#i have been so TIRED of dealing with the chantry lol

[hiddenbeks]

alone, desire & failure for the oc u really want to talk abt :3

not-so-nice oc asks

ooh well since we're touching on the topic of failure i gotta talk abt ultimate failgirl fereldan turnip champion of kirkwall hottest apostate in town aka frida! also she's my only dragon age gal whose tag is still empty and this is a great opportunity to change that

alone: how does your oc deal with loneliness? have they ever been completely alone before? how do they act when there's no one around to see them?

frida deals with loneliness by seeking company! she's used to always having at least a few people around and she would prefer not to be alone with her own thoughts so. she'll hit up her friends and/or go to the hanged man for a fun evening to avoid this :) if there's no one around to see her it means her energy is totally depleted and that's when she's at her. rawest and most bare? she might cry for an hour in total solitude or just lie in bed staring at nothing or do something else she'd never let anyone else witness. she is so used to putting up a strong and fun and unshakeable front for others!! alone time is for letting all her emotions out unfiltered oof

desire: what's one thing your oc wants more than anything in the world? are they open with that desire? why or why not? what would they do to fulfill it?

she's a simple gal. she just wants to live her life freely and be happy and make sure her loved ones are happy...

...until she arrives in kirkwall and gets to know the kirkwall crew and starts hanging out and discussing mage freedom with anders and merrill and learns about the conditions in the gallows... as years go by she starts desiring. bigger things. it's not enough that she and her friends are free - she wants total liberation and while she doesn't go around the gallows yelling 'fuck meredith' she doesn't hide her views either. after becoming the champion she becomes much more open about this because what are they gonna do? arrest the beloved savior of kirkwall lol?? and if it takes blowing up a chantry and starting a revolt to achieve total liberation then so be it.

she's not actually involved in the blowing up of the chantry tho (beyond distracting elthina as you do in-game) bc anders keeps her in the dark but. at that point she would've helped if he'd asked. in fact she would've done it in his stead because just as anders says 'i didn't want it to be connected to you' or something along those lines frida would also have wanted to shield her friend at the cost of her own safety. because that's what she does. she needs therapy.

failure: what's your oc's greatest failure? have they been able to move past it? does anyone else know about it?

ok so when i call her failgirl i don't mean it in a 'fails at everything she does' way. she succeeds in many things! but all her achievements in kirkwall are overshadowed by her losses that she sees as failures on her part. most people don't see it that way because they don't know about her personal life, they just know she saved kirkwall! she fights for the mages! she's a hero of the common people whoo!! the companions of course know about most of her losses as they're right there to witness them and even if she doesn't open up about her troubles they Know she is tormented

but anyway uh. her greatest failure is basically not being able to do what she set out to do in the first place which was protecting her family! bethany dies when they're fleeing ferelden (she shouldn't have let her run off like that!), carver catches the taint and frida dooms him to a slow death as a grey warden (she should've told him to stay in the city!!) and then leandra is killed (she should've been more alert!!!). she blames aveline as well for the last one though. as is her right because holy shit aveline you're bad at your job! also frida is getting tired of internalizing it all so she starts taking her anger and exhaustion and disappointment out on others. mainly aveline. they have a weird can't-stand-her-ass-but-i-need-someone-to-fight-with kind of relationship. idk.

she also believes she failed as a big sister to carver by not bonding with him as much as she did with bethany when they were younger and like. she still struggles to understand him... see things from his point of view... they never get to have a true heart to heart about their Issues before she sends carver away to join the wardens and after that they barely see each other anymore and hhhhh

at first it feels like she'll never be able to move past her failures. she simply distracts herself from all the sorrow by keeping busy but as years go by she eventually... grows around it... there are still people to care about and causes to fight for and she is still needed and wanted and she slowly realizes that she needs to move on? and stay in the present and work for a better future. i'm starting to sound so sappy lmao but my point is!!!! she will eventually make peace with it all. even though it takes a long time. (she gets to have a heart to heart with carver too because i love these two and want healing for them!!)

[crqstalite]

9 for Evolet and Fenris.

oof this one got away from me a bit, but was interesting to get into evolet/fenris’ headspace, mostly because her own mirrors mine lol. less focused on their relationship and more focused on the fact that evolet both needs a nap and a little less instant trust in people.

for the angst prompt:  “People will only use you. They can’t be trusted.”

prompts!

word count: 2,428

-

At first, it’s hard to figure what makes her tick. Moreso what doesn’t. But always with her heart on her sleeve in the same moment, emotions always flickering over her expression like a flame. There is not one person in Kirkwall that doesn’t know that, there is not one person that accompanies her during the day that doesn’t already understand that.

Evolet Hawke is...an enigma at times. Guarded, careful. Stepping quietly around as if she’s forced to as not to disturb a sleeping dragon. Analytical, if not also quiet.

And yet? Fenris still can’t wrap his head around her.

How is it that she keeps parts of her locked away with a key she has hidden somewhere, but nothing else is? How is it that everyone else seems to be more important than herself, as she takes hours and days out of her life to assist them with tasks she has no business getting involved with?

She wants to help every single person they come across on the street, she wants to never leave someone at the mercy of their attackers. They can never just turn a blind eye to anything. That is one of the few things she never has much difficulty thinking about.

Fenris lies in wait for the day that comes back to bite her. Not that he’d want anything to happen to Hawke, no, but he knows what she’s doing isn’t healthy. How often does he actually see her return to the estate? Sometimes the only response he gets is that Aveline needed help with this or that in a patrol. Sometimes Merrill needed something and she just had to give a hand. Or that she and Isabela had gone out by themselves to complete a task no one knew about.

Does the woman ever sit down to take care of herself these days?

He doesn’t get his answer, not for years. But little things start to shift under that smile of her’s. There’s an air of vulnerability when she arrives to his mansion a few odd times in that fateful year, but always a few words, phrases kept for herself. He never gets the full story, but then again he’d be a hypocrite if he asked the same from her but not from himself. Her company is always appreciated, and he never prys, but he has some concern for the woman anyway. It only gets worse the closer they grow.

What the terrifying bit is, is truly that she never considers that someone could be using her goodwill for their own gain. How often she doesn’t defer to her own judgement if someone makes a good enough case with her. He saw it with Petrice, saw how easily she coerced Evolet into helping under the guise the Chantry needed her. He saw nearly just how easily Feynriel’s mother convinced her to send him to the Circle for her own mind to be set to rest -- which he knows better than anyone that she’d hate to go there herself. However her only response is ever that they just needed her, and if she didn��t help, then who would?

He can think of about twenty people, all who’s names weren’t Evolet.

He sees the cracks starting to appear towards the end of her fourth year in Kirkwall. When her helping and trust in the City Guard towards the investigation into Quentin only leads to her mother’s death at the hands of a blood mage. The thought of one makes him shiver, almost enough that he doesn’t really want to accompany her much longer, but when he asks if she’s okay...that damn cheeky smile she gets whenever someone gets too close to the truth. The way she’s more despondent as the days afterwards drag on, but much too fast to cover it with a mask instead, refusing to acknowledge that she’s in pain.

They’re still on shaky terms then, while he might have her crest, they hadn’t spoken in weeks by that point. He doesn’t say what he needs to. Comforting her is out of the question -- he wouldn’t know where to begin.

When she discovers what Isabela had done, it is a day Fenris never thought he’d ever see. He’d never really thought Isabela would use her in such a manner, and yet, she just let’s her go. He sees her hands fall to her sides after she leaves, tome in hand and surely racing for the docks before the storm starts. Flames lick her palms before the mage puts them out, the only instance he’d ever seen her magic flare without true intention. Aveline had placed a hand on her shoulder, but Evolet had jerked it off, then running a hand through her hair.

“It’s fine. It’s fine! We can get them out another way, I wouldn’t just sell Isabela out, I couldn’t,” Her voice wavers before setting her face into one of slight amusement, “That one really came out of left field, didn’t it?”

“Hawke...” Aveline starts to chastise her, surely for the same reason he was about to, “This really isn’t a proper time to be joking about this.”

“I’m not ‘joking’ Aveline, it will be fine, as long as we keep level heads,” Her eyes are downcast as much as she tries to replace it with a smile, one he can see right through, “I just...wasn’t expecting Isabela to do that, is all.”

He doesn’t say anything, even though he probably should. If Kirkwall hasn’t been destroyed by the end of the night, he’d have to sit her down proper and talk. Since no one else would, and no one else seemed to see the lesson she was so desperately missing.

She’s in pain, and she won’t even say a word about it. She and Isabela had been friends if their interactions were anything to go by, and Evolet had put her trust in the pirate. He tentatively asks how she’s handling it shortly after her duel with the Arishok, but she brushes it off in favor of wrapping a bandage around his hand -- ignoring the question. A beat of silence that goes on much too long until she launches into another attempt at humor.

Her eyes are darker than usual. Her hands tremble more, and yet, she says she will still be friends with Isabela anyway. Because that is simply who she is. Good, loving and caring Hawke.

It wasn’t until three years after that does he finally get the conversation going, while they’re preparing for a trip into the sewers no less. Anders is walking some ways behind them, talking to Varric. He might as well say it now, away from prying ears and air his concerns, “Hawke.”

She looks over her shoulder, slight smile already on her face when he sighs, “Yes, Fenris?”

“Do you not wonder what the mage has us doing?”

“I...why would I? I wouldn’t want to remain possessed if I didn’t have to. If there’s a will, then surely there’s a way, right?” She asks, gently bumping into shoulder. He flinches, though he would admit it’s a welcome touch. And yet she’s ignoring every red flag that the abomination has set up since they left the clinic. In favor of what, remaining friends?

Mages. Though...she’s just naïve. Or ignoring the issue entirely.

“And if this isn’t it’s intended purpose?” Fenris queries. He has his own suspicions about Anders, one’s that were never properly taken care of over the last few years, mostly because he had begrudging respect for the man and second, because Evolet would never let him hear the end of it.

He knows that the people they go out with are using her -- whether for her status or the friendship she hands out like candy, or in her case, sovereigns to little street children, “You’re aware he is using you? Because you can not say no to him, it is no wonder he came to you first with this issue.”

A look of veiled shock crosses her eyes, yanking at her sleeve as if she’s considering his words. Good, she understands him then. She glances over her shoulder, then back up at him, “He wouldn’t do that, Fenris. I thought you were better friends with him, you don’t need to be so suspicious,” He bites the words back, but she powers on anyway, “What if I ended up possessed? If Anders had a way to undo it, to save my life, wouldn’t you do the same?”

He doesn’t answer that, enough so that he thinks she knows the answer. He’d never heard of such a way, though he could attribute that to not being a mage. Considering that she’d mulled it over herself though, and that Anders spoke of it like it’d never been done before -- to say the least he doesn’t trust this course of action.

And yet, she does. It never matters to her, she’s always looking for the best in people, even if they don’t deserve it. No matter just how tired she is, no matter just how much she should really take care of herself first -- she always puts everyone else before her. He can’t ignore either, with how much she toes the line between nurturing and foolish these days, so he does what he can so that she doesn’t end up paying for it later down the line. The mage and dwarf slip past him in the sewers, but Evolet pauses while he holds the trapdoor for her, “Please trust me, Fenris.”

“I am by your side, Hawke.” He means it, that part is entirely genuine. However, it is still unsettling how all she does is give him a grin and disappear into the depths.

Whether Evolet trusted him or not, no one could’ve expected something so miniscule and unsuspecting to cause the civil war that began in Kirkwall some weeks later. She’s beyond upset, beyond terrified when she has to choose a side between the Templars and Magi ruling the city -- Meredith has never been all there, but he’s grateful when she chooses her anyway.

And to deal with the mage -- the bloody abomination. She’s hesitant, and he can see the thoughts rushing through her head like a tidal wave in her shaky movements. Most likely wondering how he could ever do something this, mirroring her companions thoughts.

She trusts far too easily. Finally he’s able to put it in words, and...finally she sees the consequences of it. Fenris highly doubts Anders would’ve been capable of such a crime without her help. Without any of their help. Without her help, he doubts Merrill would’ve gone down her path with the Eluvian. Without her help, he doubts Isabela would’ve gotten away with stealing the tome all those years ago.

He can catch snippets of their conversation, his voice resigned and her’s shaking ever so slightly. Poised and graceful, as she always was, but she’s trying to convince him to help. Trying to convince him to right his wrongs and stand with her.

He refuses.

Fenris can pinpoint the exact moment her demeanor changes. When her trust has been snapped in two, and she sees the ugly reality -- the truth behind what she’s enabled.

Evolet surprises him when she unsheathes her knife from where she carries it on her hip. Swift and silent, it finds a home in the mage’s back, shoved in between his shoulder blades. Merrill gasps behind a hand, shocked by her friend’s actions, surely.

It’s destroying her on the inside, he knows that it is. Her eyes are downcast and watering when she eventually picks up her staff again, leaving the knife where it was. She doesn’t give it a second glance, and merely nods to Aveline’s suggestion to head to the Gallows. Once they’ve made it through the mage’s that are putting up a true fight on the Docks (he nearly feels some semblance of regret, leaving them behind like that. He tries not to look at Evolet, how she’s struggling to throw out her more lethal attacks against people who were just like her), it’s silent.

Evolet stands in the back of the small boat they’d procured, back turned from the rest of her party. Whispers, quiet discussing what they’d do when they got there. Merrill, softly sobbing into Isabela’s arms over the loss of Anders is all he can hear. Her arms are gently wrapped around herself, eyes out to the burning horizon when she leans against the mast.

He’s careful, quiet as not to startle her. And yet, there’s still a sad smile, quirking the corners of her lips up when she glances over her shoulder. It’s not real, he’s learned to see past it now, it’s a buffer so no one sees her at her worst -- or sees her for who she is.

He’s never seen her cry before. Not when her brother was taken to the Wardens, not when her mother died. She’d always been so strong, helping everyone else through their own tears, their own fears. She’d been there with him when Danarius had died, and had generously accepted him back into her heart. Evolet had been there for Merrill, when her Keeper died and stayed for days with the younger Elven woman in her home in the alienage, even if she looked genuinely exhausted herself. All these things, no matter the toll they took on her, she simply accepted.

Piled onto her were responsibilities beyond her years, piled onto her were problems she couldn’t always solved but tried to, piled onto her were people that depended on her like no others. And never did she ever show that true emotion that came with the stress. He’d thought she liked the guise, liked to act.

But with the fires illuminating her face, and the world forever changed, tears are slipping down her face ever so quietly. Her hands are wrinkling the clothes she wears, stained with blood and clutched like a grounding force. Ice is under her boots, if not a testament to just how little control she has over her will now.

Evolet goes to him, leaning her head against his chest first then her arms go around him, grasping at the fabric on the back of his tunic. He’s never been one for outright touch, but it’s comforting instead of unwelcome, regardless of the circumstances.

He chooses his words carefully, knowing he’ll only shatter her further if he doesn’t, “People will only use you, Evolet. They can’t be trusted.”

“I know,” She murmurs, “I know.”

[jewish-gay-elves]

Oh, Calamity

“I don’t believe in the Maker,” he says, breaking the silence that followed your coupling.

A soulmate/reincarnation au fic where I play around with the idea of soulmates without identifying marks or timers that have to find each other every lifetime!

Words: 4803, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of the Stephan Cousland: There's Never Much of a Choice for You

Fandoms: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Alistair (Dragon Age), Male Cousland, Goldanna, Cailan Theirin, Anora Mac Tir Relationships: Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Male Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Cousland, Alistair/Male Cousland Additional Tags: ok just wanted to cover all my bases on the ship tags lol, also goldanna/cailan/anora's presences in the fic are v limited, like a sentence each p much, Songfic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Reincarnation, please let me know if there should be more tags!, also please ask if you have questions!

“I don’t believe in the Maker,” he says, breaking the silence that followed your coupling. You lift your head and rest your chin on his chest, mulling over his words. Morrigan is always scolding you for saying the first thing to come to mind, and this feels like it requires a more thoughtful approach.

“Okay,” you say, and it is. Truly, it is okay. His belief or lack thereof in the Maker has no impact on how much you both care about each other. Your own faith in in the Maker hasn’t been the most unshakeable, who are you to decide whether or not he’s wrong? You can feel the tension in the arm he has around your waist lessen until his grip is as gentle as it was before. He was never really one to go in the Chantry and it makes sense to you now why not. You thought he just wasn’t really one for all the anti-magic shtick that they preach.

“One of my tutors, he came from Rivain,” he begins, offering an explanation. “While we still had Aldous, my parents wanted Fergus and me to have a more rounded education. He kept his lessons mostly academic, but I enjoyed his company so much I often stayed after and he told me of Rivain and their beliefs,”

You rest your cheek against his chest again, still listening but curling closer to him. He waited a minute, just listening to you breathe before continuing.

“He said that everything in Thedas and beyond were made of energy. Humans, elves, dwarves, qunari, and all the other beings. That energy exists in a cycle. Once the energy in a being has been exhausted in say, an old man, it would go then to a newborn. This continues the cycle, with the same energy and souls from before, just reborn. He said the stress of childbirth erased the memories from the past life, making it harder to remember things from before,” he explained.

“Have you ever remembered anything from one of your past lives?” you asked, wondering if stray dreams may have influenced his belief in the Rivaini.

“No, and I doubt I will remember anything from before. This is a fairly new line of thinking in Ferelden and if it’s true I doubt that any of my past lives believed in it. I think that increases the chance of never remembering those lives, just thinking that nothing came before solidifies the experiences in this time. As sad as it sounds I’m not even sure I’d like to remember those lives,” he said, puzzling you.

“Well, why not?” you ask, lifting your head to look at him again.

“I can’t know if those lives were as lucky as this one to have been able to find you,” he says, lifting a hand to your cheek as you two look at each other. You both lean in for a kiss and you think to yourself that it’s hard to imagine never meeting him in any kind of life.

When I was younger I was certain I’d be fine without a Queen Just a king inside his castle, with an ocean in between Now all I do is sit and count the miles from you to me Oh, Calamity!

You sit on your throne, looking out at the crowd gathered in light of festivities. Teagan stands by your side, Maker bless him. Eamon and young Connor are back in Redcliffe, Isolde caught fever and Connor insisted Eamon stay with them until she recovered. The other nobles are all drinking heavily, well into their cups and you are painfully aware of the missing Arl of Amaranthine. You know he passed on the title back to the Howes and Nathaniel years ago before he even began his search for a cure but, he should be here.

You can see Fergus from your throne speaking to the nobles around him, some minor lordlings from South Reach looks like. They must be discussing politics for you can see Fergus’ top lip twitching. His brother had the same twitch that tells when either of them are about to seal a good deal. Probably speaking of possible marriage arrangements for Fergus’ boy.

You wonder if he thinks about his first son often but as the lordlings turn to retrieve more drinks you see a wave of grief pass over his face before the mask is back in place. You were able to return Highever to the Couslands but in the years since you’ve wondered if they even wanted it back. Nothing either of them said to you indicated otherwise but whenever you visit and they are both there they get certain looks on their faces. As if they were forced to eat Orleisian cheeses.

He must have noticed your eyes on him because Fergus turns to look up to where you sit. The grief is still in his eyes as he gives you a nod before returning to the festivities. You always wondered if he blamed you for having to remarry and raise heirs, knowing that his brother was otherwise occupied as Warden Commander and would never have given Highever heirs of his own willingly.

Seeing as you won’t be making heirs either and that the throne was mostly going to one of his sons you doubted that he could hate you forever. You make a mental note to later write to Fergus about the idea. Provided that you spoke to your fellow Warden about it as well. As soon as he returned of course. Because he would return, he’s the Hero of Fereldan for Maker’s sake, and also because you have had a cold spot in your bed for far too long. Teagan leans over and makes to whisper in your ear.

“Stop thinking about the Prince-Consort, you have the most unwelcoming look on your face,” he says before leaning back. You shoot him a grin upon seeing his sly smile.

“I’m that transparent am I?” you ask rhetorically, straightening your back with only two or three pops compared to the normal five or six. The chair (Eamon says you must refer to it as the throne but in all honesty, it’s just a chair) is far too uncomfortable and you wish said Prince-Consort was here to complain to but that will have to wait for another day.

We get older by the hour, watch the changes from afar. Keep forgetting to remember, where we’ve been is who we are. Now all I do is wonder why we ever set the scene Oh, Calamity

You lean against your shovel, looking up at the sky. Your eye is drawn to where they say the Breach once tore the heavens asunder. You think back to the stories the older servants tell of being children while the world was thrown into chaos by the Archdemon.

They say that among the rubble of the Temple of Sacred Ashes the Inquisitor arose as the Herald of Andraste with a hand sparkling green with ancient Elvhen magics. That they had been touched by Fen’Harel himself. Your knowledge of the Elvhen Parthenon is limited, but the savior of Thedas being touched by the Dread Wolf seemed a bit ironic to you.

It had been almost a century since the sky was closed by the might of the Inquisition and while it still had power, Ferelden no longer felt torn. Struggling to choose between the Inquisition and the throne. While the Inquisition started in Ferelden it had no power over country affairs. King Alistair and his Prince-Consort, may they rest at the Maker’s side, supported the Inquisition in that it would close the Breach was sure to remind them that true power in Ferelden laid with the crown.

To be honest you preferred the late monarchs of Ferelden, may they rest at the Maker’s side, to the Inquisition. The two surviving Grey Wardens of the Battle at Ostagar, saved by a Witch of the Wilds to unite Ferelden and prevent civil war in order to fight the darkspawn.

No one quite knows when or how the two Wardens got involved after ending the Fifth Blight, or whether or not they weren’t together before slaying the Archdemon. But they stood together against the nobles at the Landsmeet, declaring King Alistair the rightful heir and their engagement to each other. You always thought it was very romantic, the last two Grey Wardens standing together against nobles and darkspawn alike.

“What a lazy arse you are Marc!” a voice you recognize as Quint’s called from behind you. You turned to see him walking down the hill towards you, his hands dirty from where he was likely gardening in front of the main house all day, an equally dirty spade tucked between his belt and trousers. You gave him a smile as he approached, knowing that the work day was likely over and he was coming to collect you for dinner.

“I happen to know that you like my arse, whether it’s lazy or not,” you said back to him. Your mind’s eye flickered as he smirked at you, a delicate golden circlet with lavish jewels appearing on his head, the spade at his side now a decorated sword. You frowned, shaking your head to clear the vision. As he reached you he slid his arms around your waist.

“You alright, love?” he asked cautiously. You smiled for him, returning the gesture and wrapping your arms around him as well. You wondered if Quint had ever had a moment like that. As if a memory placed itself over the current view you had. Doubtful, Quint was likely more focused on his next meal.

“Fine, I’m fine. Just tired I guess,” you said blinking the strange vision out of your eyes. “Let’s go see what Cookie’s whipped up for tonight shall we?”

“Hey I heard that the Lord has a visitor from Rivain staying for a while,” He starts telling you earnestly, already coming up with all sorts of wild tales.

It’s such a shame that we play strangers No act to change what we’ve become Damn it’s such a shame that we built a wreck out of me Oh, Calamity.

“It’s not the first time I’ve had one of these visions Neil! There has to be some meaning behind them I just can’t figure out what!” you exclaim, curling your hands into fists against your temples. Neil sits on the cot a foot or so away from where you are curled in on yourself.

“Okay, okay, Wil I believe you,” he says extending his hands out in a placating manner. You peer at him, lifting your head from where you pushed it against your knees. He’s looking at you earnestly with his wide honest eyes and you find your initial fear of him ridiculing you disappearing.

“Just start from the beginning, when did they begin?” He asks you patiently. You take a deep breath and lower your arms to wrap around your calves. You collect your thoughts and decide to be honest.

“I think I’ve always had them, but I could never remember them until after I met you,” you start out. “It’s like I’m living another person’s life, but it just overlaps my own. I’ll see my papa start walking towards me but then his face isn’t his but instead its some Rivaini dressed in the Grey Warden uniform from before the Fifth Blight. My mother gets replaced by someone in servants clothing patting my cheek. And you, you have five different faces. All of them look like they lived centuries ago. There is maybe a century between each of them, with the oldest one from before the Breach.”

“Lived before the Breach? Wil that was back in what, 9:34 Dragon?” Neil says concern clear on his face.

“The Breach opened in 9:41 Dragon,” you correct him.

You’re scared to tell him that he doesn’t take on the face of just anyone from before the Fifth Blight but the face of the Warden who defeated that Blight. You’re scared to tell him that sometimes you look in the mirror and it’s not your face that greets you. That you have five different faces as well. And the oldest face that you see is one drawn in countless history books from the royal portrait archives to your classroom textbook. King Alistair, the last of the Theirins to sit on the throne before he gave it to his Prince-Consort’s nephews, he looks at you in the mirror. He’s always much younger than in the portraits but you know it’s him.

You’re scared that if you tell Neil he will remember the history lessons that covered King Alistair and his Grey Warden Prince-Consort. That they would only be known as the first two men to rule Ferelden as a couple together if they hadn’t also defeated a Blight. You’re scared because this is too new with Neil, you aren’t even sure if you like like him that way and what if he doesn’t like like you like that either? He’s been your only friend since you moved to Lothering a year ago. You refuse to lose a friend like him for something- something like this!

Neil is just as quiet as you, now that you’ve finished your tale. A moment passes before he scoots nearer to you on the bed and slings an arm around your shoulders and drawing you closer to him.

“We’re going to figure this out, ok Wil? I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but we'll figure it out,” he says and it disturbingly sounds like a promise falling from his lips and you look at him in surprise. He has a soft smile on your face, and a little twitch in his upper lip and you’re almost overcome with another déjà vu vision but you tamper it down and stay in this moment where there is just you and Neil.

You find yourself nodding with a grin spreading across your face. His good mood and attitude becoming infectious as you sit on the little cot.

“C’mon, let’s go downstairs, I remember Ma said there was a visitor from Rivain who checked in yesterday,” Neil invited you, standing up and offering you a hand up. You gladly take it and you both head downstairs together.

I’ll remember nights alone, waking up to dial tone Always found my greatest moments in the sound of your hello. Now I struggle to recall the reasons you would come to leave. Oh, Calamity

You didn’t want to call Elijah, you didn’t want to call Elijah, but you wanted to call Elijah. Damn it, you thought to yourself, picking up your telephone. You impatiently pushed the rotary around waiting until it finally put you through. Thankfully, it wasn’t either of Elijah’s, frankly lovely if not a tad overbearing, parents who answered the phone.

“Hello, this is the Philips?” he said, sounding a bit confused by the late call.

“Elijah, it’s me. Benjamin,” you replied. This was a bad idea, you can already tell. You both don’t really know each other how can you be sure it’s him? Your parents always said it took a little while to know if someone was your soulmate. They told you it took time before you could be sure that the overlapping faces were truly the person you were meant to be with. That sometimes, if you rushed it, it wouldn’t be right. But you’re scared, scared it’ll never be right and if you never say anything you’ll never know what you missed.

“Oh hey, Ben. What’s up? Did you forget something at my house?” He asks, not picking up on your nerves at all. You can’t tell if he’s just dense or extremely considerate. Either option is endearing to you and makes the lump in your throat that much harder to speak around. Should you even tell him?

“Uhh no, no I’ve got everything, I just, wanted to call?” it comes out as a question and you want to hang up and then beat yourself over the head with the receiver. You can hear him pause and huff out a laugh of sorts. You want to smile because you’ve seen that laugh in person and can imagine him doing it in your head but it was at your expense and you are so nervous.

“Well, so you’ve called me. Are you feeling okay Ben?” he asks and you almost panic because he can tell, he can tell can’t he, that you don’t know why you called and you want it to be more than what it probably is but you are propelled by fear and nerves and find yourself confessing.

“Eli have you ever met someone and felt like you know them? Like you meet them and something clicks and it feels like you’ve known them all along?” you ask nervously, your voice cracks in the middle but you power through because you are not going to let your sixteen year old voicebox ruin this for you. You listen to Eli suck in a breath of surprise and pause before cautiously picking out his words.

“Ben, I uh. I have felt that way about someone before,” he says to you and you can feel your heart slowly crawl its way out of your stomach and into your throat. You want to ask who, and whether or not it is you. Whether or not he knows what you’ve been going through. However it seems as though you let your indecision carry on too long because Eli is speaking again.

“I’ve felt that way about you Ben, and I don’t know if you ever would feel that way around me but, the dreams stopped after I met you Ben. I don’t see my soulmate in the Fade anymore and I’m scared about what that means but I think I caught a flash of him on your face the other night when you smiled at me and I. I don’t know what this means but I, I would very much like to find out.” he rambles, his voice barely louder than a whisper, almost too quiet for you to hear over the blood rushing in your ears.

“Elijah, oh Elijah, I want to find out too. I want to find out so very badly,” you say twisting the cord between your fingers, nervous about what you’re about to ask him. “Do you maybe, want to go to the fair with me tomorrow then? And come over afterward?” you have the cord wrapped so tightly around your finger that you think it’s starting to cut off circulation but you’re too busy waiting for a response to answer.

“Yes,” he breathes out, like it was the only way to respond “Yes, I’d love to go to the fair with you Ben,”

It’s such a shame that we play strangers No act to change what we’ve become Damn, it’s such a shame that we built a wreck out of me. Oh, Calamity

          You always dreamed of a man when you were younger. A man who was as gentle as the breeze and as strong as the oaks in your backyard and he was the right kind of funny. A man who was sharper than knives and had a tongue to match his quick wit. He didn’t always look the same, his hair would change color and length, he’d get short and then tall and then short again. His eyes however, no matter what color they were, always looked at you with the gentlest expression.

You’re five years old and you only see him when you sleep, wrapped in the Fade together. You both play tag chasing each other round floating bookcases and sheer cliffs.

In time you realized that this was what your parents called “nature’s way of showing you your other half”. There were more technical terms for it now but you weren’t really interested in that. You were excited about this other half business. As a child you wondered if he liked playing with toy cars too, or if he was one of those boys who’d rather build towns only to wreck later, pretending to be great archdemons from old.

You’re twelve years old and your mother finally sits down and talks to you about how sometimes it doesn’t happen. That you aren’t always guaranteed a happy ending due to location and distance.

Your teachers explained that as you grew older, your soul began to recognize that it was missing something. Missing your soulmate, to try and amend this, your body produced dreams and visions of previous lives and people who your soul had found time and time again. Your body doesn’t know what your soulmate looks like this cycle so you can’t see who it is now, but you can dream, and remember. That’s why you see the boy in your dreams.

You’re nineteen years old and lonely and tired of searching and tired of disappointment. Despite this, no matter who or when someone offers a night to alleviate the pain a bit, you decline and dream of your boy who smiles at you with the same sad look in his eyes that you’ve started carrying in your own.

You wake up the morning before your birthday alone in your apartment when your brother calls to tell you that he’s found his soulmate. He invites you to dinner to meet the girl and you accept it, happy to share this moment with your brother. You get there and are reminded that in this lifetime happiness is for the man once called Cailan who died before he even knew he had a brother. Happiness is for the woman once called Anora who watched her father get executed in front of her. Happiness is not for you.

You’re fifty-four years old and playing with your nephews despite your angry knees and their arthritis. Your only niece sits with her mother because the mud just wasn’t her cup of tea and you can hear the perceptive little ten year old ask “Momma, why isn’t Uncle married like you and Daddy?”

When the alzheimer’s starts to take you, it gets hard to remember your niece’s name even though she was always your secret favorite. She still visits you but it’s hard on her and you can tell. She reminds you that she’s in college for her Master’s degree but you still don’t know what the degree is. You are forgetting a lot of things these days, but when you close your eyes the same familiar face greets you every time and you feel young again.

You’re eighty-seven years old and that is the best description of you. Old.

If I catch you on the corner will you even know it’s me? Will I look familiar to you? Do you offer me a seat? Can we find a new beginning? Do you turn the other cheek? Oh, Calamity!

Job hunting sucked. End of story, no other options, game over, it sucked and that was it. Thankfully Gwen (you wonder if she remembers yelling at you in that dingy house back in Denerim) said that you only had to do it for a few hours and three hours seemed long enough to you at least. You walked to the closest café, pulling the messenger bag higher on your shoulder as you turned the corner. The day was nice enough; maybe you could stop and sit down at one of the outside tables.      

After ordering (a tea of some sort and a cheesy croissant) you went back outside looking for a table. Sadly other patrons must have had the same idea that you did and most of the tables were already full. A particularly rowdy group of teens had already occupied one corner of the outside arrangements and you’d like to sit as far away from them as possible. You walk over to see if perhaps there are more tables around the side of the building, you’re out of luck but no one’s sitting in such a dense group as at the other tables.

You gaze around and finally you see someone sitting with a laptop and a few papers. You aren’t sure how friendly they are but they seem a better choice than the dodgy old man who glares at anyone who comes near. You walk up to the table with the man and his laptop, not the old guy, and hesitantly get the attention of the man sitting there.

“Oh uh hello, uhm may I sit here? This café is strangely busy and I’d rather not sit by all those teenagers. Not that I have a problem with teenagers but it’s a tad distracting when they scream random memes. Am I rambling? I think I’m rambling, I can find another table somewhere else,” the words fall out of your mouth in a somewhat coherent pattern and you hope he understands what you said.

“No, no you’re alright. Please, sit,” he says with a gentle smile, he even shuffles his papers closer to himself so you can set down your cup. You sling your bag over the back of the chair and sit down across from him. After sitting you smack yourself in the forehead before speaking again.

“Where are my manners today I’m sorry, my name is Van, pleased to meet you,” you say, extending your hand across the table to shake his. He has a strong grip and you’re glad you can return it in kind.

“The pleasure is mine, you can call me Ryan,” he says to you. After a moment, he watches you as you meticulously take apart your cheesy croissant. You flush under his gaze in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I’m just a little curious as to what you’re doing?” he asks looking over your mangled food.

“Oh! Well, you see, they hide the good bits under all this bread in some attempt to even out the flavor. However the truly tasty part is the lovely cheese blend they make here and I think they should just sell that on it’s own but the dear owner disagrees with me. Quite strongly in fact,” you explain to him. He chuckles at your explanation and then adds his own input.

“You know, the last time I met someone so in tune to the finer aspects of good cheese, he was a very strange man who spent time remembering his former life in a monastery where the boys had some fascination with lamp posts,” he says, and your eyes snap open to take in his features anew, yes there’s the twitch of the upper lip. You smirk back at him and take a second to remember a highlight in your relationship.

“Well, have you ever licked a lamp post in winter?” you drawl out hoping that your voice in this lifetime sounds similar to when you first said it back in the ninth age. He full out grins back and stands up to lean over the table and grab your shirt tugging you in.

“Congratulations on coming back to me again, my King,” he retorts, ignoring your question.

“I think you’re the one I should be saying that too Mr. Grey Warden who simply had to push me out of the way so that he could deal the last blow to the archdemon,” you snark back at him, remembering that fateful night. He just rolls his eyes at you and closes the distance, leaving the past memories in favor of making new ones.

It’s such a shame that we play strangers No act to change what we’ve become Damn, it’s such a shame that we play strangers No act to change what we’ve become Damn it’s such a shame that we built a wreck out of me Oh, Calamity

“Almost makes you wish we could just fight another Blight and be done with it?”

“I’d take a Blight over a hundred awkward first dates, maybe not actually. There are too many darkspawn during those. And with our first dates I’m more likely to get laid now,”

“The one thing the movies never have, a shambling horde of shrieks and genlock to ruin our day,”

“The movies do end up with me back at your place more times than not surprisingly, seeing as you were the last one to lick a lamp post in winter between the two of us,”

“Oh we’ll see who’s licking the lamp post this time around Warden,”

“You know I’m not one of those anymore, especially since it’s been what, five centuries since the order died out?”

“Yes but this is probably our twentieth first meeting and it gets confusing if I try to remember all of the names you’ve had,”

“True enough, you royal bastard,”

Oh, Calamity, come back to me.

[daihell]

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if Elden and Dorian had met earlier in their lives

[insomniasix]

Tragedia Coram Amandum Quae| Part I |

A/N: Alright, so this is something new. My heart is pumping like crazy posting this. I tried a different approach as I’ve never written in first person before, but I kinna like it. Let me know what you think. Should I change it back to third and continue or full on discard the whole idea of the AU.

Keep in mind that everything in here is full on complicated! Lol.

I’d also like something from you guys. I wanted to place some of your OCs in this story. I’d love for Six to get to know some new people. So anyone who wants their OC included, please let me know.

Thanks in advance for taking the time of your day to deal with me and my crazy ideas. 

Love you all! <3

Words: 2328

OCs: Six Ulric

Warnings: Mentions of smut, mentions of self-harm, swearing (Lots of it) complicated situations (If I’ve missed anything please hit me up, I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable!)

Introduction huh? Never really liked that part; never really good at it either. How about ‘Hey, I’m Six Ulric’? No, too plain. How about ‘I’m Six Ulric, and this is the story of how I died’? No, no, that’s even worse. Too prejudiced! Also, I can’t really tell you if I’m gonna die or not. What would be the point?

I got it! How about, I, Six Ulric, take you, the reader –of whatever this thing turns out to be, to the start?

I was born –no, no, I’m just kidding. That’s ancient history now.

I’m gonna take you to the time of my wedding to Prince Gladiolus Lucis Caelum. Mouthful, I know.

I’d love to say it was the happiest time of my life, and it was; in the beginning. Then shit went wrong and my world got fucked up –alright, side note: if you’re under aged or do not like the use of imprecations, indecent words and actions and violence, just stop reading; or get a life, you’ll see how wonderful and useful all the above really are; if you’re not and for whatever reason you’re still with me, buckle the fuck up.

I was probably the most horrible bride ever! My dress was torn to the edges and there were flecks of blood and dust all over it. Hey, it wasn’t really my fault that the dragon had attacked the day of my wedding! But, as the only dragon slayer in the region –and a royal badass, I had to take it down. Didn’t really want it ruining my big day.

The maids Gladio’s father had sent to help me put my face back on were royally pissed at how terrible my attire looked, but there was no time to do anything about it. They grabbed my blooded sword and threw me into my father’s arms so he could walk me down the aisle.

Father’s face was priceless. He was so proud of me! Part of me remembers him whispering I’d done a better job with the dragon, rather than picking the right man to marry, but what the Hell, I was only twenty at the time. The fuck did I know of love?

The Priestesses of God Noctis’ chantry had told our parents we were chosen as the Kingdom’s soulmates. Our fathers didn’t really give us a say in the matter. Fuck, with the way their minds worked I’m not sure Noctis, himself would be able to change them!

At that point, we didn’t really disagree either. I loved Gladio and he loved me. We even have matching scars to prove it. His idea. “This way the world will know you belong to me, as I belong to you.” He said as he made me run my blade down his face so he could do the same to me afterwards. Scars don’t really bother me, I already had plenty myself –self-inflicted or otherwise, one more –and a badass one at that, wasn’t really gonna change much.

Gladiolus and I had a secret relationship since we were fifteen. Stealing glances at each other in training. Always end up sparring together. His dick, accidentally, rubbing against me when he held me down until I gave up. His hands always ghosting over my ass at the changing room –or ball room. One thing led to another and we ended up having sex in the showers after sword play. Man, it was amazing! He was rough where he needed to be, but also so gentle; knowing, respecting the fact that it was my first time.

Then the Priestesses came along with their ‘news’ and we thought that was it. We didn’t have to hide anymore. We didn’t have to make excuses to see each other, or fuck whenever we felt like it.

How the hell did we end up like this?

Side tracked you, didn’t I?

Alright, where was I? Right, the wedding.

My father walked me down the aisle as we listened to the people gasping at the sight. I bet it wasn’t really my sparkly grey eyes or my shiny black hair that made them make those sounds. Think it was the blood? I think it was the blood! Considering I had just killed a small dragon and knowing it could be a lot worse, I decided to just ignore everyone and focus on my soon to be husband and my best friend, who stood behind the groom proudly, his suit also torn a bit as he was the only one who thought to lend the bride a hand.

Gladio turned to look at Ignis and laughed as the latter hid one leg behind the other. Smiling awkwardly at the thought of the groom’s best man not being at his best.

By Noctis, I was so proud of him!

The wedding was over with quick and once we were happily married, Gladiolus didn’t hesitate to tear the rest of the dress off me “You won’t be needing it again, my queen.” He said and boy, was he wrong!

About five months later, shit hit the fan!

I never really liked the idea of being a princess. My blood boiled easily and I always went looking for trouble. Something I had in common with my ‘soulmate’. So we decided to join the Dragon Hunt. We were to hunt down and kill every High Dragon of the region. It was the first time after five months that we actually agreed and were excited about something.

But the King wouldn’t have it. He already had second thoughts about the wedding and my manners, or lack of, so it didn’t take much more that the idea of his precious son going after his own death for him to start calling me names and blame me about everything.

Long story short, he thought I wasn’t the right one for his son and god damn it he made sure to change Gladio’s mind.

Didn’t take long either. One fight led to another and I got tired and hurt enough to get a divorce. A royal one! Papers were signed and news spread across Eos really fast. The few people who liked us together, and the Believers of Noctis’ words rioted a couple of days later.

Let’s say the pressure on King Regis’ shoulders was huge! It got so heavy on him he decided to give me a title and keep me in the Royal Court. Under-captain of the royal guard –the captain being my father.

My skills were good for one thing though; killing! I was top on my class –which included His Princely Ass. So Regis decided to also name me Royal Assassin. Put my skills to good use for his own convenience. Made me follow and execute contracts on his enemies.

Anonymity was my weapon. To the world, I didn’t exist. The kingdom knew about the Royal Assassin, the Moonshine, as they called me. They didn’t know who I was. Six Ulric was just another cop who followed orders, but Moonshine, she was legendary!

I made a name for myself. Through Eos, as Moonshine, and inside the Kingdom’s walls, as captain of the Crownsguard.

A couple of years later I married my best friend. The groom’s best man was the one for me. Ignis and I always did everything together. We loved each other more than life.

After a High Dragon had attacked the Kingdom, I was hurt pretty bad. I could feel my guts turning, twisting and burning after taking the beast down, with the help of the Crownsguard –which I had demanded.

We lost a lot of good people that day, but we saved a lot more.

Ignis never left my side. He held my hand and drew me back from the Beyond.

“I thought I lost you.” He said, and the warmth in his eyes were suddenly home. I had found my place in this world.

I was the one to propose, in case you were wondering. It was amidst an assassination mission we’d gone on together. The royal assassin and the mage. Sounds like a fairytale opening, doesn’t it?

The target’s bodyguard had changed his route, so he was there when we managed to take him down. Called the Guards on us as we ran for our lives.

Hiding behind the tree line outside of the castle and waiting for the way to clear up, I found myself staring at Ignis, I bet my eyes were sparkling because he stared up at me, a questioning look covering the green eyes I admire so much.

“What’s the matter?” he asked me, moving closer as he checked my body for any wounds “Are you hurt?”

“Take my hand.”

“Why?” the look on his face was priceless, worried, trying to understand what was going on in my mind.

“I’m trying to ask you to marry me here, Iggy. So take my damn hand!”

Our eyes met, and suddenly we were alone in the world. A knot tied in my stomach as I waited for him to answer. He didn’t right away, he just stared up at me and smiled before leaning in. Our lips touched and oh God I love him so much. I can practically feel it right now, as my mind runs back to that moment. The tingling sensation, the heat rising with every touch of our tongues, the warmth of his hands cupping my cheeks, bringing me closer to him.

To say that we didn’t move from our hiding spot is the understatement of the year. Sure the guards left a few hours later –things needed to be dealt with, after the target’s death, places in the line had to be filled with the right people. Ignis and I didn’t care. We spent the night together, in the woods, bodies intertwined and love radiating from both of us.

“The answer is yes. In case you were wondering.” Ignis finally said when we made an appearance in the Kingdom’s entrance.

We’ve been married for ten years now, and I’m certain, he is the only person in the world I care about. Nothing else matters! Everyone else has given up on me one way or another, except Ignis. Not even as my personality changed. When the smile on my face was only visible around him, or my victims.

Standing beside me, always! Like he promised to do on our wedding day.

He stood beside me when I caused him his eyesight, too. I destroyed his life and he kept on loving me like it’s the last thing left to do.

He stood between me and the fire breathing beast. Huge mistake! I only remember challenging the beast with a growing grin on my face, the heat of the battle getting to me once again. The dragon breathed in and its neck lit up, getting ready for the wave of fire it was about to spit. I heard Ignis’ voice, calling for me to move and then… blood. There was blood everywhere; on the ground, on my clothes; but it wasn’t mine. It belonged to Ignis.

I lost contact with the rest of the world for a while. I heard nothing. I saw nothing but the beast and my sword, cutting a thick line along its neck, the blood pouring on me, still burning hot.

When I came back to, I was clenching on Ignis, crying my eyes out and begging for him to stay with me. To forgive me. To live!

We headed back and the Court’s Healer took care of him.

Ignis woke up three days later, smiling up at me while caressing my cheek as I cried even harder, clenching to his hand. It will be two years tomorrow. Two years since the day I almost lost the man I love. I’m glad he’s alright, even if I can’t see him anymore.

What? You thought my shitty life would get better?

I told you about my first –failed marriage. I told you about my job, the one I love and the one I have to pretend I like for the eyes of the world. I told you about the man I adore and the horrible things that happened to him because of my battle sick attitude.

So let me take you to now, if you’re still with me that is.

Right now, I’m lying on a bench in my prison cell. Yeah, that’s right. I’m incarcerated. My own kingdom’s thanks for all the fucked up shit I’ve taken care of for them.

Why?

Because of my father. He declared himself a traitor when he run off with the Empire’s Princess, Lunafreya. A powerful enchantress.

Luna came with her father, Ardyn, the time traveler, to our Kingdom a year ago. Peace treaty, they said. Bullshit, I answered. But no one would listen to me.

My father fell for her, hard too. So he helped her and her father to some of the Kingdom’s most valuable secrets before leaving with them.

As the only remaining family of the traitor Nyx Ulric, the king took it upon himself to set an example of me. He deprived me of my titles and left me to rot. As it were, he wasn’t really going to miss me.

Gladio said he’d help, if I gave him a little something. That little something being the small amount of dignity I had left. So he stormed off when I told him to shove it! I wasn’t going to do that to Ignis, and to be honest with you –so you know I don’t do it often, I’d rather stay in jail, knowing that one day I will see Ignis again and actually be able to look into his eyes, instead of hiding behind the reasons for my actions.

Although, I wouldn’t complain if –hold on, the guard is here. Let’s pick this up next time, yeah?

Thanks for listening. It helps. I’ll see you later –if you haven’t had enough of my crap yet.

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