#before i boot up da2

[teiasviago]

worst thing abt da2 and origins on my computer is that i can’t use my controller with them :/

[hickeygender]

downloaded wolfenstein after going on a jacob geller rewatch binge and getting intrigued by blazko. for reference i've played one fps in my 23 years and got stuck on the third level, so i'm either gonna cry and shit my pants or actually learn how shooters work. if you see me spamming ben affleck smoking reaction pics in my posts tomorrow then that's your explanation

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

David Gaider: "Just to clarify the "they're probably why you'll never see Fenris" thing, as it's spawned commentary: 1. It's the reasoning as was explained to me back then. 2. Obviously, if Bio *really* wanted to, they'd find a way around it. But it was a complication that meant he couldn't be included casually." [source]

[thekingofwinterblog]

How to fix Halamshiral as a Zone

Inquisition is a flawed game.

I don't think there's anyone who is going to argue otherwise.

The only question is wheter you place it higher or lower than DA2.

One of the things I think it does better than DA2, is that it managed to give every place a soul, an identity of it's own, and at least a distinct, if not always amazing storyline.

The emerald graves doesnt have a very interesting plot, but it has some spectacular side quests, and atmosphere, inculding a haunted mansion, which might be my favorite possession based quest in all of DA because it shows much better than others just how dangerous untrained mages actually are to those around them.

The storm coast tells a story of what was once an important dwarven port, and shows how it fell and was repurposed over time.

The Hinterlands shows the aftereffects of the templar mage war, as well as solas stupid plan to give cory his orb, and the mage rebellion and an actually decent time travel story.

I could go on, but the point is, I usually have at least aomething nice to say about every single region.

All except one.

Halamshiral.

Halamshiral was the single worst part of all of Dragon Age Inquisition for me, and every single time I boot up this game, it's always the last thing i do before the temple of sacred ashes, despite how bizarre the game flows as a result.

And the reason is because i hate everything about it.

I hate it's unique attempt at side quests, i hate the characters involved, i hate the Orlesians who inhabit it, and i hate how this section tries to copy what worked so amazingly well with Orzammar and Denerim during the landsmeet section, and fails every single shot it lines up.

The ONLY good thing i have to say about this, is that it's at the very least relatively short.

So here's today's question. How to fix Halamshiral?

Let's begin with the three main players.

Celene, Gasparde, and Briala.

The big problem with every single option, is that they all suck.

Celene and Gasparde are both fucking awful people without any redeeming qualities, they have no charisma, and there is no prospect of the Empire reforming itself under either of them, the way Orzammar would under Bhelen.

Meanwhile, Briala is much, much better, but the problem is that we know exactly what is going to happen here if you support her.

Maybe today elves will have it better, but tomorrow, when Gasparde is gone, or celene turns on elves again as she always does all the progress will be repealed, and reversed, along with a few purged alienages.

Its an old story that's been told before in Dragon age.

In short, there is no reason at all to care about this overall plot. None whatsoever.

There were so many reasons to care about both Orzammar and Denerim in the same situation, and every single character involved had so much more charisma than either of these would be monarchs.

So let's fix that.

Starting with Celene, take the idea of her wanting to reform the empire, and actually take it to the next level.

Celene is genuine in wanting to reform the empire, and has already taken grand, successful steps to make the entire thing much better for everyone, even elves, giving them and serfs more rights, outlawing the practice of chevaliers having a tradition of killing unarmed city elves to graduate.

But the catch is, while she is genuinely making progress, she is doing so within the confines of the great game.

Celene has nonintention of changing the great game, no plans of wanting to remove this thing that holds Orlais back more than any other, this center stone of their nobility and it's culture.

Meanwhile, Gasparde is a different kind of reformer, one that takes the ideas he had of him claiming to hate the game, and actually doing something with it.

He is far less progressive, has no love for elves, is far more warlike than Celene ever was... But unlike Celene, his ideas of reform isn't going to act within the grand game.

He's going to break it.

Unlike canon gasparde, this gasparde is hated by every single noble family in the entire empire. His only support, and it's a strong one, is the army. The parts of the army that supports Gasparde, and they are a huge part, are loyal to him personally to the hilt.

And he hates them back. He hates the game, he hates the way it cripples the empire, and he wants to change things. Like Celene he plans to break the serfs free of their chains, for the good of the nation and it's power and economy if not for any progressive reasons.

And he'a going to start with Halamshiral.

For this Gasparde isn't merely positioning men to stage a coup... He's planning to kill EVERY SINGLE NOBLE in Halamshiral. Evety man, every woman, every child there.

He's going to reform this empire by wiping out it's cancerous nobility in one fell swoop, and install himself as supreme dictator to see his reforms through, and wiping out the entire Orlesian nobility that might have opposed him, french revolution style.

And thus the Inquisitor has a dilemma.

Unlike Orzammar, where only one side was a reformer, both of these Orlesians are... But you have to choose one.

Do you choose Celene? The more progressive candidate, who wants a more peaceful Orlais going forward? But who is not willing to get ridd of the grand game to do so, thus making it a permanent risk that all her reforms will be undone...

Or will you support Gasparde, and by doing so be complicit in destroying the entire nobility of Orlais, many of whom are not guilty of the shit that Celene and Gasparde here both hate so much? Gasparde is far less likely to create a peaceful Orlais going forward... But he will have obliterated the Grand Game for good and all, a prize that might be worth this Red Wedding style bloodbath.

Meanwhile there is Briala, the elven spy who has enough influence to allow, or prevent Gasparde's plans from going through.

Here there should be another moral dilemma, quite different from the base game.

Do you convince her to aid Gasparde, in exchange for the Elves getting a duchy of their own in Halamshiral? Do you then back her up with Inquisition forces and support, forcing Him to publicly announce her as such, and trust his own, twisted version of honor to actually stick to it going forward(Something he ultimately does), or do you throw her to the Wolves the moment things get rough?

Or alternatively, do you convince her to side with Celene, and bury the hatchet? And if so, on what terms? And similarly, if she actually wants to get something out of this, you actually need to back her up... Something you may, or may not choose to do.

And voila, here you have an actual story of intrigue, massive, lasting political changes as a result of the Herald's actions, and morally grey on grey choices.

Everything that Denerim and Orzammar had in spades.

Now moving on from the plot to the actual place.

Halamshiral has no soul.

It's a french villa on a mountaintop. Whoop de freaking do.

It has no interesting murals, unique art only found there, interesting geography, or anything really to make it stand out.

Compare it to Denerim and Orzammar, and the way they fleshed out the entire city's levels of power and criminal underworlds, and you see the difference.

Denerim is a very realistic, squat, squalid medieval city, with it's buildings built on top of every single bit of available space.

Orzammar is a full on high fantasy dwarf city lit up by a lake of lava.

Halamshiral is a villa presented as a city.

How do you fix that?

There is an artist here on Tumblr who pretty much showcased what Halamshiral could have been, if they had taken the idea of the Dalish(who were the original owners) taking inspiration from native americans(amongst others), and use that to build a truly spectacular city, which has long ago been paved over, but the structure is still there.

Make it a city on the water, like the aztex capital of Tenochtitlan, a marvel of canals and stone.

Make it this Venezia like city, with canals everywhere you look, and the entire city running on water. A marvel of Dalish city building, where they took something as simple as a couple of islands in a lake, and built the most beautiful city in the world.

And rather than just limit you to the palace, instead let you actually explore this city.

Expand the entire event from one night, to a week.

Let the Herald explore the city, meet the players, interact with the nobles, become friends with a few like you could with Ferelden's bans, which in turn makes the possibility of sacrificing them for the greater good hit so much harder.

Let you choose what fancy stuff to wear to the balls and meetings, rather than have this stupid motto of forcing you to wear one, pre determined outfit like this game had for some reason.

Let you discover the places where what little Elven Architecture and art still remains can be found, and talk with the elves who still live here, the descendants after the first elves the Orlesians enslaved.

Make the plotting of Gasparde and the positioning of troops be gradual, not instantly discovered and twarted.

And at the end, if you choose to back Gasparde, you mirror that scene from Dragon Age 2, where the Templars sail across the bay, and you either step aside and witness the bloodbath you just allowed to happen, or you fight them and be recognized by the nobility(most of which are horrible, horrible people) as a hero who just saved the day.

Have the venatori plot be to kill both Gasparde and Celene, rather than their involvement mostly be about handing the player the the easy knife for the knot of which monarch to pick without having to get your hands dirty.

Also have the entire group be gathered for once. Every inner member of the Inquisition just like at Denerim.

Each of whom have their own thoughts on the events.

Who supports who? What is the right thing to do? What is better for the inquisition? Are you staining your honor beyond repair if you back Gasparde? Does the Inquisitor maybe have a breakdown after witnessing what they just allowed to happen and they walk through the gardens or rooms filled with corpses? Maybe have the scene at the end with the love interest be about a moment of them truly comforting their lover in the aftermath of it all, understanding(or not) that as boss, it's your job to have to make the tough decisions. And now you have to live with them.

Or if you wanna go the other way, this could be one of the breaking points like Origins had. If you support Gasparde, Blackwall choses to tell you to get bent, and that he will die as benefits a knight. Defending the week, and calling you out on how you are just as bad as he ever was, a child killer who's going to run away from responsibility, to pretend you are some better person than what you actually are. You're a murder. Just like he was. You are just as responsible for the blood that's flowing as he was with that carriage back in the day.

It would have been a far more impressive reveal moment for his crimes, that's for sure.

Cole probably would be the one who would be second most upset, but wheter he leaves or ultimately stays should probably be depended on your other choices and your relationship with him prior to this, probably have his personal quest be the determinating factor of what he chooses to do.

And i could go on, but point is, this would be a return to Origins choices actually mattering. There were choices that could make or break a characters bond with you. Shale would not budge regarding Caridin, Leliana and wynne would stand against you if you choose to defile the urn, Sevran would choose to betray you for his old friend if he didn't like you enough, and of course the age old choices at the end of act 3 in da2, where you have to pick between templars and Mages, as well as anders fate, and chances are regardless of what you do, at least 1 person ends up dead.

If anyone reading this has any suggestions for how to further improve this storyline, feel free to share, but regardless, i think we can all agree that this is a vast improvement of what we actually got.

[teine-mallaichte]

Happy Friday! [ thumb ] sender starts gently caressing receiver's knuckles with their thumb for Hawke and Fenris, maybe? It strikes me as something you could work into a whumpier prompt if you wanted.

gah my brain finds this comfort thing is so much hard than angst and whump 😂 but given it a go. So more post DA2 Adiran. This time trying to help Fenris who is suffering because living on a boat can suck when you have chronic pain and the weather can trigger flares.

@dadrunkwriting

The creak of wood beneath boots echoed on the stairs, each step intentional and measured as he approached the cabins at the back of the ship. After pausing for a moment Adrian pushed the door open with a low groan, and slipped inside.

Moonlight filtered through the small window, casting pale lines across the room. Fenris sat at the edge of the bed, his posture stiff, hands loosely clasped in his lap. His gaze was distant, failing to even look round when the door opened.

Adrian moved quietly to the bed, settling beside Fenris, letting the silence stretch for a moment before reaching out. His fingers closed gently around Fenris’s hand, his thumb brushing lightly over the knuckles.

"Headache again?" he kept his voice soft, no teasing this time—just quiet concern.

Fenris’s fingers twitched beneath Adrian's touch, his eyes briefly shutting, "It is… manageable," he muttered, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed the discomfort.

Adrian hummed, unconvinced. Over the years, he’d learned to read Fenris's off days—the subtle shifts in his behavior that told him when the pain from the lyrium was flaring up. Days when Fenris’s joints ached, his head throbbed, and his skin felt as though it were burning from the inside out. But it wasn’t until they’d moved onto Isabella’s ship that they noticed the pattern between his pain and the weather. He knew the signs by heart now. "You’re like a living barometer," he teased lightly, his thumb continuing its gentle movement over Fenris’s knuckles. "Bella thinks the storm will hit overnight. Looks like you were right again."

Fenris huffed, his gaze never leaving the distance. "A talent I’d gladly trade," he muttered, frustration lacing his words.

Adrian chuckled softly. "Shame. We could’ve made a fortune. ‘Fenris’ Forecasts.’” His lips curved into a grin, his thumb never ceasing its slow circles.

The corner of Fenris’s mouth twitched, a reluctant smile threatening to show but quickly smothered by a faint scowl. "Do not give the pirate ideas."

Adrian laughed, the sound light. "I’ll keep you safe from her schemes," he murmured, his grin still tugging at his lips. Then, with a flicker of concern, his voice softened. "Is it bad enough for me to go get Anders? He’s probably not busy..."

"There is no need," the elf replied quickly with a slight shake of his head and a grinace, as though trying to convince both Adrian and himself. "It will pass."

Adrian studied Fenris closely, noting the subtle tension in his jaw and the occasional twitch of his fingers. Fenris could try to hide it, but Adrian knew him too well. They’d been through this countless times before. The stubbornness, the withdrawal, the occasional irritation. It was all too familiar. And it would never last long.

"You’re being stubborn again," Adrian whispered, nudging Fenris’s elbow lightly with his own. His thumb moved in slow circles, never breaking its motion. "But alright, for now we can just see if some quiet, darkness, and perhaps sleep help."

Fenris exhaled sharply, the sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. "I am not 'being stubborn,'" he murmured, finally turning his head to meet Adrian’s gaze. "It will pass."

"I know." Adrian’s voice softened again. He could hear the distant rumble of thunder now, the storm growing nearer. He would likely need to get back on deck soon, aid Bella and the crew, but he wasn’t ready to leave Fenris just yet. "Come on," he coaxed, his arm slipping around Fenris’s waist as he gently pulled him down to lie beside him. "Let’s try to get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning."

[milesmentis]

Bards

Day 5: Veilguard 30 (Filling in for @daisymeade with a snippet featuring her Hawke, the best worst only bard in Kirkwall ... DA2 didn't give us the bard spec because they knew that Marion would've been literally unstoppable.)

“And now, gentle patrons, I shall pass my hat.”

“What for?” A loud voice cut through the grumbling, catching the attention of very nearly everyone in the room. Cyric squinted. The speaker was a lanky man sitting in the far corner nearest the door. He was leaning back, his chair precariously balanced against the back wall, his booted feet up on the table. A heckler.

Cyric pulled himself up to his full height. “For the evening's fine entertainment, serah.”

“Oh, and when does that start?” The patrons snickered into their stale mugs of ale, even the ones who had been pointedly ignoring his luteing. “Sorry,” the man continued with a cocky grin, “but the Hanged Man doesn't run on credit.”

That really got the room going, a few whistles and stamps mixed in with the raucous laughter.

Cyric’s face burned, but he managed to snap back, “Well, I'd like to see you do better!”

At once, the man swung his leg down in a casual motion so smooth that it had to be practiced. As soon as his foot hit the floor, so did the legs of his chair and he was up and moving. He crossed half of the crowded room in a breath and Cyric couldn't help but gulp. The man was taller … and significantly wider than he'd originally assumed. His chest was broad and his arms rippled with lean muscle beneath his rolled up sleeves. His mouth still curved up in a languid grin, but from this close it looked much less friendly.

“That sounded like a wager.”

“And … if it was?” Nothing to do now but call his bluff … or possibly, he realized belatedly, take a very comprehensive thrashing. “Fancy a go?”

He held out the lute by the neck as if it was a dead chicken and the man's smile actually spread into a full grin.

“Well … I'll try anything once.”

“We know!” called one of the other patrons and the room cracked up again.

He turned to yell back over his shoulder, “And how was I supposed to know that was your sister? If she’d been mule-ugly and drunk, I'd have known to ask permission first!”

Ignoring the latest round of hoots and jeers, the man rolled his shoulders like he was loosening up to lift something heavy then held out a calloused hand.

“Terms?”

Cyric thought for a moment. “If you can play a song - any song - I'll cover all your drinks for the night.”

The man grinned. “Think you’ll get enough to pay up when you lose?”

Cyric stuck out his chin. “Having second thoughts about showing your ass in front of your friends?”

“Good one,” the man snickered. “But that assumes they haven't all seen it. Assumptions are like that.”

The man turned the lute back and forth, giving the instrument a critical once over before slinging the band over his neck. He settled his arm around it, a bit as if he were cradling a newborn calf and began to fidget with the tuning. Cyric snorted. Despite trying to look confident, the man’s “fiddling” would only take it out a tune - this was likely going to be more painful than embarrassing.

He plucked his first note, sour as curdled milk, and Cyric grit his teeth. More notes came in succession, trailing like lost ducklings in an arhythmic mess. He almost went to snatch his precious instrument back from the lout when he strummed a selection of discordant notes in a chord. It hummed sympathetically to the jarring notes hanging in the smoky room, creating a bridge. The man plucked again, a quicker run through the notes followed by the same chord twice, reigning in the chaos. Cyric winced again as the man’s rough fingers slid down the strings in a screech but it ended again in a chord, this one much more pleasing. The firelight danced on the man’s face, catching at his lips which now turned up in a less harsh expression, one of private satisfaction as if he’d just brought a difficult horse into line. The music was still not to Cyric’s taste, but there was a certain wild beauty to it. It sounded like a drunkard's waltz, swaying back and forth across the room until it bumped against those oft repeated chords.

As the phrase repeated again and again, the man began to embellish, adding trills and sympathetic chords until the song carried something remarkably close to a melody. The tempo increased and as the man began to stomp in time, Cyric realized with a start that not only was he swaying along with the beat, so were most of the patrons. Even the most hardfaced drunks were nodding in time or tapping mugs against the worn and sticky tabletops. The music built to a crescendo, quick triplets and a muddled mess of chords all crashing together. It came to an abrupt end with one final stomp from the redheaded man, but as a few cheers and some raucous applause drifted towards them from the table in the back he stomped again. And again. And again. Expectant quiet fell then, all attention drawn to him like metal shavings to a lodestone. And he began to sing.

Fortune, fortune, smile and fade

Haven't seen you much of late

His voice was like his luting: unpolished, lilting, and undeniably Ferelden. The cadence of his words swayed in an almost dirge-like rhythm as he continued:

Need you now, I cannot wait

But when I look you’re not around

Cyric startled when a few patrons joined in, the strongest voices coming from a table full of laborers, judging from the stone dust on their clothes.

Never minding what we do

The night’s still good for a dram or two

I’ll be drinking late with you

Until the morning comes around

Yea, I must be good for something

Yea, pray tell?

His crooning dropped deep into his chest at that last part, aching with a desperate longing. A tremulous chord hung in the air for a breath before the man threw back his head and, followed by almost two dozen voices, launched into the chorus.

Oh sinners come down, come gather 'round

Oh sinners come down, lay-o-lai

Dancing on cold feet

Marching down cobbled streets

Oh sinners come down, lay-o-laaaiii

[bearlytolerant]

9, 16, 19 for DA4 ask!

Thank you for these asks! I finally sat down to get them answered.

9. Which romance, if any, do you plan to pursue first?

Solas with my lavellan. I kid…unless.

Then Varric. I kid…u n l e s s.

The real answer is I’m torn. Everyone looks lovely! But I’m going to need to get to know them better in game before I can actually make any decision on who I’m romancing first. Unlike prior games, everyone I’ve seen in the new game is starting on the same level (even though I’ve got some snippets of chars from writing but I need more to go on).

16. What's one crack theory you subscribe to (yours or someone else's)

I don’t know. Probably none. Even my own I’m not fully subscribed to. A boring answer I know but I’ve got nothing. I’m just hoping we get some solid answers in the next game but it’s dragon age so—I expect I’ll get 12 more questions for every 1 I get an answer to.

21. Are you planning to replay any of the previous games, watch Dragon Age: Absolution, or read any of the books/comics/short stories, or are there other games you want to play in the meantime?

Yes! I booted up a new playthrough of da2 and Inquisition already. I have 3 of the comics to finish and I’m also working through Tevinter Nights again currently. I won’t read any of the other books though. Will probably watch absolution again too because I’ve only seen it once so I feel like a second time I’ll be able to glean details I missed prior from the show.

I’ve included vacation photos that Cole took of Sarya in the Elvhen ruins:

[snotsloth]

10 Characters/10 Fandoms/10 Tags

Tagged by @icehearts

Tagging, but don't feel pressured! (Also you do not have to make pretty pictures. Graphic Designer brain just took over and this happened.) @physicalvocalist, @sarenraegalpaladin, @vorpalbun, @captainqster, @leagor-majere, @sundered-souls, @ardberts, @hinganskies, @lilbittymonster, @janzoo

1. Harrowhark Nonagesimus - The Locked Tomb Trilogy

Harrow has true scrungly wet cat energy. I want to put her in one of those little backpacks with a window and carry her around in it for her enrichment. She's an absolute bitch. She is a pathetic little meow meow. She lobotomized herself to save the soul of the woman she refuses to admit she's in love with. She tried to kill a saint with soup made from her own bone marrow. She is a war crime. I like her so much!

2. Magneto - X-Men

He is the platonic ideal of my favorite trope, "Does all the wrong things for all the right reasons." Magneto has gone through the polar opposite of villain decay. The longer he exists, the longer the universe has to prove him increasingly correct on most things. All I can really say is, "Magneto was right."

3. Wei Wuxian - Mo Dao Zu Shi

Truly the most blorbo of all time. Are you also an ADHD burned out gifted and talented submissive brat with a praise kink? Boy howdy, do I have a character that you are going to imprint on like a baby goose! Wei Wuxian also has a hearty dose of, "Does all the wrong things for all the right reasons." Also like who multiclasses in wizard (specifically necromancer) and bard? This fucking guy apparently.

4. Hythlodaeus - Final Fantasy 14

I am so normal about Hythlodaeus, I made an entire AU around him. That is a reasonable thing to do about a character that you like a normal amount, right? The idealized lost love, trapped in amber, untouchable but also incorruptible by the sands of time that keep eroding the edges of your soul. And then they gave him lavender dead anime mom hair!

5. Varric Tethras - Dragon Age

I literally have a semi-viral post about how much this character has consumed my thoughts. Rule Number 1 of Dragon Age: Varric lies. He's a charming scoundrel. He's loyal to a fault. He knows everything worth knowing about Kirkwall. And he's a dirty fucking liar. The only reason Varric isn't romanceable in DA2 is that no other romantic interest would get any attention if Varric was on the table. I desire him carnally.

6. Temeraire - Temeraire

My most precious and smartest boy! I adore Temeraire so much. Swear to god, I did not read the Temeraire books before creating Orion as a character, but the parallels are so strong, you would think I had! He's a bookworm, a little awkward but full of opinions, and he has an unwavering moral compass. Temeraire will forever be one of my favorite dragon characters.

7. Jaina Solo - Star Wars Legends

I will never forget what Disney took from me. As a weird, nerdy girl who was also kind of a guy growing up, Jaina meant so much to me. She was an active participant in the stories she was in. She was an ace pilot, a skilled mechanic, and a Jedi to boot. She had her dad's sense of humor and her mom's moral certainty. I thought she was the coolest. Still do.

8. Ansur - Baldur's Gate 3

Ansur! My beloved! If you had told me that the character I would be most obsessed with from BG3 would be an undead bronze dragon who you don't even know about until the third act -- actually, no that checks out. He was so in love, and so loyal, and so bitter at Balduron for embracing his corruption! And that reveal! All the build-up, only to find his bones and then wham! the entire narrative of the Emperor gets turned on its head. I still get chills. Also, they were absolutely fucking.

9. Viktor - Arcane

Listen, as a disabled, obsessive nerd with too much to do and not enough time to do it all in, Viktor is my gender. I love just about everything about Arcane, but Viktor's storyline is my favorite part. I, for one, am very excited to watch his fall from grace and further corruption. I have already forgiven all of his atrocities. I do not care. He's babygirl.

10. Clark Kent - DC

You thought I was going to say Jason or Dick for a DC character didn't you? (Or even Roy!) Those would all have been very reasonable expectations. I am pretty obsessed with all of them. However, Clark Kent is a very special character to me, and yes I specifically am focusing on the Clark persona and not the Supes persona. Yeah, they are ultimately the same guy, but I much prefer Superman stories grounded in his Clark Kent identity. Superman is at his best when he is attached to the mundane world by things like his job, his family, and his love for Lois. (Lois/Clark is the ultimate het ship. I will not be taking questions on this. It just is.) Clark is essentially a demigod, and yet he chooses to spend his time loving people and living as one of them, and I think that's really fucking cool.

[eye-of-yelough]

booting up gta 5 “just for fun. just to drive and around and shoot things for a while before i get back to da2” was a mistake.

[seigephoenix]

Kinktober 2024: Edging

Set during DA2 before Alissa and Garrett discovered what good communication and a healthy relationship looked like. XD

Ship: Alissa Trevelyan x Garrett Hawke Content Warning: cunnilingus, sass, a tinsy bit of angst, fingering Length: 3.7k

Alissa prided herself on being a very patient person, kind and understanding, but Garrett Hawke had managed what no one else had in Kirkwall in the almost ten years she’d lived in it.  He managed to get to the end of her patience.  No one seemed to know exactly where he was either, and Alissa knew they were keeping it from her on purpose.  She stormed up the stairs of the Hanged Man, to Varric’s personal chambers.  Isabela chuckled and turned back to her drink, wishing she could listen in to that conversation.  Everyone knew that Hawke had taken a chance on making a bet with Alissa, and now it was time to pay up.  Isabela heard about the stakes and she wished to be a fly on that wall but knew that Hawke had his limits.  Too bad though.  She thought she’d greatly enjoy the torment that was about to land in the hero’s lap.

“Varric Tethras,” Alissa said in the most menacing tone she could muster.  Varric looked up and gave her a jaunty grin while holding his hands out in welcome.  Alissa stomped over to him and gave him a look that gave him plenty of warning not to bullshit her.  “Don’t act cute with me.”

“C’mon now Dimples.  Would I act cute with you?” Varric asked as she stood next to his chair with her hands propped up on her hips and a vicious glare in those storm colored eyes.

“Varric.  I am nearing the end of my patience.  Where is Hawke?” Varric pretended to think about it and answered that he hadn’t seen him all day.  “Varric…”

“I’m telling you the truth Dimples.  I haven’t seen him all day.” Varric grinned and Alissa’s eye twitched in annoyance.  She crossed her arms and leaned in until they were nose to nose.  “I’m hurt that you don’t trust me.”  He grinned in the face of her ire even with the sweat dripping down his back.

“I see the game you’re playing Tethras, and I’ll raise your stakes.  Remember that you had your chance to give me the answer I wanted.”  Alissa straightened and stormed back out the Hanged Man.  Isabela joined Varric and propped her boots on the table.  She knew that Alissa had zero qualms using dirty tactics to get what she wanted.  She almost felt bad for Varric.  Almost.

“You know you should have just given up Hawke’s location.  Angering a woman like that isn’t very smart Varric,” Isabela told him with a grin.

“Well, Hawke offered up quite the prize if I didn’t tell her where he was hidden.”  Varric grinned and leaned back with his tankard of ale.  “Besides, I don’t know what Dimples thinks she can do.  Love the girl like a sister, but I just don’t see her outplaying Hawke this time.”

Two Weeks Later

“Hawke.  Hawke!” Varric burst through the estate’s door panicked and shut it quickly before anyone else could see him.

“Varric?  What is going on?” Garrett asked as he looked down from the railing.  Varric looked up at him and Leandra looked between them curiously.  Rarely did anything fluster Varric this badly.

“Hawke, I know you wanted to win this little tiff between you and Dimples.  I don’t think you’re going to manage that anymore.” Varric seemed nervous and that alarmed Garrett.  They both looked up as Aveline strode through the door, shutting it behind her as well.  She looked smug as hell when she stood downstairs below the railing with her arms crossed and her weight leaning to one side.

“Hawke.”  Varric and Hawke both stared as the guard captain joined Alissa’s side and then up as the door opened once again for the sultry pirate.  Both women didn’t look amused at all which sent alarm bells ringing in Garrett’s head.

“Aveline?  Isabela?”  Aveline turned as Isabela joined her.  “What is going on here?”

“You haven’t heard?” Aveline asked and Hawke looked at all three of his friends.  “Oh, you haven’t…”  Aveline looked at Alissa and sighed.  “Was this all to find Hawke?”

“Well, if you recall I did ask nicely first.  Hardly my fault when everyone else fails to realize I don’t lose.”  Alissa grinned as Aveline rolled her eyes before turning to face Hawke once again.

“Sunshine Meadery is closed for renovations,” Aveline began but Isabela stepped forward looking irate with Hawke.

“Closed until one of us gave up your location,” Isabela grumbled as she swept her arm out towards Alissa.  Aveline pinched the bridge of her nose.

“As such the city has a bit of a shortage going on.” Avelina shook her head as Hawke gaped at the three women standing there.  Alissa turned to look at him and the smirk on her lips pissed him off.  She played with people’s livelihoods by closing the brewery.

“Dimples, you wouldn’t do that to your workers would you?” Varric asked.

“You think that little of me Tethras?  Of course I paid them for the time off.  Told ‘em they earned some quality time off with their families.  Full two weeks of pay and those that stayed to do guard rotation got a bonus.”  Alissa waved her hand nonchalantly in front of her.

“Well, you found Hawke.  Will you please open the brewery again?  Please?” Isabela asked as she enveloped Alissa in a tight embrace.

“At the end of the two weeks I will.  It’s almost at the end.” Isabela cheered and told Hawke good luck before she trotted out with Aveline right behind her.  Varric looked at Alissa then at Hawke before he sighed at the plaintive look Hawke sent him.

“You’re on your own Hawke.  Sorry,” Varric backed away with his hands up and shut the door behind him.  Leandra cleared her throat and greeted Alissa.

“I do believe I shall visit some of the ladies for tea.”  She walked out with her head held high and only a slightly noticeable faster gait than normal.  Alissa resisted grinning as everyone abandoned Hawke, even Bodahn and Sandal found errands to run outside.

“Well, look at that.” Alissa shook her head as she heard Hawke grumbling upstairs.  Honestly, the man refused to pay up for losing that bet and it irked her.  She didn’t know what his problem was, it wasn’t as if she was asking for a lot to begin with.  “Pay up Hawke.”

“You ran my staff off, how in the hell am I going to pay up?” Garrett demanded from the landing.  Alissa’s lips twisted and he felt the panic settling in.  “If you’d want my cooking then be my guest for dinner.”  She sighed and crossed her arms.

“You know, all you had to do was pay up Hawke.  It was just dinner.  That was all you owed me!” Alissa yelled up at him as she made her way to the stairs.  “Dinner!  You could’ve bought that at the Hanged Man.  They know better than the poison me.”  She started going up the steps leaving Hawke panicked.

“Dinner, alone!”  She froze and her hand tightened on the banister.

“So that’s the way it is then?” Alissa asked quietly.  Hawke looked at her in surprise as she turned on her heel and started back down the stairs.  “Consider us even Hawke.”  She didn’t stop until the door shut behind her and Garrett had a sinking feeling in his gut.

Over the next few weeks he noticed there was one person absent whenever he went into the Hanged Man.  Garrett visited Varric and planted himself in between the dwarf and freedom.  “Okay, why is she avoiding me?”

“Who?  Daisy?  She’s not avoiding you.  She’s just lost.  Guess she ran out of that twine I gave her,” Varric said as he made a note to send her another one.

“No.”

“Rivaini?  Didn’t think she was avoiding you.”  Hawke’s fingers dug into his biceps as Varric spoke without looking at him.

“Varric.”

“Aveline?  She’s got a lot on her plate with those break ins and such.  That’s why you haven’t seen much of her.” Varric looked up at Hawke when leaned in.  It would be a menacing sight if Varric wasn’t irritated on Alissa’s behalf.

“Trevelyan.”

“Oh you mean Dimples.  Why are you so angry about that Hawke?” Varric asked with a sly grin.  “Thought you didn’t want to be around her anyway, what with you avoiding her and all not too long ago.”

“You know that’s different.” Varric tilted his head.

“So it’s okay for you to disappear and avoid the woman for two whole weeks, but it’s not okay when she does the same?  C’mon Hawke, I’m not the greatest mathematician but the math ain’t mathing here.”  Varric shrugged and Garrett’s lips twisted into a frown.  “You need to make a decision about Dimples.”

“That is none of your business,” Hawke grumbled but Varric simply shrugged.

“You made it my business by asking me to lie to my friend.  You’re my best friend but she’s my oldest friend.” Varric reminded him.  “She doesn’t deserve to be jerked around like you’re doing Hawke.”

Hawke knew Varric was right but there was still too much he was unsure about.  He didn’t have a title, just an estate in Hightown.  His blood ran red while hers was blue.  How could he stand by her side when he was so far beneath her station, it was laughable.  He tried to explain that to Varric who merely shook his head and laughed.

“Think about who you’re talking about.  Maybe her sister would care, and that’s only because I don’t know her sister like her.  This is Alissa we’re talking about here.  She doesn’t care about titles and the like, never has as far as I can remember.  She told me once that if it wouldn’t cause a scandal, her father would have disowned her years ago.  So take the fact she’s a lady because of lucky circumstances at face value.  Has Dimples ever given you the idea she cared about titles?”  Garrett opened his mouth to speak but he remembered that argument clearly.  She’d spat at him that she didn’t care about bloodlines since aristocrats had few branches on their family trees.  She’d rather judge a person on their actions rather than what a few words on a pedigree said.  Hawke’s shoulders slumped and he sighed in defeat.

“I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, but we’ll let it slide this time.  If you want to speak to Dimples, she’s at her home in Hightown for the rest of the day.  Doing reports.”  Hawke was up and gone before Varric could finish speaking, leaving him chuckling at his friend’s back as it disappeared out the door of the tavern.  “You’ve got it bad for Dimples don’t you Hawke?  Good luck.”  Varric grinned and wondered if he could market this little love story but decided against it.

Trevelyan Hightown Estate

“Who is it!?” Alissa jerked open the door after the incessant knocking pulled her from her study.  She’d given the staff the week off so she could sulk in peace.  She had not expected any guests so annoyance rode high on her shoulders.  “Hawke!” Alissa paused for only a second before she tried to close the door in his face.  Garrett pushed against it and Alissa yelped in frustration as he pushed it open.  “Go away!”

“No.”  He took advantage of the way she froze at his answer to push his way inside her home and shut the door behind him.  Alissa took a step backwards before squaring off against him.

“No?  What do you mean no!?  Get out!” She pointed towards the door behind him but he merely tilted his head staring at her as if she was a child.  She hated that.  “Hawke.”

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Her jaw dropped open before she spun on her heel muttering about idiots as she marched back into her study.

“See yourself out.”  Garrett followed behind her despite the mumbled threats to his dignity spewing from the red head.  He stopped her from slamming the study door grinning at the irate expression on her face.  She looked adorable when she was angry but he was smart enough not to say so aloud when she had any weapons in the vicinity.

“Not until you tell me.”  Hawke paused when a pillow was thrown into his face.  “Resorting to violence?  I’m offended madam.”  He ducked the next one thrown at his head and scoffed as she called him names.  “Horse’s ass?  I thought you’d have more creativity than that.”

“I gave you what you wanted Hawke!” Alissa yelled, which caught his attention.  “I won our little game but victory tasted bitter after finding you.  I gave up!” She wanted to punch something but that never made her feel any better and she leashed the tears before they fell.  “I gave up.”  She turned her face towards the fireplace to hide the hurt she knew was there.  She’d never been the greatest at hiding her expressions, not when she was too overwhelmed with emotions.  She turned all the way around to face the fireplace while he remained silent.

“I’m not.” Alissa heaved a sigh as the words tangled on her tongue.  “You may think that I’m just some frivolous noblewoman toying with a man’s feelings based on my whim.  But that’s not me.  And I don’t know how I can make you see that.  I tease but never in a mean way.”  She crossed her arms over her stomach as she watched the flames dancing in the fireplace.  “You do know I never would have accepted the stakes if I knew you didn’t want to have dinner.  Or I’d have accepted dinner with everyone.  I’m.  I’d never force my feelings onto anyone.”  As she spoke, Alissa’s hand moved with her words as if to emphasize her point.

Hawke let her words sink into him and he realized how badly he’d hurt this person in front of him.  He’d painted her with the same brush the nobility used, but that wasn’t her.  The woman he knew wasn’t like that.  She used her privilege as a weapon against the other nobles in order to make sure the ones behind her were protected.  She’d never be that fickle or callous.  He rubbed the back of his head as he tried to think of the words to use, but words had never been something with which he was good.  He walked over to her and paused at her side, letting his shoulders brush against her.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  He saw her shoulders stiffen before she looked away from him.

“Don’t be.  I’m the one who pushed.”  She sighed and rubbed her temple as if to ease an ache there.  “For pushing your boundaries I am sorry Hawke.”  Alissa turned away from him and the fire and towards her desk.  He saw the stack of papers there and wondered about them.

“I’ll accept your apology if you’ll accept mine,” Hawke told her and she heaved a heavy sigh again.

“Fine.  Apology accepted.  Now I’d best get back to this paperwork.” Alissa shook her head at it.  She didn’t want to respond to the Comte’s proposal of marrying into his family and this was the fourth time she’d turned the man down for marrying a relative.  He seemed to pull at least one cousin out every week.  She’d be impressed if she wasn’t so annoyed by it.

Alissa shrieked when Hawke’s arm went around her waist and he hauled her up over his shoulder.  She took a moment to process what had happened before she smacked Hawke’s back.  She winced and shook her hand to ease the stinging there, it was like hitting steel.  “Put me down Hawke!” Alissa yelled that ended on another shriek when his hand cracked across her ass.  Alissa struggled but nothing was budging that arm of his.  “Hawke.”  He turned and walked out of her study and towards the stairs.  “Don’t you even think about it!  I’m still mad at you!”

“I thought you accepted my apology?” Hawke teased as he walked up the stairs.  She grumbled about men being stupid.  “I can’t argue with you.”

“Hawke!!  Put me down!” Alissa squealed and grabbed onto the doorframe as they passed it.  Hawke barely paused in his stride before her fingers slipped off the wooden frame with a sound of defeat coming from her.

“Put you down?  Alright.”  Alissa had a brief second to realize what he meant before she was bouncing on her mattress and pushing against Hawke’s chest as he loomed over her.  She glared up at him with those amber eyes gleaming with mischief above her.  Her nose wrinkled in irritation as she pushed against him to no avail.

“Hawke!  No!” Alissa huffed at him but he merely captured her hands in his and pinned them above her head.  “Sex isn’t going to make me less mad at you.”

“I doubt anything short of the Maker himself forgiving me, would work on that.”  Hawke paused as his free hand slowly slipped the buttons of her shirt free.  “And even then, I have my doubts.”  His lips grazed over the soft skin exposed and she bit down on the moan.

“Hawke.”  Alissa yelped when his teeth nipped sharply along the side of her breast through the cloth there.  “That hurt.”

“And you’ve told me you enjoy pain.  What’s your point?” Hawke asked as he looked up at her.  She huffed at him.  “You’re cute when you’re angry.”  He grinned when she grumbled about his senses fleeing.  “They always do when you get mad.”

“You can’t honestly say you enjoy me yelling at you?” Alissa asked.

“Well, when you get this certain tone of voice with me it makes me rock hard.”  Hawke slowly rolled his hips against hers and she sucked in a breath.  “Gets me all hot and bothered.”  Alissa glared at him when he kissed a trail down from her collarbone to the slope of her breast.  Her head fell back on a moan when his lips closed over the nipple through the cloth.  “I love that sound too.”

Her hips rocked against his hand when his fingers dipped below her waistband to find her already soaked.  “You like it too.  And here you are pretending to be mad at me.”  She turned her head to the side at his chuckle.  “You’ve gotta be honest.”

“As if.”  Alissa paused on a moan when his palm made gentle circles against her clit.  “As if I’ll admit to anything.”  His lips curved against her breast.

“Is that a challenge?”  She tilted her chin when he lifted his head.

“It is.”  Garrett smirked.  His hand released hers and tugged her pants down before he settled in between her thighs before she could utter any sort of protest.  He merely rested his cheek against the inside of her thigh when her hand pushed at his forehead.

“What do you think you’re doing Hawke?” Alissa hissed but he shook her head off before leaning in.  Her back bowed when his lips closed over her clit.  She didn’t know what his game was, but she wasn’t going to lose.  Her fingers tangled in his hair as she stretched towards that pinnacle.  The pleasure was a tight ball throbbing between her legs, but right as she was about to fall, he pulled back.  Leaving her scrambling against the frustration cutting through the haze of desire in her mind.  He instead trailed his lips down her leg, leaving a path of fiery kisses and reddened skin in his wake.  The scrape of his beard against her skin never failed to leave her body throbbing in need.

Alissa struggled to contain her breathing as the throbbing lessened and Hawke returned his attention to her needy clit.  Alissa’s fingers tugged when he brought her to the edge and backed away again.  “Why?”

“Are you still mad at me?” Alissa’s eyes narrowed at the question and she turned her head away from him.  “Ah, still mad.”  He grinned before turning his head and nipping at the skin of her inner thigh.

Alissa whined when he pulled away yet again after bringing her to the edge.  “Hawke.  Don’t tease me.”  She crossed her ankles over his back trying to keep him close to her when he sat back on the bed.  His hands rested on her thighs, keeping them spread open for him.

“Are you still mad at me?” Hawke grinned as she huffed at him.  “That sounds like a yes.”  He grinned when she scrambled to sit up and reached for him.

“No, I’m not mad anymore.” Garrett grinned at the desperate plea in her voice.  He wanted to torment her just one more time.  His palm massaged her clit with slow small circles.  He hissed when her nails bit into his skin, dragging along little lines of fire in their wake down his back.  Her legs trembled with the need he knew was building inside of her.  Just once more.  Just one more time.  He wanted to see the frustration on her face, the tears in her eyes, and those lips begging him for release.

Alissa’s voice cracked as she begged him for relief.  Heat clouded her mind and all she wanted was to fall over the edge.  To come and come hard.  Garrett leaned in and brushed his lips against her collarbone, the rough scrape of his beard heightening the intense heat swirling inside.  Her back arched, her fingers dug into his arms, and she clenched her teeth as the tension coiled between her legs in a messy, sloppy heated knot.

The sound of the door opening downstairs startled them both.  “Alissa?” Alissa’s eyes widened and she practically jumped away from Hawke’s hand.  Her body screamed at her in frustration and Garrett gave her a concerned stare.  She met his concern with panic and he looked over at the door as the sound of footsteps reached them.

“Hawke, hide!” Alissa hissed as she rolled away from him.

“Why?”

“That’s my mother!”  He reached for her and pulled her in close.  His lips covered hers in a heated, devouring kiss before releasing her and he stepped out onto the balcony.  Leaving her aching, frustrated, and wanting more.  She shook off the haze as best as she could and yanked on her pants before her mother made it into her room.

[dragonagepolls]

#hey why the fuck is the amount of people who voted merrill so high#i work in IT and part of my job is tech support and im an expert on this so#merrill: very tech savvy. knows all the lingo. i would not question het about whether she has already booted her computer. shes the kind of#person who. if she were to call IT theyd all be like ''oh no it's merrill who wants to answer...'' bc i KNOW her tech problems would be some#nightmare problems no one on the internet has ever before even looked up. like. something that takes a long time to solve#bc she has already tried everything and shes tol busy to do more#bethany ans carver: know how to operate a smartphone and the very basics of using a laptop#aveline: she knows the programs she needs to use at work. rarely has problems. could do shit with excel.#varric: he would be capable of using tech. but also. if you were to ask him something like ''do you use one drive on your computer'' hed ask#u to repeat that in english. i know it in my heart. he does not know what a cloud is. he knows how to send emails and look stuff up and use#some programs or sites and thats enough#sebastian: im sorry ive yet to play da2 dlc but he looks like a tech bro (derogatory). i doubt he would be but. yknow.#fenris: ''he cant read'' ok shut up thats irrelevant. he would get by and he's resilient and a fast learner#he doesnt need help with the same problem more than once#now. isabela. she. okay she is so very smart and capable and i love her but could you honestly see her using any piece of technology#she would not be an instagram influencer she would have a rotation of burner phones#using a computer is nerd shit. she has the sea what kind of tech do u need there. actually yeah modern ships have a lot of tech#she would be proficient with those. man i voted wrong.#my point was going to be that i cant see isabela using a phone or a computer ever#ok no yeah i still cant see her being good with tech. isabela my love im sorry.#anders: he knows the basics of using a computer and could do VERY simple html to post on forums#hed have a shitty ass webbed site#i dont think hes generally good with tech though. doesnt give me the vibes. (via @perilegs)

[ars0nism]

me having 100+ approval with zevran and neutral with literally everyone else except wynne for some reason???

[kiivg]

What your art process? Do you do the backgrounds first or last? How do you pick colors? Sorry if you answered ask like this before. I am just big fan of how the art is completed looks! I like looking at all the small things and people in background!

.Thank you so much!! I am trying very hard with my art at the moment to do a few new things, always trying to improve, and I'm super enjoying it at the moment despite the 8,000,000 year art block I had hahaa.

.There's a sort of in depth look at my process below, but also I have a gigantic grand total of 2 videos on my youtube channel and I do not know how to record on this tablet so idk what's going to happen there :)c.

.So initially, I don't ever just sit down and draw something, like I have to at least have a vague idea in my head of what I want to draw. Right now it's all Dragon Age because I replayed DA2 and actually managed to do the Fenris romance, and then I wanted to try his rivalmance because Anders' rivalmance is delicious but apparently Fenris' sucks so... Wah. Also Sebastian ehehehee.

.Anyway, (if these pictures are unreadable I will scream and upload them separately), Depending on how clear my idea is on what I want the picture to look like depends on how clear the initial sketches are that I do. Like I could try to draw a few different angles or a few different poses, or start drawing like, for example, Hawke dancing whilst playing the lute thinking he was going to be in a tavern, and then changing it to a more sombre version of him in Crestwood at night with a few of the Inquisitor's companions. Like I say a lot, I like to have a story in mind with each picture, so the Champion in Crestwood image lead to things like, does Hawke have a fling with Dorian where he's very clear about not being able to give him what he wants (re: a boyfriend), because he's still in love with Sebastian, despite them breaking up years ago (re: Anders blows up the chantry). And I think that adds up to a lot in the picture, because it lets you put more things in that fit into a context; even if the majority on that picture is covered up by people.

.If I don't know what I'm drawing entirely, then I'll draw it in sections, like I'll draw what I know I want to draw, and then kind of fit things around it. The exception being that if I have a particular angle I want to draw, then I will sketch only the thumbnail and then the background, and then fit the thumbnail sketch better to the background, and then carry on as usual. Most of the time, the background is just framing lines and maybe the vague outline of what could end up being a pillar, or a flag, or a statue, or those kinds of things.

.Somethings end up being like a foreground filler (Varric is surprisingly good for that haha), which add another layer to the picture and hide something that can be quite monotonous, like drawing Meeran's trousers in that last picture, I didn't feel like they were interesting enough, so I just put two people playing cards in the front. It makes it a lot better, like yes, I did draw Meeran’s trousers, and his boots, and I ended up removing them. 

.But that’s a lesson I had to learn. I can actually draw something, completely line it, and then decide, actually it’d be cool if this was there instead, and just erase part of my picture. Like so many times I’ve watched youtube timelapses and watched people sketch everything, and then line everything, and then colour everything, and nothing is ever thrown away. But you can throw it away if it doesn’t fit, and you don’t get special artist points for not doing that or whatever idk, imaginary artist rules are dumb.

.One thing I do want to say is that when I’m drawing, I do take several hours to do a picture. Because like the Fade picture, that background is so line heavy, so many lines, so much to colour in and shade and everything. But it looks so cool haha. And since I take several hours I can get bored of just linearting the same thing. I’m not going to enjoy drawing someone’s outfit from head to toe in one sitting. It’s just too samey for me, so I like to flit around the picture. I’ll draw Carver’s face, and then I’ll draw Hawke’s face, and then I’ll draw Carver’s hands, and then start on the Inquisitor. Not only does it keep my brain finely tuned to what I’m doing, it also gives me fresh eyes on what I’ve already drawn. 

.Adding to this, it’s also good to go back to the sketch when I’m slowing down on lineart. I don’t know about other people but I don’t use pen pressure, all my lines are 3px, that is extremely samey across the whole picture, it can become kind of repetitive. So I go back to the sketch, and if there’s nothing that I haven’t drawn properly or clearly enough (I hardly ever sketch hands/feet or the things connected to on the first go round) I just add something else in. Maybe someone could be wearing another belt, or some fancy embellishment on their clothing, or maybe a whole other dude is there in the background. Just the simple action of going from clean straight lines to messy chicken scratch kind of loosens up the hands and switches the brain round, and after I’ve sketched what I need to, I’m fresh on the lineart again.

.So onto colour, I’m not going to lie, I do a lot of colour picking initially from my old stuff haha, and then edit it from there. It allows me to kind of pick skin/hair tones and then build off of those, so I’m not just white canvas to colour immediately. I also tend to sick to a very loose colour gamut, ranging from desaturated blues, purples, pinks, reds, and sometimes desaturated yellows. I don’t like using orange and I don’t like using green, the exception being the Fade picture which HAS to be green so I’m brave, I left my comfort zone there, and it worked, lmao, whatever.

.But what I start with is a limited palette, I have maybe three or four colours to start with, and then I slightly change those colours depending on what I need. Like for an example, does Sebastian’s jacket need to be lighter than his pants or darker, then I can just grab the colours of his pants and then change it as per what I want.

.The secret, imho, is putting the colours of people into the surrounding area like I explain below. It makes their skin or their hair or their eye colours fit in to the picture; it’s like an alternate version to reflective light (I think?). Yes this character does have blue eyes, but in this picture? Purple. Yes this character does have grey hair, but in this picture? It’s golden. It’s reflective light, it’s a colour gamut, and it’s colour theory. Which I’m not an expert on and other people can probably explain it better :).

.Throughout the picture’s process I will tend to change the colours of some things, or add layers of “Darker Colour” or “Subtract” or all those fancy things because I sort of know how they work. I used to use the “Soft Overlay(?)” but I prefer “Lighter/Darker colour” because it will only change a percentage of the image. Like for the picture above I made the whites of Sebastian and his wife’s clothing more yellow and subsequently warmer using the “Darker Colour” filter. If you experiment with those, you’ll learn how to use them how you like.

.For changing the colours of things (like Varric’s coat or the wine tray), it’s mostly about trying to balance the image out. It added some darker elements to the picture above because everything was no longer super pale. It frames Sebastian, his wife, and Hawke in a better way, they are essentially the brightest things in the picture.

.I also found out that personally I like to make things dark and the add highlights as opposed to the other way around. I feel like adding an orange light can be more beneficial than adding a blue shadow. But you could also do both which looks banging. Another thing with colour is the actual colour of the lineart. I usually take the darkest colour on the picture, and put it at anywhere between 15% and 50% on a layer above that only affects the lineart. (Can’t remember what that’s called exactly oops.) but that also helps to tie the picture in together.

.Anyway!! Thank you again! I’m having a lot of fun drawing and have gained a lot of followers lately, hello :). I’m always open to questions (especially about my OCs god if you ask me about them I will just be ecstatic) and I love reading all your tags and knowing all the pain I caused with that picture of Carver in the Fade >:)c hehhehehehh.

.Hopefully this is helpful? Or Interesting? Or, if this is TLDR: Sketch, lineart; you can do those things simultaneously, colour gamuts are your friend, the state of your art is not permanent, and I love you :).

[thessalian]

Thess vs Dragon Age Executive Dysfunction

Right. Now that I’ve done my first proper, 100% completionist playthrough of Dragon Age: Origins, with the Golems of Amgarrak and Witch Hunt and everything, it’d be a total waste if I didn’t continue and see what happens with DA2 when those things are completed rather than assumed. And see what happens in DA:I when I’m not having to rely on the Keep which occasionally decides that either Alistair left you or you died when that isn’t what happened. I mean, total waste.

Right?

RIGHT.

Okay also maybe I just want to play DA2 and the fun parts of DA:I in an All Molly, All The Time sort of way. And maybe liveblog because it’s been awhile since I liveblogged a Molly!Hawke and people seem to like that kind of thing.

I can do an All Meep, All The Time Jallira playthrough of the series later. Because that’s the other temptation - boot up DA:O again and start fresh as the world’s meepiest, most shy elven mage getting booted into the whole Warden-ship Because Reasons. And I’ve never liveblogged a Jallira before.

......DAMNIT, EXECUTIVE DYSFUNCTION, ONE THING AT A TIME.

...Fuck this, I’m flipping a coin. Or rather, rolling a d20 because that’s what I have to hand. Odds - DA2 Molly!Hawke; evens - DA:O Meep!Warden.

*shakeshaketoss*

That’s a two. Meep!Warden it is. Then I’ll have two proper, 100% completionist playthroughs of Dragon Age: Origins to choose from when I replay the other games!

Because I don’t give my executive dysfunction enough to work with. Yeesh.

Right. ALL MEEP, ALL THE TIME. Meet the ... well, not ‘newest’ Hole in the Headcanon archetype since she’s been around for over a decade and versions of her have been seen in Star Wars: The Old Republic, The Secret World, and Pillars of Eternity. But certainly the quietest. We start with Jallira Surana. (Because Jalliras are Jedi, clerics or mages.)

[dismalzelenka]

KNIFE PLAY KNIFE PLAY KNI sorry I was worried I'd forget this. happy Friday! anyway KNIFE PLAY KNIFE PLAY K

ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE. This uh. This whole thing is going under a cut ok. (ahahah. a cut. see what i did there).

tags are as follows: knifeplay, as requested. bloodplay. breathplay. pain kink. biting. spicy roleplay. magic during sex. temperature play. anal fingering. anal sex. kinda sorta double penetration. cuddly aftercare.

Behold, the only scenario I will ever accept of Hawke stabbing Anders at the end of DA2, and the filthy, filthy retaliation afterwards. :>

neither safe, nor sane, but definitely consensual. read at your own risk. happy @dadrunkwriting.

Journey jolts out of a dead sleep to a hand tightening around her throat. She draws magic to her fingers in a panic, struggling beneath the weight of someone pinning her to the mattress, and discovers her wrists are secured tightly to the bedposts behind with rope so scratchy she swears it's already beginning to break the skin.

"Shh," Anders whispers, lips inches from her ear. She relaxes with a sigh of relief, heart still thudding with fear-fueled adrenaline, and then he jerks a knee between her legs and claps a hand roughly over her mouth. "Did you think I would forget?"

—

Kirkwall burns around them. What's left of the Chantry lies in ruins, a great and magnificent backdrop of destruction that floods her chest with a victorious sort of elation.

There can be no compromise.

Well, they bloody well can't now, can they?

Anders sits on a nearby crate, shoulders slumped in a perfect picture of contrition. It's unbelievable, really, how convincing his deception is with a spirit inside of him who refuses to let him dabble in falsehood, but then again, she's always been particularly convincing when it comes to Justice. He likes her quite a lot, after all.

And besides. After what the three of them had just accomplished together, he owes her this one.

She supposes she should shore up her own mask before anyone steps too close and manages to spot the victory in her eyes. Better make this big.

"I've always been ready to die for the cause," Anders says morosely as she approaches.

"I know," she says. She makes a show of trembling hands when she pulls the dagger from her boot. "I'm sorry, Anders."

To anyone watching, her knifework is clumsy, fumbled with grief and fear and hilariously fabricated disbelief. She traces her fingertips against his back — to steady herself for this visibly awful deed, and also to find the exact place he'd shown her that would do minimal damage he could heal stealthily without drawing attention to himself — and drives the knife between his ribs. Exactly the way they'd practiced.

She leans in to kiss his temple and whisper her last words into his ear. It's all a very tragically romantic scene. Varric is furiously scribbling notes, she's absolutely certain of it.

"I'll punish you for this later, love," he chokes under his breath.

She runs her hand (mournfully, she hopes) through his tousled, sweaty hair and touches her lips to the crown of his head.

"I'm counting on it, sweetheart," she whispers, and yanks the knife out of his back with an exaggerated grunt.

—

Journey bucks against the way Anders holds her down. She loves the way his fingers feel, long and slender and squeezing against her neck just enough to send her heart racing. She can feel the arousal already beginning to build, the slick warmth pooling between her thighs at the way he grinds his knee into her cunt and trails his teeth menacingly (probably) down the slope of her jaw. His breath ghosts against her chin, his loose hair brushing across her cheeks as he claims her mouth for a bruising kiss. He bites down on her lip just hard enough to draw the tiniest amount of blood, breathes in her gasp of pain with a soft chuckle as he releases her throat and traces his fingers down her face.

It had been almost two weeks since that night, two weeks since he'd breathed a tantalizing promise into the ash-dusted Hightown air and offered not another word of it since. If he hadn't brought it up in a few more days, she'd probably have cracked and broached the topic herself, but now she's glad she's kept her mouth shut.

Really, this is the best sort of surprise.

She catches his lip between her teeth in retaliation and tugs at it greedily. "I was hoping you wouldn't," she gasps. She'd intended it as a bratty sort of statement, but the way he trails his hand down her chest and slings a thin sheen of ice across her stomach sends her coherent thoughts spiraling into smoke. Her hands ball into fists, wrists tugging at the ropes burning friction into her skin as she writhes beneath his touch. "Fuck—" she whimpers.

"Did you think you would get away with something so audacious?" he purrs into her ear. "That I would let you drive a knife between my ribs without consequences?"

"It's — oh, fuck — what you deserve for being such a smarmy arsehole," she pants with a cheeky grin. "Did it hurt? Did you ache at my betrayal?"

"I've never been so heartbroken," he says, his lips trailing wet kisses down her neck before his teeth clamp down on her skin hard enough to make her yelp in surprise. "I've dreamed of revenge ever since."

"Have — have you, now?"

She's long since accepted that her particular proclivities occasionally get very questionable. She knows who she is, and she can't help the way her thighs twist together in anticipation at what he could mean by that.

The sharp bite of cold steel trailing down the outside of her thigh draws out a surprised and needy gasp. "Oh, fuck me," she breathes, eyes fluttering closed in excitement.

"I intend to," he says. He trails the blade down her leg before drawing it back up to her hip, pressing just hard enough to cut a searing line into her flesh before sealing it back up with his magic. "Did you know, the human body contains roughly sixty thousand miles of blood vessels?" He traces the tip of the blade across her stomach, numbed by the ice he's only just dissipated. "I have so many choices."

"I'm not — hnng — not even going to ask how you know that," she gasps.

A gentle draw of the blade against her belly blooms the warmth of freshly drawn blood against her skin. She shudders under the sensation, the sudden agony melting into a wave of euphoria that only fuels the insistent throbbing between her legs.

Every carefully placed cut is precise, every draw of blood followed by the prickle of skin knitting back together that she ordinarily hates but is too turned on now to mind much. The discomfort is nothing beneath the burn of arousal flooding her body.

He latches his lips onto her nipple and sucks, dragging it between his teeth before laving his tongue over it, and when he grips her other one between his thumb and forefinger and twists, she lets out a desperate cry. "Oh, fuck, please, fuck me," she gasps, thighs twisting against one another in needy desperation.

"I don't think you've earned that yet," he growls into her ear. She squeezes her eyes shut and swallows her whine as he drags the knife between her tits and cuts a fine line up her sternum. It stings, it burns, it hurts, and then pleasure ripples through her body, shivers sending goosebumps down her arms, and she needs — oh, Maker, she needs him to touch her, needs it so badly she forgets how to breathe.

"You shouldn't move so much, love." He pulls back just enough to trail the tip of the knife across her cheek. "Never know what you might break by mistake." The blood itches as it drips down her face. He seals the cut that drew it and carves another one beneath it, shallow and delicate against her skin. "Do you know how hard it was?" he whispers. "To play dead while staunching the hole you poked in my right lung from driving the knife a hair too deep?"

"Aren't you—" She bites back a whine when he pulls the blade across her shoulder, a fresh wave of pain cascading down her arm. "Aren't you supposed to be the best spirit healer in all of Thedas?"

"Mm, didn't make it bloody hurt any less, though, did it?"

She means to respond, but the words die in her throat when he repeats the motion three more times in succession down her upper arm before sealing them all up at once. She's floating, she thinks dimly, in a wavy haze of stinging pleasure, and all she can think about is the desperate ache between her legs and how uncomfortably empty she still is.

And then he's trailing slick fingers up the cleft of her arse, teasing and prodding at her entrance, and when he finally slips one finger in, she can't hold back the litany of pleas that fall from her lips.

Her cunt is so fucking empty, it aches.

"This is your punishment, remember?" he murmurs. "I intend to take my time with your suffering."

"Fuck you," she manages to grit out. He silences her with a second finger in her arse, setting the knife aside and swallowing her moans in a needy and overwhelming kiss. She grinds desperately against his hand as he fucks her open, and when the tip of his thumb grazes her clit she can't help the way she yanks at her bindings with a frustrated groan.

His fingers are warm and sizzling with magic when he pushes her legs up and lines up his cock to her arse, the head stretching her with a pleasant sort of burn that leaves her babbling, begging, pleading for more. "Please, please, fuck, Anders—"

When he finally begins to fuck her in earnest, she tips her head back and loses herself in it, in the way he stretches and fills her with euphoric friction, in the obscene slap of flesh and the way her fingers find the ropes tugging at her wrists, hooking around them and gripping for dear life.

And then, he stops. She swears violently and yanks at her bonds, but he just laughs. He doesn't pull out, just reaches over her, and when curiosity wins out over her arousal and forces her eyes open, she can't help but whimper in anticipation.

He's grasped the knife by the blade, a shimmering barrier protecting his fingers from the sharp edge, and positioned it at her cunt with a wild grin on his face. The pommel is cold against hot, aching flesh, and she groans when it goes in. She can feel every rounded ridge of the hilt against the barrier between her cunt and where his cock is nestled in her arse, every moment of friction sending her to new heights of arousal.

He begins to fuck her again, pistoning in and out of her with both his cock and the hilt of her blade in a rhythm that sends sparks racing down her spine. She's so close, she's sobbing in desperation, a fresh litany of begging falling from her lips with every thrust. It's so good, so good she can hardly think beyond the pressure building in her belly, uncoiling in her core, rippling out through every inch of her skin.

"Beautiful," he whispers. He stops thrusting with the dagger and simply holds it in place, and she can feel the way the magic radiates from the barrier he's holding around it as it buzzes against her flesh. His own thrusts become harder, less controlled as his breath catches in his throat, and when he comes in her arse with a flood of wet warmth he sends a pulse of shock into her through the knife that drives her over the edge with an unrestrained wail that practically echoes on the walls of their room.

Their rented room.

He pulls the knife out of her and tosses it aside where it falls on the floor with a clatter before collapsing on top of her with a breathless laugh as he claps his hand across her mouth. "That's one way to wake up all of the neighbors," he pants, head falling against her neck, lips finding her pulse point for kisses far more delicate than any he'd given her all night.

"Please," she mumbles. "We're probably never coming back here again after tonight anyway. Isn't — fuck, that was amazing — isn't that half the fun of being on the run?"

"Maker, I love you." He nuzzles his nose into her cheek and trails kisses across her jaw before pressing his lips against hers. "So much."

"I love you too." She returns his kiss with the gentleness he deserves, a soft contrast to the way he'd just fucked the absolute life out of her, admittedly, but the adoration in his eyes draws affection from her as naturally as breathing. Love isn't a strong enough word for what she feels, for him and Justice and everything they've shared the past few years.

"Have I been punished enough, then?" she asks sleepily as Anders pulls out of her fully and rolls beside her before pulling her into his arms with a contented hum. "Or does Justice get a turn next?"

"You are insatiable," he mutters. "I shudder to think how you'd be if you had Grey Warden stamina."

She snorts as she feels the telltale hum of creation magic as he checks her over for lingering injuries. She's probably got blood all over the sheets, but she won't have so much as a scratch on her come morning. The bruises on her neck, though — he always leaves those for her to keep. To treasure.

"We should clean up before we sleep," he says softly, his breath tickling her ear as he leans in for another kiss on her temple.

"Yeah," she mumbles, with no intention of getting up whatsoever. "Probably."

He shakes her gently by the shoulder with an amused chuckle. "Are you going to get out of bed now, then?"

Journey snorts and burrows further under the covers against his chest. "Absolutely fucking not."

[notabloodmage]

Even then. (DA2 fic)

doin some writing on my canon version of the Hawke family!! this is kind of messy but i needed to get some ideas down  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyway listen to me there is nothing in canon that says malcolm hawke couldn’t be an elf @ bioware let me have this

They hadn’t planned to settle in Lothering. Leandra was five months pregnant, the plan was to keep pressing towards the wilds, in hopes of finding a band of Chasind or Avvar that wouldn’t be so opposed to Malcolm’s magical abilities. The prospect frightened Leandra, but Malcolm insisted it was their best shot at a Templar-free life.

The storm had caught them off guard. 

The torrential downpour was on them suddenly, and all at once. Malcolm had enough mana remaining to protect them from lightning, but there was no way for him to subtly shield them from the cold that was creeping in through the wet. Ferelden was not always an easy place to live, but it had to be better than Kirkwall. 

At least that’s what Malcolm repeated to himself as he scooped his firstborn child up into his arms, trying to ignore the way his back ached from days upon days of travel. The long nights of sleeping on the cold hard ground probably weren’t helping either.  

They’d passed several small settlements on the road, but they always tried to avoid contact with other people. People didn’t even need to suspect him of being a mage--being an elf was bad enough for a lot of the country folk. He couldn’t take five steps in a town without being accused of stealing, it seemed. 

They always tried to sleep beneath the stars if they could, or in a tent if they thought it would be well hidden enough. Leandra had accused him of being paranoid, now that they were already so far from home but as far as Malcolm was concerned you couldn’t be too careful. 

He had done so much--sacrificed all of his ideals-- just to get them this far, and Maker be damned if he was going to be caught now. 

Still, in a storm like this exceptions had to be made, and Leandra had spotted an old farmhouse on the horizon. Malcolm, while hesitant, grew more and more at ease as they approached. It seemed to be abandoned. 

The couple trudged through the rain hand in hand. The land surrounding the farmhouse was uneven, muddy, and completely overgrown. Malcolm prayed that the rain would cover their tracks as they made their way to the 

It was a little worse for wear, looking like it had been sitting untouched for years which was a blessing in disguise because all it took was a swift kick (combined with a bit of mana, of course) to break the rusted padlock.

Malcolm guided them in cautiously, scanning the room for any threats. Abandoned didn’t mean safe. He wasted no time setting up wards to protect them-- but Malcolm was tired too. 

Perhaps he’d missed a spot, perhaps he hadn’t been as thorough as he’d thought. Perhaps his wards were weak with his exhaustion as he joined his wife and daughter on a bed of stale hay. Perhaps he’d been distracted with casting a quick warming spell to ensure the most important people in his life slept soundly. Perhaps he’d given in, for a moment, to the sense of hope burning brightly in his chest as he pulled his family close. He slept far too soundly that night. Better than he had in months. 

The high-pitched creak of the barn door swinging open jerked the three of them awake. 

Rays of sunlight were streaming in through the rafters--had morning really come so soon? 

The sight was so peaceful that Malcolm nearly didn’t register the clunk of boots on the wooden floor, and the wide figure stepped towards him, fiddling with the trigger of a small hunting crossbow. Malcolm scrambled back, drawing Leandra closer with one arm while the other fumbled for his staff--lost in the hay. 

“Hold still now, friend, I’d prefer not to use this--”

“Stay away from my family!!” The stranger was interrupted by his daughter’s tiny voice. 

She had leaped out of the shadows beside them, brandishing the pocket knife that Malcolm kept strapped to his belt. 

How did she-- Malcolm didn’t have time to finish the thought. He rushed forward, intent on yanking her back by the shirt collar. He’d been in such a deep state of sleep that he hadn’t even registered her absence. Then again, she was always so sneaky. Malcolm hadn’t the faintest clue where she’d gotten it from, but she had a way of sinking into the shadows and completely disappearing.  

She was only four, and a tiny little thing at that-- shaking in the little booties Leandra had made her. Leaping to defend her family with a . 

So brave, even then. 

“Minerva NO!!” Leandra was shrieking. “Don’t shoot, serah--please!! Minnie get back here--“

For a moment Malcolm thought that all was lost. He pictured himself in chains, being dragged away by Templars-- leaving his wife and daughter alone and penniless in a foreign land. He’d let them down. He’d failed. 

The atmosphere of the room changed entirely, however, when the stranger began to laugh. 

It wasn’t a bad laugh. 

Not condescending. Not cruel. 

It was light and youthful, despite the obvious late-middle-age of its owner. It rang through the morning air like a Chantry bell on the breeze. It was the kind of pure laugh that can only be created by the innocence of a child. In that moment the light in Malcolm’s chest returned, soothing his racing heart. He paused, studying the face of the stranger in the barn doorway as he raised his weapon in mock surrender, humouring the child.  

“Oh my! Be careful with that, little dragonling!” The stranger smiled down at the child warmly, crouching down to her level to look her in the eyes, before his gaze rose to her fathers, noting the matching eyes that seemed to burn with something he couldn’t quite name. Malcolm saw what he hoped was understanding in the old man’s eyes. “Put that there knife away, and settle down. We can talk this out, I promise.”

Malcolm hurriedly ushered Minerva behind him-- the child kept her eyes glued to the intruder, even when she began to cling to her father’s pant leg. Malcolm could feel her trembling, so he reached down and carded a comforting hand through a mop of brown curls that matched his own, trying to be as brave as his daughter. 

A tense quiet had settled over the barn as Malcolm tried to appraise the man before him, who was doing the same. They must’ve been quite the sight--all clinging to each other, covered in hay. Malcolm didn’t dare reach for his staff, he just prayed that wherever the damned thing was it was out of sight.  

Finally the stranger huffed, standing and leaning back on his heels.  

“Name’s Barlin,” The stranger jutted his chin at Malcolm, crossing his arms casually. “Sorry for bargin’ in on ya.”

“Malcolm…” He held his head high, meeting Barlin’s eyes as he introduced himself. “Malcolm Hawke.” 

“Quite the little bodyguard you have there,” Barlin’s voice was genuine. Warm. 

Malcolm’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. 

“Small but mighty,” He could feel Minerva nodding against his thigh, as well as the tears she was smearing into the fabric of his trousers.

He called her that a lot, especially when she was little. Such a simple little phrase, but it always made Minerva feel big, in a way.

“Look, I was just checkin’ to make sure you all weren’t bandits, or bears, or something.” The man shrugged disarmingly. “I didn’t come here for a fight. Lothering’s a peaceful little town, and we like to keep it that way.”

“Peaceful? What’s that like?” Malcolm’s sarcastic question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, and Leandra squeezed his shoulder tightly in warning. 

Barlin merely chuckled, smiling at him wryly. 

“Y’all don’t look like the type of folk who are accustomed to peaceful.” He observed. “I’m just glad you got out of the storm-- it was a good one!”

Barlin took a step inside, eyes travelling upward, surveying how the roof sagged and leaked. The old building had fallen into disrepair, but it wasn’t unsalvageable.

“Look, this place ain’t even mine. It was my brother’s before he moved to Denerim for work. Place hasn’t seen any life in aside from rats and the occasional nug in a while, as I'm sure you’ve noticed.” 

The old man paused for a moment, gaze landing on the family before him. He’d later told Malcolm that he’d had a good feeling in his gut about them, and his gut was just about the only thing he trusted. 

“I run the tavern in town, why don’t you all come back with me and let me fix you something to eat.”

Minerva perked up at that, and even Malcolm couldn’t stop his mouth from watering at the prospect of a hot meal. Leandra looked cautious, but when he met her gaze she nodded slowly. Barlin smiled at that. 

“Come on, while we walk, why don’t you tell me what you know about farming?”

Malcolm would find out through gossip in the years to come that Barlin had been trying to get rid of that property for years, but that didn’t change the kindness. He didn’t ask anything about where they’d come from or why they were running. He asked Malcolm what he did and he’d told him he was an herbalist--which wasn’t a lie, and he suspected Barlin could tell. 

“Herbalism? Farming? Sounds like the same thing to me.”

The old man let Malcolm pay him back for the land over time after they’d settled in and started earning some money. He’d also scoffed at the notion of charging interest. 

The farmhouse was rotting and falling apart, but with a lot of hard work (and a bit of hidden, domestic magic) they turned it into a home. Minerva grew up toddling around the gardens and helping Malcolm till the fields. She’d climbed gnarled tree in their front yard to watch the sun rise every morning since she was six, regardless of weather, much to Leandra’s chagrin. 

His eldest child had grown up far too quickly for his liking, and couldn’t help but blame himself. He knew it wasn’t fair to place her in charge of her siblings, especially with the added responsibility of protecting Bethany--but Minerva would insist that she could handle it. She’d lead the twins on adventures in the fields and forests surrounding the little town-- quests, she always called them. 

They had to work hard, but Malcolm had taught her to always try to make it fun. The children would race each other home, Minerva usually in front, although Carver would occasionally shove his way past her. Bethany was a lot quicker than she looked too--and always smarter than she let on. Malcolm would never forget the looks on Minerva and Carver’s faces the time he’d taught Bethany how to freeze their feet to the ground, nor Bethany’s own wide grin as she’d crossed the finish line (their garden gate), cheering with victory as Carver swore and Minerva laughed alongside her.  

His children were adventurous-- all three of them. Malcolm had lost count of the amount of times Carver and Bethany had burst through the door, shouting that Minerva was in trouble. She had a habit of getting stuck in trees, that girl... Bethany claimed to be the least so, favouring staying inside to study most days, especially as she got older, but even she couldn’t resist the call of a bright summer day. 

Minerva always knew exactly what to say to coax her out of hiding, too. Be it a promise to stop by the Chantry for one song, or spinning a scheme so grand that even Bethany couldn’t resist. Bethany was more competitive than she let on, and Minerva was always too clever for her own good. The eldest sister got herself and Carver into heaps of trouble throughout their youth. They were so rambunctious, and Minerva was always pressing Carver’s buttons on purpose, but never in a way that pushed the lad too far.  

Always so precise, even then.

Malcolm had had to come down hard on her only once. She’d set off a tar bomb in barracks of the local Templars, bringing the Knight Captain huffing and puffing to their doorstep, completely unaware that he was in the presence of not one, but two apostates.  Leandra was beside herself, disguising her frantic panic for Bethany’s safety as being furious at the tar tracked all over their home. Andraste’s Mercy, she had given poor Minerva an earful. Malcolm knew it was mostly for show-- so the templars could believe it was just a well-meant prank by some kid. Malcolm had a reputation around town for being good around a cauldron, and he promised to supply the knight commander with a free shipment of potions, and assurance that Minerva would clean up the mess. Minerva had inherited his alchemic ability. but not his connection to the fade. He’d taught her the recipe himself, so she could help him fix the thatching on their chicken coop. 

He was mostly just mad he didn’t think of this himself--he would’ve done the same at her age. He couldn’t tell her that, though, could he?What he did tell her was that she was old enough to know better, he’d said. Perhaps that was too harsh… For the Maker’s sake she was only ten...

He’d come up to her guiltily that evening, offering her a glass of her favourite tea-- a recipe they’d invented together. She was gazing up at the stars, before she mumbled an apology and he did too. 

He made it up to her by telling a story about a similar prank he played on the templars back at the Gallows. 

“I know they’re the worst, but provoking them won’t do us any favours, Mighty Mini,” The nickname made her giggle. “It’s not your fight.” That made her pause. 

“But…” She looked up at him, eyes full of concern. “They make things just awful for you and Bethany!” She protested. “You shouldn’t have to hide your magic! Magic is good!” She said it with childlike simplicity. He’d taught her well… Maybe a little too well, if he was being honest. 

“I know, Min, it isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean you should go out of your way to cause problems for the templars. You don’t want their attention. Think of Bethany.” He gave her shoulder a firm squeeze. 

She stilled, gazing at her feet.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He took her up into a tight hug. “It’s just not fair...” 

Always seeking justice, even then. 

Malcolm was far from the perfect father, but, Maker, did he try. At the very least, he was always there when his children needed him. Even years later, he cherished every moment spent outside the walls of the Gallows. 

He was able to give his kids the childhood he’d always wanted-- more or less.

On (idk what the dragon age equivalent to Sundays is but That LMAO) Minerva and Carver would spar for hours, using swords carved out of sticks they’d found exploring woods, while Malcolm, Bethany, and Leandra would go into town. Malcolm would take care of the shopping for the week and the two of them would head to the Chantry for the service. Bethany always tithed her allowance at the Chantry, even when her siblings teased her for it. She was always such a sweet, gentle girl. She wanted to help, and the cloister in Lothering was vastly different from the Kirkwall Chantry. They were a peaceful folk, down to earth. 

Once their farm was in its prime the revered mother even asked to buy some of their harvested herbs for their healers on a yearly basis, and Malcolm given it to her for free--inspired by the kindness of his youngest daughter. He knew the gift of magic weighed on the poor girl, and he wished he could take the burden from her. 

He would’ve preferred they not have to worry about hiding his and Bethany’s magic at all, but he figured that this was as good as it was going to get. 

And it was good, indeed. For a time. 

Minerva grew up with a Father who could coax her down from the trees she’d get stuck in, and catch her when she fell. Bethany had a Father who could guide her in the ways of the Fade and teach her not to fear her power, but to control it with ease. Carver had a Father who encouraged his study of the blade despite having no combat experience of his own. 

Whatever made them happy, as long as they were safe, just, and kind. That was who their father was.

Malcolm Hawke died too young, and too suddenly. 

The fever came when Minerva had just turned seventeen, and the twins were only twelve. The illness swept through their entire family, but it took her Father with it when it left. He was buried beneath the apple tree in their garden as a free man. Not a mage, just Malcolm Hawke. His children worked in tandem to carve a headstone themselves, nestling it with care between the roots. 

Lothering wasn’t the same after Malcolm died. Minerva did her best to fill the void, standing in as her Sister’s keeper, trying to smile her way through the tears the way her Father taught her to. 

Carver left to join the king’s army as soon as he turned sixteen, prying himself out of his mother’s arms with a groan. Leandra drew her daughters even closer in his absence, especially Bethany. The young mage became even more reclusive, afraid to wander too far from home by herself. She became convinced that the Templars in Lothering suspected something, no matter how many times Minerva assured her of how careful they’d been. 

Then, Carver was back, and the Blight was upon them. They’d only had a few short days on the run to cherish their brother’s return before the darkspawn ripped him away from them once more, this time for good. 

The farmhouse in Lothering never received a proper goodbye from the family that had inhabited it for all those years. The Blight fell upon them far too suddenly for them to grab anything more than their most precious of possessions before running for the hills. 

Barlin visits it sometimes, finding the tombstone beneath the trees. The old man hasn’t died yet, even though he’s buried many of his juniors. He chats to the stone as he clears it of moss, pulling out a book with a dwarvish name on the cover.

The eldest Hawke child--the little dragonling who’d stood her ground in that old farmhouse brandishing a knife while shaking like a leaf all those years ago had done quite well for herself, it seemed. Barlin was glad of it. He hadn’t known Malcolm was a mage, but it certainly made a lot about the strange elf make sense. 

Barlin wonders sometimes if the Champion of Kirkwall knows how proud those few that survived Lothering are of her.