is that real love sometimes pulverizes all our former expectations and fantastical illusions. Dean won't be falling for someone exactly like himself in terms of personality, or someone who mimes all the lyrics of Led Zeppelin, or someone who looks like a white picket fence ideal from a magazine, or someone "safe" where Dean gets to control the relationship terms so that it can never let him down.

But we do see Dean cling to the Led Zeppelin story as a symbol of "Love,” especially with regard to Mary and John, because it's something he believes in. Throughout his life, Dean'll use Led Zeppelin to say things he can't easily shape with words.

///

So, what's my point?

My Bloody Valentine is an episode specifically about Dean craving love.

And love is not something you can go out and get.

Love is a nebulous thing, not as simple as food or drink or sex. And it's a horrendous emptiness to not only lack love, but to feel you're unworthy of it. (Of course, the black hole is ALSO grief.)

That's the deep, dark nothing, isn't it? It is afraid of being seen and rejected.

And THAT'S why the Cupid enters the scene to cast doubt. The Cupid storyline exists to make Dean doubt that REAL love even exists. This makes the emptiness seem even more hopeless, because if LOVE isn't even real, how can the longing inside of him ever be filled?

The Cupid says Mary and John were the "perfect" couple, which was a lie, even based on what we've seen. (Personally, I think it's a metaphor for the "limerance" phase of all relationships.) No couple is perfect, and John and Mary certainly weren't. No love is perfect, and it's riddled with mistakes.

As Dean grows wiser, he chafes against these concepts of perfection and emptiness. It's as he tells Jack in Optimism 14x06 in DIRECT contrast to Harper's "It'll be perfect":

DEAN - Eh, Actually love can get crazier than that. And it might get crazier with Harper still out there. But, uh, you did good, kid....okay, alright. It's not about being right. Kay? You're gonna make mistakes, hell, I make them all the time. But it's how you handle yourself once you've made those mistakes and you've learned from them.

That's a cheat code for Dean's older, wiser feelings about mature, lasting love, and it's a direct mate to both Harper's "no-baggage, never-let-me-down perfectionism"... and AU Michael's nihilism, which will occur just 4 episodes after this in 14x10:

MICHAEL!DEAN: (Castiel) "gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition." Or whatever. But since then, what has he done? Only made mistakes, one after the other.

Love isn’t about always-and-never statements. Those are the warning signs of figments. Love isn’t about being right, or never making mistakes, or never having baggage, or never letting another person down. It’s about resilience. About picking yourself up and trying again.

Paraphrasing Metatron and Gabriel, about humans:

“They don’t give up, but you do!”

Indeed, Chuck appeals to Amara to “give up” with the concept of starting fresh, of “no baggage.”

Chuck destroys his works in a fit of lethal perfectionism.

[zevraholics]

ZevWarden Week 2023

What is it? A week (this year, November 5th - 11th) of creating new content, sharing it, and celebrating the wonderful relationship between Zevran Arainai and Grey Warden(s) of your choice. How to participate: Feel free to follow the daily prompts as inspiration for whatever ZevWarden-related content your heart desires. Fics, art, meta discussions - everything goes! Remember to tag your works appropriately (ie. #nsfw. Also see our full tag list here.) Most of all, have fun!

Prompts:

Sunday, November 5: Tradition and Trying New Things

Monday, November 6: Secrets, Kept and Told

Tuesday, November 7: Fear and Safety

Wednesday, November 8: Work and Pleasure

Thursday, November 9: Bodies and Minds

Friday, November 10: Favourite Things and Pet Peeves

Saturday, November 11: Family, Lost and Found

Tag your content with #zevwarden week 2023 or @zevraholics on your post and we’ll reblog it here.

*Any art found to be whitewashing Zevran will not be shared.

Day 1 - Sunday, November 5 - Tradition and Trying New Things

"It's Antivan tradition to throw coins in such a well as this. Supposedly it brings one luck." Which traditions (cultural, familial, personal) do Zevran and the Warden have in common, and which are different? Are there any that are unfamiliar at first, but one of them shares with the other? What are ways the two of them break with the past, forge their own paths, or maybe even create new traditions?

Day 2 - Monday, November 6 - Secrets, Kept and Told

Morrigan, "Are [the Crows] so powerful simply because they are very good at what they do? Or is there some secret to their power?" Zevran, "If there were a secret, it would only remain so if it were not told, my dear." What secrets do Zevran and the Warden keep from other people? From each other? Are there any consequences of keeping secrets, positive or negative? What truths eventually reach the light of day, and how does that reveal come about?

Day 3 - Tuesday, November 7 - Fear and Safety

"You mean you want to hear about the grueling training? Being locked in an oubliette for weeks at a time? The slavery? The festering injuries? Or are we seeking something more glamorous?" / "Oh, those things never happened to me." There are stand-out moments of fear in the life of any Grey Warden or an Antivan Crow. Share a time one or both of them were terrified. Did they face fear bravely, or did it get the better of them? What was the impact of that moment? Or, share a story about a time the two of them found safety, comfort, or calm. How did that feeling come about? Was it short-lived or long lasting?

Day 4 - Wednesday, November 8 - Work and Pleasure

"Falling down a flight of stairs is an adventure. Falling into someone's bed? Also an adventure. I am assuming what you're looking for are professional anecdotes." How much adventuring do Zevran and the Warden get up to after Origins, either together or on their own? What jobs or titles do they come to have, what anecdotes do they have to tell? Or do they settle down for a quiet life somewhere—either restlessly or happily?

Day 5 - Thursday, November 9 - Bodies and Minds

Alistair, "So those... designs you have all over your back..." Zevran, "They're called tattoos. And I have them in many more places than just on my back, my friend." What stories do Zevran and the Wardens' bodies tell? How have their bodies changed over time? How do they carry themselves, or use gestures or mannerisms? What about a time when they ran, swam, fought, or enjoyed other physical movement? Or focus your work on a part of the body - eyes, hands, hair, scars.

Day 6 - Friday, November 10 - Favorite Things and Pet Peeves

"I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting.Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?" What are Zevran and the Warden's favorite things about each other? How did they discover those favorite things—slowly over time, or in one particular moment? What things get on their nerves about the other person? Is this something they make an effort to change, or does their partner just have to learn to live with it?

Day 7 - Saturday, November 11 - Family, Lost and Found

"Surely your life has not been so idyllic? People like you and I are not the product of happy lives of contentment, after all." Maybe the Warden resonates with that particular line from Zevran, maybe they don't. What does being part of a family mean to the Warden and Zevran? Does the answer change across different points in their lives? If they regard each other as part of a family, is there anyone else involved in their family? (Friends, other lovers, biological or adopted children, elders?)

[mellidee]

….okay the more I think about it, the more the rationalization of wanting a clean slate for Veilguard and decreasing the choices of the worldstate so drastically makes less sense.

Nerd ranting under the cut.

I’m one of the many who started with Inquisition, and yes, I was a little confused. Yes, I did feel like my enjoyment of Inquisition felt a bit lessened because there’s a lot of cameos and references I was completely blind too. But you know what I did?

I went back and played the rest. And all the games felt so much better knowing that this was my world, this was MY Thedas. I grew attached to characters. I finished Inquisition with my custom worldstate and I loved it. And there’s so many people who finished with the default worldstate and loved it. I feel like BioWare is kind of regretting ever doing the concept of worldstates because I get it, it’s so hard to keep track of and when you want to attract new players, having a grand narrative connecting games is really intimidating. But you can gain new fans that way! People might go back and play the rest to see how bad they can screw up their next run of Inquisition and fall in love with the setting even more. Some may just forever love the default state and never play the rest! It doesn’t have to be so one or the other!

They keep stressing that this is Rook’s story and it’s their time to shine; Origins’ is the Warden’s story. DA2 is Hawke’s story. Inquisition is the Inquisitor’s story. But all four of these stories make up the tapestry that is the story of Thedas. I love the Keep, and I adore the Mass Effect Archives just because I can build the tapestry and see everything laid out. To remove elements of past stories, to not hear characters reference their own histories is removing the cohesion of the story of the world itself, and breaking player immersion. Yes, the characters still exist offscreen and we have our headcanons, we can “make up” what happened next: but even as someone who lives for headcanons, I still like seeing tangible things. I want more moments like my Warden threatening my Inquisitor to keep Alistair safe. I want Morrigan to mention her son. I really wanted to see how Vivienne as Divine would have any ramifications ten years down the road. They didn’t need to be huge cameos, but it made the world feel so lived in, so personalized. But nope, I just have to make it up I suppose.

I’m sure the game will be great, I’ll still play it. But on a scale from 1 - 100 on the hype scale, I plummeted from a 90 to a 45. I was a bit bummed with the combat because I like the overhead tactical pause and I love taking control of companions, but I could live without it. This was a major hit. I’m scared for Mass Effect, because I love it more than Dragon Age. I don’t want my favorite sci fi setting to get watered down.

[ghostwise]

from the veilguard artefacts prompts! 5. Letters taken from the library in Weisshaupt, tied in a bundle

LOVED THIS ONEEE this one was so fun, thank you! Some notes: In my worldstate Alistair is Warden Commander, and Var'myathan, the Dalish land boon, thrives in the South.

“I washed my hands of Warden business long ago,” he says, and it hurts, though it shouldn’t.

That their shared brotherhood—their only commonality at this point—is so distasteful to him, so very worth forgetting, hurts. But then again, if there’s one thing Alistair knows about the Blight, it’s that people choose how they remember it.

For him, time has distilled those feelings and experiences into something potent, terrible, yet formative. Every instance of the man he has become is touched by it. No Blight, no Alistair. And there’s the rub.

For Hamal, his memories of the Blight are something to be discarded.

Both of these viewpoints are correct, or at least, no more reprehensible than the other.

Alistair smiles. He slides the letters across the table once again. Hamal fixes him with an uneasy stare.

“Is this an order, Warden Commander?” he asks, his glasses giving him a rather owlish appearance.

“Maker, no. It’s a gift,” Alistair replies. “Can’t you tell by how nicely I’ve wrapped them for you?”

Hamal doesn’t laugh, but the corners of his mouth lift for a moment. He reaches for the papers.

“And what gift is so important you have made the trip all the way to Var’myathan to deliver it?”

“Letters,” Alistair says with a sheepish smile. “My letters.”

“Letters are traditionally mailed, Warden Commander.”

“Not when they contain controversial or suppressed knowledge,” Alistair says. “Knowledge about the Blight. Knowledge about the Taint. Such letters might be best hand-delivered.”

Hamal’s fingers are steady as he unwraps the parcel. There are stamps upon the envelopes, the sort that were used in the old days; simple cork and blue ink, and, in this instance, magical enchantments that light up against the touch of warm hands. The envelopes have been waiting to be opened, all this time, patient in their knowledge.

“I smuggled them out of Weisshaupt,” Alistair admits.

Hamal eyes him for a moment. “Why?”

“We’re not getting any younger, my friend.” Alistair reclines in his seat and for a moment remembers that he has, by now, outlived Duncan—but he refocuses sharply on the conversation at hand, scored as it is by an ever-present dirge. “In the years following the Blight, I encountered many strange things. Darkspawn that could speak and reason like men. Wardens that had extended their lifespan in unnatural and twisted ways… these field reports were buried, as so much of what we lived to this day has been buried… never to see the light of day. I speak of your own miraculous survival as well, you see.”

Hamal sets the letters down and watches him with an inscrutable expression.

Alistair smiles.

He’s mastered the knack of instilling a healthy dose of fear into his Warden recruits, while never betraying his friendly exterior. Now he’s convinced he has delivered his message adequately, and made his good friend squirm long enough.

“In any case,” he concludes, “It will do more good in your hands than in the First Warden. The Order is—well.” Alistair stands, his blue cloak fanning out with an elegant sweep of his arm. “I wouldn’t bore you with all that. It’s all things you already know, or things you are better off not knowing. Just understand that in keeping these… you would be doing me a favor. And in reading them, even more so. No orders. No obligations. Just… a favor, from an old friend.”

Hamal flips through the letters, occasionally pausing to squint at the writing on the envelopes. He finally groups them together again, tapping them against the table to line up their edges neatly. He doesn’t look up.

“Thank you for the audience,” Alistair says. “If you do ever read my ramblings, let me know what you make of them. Take care.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, sit down Alistair,” Hamal says. “Haven’t even given me a chance to find my reading glasses.”

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I'm sorry, but why don't we talk about Witch Hunt more? Seriously, I think it might be my favorite DAO DLC. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the hell out of Awakening. Leliana's Song is good. The Golems of Amgarrak is... eh, bad. I didn't really like that one. The Warden's Keep, The Stone Prisoner, and Return to Ostagar are all amazing and I love them.

But Witch Hunt??? Y'all. I can't. I'm too emotional right now.

I have at least one dynamic from each game that I'm obsessed with. For DAO, it's the dynamic between romanced!Alistair, Tabris, and Morrigan. I've talked before about the dark ritual and stuff in this post, so let's just say that my Tabris, Rose, very much has unfinished business and a score to settle with Morrigan.

Tabris and Morrigan grew so close throughout the entire journey of DAO, y'know? Close enough that Morrigan claimed she thought of her as a sister, and Tabris felt the same way... and then in one single moment, it's just shattered.

There were signs that Tabris ignored, like the way Morrigan dismissed all the circle mages and claimed they should be left to their fates since they "allow themselves to be caged like cattle." Or how she disapproved every time Tabris wanted to help those down on their luck. Or, worst of all, when Morrigan disapproved when Tabris chose to kill the Tevinter slaver instead of making a deal with him to use the lives of the remaining elves to grant her more power... one of those caged elves being Tabris' father.

But she gave Morrigan the benefit of the doubt; she's sheltered and only had Flemeth as an influence and teacher, of course she's unempathetic and selfish, but there is good in Morrigan's heart. She can learn to be more empathetic and to care for others.

At least, Tabris believed that until Morrigan confessed that she's known about the ultimate sacrifice and the dark ritual from the beginning, that Flemeth sent her with the wardens with a purpose that Morrigan intends to follow through with. It's devastating and it broke Tabris' heart.

She just learned that a warden has to die to stop the blight, and that warden could be her or Alistair. Not only are they romantically involved, but they've been through all of this shit together, they're the only ones who fully understand what being a grey warden is like. They carry the burden on their shoulders, and they're probably going to lose each other to the archdemon.

And Morrigan waits until she's at her most vulnerable to ask that of her.

Again, I've gone into more detail about that before, but at this point Rose is done with people deceiving her. She's done with Morrigan... except she's not. It's the betrayal and knowing Morrigan got what she wanted that causes Rose to go searching for her.

To Morrigan's credit, she does give some answers. She claims she didn't thing the archdemon would show itself so soon, and she did what she had to because she didn't wish to see Tabris hurt or die. I believe her, and to an extent, Tabris believes her... but Morrigan still doesn't get WHY it's a betrayal.

Morrigan's right: She will never understand Tabris, and Tabris will never understand her. She can insist it's not a betrayal all she wants, but it absolutely is, and Tabris has never allowed anyone who crossed her to just walk away... except for Morrigan.

Until now.

Hearing that Morrigan manipulated her way into the trust of this Dalish clan so she could steal their book and run is just further evidence in Tabris' eye that she hasn't changed. Maybe it was always foolish to believe she could.

So... she stabbed Morrigan.

She didn't do it to kill her; Morrigan is the daughter of Flemeth and a powerful mage with healing magic, a mere stab isn't going to kill her.

No, it's about what the stab represents: "I am done with you."

And how the scene plays out? It's so dramatic and good, just the way everything slows down, the music, how they make eye contact as the stabbing happens just....

I know it sounds really bad, and this is the part where I remind everyone that I ADORE Morrigan, but the stabbing ending is so satisfying from a story-telling standpoint for my playthrough.

It's so tragic and it hurts and I hate it.... but I love it, y'know?

I love Witch Hunt, like I haven't even talked about Ariane and Finn, or how the circle just has all these books on Dalish artifacts and translations of elvhen, or how other eluvians can be found with a shard from the broken one in the dalish origin.... like you're telling me that Merrill had a piece of the puzzle? If she had the knowledge, she could've found a working eluvian to study?? I'm going to gnaw my own leg off--

Listen, I could gush about this all day.

But now that I've completely finished DAO, it's time to replay DA2.

[random-content-from-4by22]

Recovery pt1

Synopsis: after a grueling battle and the last foe was down, everyone caught their breath. They didn't anticipate that the warden would fall, their weapon clattering to the ground with little to no energy to put it away, like sand falling through their fingers. The last request the warden made before losing consciousness were; "I just want to be held while i recover."

warnings and mentions: based off of my gameplay of DAO currently. Mage warden. They/them warden. Not exactly read over for errors so sorry if their is some Grammer errors. Mentions of deaths of thousands. Not sure what other warnings apply.

Alistair - hope and prayer.

Alistair had dealt with so much. Being sent to the chantry by the arlessa, templar training, being recruited into the Grey Wardens and dealing with the effects that came with it, losing those wardens who started to feel like kin in the battle Loghain had stepped back from, including Duncan. But Maker has he never felt this much anxiety and fear gripping at his very flesh and being as he cradles his unconscious friend's face.

'They look so fragile like this.' he thought to himself with a spike of fear piercing his heart. His hands were shaking. He didn't want to be shaking. Not when he feared the person he cared so much about would lose their pulse if he did not remain composed.

'Please not them. Please. Anything but them. I'd do anything, just please live.'

He tried taking deep breaths, counting from 4 with each inhale through his mouth and exhale out his nose. Something the warden had told him about doing whenever they were stressed back at Redcliffe and while he was seperated from Sten, Leliana and Wynne in the fade.

'They will be fine.' He told himself, willing the slight tremble in his hands to cease with every breath he took.

'Wynne said they would be fine. They have to be fine.'

It was the second time he realised just how much value the warden held to him. Just how much he cared, like when he worried about them not surviving their wounds when the two were rescued and taken to Flemeth's hut. Only this time, he wasn't dealing with the abundance of grief Loghain's actions had caused, the pain having become smaller for the time being. And this time, he knew the warden more now, like the kin he had found and lost. They weren't just the new recruit anymore, they were his leader, his friend, his close companion. The thought and the breathing exercise helped to calm his mind, but there was still an inkling of doubt and worry in his mind as he thought back, to so many moments the warden managed to create, even if its only been, what, 3-4 weeks? Or maybe it was months. They never really took track of time.

He lowered his forehead to theirs, hands now stilled, devoid of gloves and feeling the texture of the warden's skin. His movements were careful, some part of himself treating this as if the warden was merely sleeping instead of having been unconscious for 3 days already. He closed his eyes, and began to pray. Whispering prayers to the Maker and Andrastate for a swift recovery, his thumb every now and again caressing the warden's cheek as he prayed.

"You're going to be okay. I promise."

[flashlight-sticker]

Day 3 - “Is this what you want?”

Today the streets were loud, boiling with life, rainfall heaving down onto the inhabitants, with unbearable traffic, some absolute morons yelling at each other through rolled down windows and an insane amount of responsibilities suddenly falling onto Francis’ shoulders.

It is on days like this that he regrets quitting smoking. But all of that (thankfully) was over.

Aside from the paperwork.

His opinions changed a lot throughout the centuries, but there were things that he felt very strongly about. For example, that your shoes should always match your bag, that dark brown was certainly not his colour and that paperwork was awful. Paperwork was something he dreaded with his entire being, for his hand hurt too much after signing, signing and signing everything, for he was having a migraine after hours of trying to figure out some misprint, only to find out later that the whole paper was actually never meant for him in the first place, for the moment he looked at the dull papers, black lines crossing them all over, he felt his heart sink and eyes roll at a yet another request from one of his officials.

He dragged himself up the staircase and took out a key. The wrong one, of course, because the universe despised him today.

The clicking of the lock, the smashing of the door against the wall, his bag falling onto the floor and him slumping against the corner of the hallway, on top of the shoe cabinet.

Francis knew he needed a moment after such a day, just sitting there in silence for a few minutes before he said anything to the love of his entire life, or he’d look too miserable for his own liking. Or, at least Francis thought that he needed it, before he heard the sweetest words flow out of the dimly lit living room, where Alistair was, no doubt, reading.

“Welcome home, Fran!”

A lazy smile appeared on his face.

“Hello.” He said back, softly.

***

“Ugh…” it was taking way too long for him to get through all of that. Perhaps, just perhaps, he should’ve done all of this when Ludwig told him to. And perhaps (perhaps!) he needed to look at this law that was passed on a little earlier. And perhaps—

Francis threw his head back, eyes closing and hands covering his face. This is exactly why he didn’t like this whole “sign the damn paper” thing. It wasn’t just about signing the damn paper. It was about figuring out whether or not they had the finances for it, if it was the right thing to do, if there were loopholes through which one can do something questionable. And, of course, it was about endless, notorious, boring calculations. It was about unnecessary drama and pity parties… and his thoughts were driving him insane again.

“This is hell” he picked up a pen and looked at it with disinterest, not really looking at it at all “I am in hell.”

“Then I’m here to save you.” Francis jumped up in his seat, head snapping to the right. Too invested in his own thought, he failed to notice the door opening, or a certain Scotsman leaning onto it, observing him. The same Scotsman that was now looking at him with a smug grin and a glint in his eyes.

Francis shot him a look. It was meant to be threatening, but either Alistair didn’t care after being objected to it so many times, or he completely misunderstood it for a ‘what do you want?’, because he answered :

“I made tea.” and nodded to the corridor, after which he walked out of the office.

***

Upon entering the kitchen, Francis was greeted by the sight of Alistair, who spared him a mere glance before continuing to pour tea into two cups.

And the stove on, for some horrid reason, but that’s a headache he’ll deal with later.

He sat down opposite to Alistair, looking at him with glassy eyes. No thoughts were really in his head. They generally had the tendency to disappear once he locked his eyes on Scotland and he still wasn’t sure whether that was a blessing, or a curse.

He watched Alistair’s hands place the teapot back onto the table, his fingers curving at the handle of his cup, holding it sternly, thumb tapping its top.

And looking at that, Francis reminded himself that he should probably take his mug. He reached out slowly, holding the porcelain in his palms, warming them against the liquid inside.

He took a sip.

Alistair followed his example, eyes closing for a moment, the way he always did when appreciating a good earl grey.

“How was your day ?” the question was gentle and Francis understood that Alistair was prompting him to a rant, the way he did when he knew that Francis was in the mood for gossiping (almost always).

He smoothed his hair behind his ear. “Horrible.” Another sip. “Today was absolutely horrible.”

Alistair answered with a low hum and Francis felt the need to continue.

“First the gas in my car was about to run out, so I pulled over to the gas station, but there was a huge line. So, when it’s my turn, I look at the hose and it says that it ‘reaches both ways’” he put the cup down and mimicked the speech-marks. “and then it didn’t! So, then I have to drive out and get to another line and that goes by pretty quickly. And when I went to the cashier, they go ‘Sir, am sorry, ye cannae pay with a card’” the imitation of the accent made Alistair choke on his tea with laughter, but Francis was too absorbed in his own story to notice. “And I don’t have any cash on me at the moment!

“I go into the car, search high and low for these damned thirty pounds and I find them. Ten minutes later!

“I finally get out of the gas station and I’m driving to the conference room and there’s a traffic jam. I stay in there for nearly half an hour!” He sips his tea again, more angrily this time.

“So, of course I arrive late and the first thing I hear this morning is a lecture from Germany about punctuality, after which your brother” Francis points an accusing finger at Alistair across the table, who puts his hands up in surrender, after which proceeds with even more poison in his voice “uses it against me, as a proof that I’m lazy and am no fit for a ‘gentleman’ like him!

“So, now I have a lot of work and a headache. Work that you are preventing me from doing!” he looks Alistair in the eyes and both of them know that it’s a joke. A playful remark. But Alistair pretends that he doesn’t. He leans forward and tries to hide his smirk as he speaks.

“Is this really what you wanna do? Paperwork?”

Francis lets out a groan at the mention and throws his head back again, hands wrapping around his cup.

He hears Alistair chuckle.

“I might have something that can make it up to you a little.”

The mention makes Francis curious and he tilts his head towards Scotland slightly. He watches him get up, hears the fridge open and is soon presented with a plastic box being set in front of him on the table.

It takes him a second to realise what he’s looking at, but it does light his day up a little when he understands what it is. Francis smiles.

“You got me a crème brûlée!”

Alistair shrugs his shoulders and nods to the side, a small smile on his own face.

“Thought you deserve a little treat.”

“Mmm, thanks” France hums out, eyes softening as he looks up at Scotland.

He gets up, circles his chair, fingers dancing on top of it lightly, after which he stands directly in front of Alistair. “There’s something that would make me feel even better though.”

There’s a played naivety in his voice and Alistair thinks that he has a pretty good idea what that ‘something’ is. But Francis gave him a role and he’ll have to carry it out.

“Oh?” he reaches out and plays with the ends of France’s blond hair. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice “And what is it?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does.