#im also SO normal about anders. clearly

[v-arbellanaris]

anders / non-hawke ships?

ur asking me, the guy who ships fenders, manders (merrill/anders), kanders, nanders, canders, warden x anders, and is one of like. three people. populating the oghren/anders tag????????????

[mylazyreactions]

DA2 companions reacting to hawke getting a pet cat? Good Luck!

One crisp afternoon at Hawke Manor, our companions are ushered inside only to be greeted by the teeniest little kitten. Hawke eagerly scoops them up and introduces them to the family.

Varric: First things first, hes going to teach this cat how to play cards if its the last thing he ever does. Second thing, he needs a lint roller. “Look Hawke, i get you love this furball, but this coat is expensive.” He gets them some decent cat treats and calls it a day. May or may not start making cat puns. He also jokes about the cat taking on a dragon. Might even write it into the book.

Aveline: “I hope your mabari wont eat the poor thing.” She jokes, seeing how well behaved the dog normally is. For quite a while, she tends to ignore the creature. One day, the cat followed Hawke into the barracks and promptly caught a rat. Ever since, Aveline has dubbed them her ‘littlest guard’ and borrows them to patrol the bunks.

Fenris: “I suppose congrats are in order?” Truthfully, he doesnt care much about Hawke’s feline friend. Unfortunately, the cat clearly doesnt feel the same way, and every time Fenris comes to visit, the cat latches onto him for the entire duration. He eventually gets used it and finally scratches behind their ears, much to the cats delight.

Isabela: “Now Hawke, im gonna get a little jealous if you keep hugging them so closely.” She kids, scooping the cat into her arms. Cats are good luck on ships and keep out the rats. She dubs herself the favorite auntie and is the one that buys ridiculous outfits to put them in. Thankfully the cat doesnt mind much and looks spiffing in their own pirate hat.

Merril: “Oh Hawke they’re adorable!” Like Isabela, she fawns over the creature and cuddles them close. Her visits to the manor become more frequent, bringing treats and toys. She also borrows the cat to catch some troublesome mice that keep getting into her food. She also brings catnip, much to Hawke’s dismay.

Sebastion: “Hawke, your compassion to animals is boundless! Truly you have been blessed.” While he may be happy for Hawke, he limits his interactions with the cat. Allergies you see. He also offers to see if a chantry sister will bless them.

Anders: The sky is clear, the clouds have parted, and a ray of hope has burst forth from his soul. “Oh Hawke, they’re so cute! Whos a good kitty! Look at the little paws!” Too late to back down now Hawke, thats his partner now. Anders makes a good cat sitter (which he frequently offers too) and is the go to whenever the cat is feeling unwell. He frequently shows up with new collars and toys. It does bring up painful memories of his own long gone cat, but the trips are worth it.

BONUS

Blue Hawke: names the cat Pumpkin.

Purple Hawke: names the cat Buddy.

Red Hawke: names the cat Bear.

[goth-surana]

Different Violence: Chapter 3

Main pairing: Anders/Male Hawke

Main Tags: hurt/comfort, whump, aftermath of torture

Chapter 3/3 

Summary: They stayed like that for a long time, and Hawke tried not to cry again. He had almost lost this. If those Templars hadn’t been afraid of retribution from the Champion, he would have lost this. Every day, because of who Anders was, he could lose this. 

Read on AO3 or below the cut

Hawke woke up the next morning with his head resting on Anders’ chest. He panicked for a moment, realizing that he was leaning on his injuries. But when Hawke pulled away, he was met with the sight of unmarred skin.

Anders was looking down at him, awake but still looking weary.

“You’ve healed,” Hawke said as he sat up.

“My magic came back in the middle of the night. Couldn’t sleep much, so I just took off the bandages. Justice is back too, and he sure had a lot to say. Lots of yelling.”

“Not at you, I hope,” said Hawke. Hawke was on good terms with Justice now, even considered him a friend on the few occasions they talked, but he knew the spirit could be unfairly demanding sometimes.

“No, not at me,” said Anders. “He was upset by what happened. He didn’t really know what was going on, only that I had been subdued and poisoned.”

Hawke ran a hand over one pectoral, remembering all too clearly what that skin had looked like yesterday. It was kind of amazing how it was just… gone. But it was also still there in the tired look on Anders’ face. Even healing couldn’t completely wash away what had happened.

“I’d like a bath, I think,” Anders said with a forced smile. He got up quickly and headed away, followed by Hawke.

Anders pulled one of Hawke’s house robes around himself as he waited for the tub to fill. Hawke was sometimes still in awe of the advanced plumbing living in hightown afforded him.

After the tub was filled, Anders took a seat on a stool and stuck his hands in the lukewarm water, casting a heating spell.

This was all so normal, Hawke couldn’t help but think. This could have just been another lazy morning.

But it wasn’t. Why was Anders acting like it was? But what else could they do? How could they even begin to address the nightmare of the past two days?

“Join me?” Anders asked after the water was hot. Hawke nodded and undressed, and slipped into the warm water behind Anders.

Anders let out a contented sigh and slid down until only his head and the top of his shoulders weren’t submerged, leaning back against Hawke. Hawke brought his arms around his lover in an embrace, once again feeling the healed skin. Skin he knew had been cut and bleeding mere hours before.

Hawke pulled Anders even closer instinctively, stroked a hand down his arm under the water.

They stayed like that for a long time, and Hawke tried not to cry again. He had almost lost this. If those Templars hadn’t been afraid of retribution from the Champion, he would have lost this. Every day, because of who Anders was, he could lose this.

Hawke could manage to forget that sometimes, when things went right for long enough. Events like the past days shattered that illusion. This was so fragile it hurt.

Before the water got cold Hawke offered to wash Anders’ back and hair, just wanting to touch him more and feel that he was okay. As he ran the washcloth over his skin he kept imagining the blood, the damage. Hawke’s hand glided over a shoulder where a particularly nasty gash had once been.

That was over now.

Anders sat still while Hawke worked shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp. His shoulders were relaxed at first, until Hawke accidentally caught his hand on a knot and pulled his head a bit too hard.

Hawke felt Anders flinch away and he dropped his hands immediately.

Anders hunched in on himself, took a long breath. Hawke couldn’t see his face, but his body language told enough.

“Love?” Hawke asked, wanting to reach out and touch but knowing that was a bad idea.

“S-sorry,” Anders muttered. “That just… reminded me. They, uh, pulled my hair near the beginning.”

Another new detail. Suddenly the warm bath felt stifling, the heat almost nauseating.

“Continue?” Anders asked, turning to face Hawke with a tired smile. He was trying to brush it off, and Hawke wouldn’t let him.

“Not if that could make you think of that night.”

“Please, Hawke,” Anders asked, pleaded almost. He scooted back and turned in Hawke’s lap, a hand gripping his thigh.

“I need this. I need this to be normal. Just… it felt nice, you washing my hair. I don’t want to have to change what I do because of what happened.”

Hawke considered the man in front of him, could see the stress written across his tired face. Anders was exhausted, clearly in need of the comfort and touch of another.

Hawke would never deny him that, so he nodded in agreement. But even as Hawke continued to lather the shampoo and pause to stroke his lover’s shoulders, he couldn’t help but think Anders would not get his wish. It wouldn’t be normal, and wouldn’t be for a while.

Hawke hoped to the Maker that Anders was right and that he could just let what happened to him slide off like water. Hawke hoped Hawke was wrong.

—————————

Hawke was right. Unfortunately. The next incident happened a few weeks later when Anders had long since returned to his clinic and adventuring with Hawke.

Hawke, Isabela, Anders and Fenris were walking through Hightown on the way to a meeting with a noble contact.

It had been a pleasant walk until the clattering of armor echoed through the streets. Before any of them could react, a whole group of Templars rudely shoved them all to the side as they headed out.

“Bastards!” Isabela called after them, signing something vulgar.

Hawke was about to agree with her, when he saw Anders start walking towards a nearby alley. His footsteps were weak, and before Hawke could get to him he collapsed to his knees.

“Love?” Hawke asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. He was trembling, he was breathing too fast.

“Anders,” Hawke said, sliding into his field of vision. Anders looked up at him with wide eyes, then crumbled within himself and clutched his hands to his chest.

“Fuck,” he muttered weakly. “I’m- im fine. I just… can’t seem to… to breathe right.”

Hawke waited by Anders’ side until his breathing evened out. The other two didn’t say a word, and neither did Anders all the way to the meeting.

Hawke could tell Anders was still upset when they walked home. His face was sullen, embarrassed.

The two men entered the living room and Hawke gestured for Anders to sit on the couch with him. He did, but looked even more nervous.

“You’re going to ask about what happened today,” Anders said plainly, an air of resigned finality to his voice.

“…well, yes. But I know what happened. I just need you to know that I’ll be here if you want to talk about it.”

“That obvious, then?” Anders asked sardonically. He fiddled with his hands in his lap, looking anywhere but at Hawke. “The others didn’t just think Justice was losing it even more?”

“That’s not what you look like when Justice takes over,” Hawke told him gently. “And do you really wish they had thought that?”

“It’s better than them seeing me being… being afraid of Templars!” Anders said this with an air of incredulity, a deep frustration evident.

Hawke honestly didn’t know how Anders hadn’t been afraid of Templars before. And he also knew this wasn’t normal, rational fear anyway.

“I know you’re not afraid of them,” Hawke said, placing a hand on Anders’ hands clasped together in his lap.

“But… but I was,” Anders whispered harshly. He was trying not to cry. Hawke wished he felt free to feel emotions around him, even unpleasant ones.

“I was…in that moment I was afraid. It was the sound of their armor, the feeling of it against me. I don’t even know what came over me. It was like…” Anders took a deep breath. “I was like back in the Deep Roads.”

Hawke remembered that all too well, the pure panic Anders had gone through when Bartrand slammed the doors on them and left them for dead.

Hawke knew the man didn’t handle the dark well, nor enclosed spaces. Hawke hated that he had lived in Darktown for so long, and had relished being able to move him into his spacious manor.

“It was like when you’re anxious about the dark,” Hawke told him. “That’s okay, and this is okay.”

“It is not! I need to be fighting the Templars, I can’t run from them! I can’t just stop functioning when one appears.”

Anders looked bloody miserable, his head hung low and his eyes reddening.

There was a deep coiled anger directed at himself that had the man snared.

Hawke pulled Anders against him, into his lap, and just held on. Anders went willingly, rested his head in the crook of Hawke’s neck. Small breaths ghosted against his skin, and Hawke soothed an arm up and down Anders’ back.

“It’ll be okay,” Hawke told him. “You likely won’t have this reaction forever. You know how I used to freeze on the battlefield when an ogre showed up?”

He felt Anders nod.

“I don’t anymore, but it took me some time to not just go right back to when Carver died. It’s not rational, it’s just our minds. Think of it like a wound. No one is any lesser for having a wound.”

Anders sighed. “Wounds, I can heal.”

“You’ll heal this too,” Hawke assured him. “Not as fast as you’re used to, for sure, but it will heal nonetheless. Give yourself time, love.”

It had only been two weeks. If Hawke had his way, Anders would still be staying in the manor all day and doing less dangerous things. Hawke didn’t give a damn that the physical wounds had healed, he knew no one could just brush off what happened and he had been right.

Hawke could see the toll that night had taken on Anders, even if Anders refused to admit it. Even in the next few weeks he was jumpier than normal, stayed even farther away from Templars.

As Hawke had said before, he no longer took Anders to meetings with Meredith. Hawke’s temper became even shorter with the woman, he could barely see her self-righteous face without wondering if she knew about what happened to Anders and if she approved.

Unfortunately, that last question was answered in one such meeting.

Hawke had taken Fenris, Varric, and Isabela with him. This was usually who he brought because Aveline was always busy and Merrill was too at risk. At risk of what, Hawke didn’t quite know, but that night had shaken the confidence he had in the protection his own status awarded his companions.

Meredith gave Hawke a thinly veiled order to investigate some more runaway mages suspected of blood magic, and Hawke accepted.

“And even if they are not blood mages,” Meredith finished with, “they are still apostates and you will bring them back this time.”

Hawke had a bit of a habit of only bringing to justice mages who were hurting people, often with blood magic. Meredith needed Hawke to appear on her side so the nobles didn’t get any funny ideas about how much Hawke despised her.

“What’s it to you, then?” Hawke asked, feeling his worsening temper getting the best of him. “You don’t send me out to actually catch these people, you do it to show you have me under your thumb.”

“And it may cease to work,” Meredith sneered, “with how you flaunt the company you keep. You ought to really keep them in check. You know well that their protection only extends to their lives.”

Hawke saw red. He stood up from his chair and slammed his hands on Meredith’s desk, startling his companions but not the woman herself.

“You knew!” Hawke accused her.

“After the fact, but yes,” Meredith said with a raised eyebrow.

“Keep your pet on a leash or we will have to muzzle him for you again.”

Hawke raised a fist but was dragged away by Fenris and Isabela. Meredith only smiled.

“Your other friends are wiser. Heed my words Hawke, you bring me those apostates or I won’t stop my men from making a repeat performance. They are very creative, as you saw.”

Hawke’s head was filled with pure rage all the way back to his mansion. He should have known she would approve. Meredith knew if the Templars killed Hawke’s lover that he would refuse to cooperate, but also knew that concern for Anders’ safety would also force that cooperation. Anders was a pawn in her game to control the city, and now she had been handed a way to keep Hawke in check without risking blowing the whole agreement away.

Beaten, tortured, but still alive. Hurt, but still there to threaten to hurt worse. Best of both worlds for their sick minds.

————————

Hawke couldn’t stand the sight of Templars. He had hated them before, but now “hate” was too soft a word.

“Worry” was also too soft a word for how he felt about Anders these days. Meredith’s threats still rang in his ears, and Anders still did missions for the underground.

He still helped even as his breath hitched at the sight of Templars. He was fine now, he insisted. The situation for mages was only growing more dire, he could not abandon his cause.

And lately Anders wasn’t even telling him when he went on these missions. One day Hawke had begged him to stop, told him of Meredith’s words. Anders had only responded that Hawke should stay away then, so Meredith didn’t see his involvement.

“I won’t get caught again,” Anders told Hawke. Hawke found that hard to believe, and every night Anders returned late his heart pounded with worry.

It was even more concerning, then, that one day Anders did ask for his help.

He told Hawke of one Templar’s plan to turn every mage tranquil, and proof was needed to convince anyone in power to stop it before it was already over.

“Why are you asking me for help now?” Hawke couldn’t help but ask.

Anders looked guilty, knowing how much Hawke had wanted to help in the past.

“This is too important for me to mess up, I need backup for this. We’ll need to use the tunnels to access the lowest level of the Gallows, which is where they often keep documents.”

Hawke agreed to help, even roped Isabela and Varric into the plan. If Anders was going on this dangerous mission, Hawke would bring more than just himself for protection. He also knew that if Anders got in trouble, he would move the earth to make sure he wasn’t left alone with the Templars again.

———————————

The mission was… not exactly a success. Justice had completely lost control, almost killing a young girl.

When Anders returned to himself, he ran before Hawke could say anything.

Hawke was slightly too late to respond, and lost track of Anders in the tunnels. The other man knew them better than Hawke.

Isabela and Varric offered to stay behind and look for any proof, which Hawke barely had time to be grateful for because all he could think about was finding Anders.

He went to the clinic first, then the mansion. Not there. Hawke’s heart was racing, he was wracking his mind for locations Anders might find refuge.

Eventually he gave up, his head pounding with worry and his knees about to give out. He had no idea where Anders was. He could be anywhere, anyone could have caught him, the Templars could have caught him and-

The door to the cellar creaked slightly. Hawke bolted to the kitchen, and standing there was Anders.

The man looked listless, lifeless almost but Hawke barely noticed because he was too busy throwing his arms around the man.

Hawke buried his face in the crook of Anders neck and clung tighter, eliciting no reaction. Anders wasn’t even hugging back, just standing there.

“Thank the fucking Maker,” Hawke breathed out. After a few more moments he stepped back, keeping his hands loosely on Anders’ arms. Anders was just staring at him, pale.

“I…” he croaked out, “I only came back to get my pillow. I’m - I’m leaving.”

“What?” Hawke asked, truly dumbfounded.

“I c-can’t stay here Hawke,” Anders told him, a slight tremble in his voice. Otherwise he sounded blank, tranquil almost. Hawke shivered, trying not to think on that too much.

“I almost killed that girl. I’m a monster, and I need to leave where I can’t hurt anybody else.”

The words sounded rehearsed, like he had told himself this a million times.

“You’re not a monster, Anders,” Hawke told him. “You came back in the end, the girl is fine and thanks to you she is free!”

“Only because of you,” said Anders, still shaking but lacking any inflection. His eyes were blotchy like he had been crying, but that was over now and all that was left was emptiness.

“Come here,” Hawke said as he led Anders away gently. The man followed listlessly.

Hawke sat them both down on a couch in the living room, then reached up to brush a strand of hair from Anders’ face. He cupped his cheek, and gave the man a warm smile.

Anders just stared, then looked away.

“I still need to leave,” he said quietly. “You can’t make me stay… you wouldn’t.”

Hawke’s heart sank. “You’re right, I would never make you do anything. But please don’t go.”

It was all Hawke could think to say. Anders was silent for a long while, and the only noise in the room was the crackling of the fireplace. The light danced over Anders’ skin, caught his blonde hair. Even in his misery he looked ethereal.

“You’re spiraling,” Hawke told him gently. “You do this sometimes, remember? It won’t be as bad tomorrow.”

“It will,” replied Anders. “I still will have lost control of Justice. I thought I could keep him at bay, but… he couldn’t stand seeing Alrik again. I could barely- I thought I could handle s-seeing Alrik again…”

Anders was trembling harder, trying to fight back his emotions. Trying to fight back the very reaction Hawke had seen too many times since that night.

Hawke’s stomach dropped, and a chill went throughout his entire body.

“You-“ Hawke started, then had to stop. “You said you just had a “run in” with Alrik.”

This couldn’t be. Hawke hadn’t just walked Anders into a fight with-

Anders would have told him that-

Anders shook his head. “I didn’t want you to worry,” he said numbly. “The mission was too important, I had to try. I thought I could handle it.”

Hawke reached forward and pulled Anders into his arms, resting the man’s head on his shoulder and taking a deep breath.

It had been him. That man in the tunnels had tortured Anders. Hawke had come face to face with the man responsible and he hadn’t even known it.

At least he had the image of Justice ripping the man’s head from his body. At least Alrik died a gruesome death for what he did. For what he did to a lot of mages, it turned out.

“Let’s go to bed,” Hawke said. “You and I both need sleep.”

“I have to leave,” Anders said again, as numb as the first time.

“No you don’t. Not tonight. Tomorrow you can decide, but… please just stay for tonight.”

Anders nodded into Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t even want to entertain the idea that he could not convince Anders to stay.

Even if Anders left, he would go with him. With Carver dead, his mother dead, Bethany with the Gray Wardens… Kirkwall wasn’t his home so much as Anders was his home.

Hawke helped Anders undress and gently guided him to bed. He was in bad shape, even if physically fine.

Hawke wished Anders would have told him who Alrik was, it hurt that Anders didn’t. But wasn’t he right? Hawke would have worried.

Hawke had trouble sleeping that night, but Anders slept almost instantly. He was draped over Hawke’s chest, breathing deeply. This was more sound than Hawke had seen Anders sleep in a long time, and it must be because of how the day had drained him.

Would Hawke really be leaving tomorrow, or would he be able to convince Anders to stay? Another reason he wasn’t sleeping was the fear that he would wake and Anders would just be gone.

But despite that fear, the events of the day got to Hawke too and he drifted to sleep.

——————————

Anders wasn’t in the bed when Hawke woke up, and so Hawke started the day in a blind panic. He scrambled to put his clothes on, ran down the stairs.

Anders was standing in the hallway, wearing one of Hawke’s robes. Thank the Maker, he wasn’t dressed to leave.

“Anders,” Hawke said. “You scared me.”

“Oh,” Anders replied as his face fell. “I’m sorry… I wasn’t really thinking. I’m, um, I’m not going to leave.”

A huge weight lifted itself off of Hawke’s heart.

“Good,” Hawke said earnestly. “If you did leave you know I’d follow.”

“I do know, now that I’m thinking straight.”

It was good he knew last night he hadn’t been in his right mind. He had been confronted by his tormentor and lost control.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Alrik. I know now that was a terrible idea.”

“It’s okay,” Hawke said, taking Anders’ hand in his. “I know why you didn’t tell me. I get what you were thinking.”

There was a small silence before Anders spoke.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do now, now that I can’t control Justice. I don’t know if I can even go out to help you. I’m a liability now.”

“Last night wasn’t normal. It’s not every day that you’ll see someone who… someone who would provoke that kind of reaction.”

“I hope you’re right,” Anders sighed. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for trying to lock you out. Clearly that wasn’t a good idea.”

Hawke waited for Anders to continue, knowing the man wanted to say more.

“And I’m sorry to… well, myself and you that I keep refusing to admit… to admit…”

Anders took a deep breath. His next words were spoken with a thick voice.

“To admit that I’m not okay. That I haven’t been okay since that night. That I’m still healing.”

Hawke could almost cry tears of joy at those words. Sure Hawke could tell the man this every day, but that didn’t mean as much as him saying it himself.

“Take all the time that you need,” Hawke told him.

“….I wish it didn’t hurt like this. I wish I could just get over it. I wish I could just get over every fucked up thing that’s ever happened to me.” Tears slid down his cheeks as he spoke, but he didn’t seem like he was caving in with the effort of being okay. He looked freer than he had been in months.

“Pushing it down won’t do any good,” he continued. “I think Justice made me realize that. I’m not going to be able to control him until I admit I’m struggling.”

Hawke wrapped his arms around Anders and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll always be here to help you,” Hawke said. “You don’t have to be okay.”

“Thank you, love.”

Anders lowered his head to Hawke’s shoulder to cry, but they were tears of release. Tears that healed.

Hawke held Anders while he cried, rocked them slowly back and forth while Anders let out the pain of the paths months.

After a while Anders looked up at Hawke and smiled. Tears still glistened in his eyes, but he looked hopeful.

Hawke felt lighter, knowing that the real healing could finally begin.

[disbander-of-armies]

Did the athenians and spartans have a concept of domestic abuse? Not in a comedic or "that's normal" way but something even they found a bit far.

Hi anon,

sooo, this is an interesting question but difficult to answer. You’re right thatviolence was frequently used for laughs in Attic comedy and there is absolutelyno doubt that it occured within the family. But did the ancient Greeks thinkthat you could go too far? I’ll start with Sparta first because it’s easier to answer: We don’t know (at leastfrom what I could gather). There is this story on Tumblr that Spartan womenwere supposedly given a knife on their wedding night in case their husbandswould use violence against them but this seems to be just another Tumblr myth,as I wasn’t able to find any source for that. And since the Spartans never wroteabout themselves (all we have are a few cultic songs), we can’t say what theythemselves might have thought about domestic abuse. My own guess would be that it propably didn’t occur very often, between spouses at least, for the simplereason that Spartan men didn’t live with their wives until they were 30.Violence against children was certainly condoned (I think everyone has heard ofthe infamous agoge) but since Spartan boys were raised by the state thisdoesn’t fall under domestic abuse. But if they thought that you could go toofar? I honestly have no idea.

With Athens I too wasn’t able to find a definite answer but I can give a more detailed response since we have a lot more sources. Violence against children was certainly normal (I can’t find a photo on the internet, but there is an Archaic vase, for example, of a father beating his child with his sandals). What was not condoned, though, was violence against one’s parents (Aristophanes has a scene in his Clouds where a son beats up his father and clearly presents it as a reversal of social norms). For a husband to beat his wife was surely condoned too. But did the Athenians think that you could go to far?The sources seem to paint a rather grim picture. Athenian law forbid a man to assault any free woman not from their household but no such law existed for women from their own household (Schmitz suggests that this was probably to protect Athenian men from raising unwanted illegitimate children (Schmitz 2005: 121)).And in one scene from Aristophanes’ comedy Lysistrata, Lysistrata tells the other women to deny their husbands sex even if they try to rape them.There is room for hope, though. One of the virtues an Athenian man was supposed to strive towards was sophrosyne (self-restraint). For example, in the law speech Against Simon by Lysias, the speaker mentions that he was attacked several times and still decided not to retaliate because of sophrosyne (Krause 2004: 31). I couldn’t find any mention of domestic abuse in connection with this but I could imagine that a man who beats his wife a lot might be considered as someone lacking self-restraint and therefore going too far.One must also not forget that even though domestic abuse was certainly a reality, a harmonic marriage was considered something to strive towards and there is also evidence of love and affection between married couples in ancient Athens (see for example Cheryl A. Cox, Marriage in Ancient Athens).

Edit: @sisterofiris added some great information in the comments, so take a look at it!

Sources:

Cox, Cheryl A.: Marriage in Ancient Athens, in: A Companion to Families in the Greek and Roman Worlds, ed. by Beryl Rawson. Blackwell 2011, 231-244.

Krause, Jens-Uwe: Kriminalgeschichte der Antike. C.H. Beck 2004.

Schmitz, Winfried: Gewalt in Haus und Familie, in: Die andere Seite der Klassik. Gewalt im 5. und 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr., ed. by Günter Fischer and Susanne Moraw. Franz Steiner Verlag 2005, 103-128.

[autopotion]

i want an f/f dragon age relationship that has just as much weight and intensity as solavellan (without the weird power dynamic of solas literally being an evil sort-of god dude, and without the awful hatelove of rivalmances). cuz im thinking about it and f!warden/leliana? lighthearted, sweet, even when hardened. f!hawke/isabela? there’s the heartache of isabela betraying you and then coming back, but its not treated with nearly as much intensity as solas and stuff just immediately goes back to normal. f!hawke/merrill i admittedly know the least about but still... f!inquisitor/josephine is fluffy and lighthearted and sweet again, and so is inquisitor/sera with just a dash of These People Dont Know How To Write Lesbians.

it seems to me that the romances that have the most sweeping plot influence are intended for the str8s (which....yknow....obviously but it still annoys me). theres always a particular one the game seems to lean you towards based on your gender. like clearly the “main” romances of origins are f!warden/alistair or m!warden/morrigan. da2 is nice in the sense of all four romance leads being bisexual, but thats clearly meant to be incidental instead of plot-relevant. like i feel like the pull is towards f!hawke/anders and m!hawke/isabela for the drama of it all, when m!hawke/anders and f!hawke/isabela are superior pairings. and then for dai theres m!inquisitor/cassandra for the straight dudes, and then the curious duality of f!inquisitor/cullen and f!inquisitor/solas for human and elf ladies respectively. those all kind of seem like the Main Pairings and its....really annoying. i wanted my romances with leliana and sera and josephine to be more plot-relevant and dynamic, and while isabela’s romance is slightly more plot-relevant, it also has the failing of isabela being extraordinarily overly-sexualized and then not much actual fallout, in that anders’ actions change the game much more than isabela’s ever do.

anyway im just annoyed. 

[klrkwall]

Ribbon red

— his organs are ripped to ribbons, he has flirted and danced with death.

garrett hawke accepts the arishok's duel.

fenhawke, hurt/comfort. 

trigger warnings: mentions of gore, 

i finished this at the ass crack of dawn so theres probably errors enjoy im crying

Fenris watches in horror as the lyrium blue magic surrounds Hawke and his wounds, Anders exhausting himself to heal Garrett to the best of his ability. The mage was exhausted, falling once again to his hands and knees.

Still – the new Champion lays there, bones crushed and fingers lost, wounds to leave nasty scars for the rest of his life, he was barely hanging onto his life and all Fenris would do was watch. Merrill pipes in. “Is.. Is there anything I can do?” Fenris immediately answers. “No. Do not attempt to help Hawke with your blood magic. It will kill him and perhaps everybody else in this place.” Anger was clear in his voice, but so was desperation.

He was desperate, desperate for Hawke to make a fast recovery like he normally did with any injuries. Yet, faith was leaving him – stubbornly, as he watches his amatus lay on the ground of the place where he fought the Arishok. Hawke’s face was bashed in, from when the Arishok bashed his weapon in his face when Hawke had attacked him from the front – surprising him after a smoke bomb. Red almost looked to be his new skin color as blood bled from his nose and mouth, his eye was basically glued shut with skin and oozing blood, his eyeball was pushed so far back in his head, it may never recover, Anders quickly predicted.

Bones. Hawke’s ribs were crushed, most – if not all, broken. His right arm was twisted the wrong way, clearly broken as well. Although in rough shape, his legs were fine. The worst areas were probably the Champion’s torso, hand and eye. Fenris shudders, goes back to biting whatever nails he had left when flashes of Hawke and the Arishok’s battle intruded his head.

The Arishok and Hawke were doing a dance, Hawke immediately is swept off the ground by the Arishok’s weapon piercing him through the stomach, ribboning his organs. Garrett coughs, splatters blood staining the weapon and his chin from his wheezing. In the air, the Arishok is squinting and Garrett very quickly glances at the ash shade eyes before ehe Arishok whips his body around, yanking his weapon out of Hawke who fell to the hard ground, howling loudly from the impact and the increasing pain in his stomach.

The dance was not over, The Arishok simply had one of his few dips with Hawke.

Isabela – the original reason for this whole catastrophe, brings the exhausted healer back up with her arms and supports him with her side. “Don’t you fall asleep now!” With the motivation, electrifying healing auras leave his hands and he focuses on Garrett’s torso. The magic made the pain decrease in small amounts, running blood became dry stains to his armor and wounds held as best together they could be.

Hawke is on the ground, quickly recovering from the blow he took, he is swift to get up but not swift enough as the Arishok’s weapon comes swinging down, catching Hawke’s hand in its grasp and burns through the skin, the muscle and through the bone. Three of Hawke’s fingers and half of his thumb flies off, scattered along the floor of the Viscount’s office.

He shouts in pain, but is not slowed as he just fights with more menace. His bite was worse then his bark.

Fenris looks away from his stomach, the gory scene slowly got to him – perhaps it was because it was Hawke who was laying in the pool of blood, near death with ribbon organs. Instead, he focuses his attention on Garrett’s hands. The hand Fenris could see better was the one in worst shape. Three fingers were absent, in their leave were ripped open wounds into Garrett’s hand, half of his thumb was missing. His fingers were somewhere in this very room.

It was the same hand that lightly grabbed the night he left.

“Fenris…” His name was a plea. Fenris didn’t turn his head around, just stood up from the bed and fastened the belts on his complicated armor. “Please, Hawke.”

His arm is grabbed at, Fenris jumps slightly – on alert and looks down to see it’s Hawke’s hand who is grabbed around his wrist. “Please, just look at me for a moment. A moment is all I ask.” Fenris owed him that, he’s convinced. He turns his head and looks at the vulnerable Fereldan.

The words do not come out easy like they always did. “I…. Will I see-“

Fenris nods. “I will follow you everywhere, Hawke.” The promise is well kept, he followed Hawke everywhere when he asked – and not asked.

Garrett’s hand twitches, blood that glued his hand down to the floor stubbornly coming up. From the simple few twitches, it is clear Hawke is fighting. He is fighting to stay alive.

Anders exhales deeply, withdrawing his hands away from Hawke’s stomach. “There is permanent damage, but I have done all I can with his torso. Fool is lucky I’m as good of a healer as I am.” Anders is doing the best he can, Fenris knows that – yet he can only feel bitterness as he takes his news with a spoonful of salt, a moment to brag about himself.

“And his eye?” Anders sighs – that is all Fenris needs to know in order to not get his hopes up, not that he does anyway. The Warrior walks over and crouches down next to Garrett. His good eye is slit open, the familiar moss green eye is comforting to Fenris who softly smiles down at Garrett who he hopes sees it as it disappears seconds after. “What is the plan now?” Fenris asks with a stern tone, eager to move past this process.

Anders wasted no time in answering, he had this down to a system. It was alarming to some but to Fenris, it was comforting. He may have personal disliking towards the mage, but he was glad Garrett was being healed by somebody who knew what he was doing. The chances of a good recovery were higher, thanks to the mage. Fenris would be thankful for that, at another time.

“I will need help to carry Hawke to his house, I would prefer not to continue healing here.”

Merrill chirps in. “I can help!” Anders takes note, of Merrill’s much smaller body but smiles. “I will probably need you to carry him halfway, my body is exhausted and I need all the energy I can get to continue healing him.” He turns his attention to Fenris.

Without being asked or told to, Fenris volunteers. “I will help carry him, let us be off.”

“AH - ! FUCK! Maker’s balls!” Garrett howls, blood curdling to his friends in his home (and the neighbors, Hawke predicts.) Merrill had slipped, Hawke’s freshly broken arm banged against his wall. Merrill winced in remorse and sympathetic pain. “I apologize, Hawke!” He understands, Garrett truly does he just can’t bring himself to nod or say anything else now, everything hurt too much. His body was on fire.

Fenris finished carrying him up the stairs, Anders lending himself as support for the warrior and gently laid Garrett down on his bed. “A king…” Garrett groans. His friends look puzzled, exchanging silent questioning gazes with each other. It’s Varric and Fenris who know what hes trying to say and both smile, Fenris rolling his eyes.

“If this is your idea of being treated like a king, I would hate to see how you look if you were treated like a peasant, Hawke.” Varric laughs, yet it is shortlived when Anders interrupts. “Alright, I need everybody to please give me space to finish the healing process.”

They all step back – and watch as Anders exhausts himself for long hours, collapsing multiple times as he did before.

It is late into the night when Anders is finally finished. He steps back and wipes his forehead, turning to face Fenris. “He.. is damaged for good.” Alright – the bad news was out on the table. Fenris would help Garrett cope with the permanent damage. He would be there for him when nobody was there for himself when his body – and mind – had permanently changed.

“Alright. So, what exactly did you heal?”

“The organs… that the Arishok chopped up as if it was his fine end of the week dinner-“ Fenris rolls his eyes as the joke, clearly unamused as he awaits for Anders to finish. “No sense of humor. Tsk, Hawke will need that when he wakes up,” A thought comes to him. “I suppose it wouldn’t matter anyway, it isn’t like you’ll be sticking around. You’ll be running right home, yes?”

Fenris drops the glass of water he is holding, stepping towards Anders and slits his eyes into a squint to intimidate him. “Mage.” He warns. “It is of no concern of what I will be doing, I will be assisting Hawke with what he needs for the next little while. Now please, for the love of the maker. Tell me, what. Did. You. Fix?” He was on his last nerve, the constant pressure and questions from Anders about his and Hawke’s relationship pushed him further to the edge. Some days Fenris wouldn’t entertain Anders with an answer, just ignore him and continue walking. Other days, he’d snap and say it was none of his business and that he regrets his actions, but it was for the good. But today, he simply had no patience. The man he loved had flirted and even danced with death today, and now lay perhaps barely alive in his bed upstairs and Anders just kept. Pushing. Buttons.

“Alright, alright! His organs are delicately back together, but any wrong movement that stress them could rip them open again. Think of it like an unwelcoming present from your mother you don’t want to open. His arm’s bone is also delicately healed, he must be careful to not strain it. His ribs, healed, may have trouble breathing a little bit.” Anders finishes, turning his back to walk out the door. The eyebrow over Fenris’s left eye raises, he calls after Anders.

“What about his eye?” Anders sighs quietly, regret hits him along with the exhaustion. He only turns his head, avoiding eye contact with Fenris. “The… eyeball was too far back, the Arishok did too much damage to it and long story short, it isn’t there anymore.” He cringes internally at the words of the gore he had watched for the past few hours as he finally verbalizes it.

Fenris comes to the realization. “He… He is blind?” He asks quietly, gently. Anders nods. “I.. am afraid so, his other eye is fine. The other one is lost, I’d be careful not going in there if you have a queezy stomach. His right eye is all bloody, it’s gross.”

“Thank you, Anders.”

And with that, Anders left to head back to Darktown in the dead of night.

Hawke sleeps through the last few hours of the night, Fenris sits at the end of the bed and listens to the soft whimpers as Garrett accidentally hits a sensitive spot – or his eye hurts.

Fenris sneaks a glance at the injured Champion, he feels two things. Regret and disgust. He regrets not stepping in, slaying down the Arishok himself. He understands the formality of a duel and the Arishok was a very formal – and by the book, man. Yet, Garrett laid here with permanent damage to him and Fenris regrets not coming in, perhaps he could’ve minimized the damage. Perhaps, but he will never know. He feels utter disgust, these towns citizens have all just been saved by the Champion and they do not give a damn that he lays here, barely clinging to life these past agonizing, hell filled hours. They just care that they are all saved.

Fenris lays a hand on Hawke’s torn leg that still wore torn, damaged armor.

“I am proud of you. Thank you.” He slowly dozes off near the end of the bed, beside Hawke, resting just against his back.

Morning comes quick, sunshine pools into the windows and it wakes Fenris before Hawke. Fenris slowly gets up, holding his yawn in and rubs his eyes. Getting up, he walks straight to the windows and pulls the velvet curtains over, shielding the sun away. He then heads downstairs, to make some sort of meal for Garrett.

He makes the meal with ease, Bodahn and Sandal helping him prepare the small breakfast. Garrett is awake, the memory of the day before intrudes his head as he looks around his room – the view only being taken in one way. “Maker…” He groans. Everything hurts, pain is shooting through his body and his head throbs like hell. Like every morning, he brings his good hand up to his face and rubs one eye – then the other and howls.

“Maker’s balls!” He shouts, pulling his hand away and sees dried blood flutter against his skin. Horrified, he glances around the room again and notices his hand on the just healed arm was missing three fingers and half his thumb. His throat goes dry, sweat rapidly grows from his forehead and runs down, words croak out. “Wh… What the f..fuck?!” He attempts to shoot his body up, howling once more in pain as he realizes he isn’t a god, he’s a man who had just got his ass beaten by the Arishok and was needed to have a few days rest.

Fenris walks in, followed by a concerned Bodahn who was holding the meal they had prepared for over an hour. Seeing Hawke was awake and in clear pain, looking horrified, Fenris rushes over and crouches down next to him. Fenris comes to a quick realization that tears are coming down from the clouds of Garrett’s eyes.

“Maker… I probably look like some abomination, heh.” Fenris sighs, wiping the tears that fell down Hawke’s face away gently, mindful of his eye. “A handsome abomination.” Fenris adds as Bodahn settles the meal beside Garrett and exits the room silently. “Eat, you need the nutrition.”

He eats, most of the nutritious meal Fenris had prepared and is glad to feel full. Glad to feel anything but this pain and misery. “Thank you, Fen.” Fenris nods, eating the rest of the food so it doesn’t go to waste and sets it on the floor. He knows not to waste food, to ration it if you must.

“So… Am I that fucked?” Fenris looks at him with a worried look as he sits next to Hawke. His shoulders lift up then down quickly, a shrug. “It depends what you classify as fucked.” Garrett looks unamused as he points to his eye and lifts his nearly fingerless hand. “That, is what I classify as fucked.”

It was time to break the bad news. “Well, the mage says you are permanently blind in the eye as your… source of vision was so deep, and I guess he removed it, I’m not too sure. And your hand – the fingers will grow back, give it time.” Garrett winces. “So… I gotta walk around town, saving the people looking like a horror.

Finally, Fenris could wear a smile on his face.

A small smile tugs at his lips as he pulls out a red piece of fabric from a pocket in his tunic. “This… you could wear over your eye.” It was red, the same shade of red as the scarf that Fenris wore around his wrist after the night he and Hawke had, where he left afterwards. They matched. Garrett nodded, silently giving Fenris the ‘go’ to put on the matching fabric on.

The warrior gets up, goes behind Hawke and skillfully – not terribly gently, ties the red piece of fabric over his eye, hiding the horror from everyone and instead replaced it with something with much more meaning. “It is not an Orlesian eye mask but,” Fenris shrugs. “It is nice.” Garrett chuckles.

“Thanks, Fen. I appreciate it.”

Fenris nor Garrett stop him from Fenris placing his hand connected to the wrist that had the red scarf tied around his wrist over Hawke’s chest, and pressing a very soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

“I’m proud, Hawke.” The words Garrett had been aching to here for the long years he had been in Kirkwall, he finally hears them from the man he longs to have and desperately loves, and tears are once again brought to his eyes.