#Amber haters after watching the show BLIND.

[hobiebrownsluver]

they're so heartbreaking and realistic it's tragic 🤒🤒🤒💔💔💔

While the breakup was inevitable (especially if you read the comics), I think the show handled it phenomenally with it being even better than how it was done in the comics. Steven Yeun and Zazie Beetz absolutely killed it in this scene with you really being able to hear the heartbreak in both of their voices as Mark and Amber realize that for as much as they love each other, they can't make this relationship work. Then you have the "I can't live in your world, I want to, but I can't." which👏👏👏. That is some absolute peak writing. I haven't consumed many stories that actually treat the breakup as a heartbreaking moment for both characters involved since it's usually just treated as a minor obstacle to prevent the main romance from happening sooner. While I'm fine with that in some cases, I feel like it's a disservice when the main character's temporary love interest is a genuinely interesting and fun character who has a good rapport with them. In that same regard, it has been a nice change of pace to see characters who do care for each other attempt to make things work and talk about the issues before accepting that what they have just isn't going to work.

It's also a good commentary on the nature of superhero/civilian relationships since while someone like Debbie was able to handle the stress of it, Amber isn't able to do so. And that doesn't make her weak or a pushover, it makes her human because not everyone is built to handle that kind of life and it's totally understandable.

[fandomn00blr]

Dread Moon, Chapter 13 Excerpt

[Context: Post-Inquisition, Pre-Trespasser...Dorian has been ‘rescued’ and is headed back to Skyhold with his Inquisition fam. Anders is struggling to find his place in Kirkwall again, and without Justice. Hawke tries to big sister him to repair their friendship. It starts to work...sorta.]

[Oh shit! Also...have I mentioned how important Orana’s cinnamon buns are to keeping all of Hawke’s friends from killing each other?]

...

A hungover Evelyn was not happy that she had to practically drag Dorian and Cullen aboard the ship Harding had chartered for them the next morning. Bull, and even Alarion, who was technically their prisoner, though it was easy to forget that he would be taken directly to the dungeons as soon as they arrived at Skyhold, came along much more willingly. Aveline as Guard-Captain, and Varric as the official Inquisition ambassador in Kirkwall were there to see them off, and Merrill had accompanied them, having woken up as bright and chipper as ever before sunrise. Hawke and the others opted to sleep in and enjoy the comforts of the Hawke estate, which most of them had been missing for the past few weeks, months, and even years, in Anders’ case.

Just like old times, Orana had cinnamon buns baking and coffee brewing by the time Hawke even realized she’d missed her chance to say goodbye.

She rolled over, from dead asleep to wide awake in an instant. “Fenris!” The mid-morning sun was already streaming in through the curtains. “How could you let me sleep in and miss sending Trevelyn and Cully-Wully off?”

Fenris had already gone for a morning run, done his meditations, bathed, dressed, and was reading on the chaise across the room while enjoying a bowl of strawberries with his cinnamon bun and a cup of hot water and lemon, all parts of his routine that he had been missing dearly for quite some time.

“It’s not really a matter of ‘letting’ you…” he murmured, not looking up from his book.

“Is everyone else gone, too?”

“Isabela just woke up. She’s downstairs with Anders and Orana in the kitchen trying to convince someone to make her an omelette. Your sister said she had to go meet another potential donor for the College. And Merrill went with Varric and Aveline.”

“Why?”

Fenris shrugged, finally looking up at her. “Perhaps she was just being nice?”

“Weird.” She eyed his plate. “Are there anymore cinnamon buns?”

Fenris smiled and shook his head, returning his attention to the book. “I’m sure Orana saved you one.”

Hawke spent the rest of the morning nursing her hangover, gossiping with Isabela and Varric when he returned from the Docks, helping Merrill move more of her stuff into the estate, and insisting on buying Anders a new robe and a trip to the barber.

“You can keep the beard, Anders! But it’s in desperate need of some tidying up. Hobo apostate chic is so...not a thing anymore. And your hair could use a trim, too. The messy man bun still works for you, I think, but the dead ends...you’ve just taken the look way too far.”

“Even I get my glorious chest hair groomed…” Varric bragged, puffing his chest out even more than usual.

Merrill’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“Next time, Daisy...I’ll let you tag along to my appointment.”

“Oh! How fun!”

“I just don’t think I need --” Anders began to protest again.

Isabela eyed him knowingly. “No harm in cleaning yourself up! You know...in case you run into anyone cute…”

Anders shot her a quick glare and then turned back to Hawke. “Fine,” he sighed in defeat.

...

An afternoon shopping with and cleaning Anders up turned out to be quite exhausting for both of them, and they headed back to the Hawke estate tired, hungry, and irritable, but not entirely unsuccessful.

“It looks good, you know…” Hawke grumbled, trying not to look like she was admiring him too much. No one could ever call Anders ‘ugly,’ but new clothes and a bit of grooming had certainly reminded her how attractive he was. “I think eating food the past few days has helped a lot, too,” she added, just to annoy him.

“Thanks,” he grunted begrudgingly. He had thought the barber had done a fine job of accentuating the parts of his face that he didn’t completely hate. And the robe he’d picked, after so much fretting, was a nice teal velvet, free-flowing and comfortable, weighted perfectly for his tall lanky frame, with lots of useful pockets inside for potions and herbs and tools. It had gold accents that brought out the amber of his eyes and the various shades of blonde that actually washing his hair had revealed. Even he had to admit that it was nice to look down and appreciate what he was wearing, and how he looked in a mirror for the first time in...well, since he’d come to Kirkwall, really. Justice hadn’t really had much patience for vanity, after all.

But the two of them actually sharing a moment of gratitude and appreciation was short-lived.

“Anders, get behind me…” Hawke muttered, glaring ahead of them into the lengthening shadows of one of Kirkwall’s many winding alleys.

A large sinister-looking figure stepped out, brandishing a Templar’s sword from under his ill-fitting cloak. Several others, smaller in stature, but no less ill-intended emerged behind him. All of them wore hoods or masks to hide their faces. Hawke grinned. Too afraid to even reveal themselves...this would be easy.

“Our beef isn’t with you, Champion. Best get out of the way,” the big one muttered.

Hawke laughed. “I thought we routed all you inbred mage-haters out of the city years ago! Show your faces, you cowards!”

“We represent Kirkwall. You brought this murderer, this terrorist, back to our city, just as we had begun to rebuild from what he did, and we intend to do what you could not five years ago before he does anymore harm.”

“Kirkwall is BETTER NOW, you idiot! Are you so blinded by your ignorance and hate that you don’t see it?”

“I ask you once more, to please step aside. And let this man answer for his crimes.”

“No.”

“You don’t have to do this...” Anders muttered behind her.

“Oh, shut up. You know I do!” she said through gritted teeth, refusing to take her eyes off of the menacing group forming in front of them.

“Very well, then. Try not to kill the Champion, but if you must...” He motioned toward them with his sword and the rest of the group swarmed out of the alley, swords and knives and bows out in front of them. There were far more of them than Hawke had imagined, but they were clearly not trained or very well-organized, and many of their weapons were makeshift or old family heirlooms, heavy and rusted. Most of them didn’t stand a chance. Anders noticed several of the hooded figures were small, child-sized, even for dwarves, and he felt his stomach drop.

“Hawke, don’t!” he shouted. “They’re mostly civilians! And children!”

“They want to kill you!” Hawke shouted back, daggers flashing as she unsheathed them, ready to pounce on the first person who dared to attack. “Civilian or not!”

Anders was panicking. He didn’t want this. This is precisely why he’d hidden himself away in a cave for five years. He felt himself reaching for Justice, trying to will him to take over. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to see this, didn’t want to be a witness or to have to decide between his own life and that of someone else, let alone a child, however murderous. Justice could make those hard decisions. Justice could protect him from the guilt. But Justice was gone.

“Faith and Justice send their regards…” a familiar voice murmured. In his head? Mostly...though his shimmering presence was beginning to coalesce nearby. Compassion.

“Cole! Can you help?!”

The figure nodded, and Hawke did a double-take when she finally noticed him.

“Who…?”

“Nevermind! Get out of the way, Hawke!”

She stepped aside as the shimmering spirit-boy-thing walked right into Anders, and a blinding golden light exploded out of him, pushing the angry mob back as they shielded their eyes.

“Abomination!” the leader of the group cried out, his cloak thrown back revealing full Templar armor underneath, though it was ill-fitting and unpolished. “We must kill him before he transforms into a demon!”

But many of the others had begun to back away, lowering their weapons, pulling their friends and family members along with them.

“Your friends are smart.” Hawke grinned at the man, sauntering up to him with a swagger that Anders had always both loved and hated in equal measure. “Show me that Templar sword again, big man.”

He raised his sword in front of himself defensively, but he couldn’t hide his trembling.

“And take off that stupid hood!” Hawke whipped one of her daggers up and knocked his hood back to reveal a plump-faced, orange-haired man with a ruddy complexion. He looked terrified. “Ah, of course! Ser Mettin! Who let you back into the city? I thought we’d made it quite clear you weren’t welcome here after you threatened to...hmmm...what did you say about my sister? ‘Put that little witch in her place’?”

She dragged her dagger across his cheek, tracing the line of a scar that ran from his ear to his nose. “Bethany gave you this with one flick of her wrist, but you deserved worse. My sister really is the kind and benevolent one of the family. She’s busy at the moment, so I’ll go ahead and finish you off for her.”

“This is my city, too! You and your sister and your friends can’t just do as you please!”

“Why not? Meredith and the Templars certainly did for more than a decade…”

“That was different!”

“You’re right. She was cruel and abusive and driven to madness by her greed for power. We’ve just been trying to help this Maker-forsaken city.”

“Hawke, let him go,” Anders said. Cole was back beside him, watching curiously as Hawke pressed her dagger against his other cheek.

“He doesn’t deserve that…” she mused, sliding the dagger down his jaw to his throat. “How many other mages did you ‘put in their place,’ Mettin?”

Suddenly a barrier flashed between Hawke and Mettin, and the man winced, half expecting it to have been some kind of killing spell. “Let him go!”

Hawke turned around, livid with Anders for interfering with her kill, and it gave Mettin just enough time to throw his hood back up over his head and take off in the other direction.

“Go back to the estate!” she shouted angrily, preparing to pursue him.

“It’s not worth it, Hawke,” Anders sighed.

“I know...he’s pathetic, right? Totally out of shape...I bet he dies of a heart attack before I even get to slit his throat.”

Anders looked at her pleadingly, those damn doe eyes of his begging mercy for the man who’d just tried to incite an angry mob against them. She’d always had a weakness for them, and especially now, with his hair pulled back away from his face, and the new robe with its contrasting teal and gold drawing all her attention to them.

“Fuck, Anders! But he’s complete garbage,” she whined.

“So forget him. Let’s just go.”

Hawke stared longingly down the dark alley, then sighed. “Fine…”

...