#like she would tell Merrill some stuff but it would take a Long Time and A Lot for her to talk about the Dreadwolf stuff

[hannahwdraws]

Just a couple of girls from The Free Marches

"I can't believe the girl I taught to weave flowers at the Arlathvhen grew up to be the 'fearsome' Inquisitor."

"I can't believe Varric didn't put two and two together sooner that we might have already known each other."

"Try not to blame him, you're so different from the girl I knew from back then."

"I'm still just a Dalish girl from The Marches"

[thiefbird]

Happy Friday! I'm not sure what pairings you're into but since I saw your blog title was Anders Trash, how about "[They] looked into my eyes and uttered four simple words. Those words changed everything." for him?

Happy Friday! This one is long and bittersweet: Kanders and pre m!Handers for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

Hawke had stopped in at the Darktown clinic on his way back from the Wounded Coast, as usual, pockets and pack filled near to bursting with threadbare scavenged clothes and herbs. He'd offered Anders coin, too, when he'd gotten his first profits from the Bone Pit, but the man steadfastly refused any pay but his cut of any work he tagged along for.

Hawke probably would have found his refusal irritating if he hadn't been head over heels in love with him, but he'd long since accepted that he was incapable of being objective where Anders was concerned, so he called it selfless, and chose to hunt down and carry pounds and pounds of elfroot, embrium, and orichalcum back from each journey out of the city.

It was a rare quiet day in the clinic; good weather meant that there were less illnesses, and less accidents from slipping on wet stone. Lirene was rolling bandages--made from previous selections of torn trousers--in the corner, and against the back wall, Anders was bent over a fire, stirring a small pot of simmering green liquid.

He looked back over his shoulder at the clank of Hawke dropping his helmet on a cot, and smiled warmly. "The wandering hero returns! How was the coast?" he asked, pulling the potion off the fire with his bare hands.

Hawke cringed, even as he recognized the pattern of frost protecting Anders' palms. "Less bandit-y than it was a week ago, at the very least. Less full of herbs, too: between myself and Merrill, I think we picked a tree's worth of elfroot," Hawke joked, slipping his pack off his shoulder and dropping it, exaggerating the effort it took to hold it.

Anders' eyes widened as he saw the bulging pack. "Tell me that's not all elfroot, Hawke," he muttered, setting his pot on a flat stone and moving to take a closer look. "I don't know if I have enough space to dry that much."

"No, not all. Found you some stuff to turn into rags and bandages, too, and the orichalcuk and embrium you needed." He paused, hand in his pocket as he debated with himself, as he had the entire walk back.

Merrill had been the first to spot it, crouching in thy grass to peer curiously at the tiny white flowers. "I've never seen these before!" she'd said, waving Hawke and Varric over. "Is it useful? It's very pretty!"

Hawke had recognized the white petals and red center from his father's botanical compendium, the one he'd stolen from the Gallows the night he'd eloped with Leandra. "It's Andraste’s Grace, I think. It, uh... it's not really useful for humans, but it can be used in a potion that can cure the Taint in mabari."

Merrill had looked a little disappointed as she slowly straightened up. "I guess we had better leave it, then," she'd murmured reluctantly. "If we can't use it."

Varric made a soft noise in the back of his throat, and deftly plucked one of the myriad blossoms. "Nonsense, Daisy. No one said you can only have useful flowers." He bowed dramatically, holding the flower towards her, and Merrill giggled as she took it from him.

"Thank you, Varric. Do you think Anders would like some? He spends so much time in his clinic, and i know it's in the nicer part of Darktown, not the very sewery bit, but I think some flowers would help."

And that was how Hawke came to be standing awkwardly in Anders' clinic, a bouquet of Andraste’s Grace oh-so-carefully tucked in a pocket, the image of a nobleman preparing to court a blushing maid. The idea was so ridiculous he nearly left, but...

No. He wouldn't back out now. He couldn't. Knowing his luck, Merrill would ask Anders if he'd liked the bouquet, and that would be worse.

"I also found these," he muttered, pulling the small, brilliantly white flowers from his pocket as he carefully avoided Anders' eyes. "Andraste’s Grace. I- we- Merrill and I thought they might cheer up the clinic."

There was a too-long pause, and Hawke risked a passing glance at Anders' face. The older man's expression was indecipherable, and Hawke felt himself flush. "If you don't like them, or you're allergic, or... I'll just leave. I'm sorry," he mumbled, turning towards the door. Maybe he'd forgotten some important meaning in the years since he'd read about them, and he'd just told Anders to go to the Void, or threatened to burn him like the flowers' namesake.

"No, no, wait. Hawke!" Anders called, voice cracking miserably on his name. "They're beautiful. I just..."

Another quick glance up from the floor revealed the unmistakable gleam of unshed years in Anders' eyes as the mage dropped into his rickety chair. "They were his favorite flowers. Karl's. He'd found a clump the day his magic manifested."

Hawke swallowed down the instinctive groan of self-loathing. Trust him to pick the most emotionally loaded bouquet in the all of Thedas. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be," Anders said after clearing his throat. "I've... I've never seen any in person. They really are beautiful...

"He always said he'd find a way to give me one, once we got out. Fanciful plans, realistic ones, they all had that in common: once we were free, really free, we would find Andraste’s Grace." He choked on a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob, and absently spun the lyrium-banded ring he'd taken from Karl's corpse.

Hawke stepped closer, setting the bundle of tiny flowers on the desk in front of Anders. "You were planning to run?"

Anders chuckled humorless. "I'd already run five or six times before that. They always caught me again; phylacteries are a crueler evil than any blood magic Merrill or Surana could ever wield. But this time, this time we were going to run together.

"One of the Templars thought it was romantic," Anders continued, spite tingeing his voice. "She said she'd leave a door to the outside unlocked for us. We'd go north, Tevinter or Rivain, somewhere the Chantry couldn't get us, and we'd be free."

Hawke didn't want to ask. He'd been there for the ending of this story, that horrible, heartbreaking night. But he'd never heard Anders talk about Karl before. "What happened?" he asked, barely louder than a whisper.

Anders didn't answer immediately, brushing his thumb back and forth over the petals. "Changed her mind. Told the Knight-Commander, the First Enchanter. Told them we were- that we planned to run. They sent him to the Gallows that night; he didn't even get to pack.

"She was the one who told me. The next morning; she woke me up, stood over me in my bed. She looked me in the eyes and said four simple words. 'Thekla's left for Kirkwall.' Those words changed everything."

Finally, Anders picked up the flowers, holding them to his face and inhaling their delicate scent. "We're free, Karl," he whispered, barely audible; Hawke felt like the intruding third wheel to Anders and his overwhelming grief. "We're free of them for good, and I have Andraste's Grace."]

[greypetrel]

♦ for anyone?

Hello there! Thanks for asking! :D

Tis the prompt list

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

Alyra: She is a clean freak. Will jump in a river at the first ever occasion, will stop after a battle to clean her weapons because hell no she's not slipping her daggers in the scabbard like that. She was grown Dalish, sure, but she is extremely suspicious of the five seconds rule. If something fell on the ground, why should you eat it. She accepted the idea of shoes better than Aisling for this.

As for her hobby: she took the Bard thing from Leliana in strides. She's more of a spy than an entertainer -she is a nice mezzosoprano-, and she likes to compose... But just drinking songs. Her masterpieces include "What do we do with a drunken Warden" (composed with Zevran that one time they managed to recreate Spritz), "Small pints make Mythal cry" (Mythal can be substitute with the Maker, according to the occasion) and "Those sweet Dalish brews". She also quite likes carving figures and decorations on wood.

Raina: She won't throw away food. Food poisoning because you're eating some stale food is, for her, preferrable to wasting. It's not even a question. All her friends try to stop her, nobody really managed. Also, she can't cope with doing just one thing at once, she'll grow restless and jump on her seat and become annoying if her hands aren't busy doing something else in the meanwhile.

As a hobby, she is a pretty good knitter. Will not gift anything that she didn't knit herself. She has a good eye to guess sizes and measures.

She loves to sing, but she's terrible at it.

Garrett: He doesn't face confrontation if he hasn't a clear mind over it. He's easy-going, even more than Raina, but when he's angry or upset... He will isolate and refuse to even admit he's feeling bad. Will find some solitary corner to think about it and understand exactly what he's feeling and why, and then face the conversation with a clear head. He's just private (and the one that in a Modern AU would willingly enter therapy).

He likes gardening. He was fine in the farm and loved to take care of the plants. Would name you every green thing around, asked Merril to teach him to forage, has tomatoes in the back garden in the mansion.

Aisling: She hates shoes. Can't function with them, hates the hell out of them. She doesn't understand socks either. Why would anyone want to have their feet compressed is beyond her. She will pick stuff fallen on the ground with her toes. Also, when she's nervous she starts to tap her thumb against her fingers in a precise sequence. It was, originally, an exercise the Keeper taught her and Pavyn to guess whether it was the Fade or not, she committed it to memory so much that it just became a way to ground herself and calm down.

Beside experimenting on magic just because and playing Mythbusters with Dorian, and horses, she likes to draw. She's absolutely terrible at it, has no intention of learning some anatomy whatsoever. But she loves it. Her personal letters are filled with doodles. The more doodles you receive, the more she likes you.

And music. She will sing as she works, when she's happy. She's a decent singer, but won't sing if she's the only one to do it. She loves to dance, and it's pretty good at it.

Radha: She doesn't like to speak much. She's not non-verbal, but she just enjoys listening more. Every single word she says is deeply thought of and meant. Between all the characters, she's the one who'll like the Game the least: saying one thing to mean another for her is just... A waste of words. If she tells you she likes you, it's because she does. It makes her come off as aloof and haughty when she really isn't so, and makes her seem unfriendly. She doesn't wear skirts, doesn't like skirts, she finds them extremely uncomfortable on herself, and also hair. She struggles a lot with her hair, it's curly and she doesn't like how long it takes to take properly care of it. She chopped it all off once and never got back from sporting longer hair on top of her head (it doesn't reach her ears), and an undercut on the sides.

She loves to read. She will read anything and everything. She has a preference for non-fiction and history in particular, and the thing that she really adores about Skyhold is the library. The most books that reaches the Keep are on her request. She will also read people, but if you have a good enough set of historical anecdotes to tell she will like you.

She won't sing to save her life, but is a decent dancer when she puts her mind to it (she's extremely picky in her choice of partners, usually it was Aisling dragging her to dance, or close friends). Before injuring her hands, she was more than a decent lute player.

[a-drama-addict]

Ooo how bout 💪, 🧠, 💌, and if you wanna 💞, for Tavish, Dari, and Chloe? :3

[ask game] thanks for the ask laya!! HELL YEAH RAMBLE TIME

💪 : What is your OC’s most physically attractive attribute? 

Tavish: I would say his hair! That's the one physical attribute he puts the most time in, he really makes a point to take care of it.

Da'revas: His eyes definitely. His eyes are a really soft hazel green, with a sort of friendliness that shines through them. He's a person that really smiles with his eyes, yknow? They got a sparkle that attracts people.

Chloe: Tough one, tough one, but I'd say her arms. I know most people are suckers for strong, toned arms. Or I'd say her nose, she has a pretty big, strong nose but it compliments the rest of her face super well!

🧠 : What is your OC’s most mentally attractive attribute?

Tavish: His inquisitive side, for sure. His lack of knowledge about the surface world really made his curious/inquisitive side show. His desire to learn about things he doesn't know is really strong and a lot of people are drawn to that curiosity

Da'revas: Oh his compassion DEFINITELY. He is always really understanding and respectful, always trying to be there for a person if he can tell they're not doing well.

Chloe: I think her wittiness definitely draws a lot of people to her. Some people may not appreciate the blunt jokes, or the snide remarks or any of her sass, but her wit overall garners a lot of fans.

💌 : How would they plan a romantic evening for a significant other?

Tavish: He's rather.. blunt to say the least. Literally walking up to them going; "I've planned something for you. Come." Not the most romantic way to do it, but the things he has planned are always the part that make it worthwhile. They're pretty cheesy cliche things like fancy restaurants, going for a walk during sunset, things like that. He'll also always get flowers or another kind of gift. Gentleman, truly.

Da'revas: Oh he hides it, up until the very last moment. Casually going "Oh hey, the restaurant we're going to is a 15 minute walk, wanna go already?" With the most smug expression ever. He has a pretty good poker face and is pretty good at hiding that kinda stuff, so it is usually a surprise! He is also big fan of going to restaurants or taverns, but if it's something special he usually organizes something at home. Feels more personal, and he likes that feeling.

Chloe: She takes weeks to plan a date. No like, literal weeks. She won't plan it out in exact detail but most things? Planned out. She always does things over the top, but not over the top enough that it's overwhelming. She likes making food herself, going on picnics, spoiling her partner. One of the benefits of rising to nobility, becoming a champion and murdering gangs with 2 silver each has to perk of money! (So YOU can spoil your partner and friends!)

💞 : Do they treat sex casually or do they view it as something with a lot of emotional weight?

Tavish: He's pretty okay with treating sex casually, he comes from a culture were sex for a big part really is in the hopes to reproduce so he feels that the need for a lot of emotional weight isn't always necessary. (Though he does like the feeling of said emotional weight to it)

Da'revas: Mixed feelings. He had a pretty long term relationship pre-Blight (shoutout to Tamlen and Merrill) so he had a lot of emotional weight with it in mind. But with Morrigan at first it was just casual. He was PRETTY conflicted on how he feels about it. He still is to be honest, but he's pretty fine with both, her prefers the emotional weight sometimes though.

Chloe: Casual sex is a-okay in her book. She didn't mind casual sex at all, hadn't really had it with an emotional weight. Up until Isabela and her got serious she didn't have emotionally weighted intimacy. She just really went with what her mind tells her is right for the scenario/person.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Ignore career advice from established writers

“Breaking In,” is my latest column for Locus Magazine; it’s both the story of how I broke into science fiction, and an explanation of why there’s so little to learn from that story.

https://locusmag.com/2021/09/cory-doctorow-breaking-in/

When I was trying to sell my first stories, I obsessively sought career advice and memoirs from established writers. I sat in on countless sf convention panels in which bestselling writers explained how they’d butter up long-dead editors to sell to long-defunct publications.

None of them ever mentioned that as interesting as this stuff might be as an historical artifact, it had zero applicability to the market I was trying to break into.

Not only did these writers enter a fundamentally different — and long-extinct publishing world than the current one, but their relationship to the current market was fundamentally different from my own.

Editors solicited work from them, not the other way around. When they wrote something on spec, they could directly contact editors with whom they’d had long and fruitful professional associations — bypassing the who “slush reader” apparatus.

I don’t know if these established writers failed to mention that none of this applied to the would-be writers in the audience because they thought it was obvious or because it never occurred to them, but either way, it didn’t do me a lick of good.

What worked for me? Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? What worked for me won’t work for you. Not only was my path into the field pretty idiosyncratic — any generally applicable principle to be derived from it has been obsolete for decades.

But some things don’t change. I benefited immensely from the kindness — sometimes protracted, sometimes momentary — of writers who spoke to youth groups, served as writers-in-residence, guest-lectured to my summer D&D camp.

Above all, I benefited from Judith Merril, a towering writer, critic and editor who went into voluntary exile in Toronto after the Chicago police riots of 1968, and opened the Spaced Out Library, now the Merril Collection, the largest public sf reference library in the world.

Judy didn’t just serve as writer-in-residence, reading my manuscripts when I took the subway downtown to give them to her. She also did writer-in-the-schools programs, founding serious writers’ workshops that endured for decades.

My high-school workshop was one such; I kept attending it for years after I graduated (I wasn’t alone). Judy also steered the writers she critiqued into peer groups, like the still-thriving Cecil Street Irregulars, which I joined in the early 1990s.

Other writers were likewise kind and generous with their time. Tanya Huff worked behind the counter at Bakka bookstore; she sold me the first sf novel I ever bought with my own money (H Beam Piper’s Little Fuzzy).

Tanya was immensely patient with me, and even read manuscripts I shyly brought down to the store, giving me encouraging — but unflinching — feedback. When Tayna quit to write full time, I got her job in the store.

Ed Llewellyn and Ed Greenwood were guest speakers at the D&D summer camp I attended. Both were incredibly encouraging when I approached them after their talks to tell them I wanted to write.

Parke Godwin was guest of honor at the first con I ever volunteered at; when I brought him his coffee, he patiently listened to me as I told him I wanted to write and took me seriously, telling me about the importance of good habits.

These writers didn’t have any career advice for me per se, but I wouldn’t have had a career without them — without them taking me seriously, even at a very young age. I try to pay them forward, by encouraging the young writers in my own path:

https://doctorow.medium.com/why-bother-f3e8416899cc

As to commercial advice, there’s very little I can offer, I’m afraid. I like Heinlein’s advice (“1. Write. 2. Finish. 3. Submit. 4. Revise to editorial spec.”).

I have a general method (“Find publications that feature work like yours, research their submission process, send your story to the highest-paying ones first”).

As for specific market advice, that’s something that you should get from peers, not the people who came before you. When I was starting out, other would-be writers and I obsessively shared notes on new markets, editorial tastes, and other nuts-and-bolts.

Writers who are at the same place in their development as you have advice that is far more likely to be applicable to your situation. What’s more, they’re also the kinds of writers you should be seeking out to join in a critiquing group — your peers.

The reality is that “breaking in” is a grind. It took me a decade from my first submission to my first professional publication; 19 years before my first novel hit the shelves.

Perseverance is the greatest predictor of success here, and support from your peers is the best source of strength and resiliency over that long road.

[barbex]

@midnightprelude this is all your fault, a dorianders fic. This is for @30daysofdorian

Dorian x Anders, in Skyhold.

Tempted Tevinter

“Have you heard?”

Dorian changes the angle of his head slightly to listen to a former chantry sister and a former circle mage talking behind a column in the garden. They have many “formers” here now, and quite a few unusual friendships have sprouted in this strange hotbed of Skyhold. Dorian has found himself in a disturbingly nice friendship with a dalish mage, a qunari mercenary, and a former knight of the templar order, of all things. A chantry sister and a circle mage sticking their heads together in gentle familiarity is not even that unusual.

“What have I heard?”

“They got him, the rebel.”

“Which one? They’re all apostates now if you listen to the Chantry.” There is a beat of intense silence, for which Dorian can vividly imagine the scrutinizing look the mage gives his friend. “I don’t mean that I listen to the Chantry, you know that.”

The mage clears his throat and holds a dramatic pause before he reveals his knowledge. “It’s Anders, the rebel-mage who blew up the Chantry of Kirkwall.”

“Maker! I thought he was dead. How did they find him?”

“He found us, he came to the Inquisition on his own. Walked up to the gate, said who he is and asked to be let in. They didn’t believe him at first, but they called the Commander over and he recognized him.”

“By Andraste’s heart, he didn’t kill him outright?”

“Welling said the Commander went totally still. His voice was barely more than a whisper when he ordered him to be arrested.”

“When the Commander gets quiet like that —”

“— you know that he’s really angry.”

Dorian closes his book and quietly leaves his secluded corner of the garden. News like these are too interesting to keep working on old tevinter tomes. His steps take him back into the main hall, guided by the cacophony of angry voices yelling over each other. He keeps himself to the shadows, casting a light illusion spell over himself to stay hidden and studies the scene before him.

Inquisitor Lavellan sits on the floor in front of her throne, Varric stands on the step leading up to the throne and Cullen paces around them, stomping up and down the stairs. Josephine leans against the backrest of the throne, frowning at the Commander but keeping quiet. The Commander and Varric are not quite yelling, both of them aware how much Lavellan and Josephine hate yelling, but their tempers are too high to speak reasonably.

Cullen points his finger at Varric, even though he obviously speaks for Lavellan’s benefit. “He doesn’t even deny that he’s guilty, he should be put on trial.”

“And then what?” Varric yells back. “Do you know what kind of figure he is for the mages here? He’s a spirit of guidance by now, they worship him.”

“He still should be punished!” Cullen turns to Lavellan, lowering his voice a little when he catches her frown. “People died, not only in the explosion but also in the aftermath's chaos.” He turns back to Varric. “You should know that.”

Varric pinches the bridge of his nose and then looks up as if he wants to ask for help from the Maker himself. “You know, if you’d asked me maybe six or seven weeks ago, I would have agreed with you. But now, after seeing those templars...”

Tingling under his skin tells Dorian that his illusion spell is running out, and he uses the last bit of stealth to slip past the guard through the door that leads to the dungeon. The air is wet and strangely warm down here from the many hot springs that warm the castle through ingenious plumbing. He steps carefully on the wet stairs; he wouldn’t be the first one to slip here and tumble down.

The guard at the prison cells raises his eyebrow but only nods. Dorian is well known by now as belonging to the so-called inner circle and the days of him being questioned at every step as the evil magister from Tevinter are finally gone. Mostly.

He walks toward the cell with a glowing lock in front. Of course they would use a magic lock for a mage. Looking into the cell through the bars, he sees a slim figure in filthy clothes, leaning back on a stool so that his long, greasy hair sticks to the stones of the cell. Dorian wonders if the man is asleep when he suddenly speaks.

“Well, your’re not a templar.” Dark eyes turn to Dorian, studying him. “Tevinter mage, if I can guess.”

“Guessed correctly, I’m impressed. People usually go for evil magister first.”

Anders grins and Dorian is struck with the impression that all that dirt and greasy hair hides a beautiful man.

Anders touches the metal ring around his throat, a magic suppressing collar. “Can I have another guess? I owe this thing to your expertise.”

Dorian laughs out. “Correct again. I wasn’t convinced that the southern way of lacing food and water with magebane was the best way of going about suppressing magic. Magebane is nasty stuff and poisonous in the long run.”

“And we wouldn’t want to do unhealthy things to mages,” Anders growls bitterly. “I’m sure your fellow mages love you for this.”

Dorian shrugs. “I’m from Tevinter, I’m the first one to tell you of the marvelous and terrible things an angry mage can do. Ask me about time magic sometimes.”

Anders gets up from the stool and walks towards the bars. He is taller than Dorian and despite looking like he hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks, there’s an air of strength and confidence about him that has Dorian take a step back. “Why did you come here? You knew they would arrest you. The Commander seems to know you personally.”

“Curly? Oh, yes.”

Dorian snorts in surprise. “Curly? You call Cullen Curly?”

“Well, Hawke did, and Varric.”

“I must ask Varric why he never told me that.”

“Varric is here too? He just can’t stay out of shit, can he?” Anders wipes the hair from his face, leaving dark streaks on his face. “Cullen, Varric, anybody else here from Kirkwall? Merrill maybe? Dalish elf who knows too much about ancient magic she shouldn’t touch?”

Dorian pulls a handkerchief from his belt and wets it in water that springs from the wall. He hands the cloth to Anders, indicating that he should clean his face. “Never heard of a Merrill, we have Solas for that kind of job.”

Anders cleans his face, revealing a kind face with warm eyes and a cheeky grin in red stubble. “There, pretty enough for you now?”

Dorian lays his head to the side and puts his hand under his chin. “I’m afraid the unwashed hair and coat takes away from the overall effect.”

A smile spreads on Anders’ face and he uses the wet cloth to wipe over his hair, brushing it to the back of his head. The grease keeps it slicked back, and he looks surprisingly serious now, were it not for his smile. The smile makes him look young, daring even, with a livelihood about him that someone in his situation should not even have.

“You are quite beautiful,” Dorian blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Thanks.” Anders turns a bit, draping himself over the bars of his cell as if he’s on display, stretching his arm up and behind him and arching his back.

The whole pose reminds Dorian of body-slaves displaying themselves at one of the many parties he attended. Parties he loved to attend with all their pleasures. Nausea rises in him at the memories. “I would prefer if you didn’t do that,” he presses out between clenched teeth.

Anders looks at him and drops the pose, simply leaning against a bar of the gate. “Can you blame me?”

Dorian steps closer, watching Anders’ brown eyes widen. “Blame you for what?”

“I’ll tell you if you come closer.” Anders looks through the bars, his hands on either side of his face.

Dorian hesitates only a little. He’s one of the best trained mages here and the collar suppresses Anders’ magic, he isn’t a threat. Dorian takes another step closer until he stands right in front of the bars, his nose almost touching Anders’. He studies Anders’ face, the harsh lines carved into it from an equally harsh life, the warm eyes glittering with mischief.

“Closer,” Anders whispers, and when Dorian leans forward, he catches his mouth with his lips, brushing a kiss over it. He suckles on Dorian’s lower lip and then leans back. “Well.” He takes a long breath. “Can you blame me for trying to influence my jailor in my favor?”

Dorian jerks back. “I’m not your jailor.”

Anders laughs out and grabs the collar with both hands. “Certainly looks like it.”

Dorian opens his mouth for a retort when Anders’ hands begin to glow in blue, light traveling up his arms like lightning, and with high pitched noise, the collar snaps in two. Anders throws the pieces through the bars at Dorian’s feet and sits back down on the stool.

“I came here by my own will, I won’t be using magic to fight.” He leans his head back against the wet stone wall and closes his eyes. “I’ve accepted my fate and I’ll accept the judgement.”

“Fasta vass. How did you do that? It should have been impossible.” Dorian steps closer again, regardless of the danger of the unshackled mage in the cell. “Is it that spirit you merged with?”

“Justice is gone.” For the blink of an eye he looks like he is about to cry but he schools his face again. “But he left me with some kind of residue. And I was never...” He trails off, looking into the distance far beyond of his cell’s walls.

Dorian steps right up to the bars. “That’s remarkable. I need to study this, your magic.”

Turning his head, Anders grins at him. “Maybe you should talk to your inquisitor that you need me as a test subject to experiment on.”

“No!” Dorian shouts, his own reaction surprising him, the visceral recoil at this suggestion. “That’s not what I want.” In his imagination, Anders stands by his side as they study the text of an ancient book, flinging spells at each other, laughing, kissing, holding each other. The intense longing in his chest for this idea to become reality has him holding his breath in shock.

Something must have shown on his face because Anders looks at him confused. He shakes his head and leans back again. “Well, pretty jailor, please let me know soon how they’re going to kill me.”

Dorian turns around and storms out of the dungeon. Nobody will kill this man, he'll make sure of that.

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solavellan (Modern AU)

Ch Rating: T

Ch WC: 2169

AO3

Chapter 7

Another day at the office. Editing, emails and the ever elusive caller that enables equal opportunities for playing phone tag. A game Solas never enjoys participating in. The morning slides by and Varric is at his desk, twirling his keys around his finger.

“Lunch?”

Solas glances up and sighs. “I’m trying to get a hold of Seeker Pentaghast. Sera said she had more info on an agent that might have a lead on Crystal Red.”

“That sounds like a lot of maybes and probablys and a whole lot of I don’t give a fuck. You’re allowed to take a break and get some lunch.”

“What if they call while I’m away?”

“They can leave a message. Now let’s get out of here before we don’t have any time at all for food.”

Solas shoves back his chair and follows Varric. “I did pack a lunch today,” he mentions.

“Save it for tomorrow then. I’m craving some street tacos and there’s a truck just up the road. I’ll buy so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I am less concerned about finances and more concerned about getting food from a truck.”

“Ah, live a little Chuckles,” Varric says as he gives Solas a whack on the back.

“If living a little, as you say, means spending two days on the toilet. Perhaps I do not wish to live a little.”

“Well come with me and grab something else. I’m sure there’s something you’d find worthy of your tastes nearby.”

A half hour later and Solas is holding a taco that’s worth the regret he’ll experience from his future self. Some chipotle mayo dribbles down his chin and he swipes it away while pulling out his phone.

He checks his messages. One from Sarya and one from Veda. He taps on the one from Veda first.

Connor went home sick. Pick me up after school today?

He checks the time and swears. How did he not realize he took such a late lunch? She needs to be picked up right now. He dials her number as he stuffs his arms into his coat.

“Veda needs to be picked up,” he tells Varric as he shoves the remainder of his taco in his mouth.

“Got you covered,” Varric replies.

He mumbles a garbled, “thanks” then takes off down the street. Solas is just a block away from his car in the parking garage when she picks up.

“Hey papae!”

“Hello. I apologize. I just now saw your text. I will be late.”

“No worries. I can always watch the band practice until you get here.”

“I will be there soon.”

“Okie doke.”

He says he loves her and hangs up. Sprints the rest of the way down the street, half choking and wishing he’d at least drank some water but makes his way to his little car without incident. He hops inside. Starts it and zooms out of the garage. He’s speeding which has him checking his rear view mirror constantly. But of course, the city has a million stop lights and he hits every red one. He gets to her school later than he ever intended.

He parks, shoving his glasses all the way up his nose, and searches for Veda at the stadium. He spots her in the bleachers, chin resting in her hands and her copper braids coming undone in the breeze. He takes the stairs to meet her two at a time.

“I am so sorry to make you wait,” he says as he wraps her in his arms.

“Seriously, papae. It’s not a problem at all.”

“But what if it had rained? Or stormed like yesterday?”

“I would’ve just stayed inside. Besides, that didn’t happen.”

He sighs, berating himself a little internally. Then he walks with her back to the car. Slides in and clicks his seatbelt in place.

“What’s this?” Veda asks.

Solas glances over at her. She has Sarya’s camera in her hands. He hadn’t even noticed it there. He calmly says, “a camera.”

“Pssh, obviously. But I don’t remember you having a camera.”

“It’s a friend’s,” he says. “We went out for lunch and they must’ve left it.”

“Oh,” she says. “How was work today?” She’s still fiddling with the camera.

“It was work,” he says. Thankfully she easily dropped the subject. “Not much was accomplished.”

She gasps. “Your friend is so pretty. You’ve never mentioned her before. New coworker?”

“No. Just a new friend I met.”

“She looks familiar—and she’s a wonderful photographer. Maybe we should have her take some pictures of us. We haven’t updated our family photos since I was ten.”

“That’s a wonderful idea Veda. However, my friend is only visiting for a short while. I’m not sure there would be enough time to squeeze some family photos in.”

“Bummer. You look so happy around her.”

“I don’t always look happy?”

“You look a different kind of happy with her. It’s nice.”

He takes her words and holds them close to her chest. “Anything interesting happen at school today?”

“Yeah,” she says, then she unloads a multitude of stories. How one of her friends got their tooth knocked out by a basketball in gym. How she accidentally used Elvhen in her Tevene class and didn’t notice until the whole class was just staring at her.

“Did you feel embarrassed?” he asks as they pull into the garage.

“A little. But I mostly found it funny. The way the other kids looked so confused.”

“Does anyone treat you differently when you speak Elvhen?”

She shrugs. “There’s a couple of kids who say stupid things but I don’t hang around them.”

“Veda, I’m happy to speak with the administration if your having trouble with other students—“

“While I appreciate that, I can handle a couple of kids who are jerks.”

“Very well but if you ever—“

“I know.” She slings her backpack in her back then kisses his cheek. “Can I go to Varric’s house? I want to see the cats and hang out with Cole for a bit.”

“Yes, so long as you check with—“

“Already did.” She steps out of the car. “Going to drop my stuff off inside then I’ll see you later.”

“Text me when you want to leave. I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay. See you later, papae.”

Solas sighs. He’s glad she still talks to him and he still gets to see her but there’s also this tiny ache in his chest that misses her always being around the house. But he reminds himself that this is a good thing. It’s just new and he pulls out his phone to read his messages from Sarya.

Hey I’m going to try and stop by your work around 3:15 today.

I stopped by your work but you weren’t there. Saw Varric though! He introduced me to everyone and it was fun! I really like Sera. She’s hilarious! And Merrill was so sweet! Anyway, hopefully I’ll see you sometime soon. 😉

—

“I fold,” Sarya says, she takes a drag from her cigarillo. Then throws her cards face up on the table.

“Already?” Han asks. “What a shame.”

“Your mind must be elsewhere, Sarya. I’ve never known you to throw a game,” Vilanti says as she shows her cards.

Han takes the game and lets out a whoop as he gathers them all to shuffle.

“I still can’t believe Dallen just up and left us. Did he say anything to either of you? About his plans.”

Both of them shake their heads.

“It’s really odd.”

“I don’t know why you care. Easier to keep yourself from using him. Easier for him to be happy this way,” Han says.

“Ouch,” Vilanti grimaces, then gestures for all the cards to be handed over. She shuffles.

“I do agree with that actually. It’s just that most who move on from our happy little family tend to give us more of a notice. We didn’t get to give him a proper goodbye.”

“I don’t mean to sound callous here Sarya, but you were the only one who cared about the guy. Makes sense why he moved on.” Vilanti deals.

Sarya picks up her hand and stares straight through the cards. “That’s not true.”

“Basically,” Han argues. He draws a card.

“Sometimes you both are mean.”

“Not mean. Just honest,” Han says.

Vilanti draws. “On another note, I heard Makon made a new friend today.”

“What?” Sarya nearly drops her cards. “Our Makon? Makon—stoic, quiet, unsociable Makon?”

“Yep. Met her at the gas station. She was passing through on her way to Wycome and her motorcycle broke down. He fixed it up for her on the spot and they exchanged numbers I guess.”

“What the fuck?”

“Good for him,” Han says.

Sarya draws a card. “Yeah, seriously. I hope that works out.”

“Our next gig is in Wycome and he plans to see her then.”

“Was it love at first sight or something?” Sarya asks. She folds and picks her cigarillo back up. Her interest in cards declining by the second.

Vilanti shrugs and plays her cards, taking the game. “By the way he keeps talking about her, I’d say yes.”

“What’s her name,” Han asks, gathering all the cards into a pile.

“Athi. Athi Lavellan.”

“Another Lavellan huh?”

“Guess so. Maybe she’s related to you two,” Vilanti says.

“Doubt it. Or if she is, it’s very distant,” Han says.

In the distance they hear yelling and smashing bottles. They all exchange looks.

“Wonder who the hell set Deshanna off—“

“Let’s go see if we can smooth things over,” Han says with a sigh.

“You two can go. I’ll probably make things worse. I don’t think he likes me much.”

“That’s because you push his buttons. Definitely better for you to stay here,” Han tells her.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Then she waves at them as they slip out the door and finishes off her cigarillo.

—

It’s dark and quiet and Sarya gazes longingly out the window at a small patch of stars. The only patch not hidden by the clouds. She sighs and startles at the sound of knocking. Straightening herself out, she rubs the redness from her elbows and opens the door.

“Solas,” she says it like she’s expecting him but she’s truly surprised. She steps out with him, shutting the door behind her.

“You forgot your camera,” he tells her, holding it out in his hands.

She takes it from him, hanging it around her neck. “Thank you. I should really start keeping better track of my things or you’re going to start thinking I’m trying to bait you or something.”

“I would bite every time,” he says, his hands clasped behind his back. There’s a certain sparkle in his eye and she can’t read him. But she knows she wants to kiss him. So without another thought, she stretches up on her toes and takes him by surprise. He is frigid and she panics, certain she has misstepped. After all, friends don’t kiss like that.

“I’m sorry,” she says, a little out of breath. “I don’t know what…”

Her words are caught on the edge of his lips as he captures her mouth again. His kiss is unreserved but not what she’d call passionate. Like the kiss of a long time lover. A kiss of promise. Of commitment. Her mind screams at her to let go while simultaneously wishing and longing for more. His leg is pressed into her inner thigh and despite the chill of the air, she’s certain she is on fire. Her nails are in his shoulder, the camera even hurts just a little as it presses into her chest, and she doesn’t mean to let out a moan but it’s too late for regrets as he pushes her against the side of her trailer. One hand above her and the other in her hair. With each breath she steals between kisses, she studies his face. Memorizes it and stores it for always. Freckles for days and the tiniest scar above his brow. The only sign of his age lies in the lines of crows feet near the edges of his eyes and she tells herself to ask if he has a skincare routine. He certainly seems the type.

She studies his closed eyelids, there’s two freckles on the right and a singular small one on the left and she notices that there’s even some red in his brows and wonders if they’d have red headed babies.

She gasps then. Pulls away. Why in the hell is she thinking of babies?

“Perhaps I should…”

“Kiss me again,” she says to him. She won’t let one ridiculous thought ruin the moment. She knows that she’s falling for him. Too fast, too soon but she’s holding on for another day.

When they break apart she doesn’t want him to go. But it’s too much to ask him to stay. So she waves goodbye then clicks her camera, saving the image of him walking away.

[emilia3546]

Shadowsinger Part 9 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

*****

Gwyn was grinning at him as she swung the door open, and crossed to the piano. She perched on the edge of the seat, letting Azriel sit more in front of the piano itself. Still, she was right next to him, and he almost leapt out of his skin when she covered his hands with her own, guiding him towards the keys as she explained the basics. She laughed at his surprise and he relaxed immediately, a shadow flitting out unbidden to explore the piano itself, before settling on Gwyn's shoulder. She grinned,

"You're the bravest one, aren't you?" Azriel could have sworn that the shadow puffed up at her words, and the others shot out to join it. "Do they really understand me?"

"Yes, and they listen to you, I've never seen them do that before, usually they're really shy, it took years for them to talk to me."

"They don't talk to me, or at least I don't understand them if they do."

"You would understand, it's like someone whispering in your ear, but its not a different language, the difficulty isn't learning to speak, but to listen." She nodded, and giggled when a shadow twirled down her arm, and skittered across the piano,

"Shoo, you're gonna get in the way," it made its back to her, hovering around her wrist as she demonstrated a simple series of notes for Azriel to copy. Even here, even dressed comfortably as she was she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen, her hair glimmered in the candlelight, and her eyes gleamed with joy at each note, especially when Azriel got it right. She was a better teacher than he was, easily, and he must have said as much because she snorted,

"I'm not sure piano lessons and self-defense are really comparable, Az. Besides, you taught us to fight," well, he'd helped Cassian teach them to fight, "And the silent stuff with me, piano's a way different skill, you teach it differently." True, and she had picked up everything he'd taught her remarkably quickly, although that was more a reflection on her than him, "Here, Az," she moved his hand slightly, "What are you thinking about?" You. He couldn't say that,

"Sorry, just," a shadow danced around, "Got distracted." Gwyn laughed,

Ask her to dinner

What? No.

Now.

Azriel sighed, and started at the sight of the clock, cauldron it was late,

"Have you seen the time? We should get to bed."

Dinner. Now.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, and almost fidgeted,

"Can I take you to dinner tomorrow? As a thank you. I know a lovely little restaurant on the Sidra, it's usually nice and quiet in the evenings." He was expecting her to say no, that she wasn't comfortable around people that much yet, but she nodded,

"Yeah, that's be lovely,"

"Six sound alright?" Gwyn nodded and grinned, she was still grinning when he left. The shadows leapt and spun around him, not calming down even when he tried to go to bed,

Does she think it's a date?

I don't know. Does it matter?

Yes. We like her. You should kiss her.

I'm not kissing her. She doesn't need another male like that. Not until she wants it.

She does want it.

Then let her make that step. I will not push her.

It's not pushing her if she wants you.

Stop it. If she makes that step then great, if not, I will not make it for her.

Azriel rolled over, and the shadows swirled slower,

Sorry. We know.

I know, you're just overexcited, we'll just wait and see how tomorrow night goes.

*****

Gwyn almost squealed when she closed the door, she could never sleep now, Azriel was taking her to dinner. She did a little circle on the spot and busied herself tidying the room until she fell exhausted into bed.

The next morning both Azriel and Cassian had been called to the River House, Nesta of course went with them, leaving Gwyn with the whole day to kill. She hadn't returned to the library in so long, just about managing to do the work Merrill sent up for her. But it was about time for her to return, at least for a bit. She carefully armed herself underneath her robe, and made her way back to the library, grinning at Clotho as she entered, who smiled back, but let her pass without stopping her.

Time wore on far too slowly for Gwyn's liking and she finished her work barely at lunchtime, making her way back up to the House without incident, and ended up exploring the rest of the House before deciding to practice her archery on her own. She kept at it for an hour, it was four o'clock, if she took a long bath she could go and start getting ready.

It didn't take two hours. She was out of the bath and dressed in one, and it took only twenty minutes to arrange her hair, half braided around her head, half falling down her back. She didn't bother with any cosmetics, she rarely did, only for formal evenings, this didn't count. The dress was loose, emerald-green, much shorter than the one she had worn to dinner before, but it matched the earrings Azriel had bought her. She'd never been one to go for daring necklines, but the back, well, there wasn't much to it, it dipped off her shoulders and plunged downwards, leaving the unbound portion of her hair to tumble down her back, swaying with each step she took. She stepped into a pair of white heels, and distracted herself by playing the piano until the knock on the door sounded.

Azriel had always been beautiful, but now, he was the most beautiful male she'd ever seen, High Lords includeddf. He wore a fairly simple, but elegant shirt, a black jacket over the top, with matching pants. He'd combed his hair, and his eyes were sparkling as he offered her a hand. He stilled when she opened the door, and Gwyn wasn't entirely sure he was breathing until she took his hand and led him to the nearest balcony,

"You look beautiful," he whispered right before scooping her up and diving into the night sky. Gwyn held back her squeal of delight at the sensation of falling, but it didn't stop,

"Az," she muttered, "Az, what are you doing?" She buried her face in his neck, squeezing him tighter as they fell, "Azriel!" She screamed, moments before his wings shot out, leaving them gliding effortlessly through the empty streets. Gwyn forced herself to lean back, and look him in the eyes, "You shit!" But she couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face, and Azriel chuckled at her false indignation,

"Oh, c'mon, I think you like a bit of adrenaline."

"Yeah, a bit. Not fear that I'm about to die because some idiot forgot how to fly." Azriel laughed at that, really laughed, and Gwyn smiled at the sound echoing around her, at the sight of his head tipped back, the wind now ruffling his hair, undoing all his work to tame it.

The restaurant was beautiful, and quiet as he'd promised, and he left her waiting just inside, shadows shielding her from view as he talked quietly to one of the waiters,

"Come on," he took her hand, leading her through to a garden at the back, right on the Sidra, the stars glittered above her head, and right in front of her, on the glassy surface of the river. The garden was all but empty, only one other table was occupied, all the way on the other side. "This okay?" Azriel muttered,

"Okay? Az, this is beautiful." She grinned, and turned back to him, her smile softening, "Thank you." No-one had ever done something like this for her before, she'd been nervous before coming out tonight, really nervous, but the moment she sat down, the moment everything else vanished, she calmed. In that moment nothing else mattered, just him.

*****

Gwyn was practically glowing in the moonlight, and Azriel hadn't missed the earrings, Neve was right, emeralds really suited her. She relaxed quickly once they sat down, smiling and laughing with every word they exchanged. His shadows refused to settle down, swirling around his feet and occasionally adding unhelpful comments. Gwyn mentioned how she loved the stars, how seeing them in the river was a new delight,

Tell her that her eyes shine like stars.

Tell her that she outshines them all.

Tell her that your love burns brighter than them all.

Azriel actually blinked at the last one,

Okay, whoa, stop now, that escalated way too quickly,

He just nodded, quickly pointing out his favorite constellations to Gwyn, and showed her a few she didn't know.

Shut up.

He hissed to the shadows, ignoring their offended comments, focusing instead on the way Gwyn's face lit up when she found a new constellation herself,

"Wait, where is it?" Azriel gently guided her chin up slightly,

"See it? Just there, the wing, and-"

"It's a pegasus!" She yelped, quickly covering her mouth as the other couple glanced over at them,

"Do you ever plan on telling me the deal with you three and pegasi?"

"That's between us and the House, Az."

"You know what, I don't think I want to know." Gwyn laughed and gazed back up at the pegasus, the stars shining in her eyes.

Gwyn was still smiling when he landed back on the balcony,

"Thank you, Az, tonight was wonderful, I'd hardly dared to think I could go outside, let alone eat at a restaurant a few months ago." He dipped his head, but smiled,

"A wonder what punching Cassian can do." Gwyn snorted,

"Satisfying as that is, it's not him that's helped me with that. Thank you." She fell silent for a moment, almost slipping away, but stepped back towards him and raised herself onto her tiptoes. Azriel held his breath as she brushed her lips against his and smiled softly at him before finally slipping away.

Every breath was a battle, every step was a battle, a battle not to follow her, not to show her exactly what a proper kiss was like. His heart was still pounding as he reached his bedroom, but he couldn't sleep, even the shadows seemed stunned into silence.

He got changed for bed. Gwyn. He washed his face. Gwyn's smile. He washed his face with cold water. Gwyn's laugh. He fluffed all the pillows. Gwyn's eyes. He sharpened the dagger under his pillow. Gwyn handing Cassian's ass to him a few days ago. He chuckled at the memory, at Cassian's shock as she tripped him, hungover and tired as he was. How Nesta had roared with laughter and congratulated her friend, leaving her mate on his ass to celebrate. How Gwyn had stared in shock as she realized she'd won. She was so beautiful.

He shook his head. Gwyn, Gwyn, Gwyn. Gods, he'd never get any sleep at this rate. Cassian's socks. Gwyn. Cassian's smelly socks. Gwyn's perfume. Illyria, camp lords. Gwyn at the top of Ramiel. He groaned and rolled sideways, burying his face in his pillow. He was absolutely fucked. This female would be the death of him. He was in such deep shit.

*****

Azriel didn't come to breakfast, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of him last night after she'd kissed him either. Maybe he was avoiding her. She shouldn't have kissed him, maybe he hadn't meant to ask her to dinner as a date, oh shit. Not even Nesta and Cassian were here, true, they could be otherwise engaged, but not likely, training was soon, they wouldn't miss it. She finished eating, and thanked the House before heading up to find someone, perhaps they had simply overslept. She reached Nesta and Cassian's room first, and her breath was sucked out of her lungs at the sight before her. There was blood everywhere. The bed was half-collapsed, as if something, no, someone had been thrown into it, the window was broken, and, her heart almost stopped. There was a note nailed to the bedposts,

You took it too far, High Lord. You have seven days to restore our freedoms, or we kill them all.

There was no signature, and Gwyn almost dropped the note out of sheer terror, someone had been here, in the House, and had taken Nesta and Cassian, and was going to kill them all. All. Azriel. She sprinted for his room, holding back a sob at the clear signs of a fight, the shattered furniture, the blood spraying across the floor. They had come right next to her room, how had she not heard anything? She could have done something. This was all her fault. She couldn't hold back the tears as she stared aimlessly into Azriel's room, always so meticulously clean, ordered, now in complete disarray. Slowly her fear and sadness hardened, solidifying into a burning rage. She was getting him back, getting them all back. But she had no idea how would have sent the note, it was daytime, to get to the River House, to show the note to Rhysand, she would have to go through crowded streets, alone.

Gwyn took a deep breath at the top of the stairs, and started down, by the time she reached the bottom she was practically flying across the ground, and she hurtled out of the door, ignoring startled looks from everyone she passed. She ran and ran, faster than she ever had before, and by the time she reached the River House her muscles were burning, screaming at her to stop, but she couldn't, something inside her forced her to keep moving. She would do anything to save them, to save Azriel.

When she burst through the doors to the River House, a servant practically leapt out of her skin,

"Where is Rhysand?" She demanded, forgetting any politeness, and followed the servant's shaking finger pointing towards what looked to be a living room. When she shoved the door open, she was faced with not just Rhysand, but Feyre as well, and Mor. She held out the note, not caring that all three of them had frozen the moment she had entered the room,

"What are you doing here, Gwyn?" Mor asked her quietly, and she just forced the note into Rhysand's hand,

"They - Azriel - Cass - Nesta," she panted for breath, unable to form words, but from the horror etched across his face, Rhysand had figured it out. Gwyn sank onto a chair opposite him and Feyre, and focused on slowing her breathing,

"When did you find this?" Rhysand breathed,

"This morning," she managed, still struggling to fill her lungs, "Who could it be from?" She didn't bother with any formality, since this was court business, she probably should, but Rhysand didn't seem to notice, or care.

"Illyria. I've been sending Cassian and Azriel to inspect the camps each week, randomly, and forcing them to train the girls, and stop any wing-clipping." She knew that, Azriel had told her about the laws, "But who exactly would take it that far I can't be sure, there's a few potential candidates."

"You know where they are then?"

"No. They could be in any number of places, that is, if they're even at a camp at all." Gwyn was hardly breathing as she surveyed his face, "I'll come with you back up to the House, maybe there was some sort of sign that you didn't recognize." Gwyn nodded, still hardly registering what Rhysand had said, but she knew what to do now, she would be able to be of some help.

*****

It was dark. So, so dark. Azriel opened his eyes only for familiar images to flood his mind, he was underground, in a familiar dungeon. He tried to surge to his feet, but his legs wouldn't obey, and he collapsed back onto the floor face-first. His head was still spinning when a dark chuckle sounded through the darkness, and he shuffled backwards as he saw the male's cold face,

"Long time no see, little brother." He sneered,

"You are not my brother." Azriel snapped, glaring at the young lord, hatred bristling within him, but he still couldn't stand, not after whatever drug had been used against him. He carefully monitored his breathing, hiding any trace of fear, and stared him down, "What do you want?" He snarled,

"Your High Lord has been crushing our freedom for too long now, at least officially. But, your damned females worrying about their husbands are making everyone else too cowardly. Even the few camp lord who haven't found ways to cope with your new damned laws have mostly let it go. Since I won't see you on a battlefield, it's about time we had you back, you've been off pretending you're not just a bastard nobody for too long." The male stepped right up to the bars of the cell, "You are going to live the life that you were meant to, and the other bastard will die." Cassian. It took five centuries of training not to let any emotion show on his face, "And his mate. Pretty little thing, I think my men will enjoy spending some time with her before I kill her too." He hadn't mentioned Gwyn, perhaps they hadn't known she was there. He had to be sure.

"So you think that kidnapping us will get Rhys to let you treat females like dirt again?" He let out a hoarse laugh, "He knows that all three of us would rather die." No reaction.

"That's irrelevant, the question is would he let you die? I think not, Cauldron knows why, but he's rather attached to you isn't he? Besides, I don't give a shit about females, I do give a shit about the arrogant little bastard who thinks he can just walk away because he's an oh so special shadowsinger. You are no-one." He was right, Azriel was nothing, no-one, but he hid every emotion, glaring at the male. Azriel was still snarling when his brother disappeared again, leaving him alone in the shadows.

He pulled himself to a sitting position, breathing slowly to calm the rush in his head before heaving himself to his feet, he almost vomited at the pain in his leg, the blood seeping through a shoddy bandage, he took several deep breaths, and set his foot on the ground. Surely they wouldn't be stupid enough to keep him here, it was too obvious. Cassian and Nesta could be anywhere. He couldn't smell them over the damp in the dungeon, couldn't smell anything. He carefully stepped towards the bars, examining them for any weaknesses, any chance that he might break them. Nothing, they must have reinforced the bars to prepare, without his siphons he couldn't break them, not without killing himself in the process.

There was no way out. He couldn't bring himself to care, if this was his fate so be it, but Cassian, and Nesta, he could never let them be trapped here. He would find a way out, for them, just for them, and Gwyn. Gwyn, who had trusted him, shit she had kissed him, and he'd left her alone. He sank to the floor again, leaning against the wall, the cold stone leaching all the warmth out of him, but he didn't notice, not as the thought of Gwyn warmed him endlessly. Shadows swirled, he had to get back to her, he would not leave her alone, never again would she be alone. Azriel studied the bars again. He was getting out. He had to.

[beelzebard]

From the Hawke asks, maybe Isabela 5, Merrill 4, Varric 2 & 3, Anders 3, and Sebastian 5?

thank you for the ask!!

Was your Hawke close with Isabela throughout the Acts of Kirkwall? Did they remain in contact with her?

They were very close in their early years, often passing jokes and sharing raunchy stories, but the situation with the Tome of Koslun definitely put the tension up really high. They got guilt tripped into letting her have it, but was relieved when she came back to return the tome.

Their relationship quickly healed over the years, and they still keep in contact with her. She sends them letters and trinkets from whatever city she happens to be in at the time, or just stuff she finds at sea.

What sort of relationship did your Hawke have with Merrill? Were they protective of her?

Atlas was wary of Merrill at first because of her blood magic, but quickly became protective of her. They worried about some of her decisions, especially with the mirror, but never tried to stop her because they knew it was her choice to make.

Was your Hawke comfortable with Varric’s story-telling hobby? Did they predict that Varric would write a story about them?

They loved Varric's storytelling, and probably encouraged it a bit more than they should've. They joked a couple of times that Varric should write a story about them after they became Champion, but they didn't think he would actually do it until they got the first published copy of The Tale of the Champion.

Did your Hawke allow Varric to keep the lyrium shard? Why or why not?

Hell no. Atlas did not trust that shit one bit. It made Bartrand leave them for dead and seeing how it immediately made Varric a bit crazy made them want to get rid of that shard as fast as possible.

What was your Hawke’s relationship with Anders like before the Chantry explosion? How did the explosion change their perception of him?

Their relationship started off well but eventually became strained over the years as Anders' mental health worsened and Justice's pull became stronger. Atlas tried to help him by bringing him food and even offering them access to the hidden passage to their estate.

Act 3 was definitely a turning point in their relationship though; Atlas knew he was hiding something from them but didn't know what, but they eventually helped Anders. They get guilt tripped too easily.

The Chantry explosion basically ruined what was left. They understood why they did it but the fact that it got Meredith to invoke the Rite of Annulment was very stressful on them. I don't know if Atlas could bring themself to kill Anders, but it would take a long time to mend their relationship if Anders lived.

Was your Hawke friendly or hostile towards Sebastian and why?

Atlas was pretty friendly towards Sebastian, and supported him staying in the Chantry because they could see that he was happy here. They also did have a bit of a crush on him, but they never pursued it because they assumed he wouldn't be interested because of Chantry rules about relationships.

[hawkeish]

3. You made me a Christmas playlist but it’s just Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is you”. I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or if it’s a joke --- for (you know it) Carver/Merrill :D

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS PROMPT IT IS FANTASTIC, here’s 1400 words of modern Carver/Merrill fluff written for @dadrunkwriting because I have no restraint and too much time <3 I hope you like it!

no CWs, but there’s some swearing (I promise my Hawke siblings love each other, in a brutal way!)

also my modern Merrill’s a postgrad studing Art History & Cultural Studies - repairing the eluvian is her research project.

read on AO3 if you want!

It’s the evening before everything shuts down for Satinalia, and it’s started to snow.

Which would be nice, if only Carver wasn’t stuck outside Merrill’s door, trying not to break a magical mirror which possesses far too many poky bits as it pokes right into his side. Fingers numb with cold, he’s too busy fumbling with the ridiculous amount of keys she gave him to appreciate the beauty of the Alienage in Firstfall. Bedecked with wreaths, shining baubles and flickering garlands of lights, the vhenadahl is like something from a fairy-tale, dusted with a gentle sigh of snow.

Snow, lights, whatever. Any other night, Carver might let himself be enchanted. But right now, he has one priority—get the damn mirror into the damn apartment without breaking it even more.

And yet here he is, falling at the first hurdle: locked out, with Merrill’s most precious possession leaning on him at an angle that’s making him nervous. It’s not exactly going well. But it needs to go well. He promised he’d get the eluvian - carefully swaddled in some enchanted cloth to “protect him”, whatever that means - from her studio at the Viscount’s College of Art back to her Lowtown home in one piece. If he doesn’t, he’s not sure what might happen. He doesn’t want to know what might happen. Her degree? Ruined. A vital piece of her people’s history? Lost. And as for Merrill herself?

She’d probably never speak to him again, and shit, he can’t think of much worse—

Click.

The random key he’s shoved in the lock twists, and the door swings open before him.

“Thank the fucking Maker,” he mumbles, then picks up the mirror and barrels into Merrill’s tiny home.

Merrill’s flat is much like Merrill. As in, modest, pretty, and filled with a frankly terrifying amount of knowledge. There are small cairns of books dotted between potted plants and thrifted armchairs, alongside art prints leaned up against walls and notebooks littering her paint-flecked desk. Though she doesn’t celebrate Satinalia, there are a couple of decorations over the tiny fireplace, too. And—is that spice he can smell?

As Carver carefully sets down the eluvian by the window in the corner like she’d instructed, he catches sight of something in his peripheral vision. Two steaming cups of wine-dark liquid set on the coffee table by the fire, and beside them, a neatly-folded note.

Curiosity gets the better of him. Carver wanders over and gingerly picks up the paper, a frown puckering his brow as he unfurls it.

C. Merrill’s handwriting is pin-point neat. I just wanted to say - I do really appreciate you doing this for me. Creators, there’s no chance I could lift that thing on my own! You really are my chevalier in shining armour. I’ll send you a little something to say thanks. M x

That x does something strange to him; a small chill runs up his spine, and Carver puts the note back down in a fluster. Just as he does, the phone in his pocket vibrates. Still frowning, he pulls it out, then squints at the text that’s screaming up at him from the too-bright screen.

alright dickhead! hope you’re having a lovely day of being a burden on society! did you get the message?

Carver doesn’t need to read the sender’s name to know it’s from his sister.

Go back to making shit coffee for people who’ll never sleep with you, he types. And what message?

Surely Ri wouldn’t mean the note. Why would she know about the note? As far as he can tell, Merrill only asked him for help after Aveline and Fenris made some excuse about being far too busy washing their hair, or dancing round their townhouse full of half-decayed corpses, or whatever the fuck it is that they get up to instead of being friendly, helpful people.

Carver wasn’t the first choice. He never is. Which is fine. Totally fine. He’s used to it. Knowing he’s never a first thought definitely doesn’t itch at the back of his mind, or keep him up at night—

“Maker’s breath,” he scolds himself, trying to focus back on his phone.

And then, just as he presses send, another notification pops up. Unknown number; something in him tells him to tap anyway. When he does, a little jolt of static runs through him, warm and fuzzy and disgustingly sweet.

For you, the new message reads. To say thanks. I knew I wouldn’t need to ask anyone else. You’re all I need for Satinalia. Enjoy! <3

Below it, there’s a link to a playlist. A playlist which, he notices, contains about twenty versions of the same song, All I Want For Satinalia Is You. One’s in Elven. One’s a country version with, inexplicably, some late-night TV host caterwauling over the chorus. One’s by some Orlesian crooner called Michel de Bublé. There’s even one that’s just someone playing the recorder extremely badly over a muffled backing track.

It’s an…interesting mix. As he skips through the songs, though, he can’t help but smile. Whoever this truly ridiculous playlist was meant for is a lucky person. It certainly wasn’t for him.

At least, that’s what he thinks, until he taps back onto his messages app.

Then, his heart does a weird twist in his chest, and the phone suddenly feels like a searing hot coal in his hands. Because, in bold, in the small gap above the text where the sender’s name usually lies, there’s a small line that makes his pulse skip every time his eyes trail over it.

Could this be: Merrill Alerion

Carver nearly drops his phone.

This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. Carver feels slightly seasick. Quicker than he knew his fingers could work, he’s sent a crappy screenshot to Marian.

This???????

A few seconds pass.

Ri replies with a voice message. The voice message is a long, horrible, joyous screech.

Fuck, Carver thinks. “Fuck!” Carver says, and stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

His heart’s going wild, now; his palms are sweatier than they’ve maybe ever been. The mulled wine suddenly seems like a very good idea: he takes one in each hand, trying to convince himself he doesn’t fucking hate star anise. Time to chug—

Halfway through his first glass, there’s two light knocks at the door.

Carver freezes, glass still at his lips. Then, he realises that in his haste to get the mirror in, he’s left the door open. Panic spears through him, until he remembers that he’s a six-foot-stupid ex-farmer and could definitely take on a burglar. And that burglars probably don’t knock.

Still, this is Kirkwall. Better to be safe than sorry. Carver holds his breath as he sets the glasses down as quietly as he can and starts towards the door. He’s not punched anyone in a while. Maybe the anxiety coursing round his body from that text will finally give him a decent right hook. Maybe if he catches someone trying to steal Merrill’s stuff, it’ll add to the whole chevalier-in-shining-armour thing. Maybe—

A gentle gust of wind flutters through the apartment, and the door swings open, just as Carver’s barely steps away.

When he sees who’s behind the door, he makes a tiny squealing noise that instantly makes him want to cease existing. Rosy-cheeked and smiling, Merrill stands before him. Flecks of snow are caught in her dark hair and on the chunky knitted scarf wrapped around her neck, and her eyes are glittering beneath the Satinalia lights strung up on the street outside. It’s as if she’s haloed, glowing, a beacon against the dark winter’s night.

She looks beautiful.

“Merrill,” he breathes. “I thought you were...”

“Studying?” She’s smiling, and he feels a bit dizzy. “I was. But I finished - just in time, I think! Did you get the message?”

“Uh—the playlist?” he offers. “Yeah.”

“But did you get the message?” she asks again, a grin tugging at the edges of her lips.

Carver frowns. There was a message to get? “I—what?”

“Creators,” Merrill says, half-laughing, glancing up at something above him, then back down. When her gaze locks with his, he feels his heart flutter. “Hawke said making you a playlist would be very smooth. I’m not sure I’m ever very smooth. I guess I’ll not trust your sister again.”

“Smooth?” he echoes, like an idiot.

Then, he remembers what’s hanging above her door. A sprig of mistletoe, tied up with a neat red bow.

Merrill answers him with a laugh, and a kiss, and Carver thinks oh.

[5lazarus]

Labyrinth, Chapter 3: The Anderfels

"Anders made no attempt at escape during the years they were together." This story is meant to explore everything absolutely horrible about that statement. If the core part of Anders' identity is his refusal to submit to imprisonment, then perhaps listening to Karl was a violation of his sense of self. Things get better, and then things get worse.

Chapter 3/3, the Anderfels: Anders visits the Thekla village chantry.

Read Chapter One: The Circle and Chapter Two: Kirkwall on Tumblr, or find the story on AO3 here.

Everyone has a mother and a mother’s-land, even Anders. As the war rages through the Free Marches and factionalism breaks out in Orlais, Anders is left wondering: where next? So he wanders.

Kirkwall is out of the question. There is nothing left once the war spreads through Ferelden and Orlais. Tevinter would discredit the mages, so he dismisses it. Rivain is too close to the Qun, and after the annulment at Dairsmuid, everyone is too shellshocked to shelter another renegade mage. Then Fenris, who knows how to flee, suggests, “What about the Hissing Wastes?” Isabela comes up with a better option: the Anderfels. No one would ever think to look for him there.

So he grows out his beard, and they wander. Hawke and Merrill head to Ferelden, looking for Varric. Aveline returns to Kirkwall, to build its defensives against Vael. But Isabela and Fenris take him home, because no one else will, with Kirkwall gone. They sail the river bordering the Free Marches and Antiva, through Nevarra all the way to the blasted lands of the Silent Plains. It is hard for Isabela to abandon their little skip, but they get enough money out of it to buy a wagon and mules. The animals are sick. Everyone is sick, eking out a living on Blighted land. Anders remembers this, but he had thought it was the fear of his magic that had made those memories so uncomfortable. Hadn’t Karl said something about that? The first time he ate food grown in clean soil, a plate of strawberries with a child-sized spoon: I don’t want to remember. You shouldn’t forget.

They make for the Hunterhorn Mountains, skirting Tevinter. Fenris knows the way, and they find markers of others winding through this wasted land. Fenris looks grimmer than usual, lyrium-brands burning in the gray half-light. He stops at a set of footprints, pressed hard into the scanty grass of the trail.

“Qunari have come this way,” he says, studying the tracks. “Must be Tal-Vashoth. Strange. Normally refugees from Seheron go east, not west.”

“Well, there’s a war on,” Isabela points out. “Why go from one war right into another one?”

Fenris says, “It’s a bad time of year to go through the Hunterhorns. Too dry. I doubt they’ll survive to make it to the Volca Sea, or the Donarks, wherever they be.”

Justice does not need to prompt them. “Then we should help them,” Anders says. “It’s not like we’ll be facing bandits. With my magic, I can at least bring down rain.”

Fenris and Isabela exchange a glance. Anders is getting angry, and Justice is pushing under his skin. He says, “You’re not going to let them die.”

Fenris says, “Following you this far has been enough of a suicide mission. I did not flee Tevinter just to die this close to Minrathous. If you want to die, do it by yourself. Go see how charitable people dying of starvation are, as they break from the Qun. But I will not come back for you.”

Anders flares, but Isabela holds up her hand. “The blue-and-angry stuff is hot, but I’m not getting caught in the middle of this. Anders, you know he’s right. We don’t have enough food for all of us. If we go after them, we’re just condemning ourselves. And—well—I’m not dying on land. Not after Kirkwall. We have enough food to make it through the mountains. If you go after them, you’re just going to get us killed.”

Anders says, “Fuck off.” But they’re right, and Justice has proved that there are no easy answers. In this case, he must do right by his friends. Andraste has led him thus far. He prays She guides the Tal-Vashoth true, and follows Fenris and Isabela down the winding mountain path.

At night, the Tal-Vashoth attack, and they kill them quickly. Preparing their bodies for burial, Anders asks Fenris, “Who do they pray to?”

Fenris looks at him oddly. “Does it matter?”

Isabela sighs. “They don’t really do that. And if they’re Tal-Vashoth, who knows if they’d want prayers said for them anyway? They were going to kill us, Anders. Just burn the bodies and let’s go.”

It’s not right that these lives end a smear of ash on a grainy mountaintop, the blackened bits of their pyre preserved in the arid air of the Hunterhorns. They’re more than just a desperate end. People will go through this pass and see the ashes and know some battle took place, but Anders wants to be remembered for something besides death. He wants them to be remembered for something beyond dying.

Justice says, All you can do sometimes is keep living. And carry the dead with you. That’s the important part. Take them with you, but don’t let them weigh you down.

Shut up.

They find a shallow recess to rest in, before the path bends down the mountain and towards the steppe. Fenris lets the mules out of the yoke but ties their reigns to his waist and curls up among them. Anders watches him curiously. He’s clearly done this before. That’s a flash of a life outside his purview, and maybe beyond Fenris’ memory too—working for that magister Danarius, guarding his master’s trade caravans. Fenris catches him staring.

“What?” he growls.

“You look warm,” Anders says. Isabela curls up next to him, and gestures at Anders to join them. Fenris looks impassive.

“Come on,” Isabela says impatiently. “We can’t light a fire, everyone down the mountains will be able to see it. Come here. Keep us warm.”

Fenris sighs and makes room.

He wakes up to the sun a watery gold, filling the valley below and easing through the crevices of the mountain range. It’s freezing, despite Isabela and Fenris and the mules all curled around him, and he tucks his hands under his cloak as he shivers. A bird calls, and then another: some Maker-forsaken creature has built a life in this forgotten corner of Thedas.

It is all too familiar, and he wonders if this is the path the templars took when he was a boy: no. Karl told him this, didn’t he? In letters he burnt before the war. The thin sunlight resolutely insists on laying the plain below bare. He can imagine the high grass Karl promised him, and perhaps there are two adventurous young men galloping below, towards freedom, towards the promise of—what? More life than this, a better kind of hunger.

He’s got tears in his eyes, and he wipes at them angrily. Fenris stirs.

“Is there a problem?” he inquires.

“It’s fucking cold,” Anders says.

Once they leave the the Hunterhorns, it is not long until they find a village nestled in the reeds of the river Lattenfluss. Isabela leans against a mule and looks at it wistfully. Justice nudges him, at some point he needs to help her get back to the open water again, it’s only right after all that she has done for him. They see a weatherbeaten woman dragging a stubborn donkey to the water. Anders goes up to her, making sure to hobble on his staff like it’s a walking stick.

He reaches for the words of a language he has barely spoken in the past two decades. “Guten Morgen. Wie heißt dieser Dorf?”

The woman looks at him strangely. “Thekla,” she says shortly, and goes back to trying to force the donkey to drink.

“Fuck,” Anders says. That needs no translation.

She looks at him again. “Wie heißen Sie, Ausländer? Woher kommen Sie?”

She is being exceedingly formal with him. He almost says his name, but isn’t she Anders too? Instead he walks away, where Isabela and Fenris wait.

“Well?” Fenris says.

He wants to keep moving, but Justice stops him and instead he says, “Let’s rest here for awhile. We can fish from the river, at least.”

“We should move more inland,” Fenris says testily. “Gossip travels fast. We should get to the Donarks as quickly as possible.”

“I want to stay,” Anders says firmly. “Just for a moment. I need to say my prayers. It won’t be long. You can even leave without me, and I’ll catch up.”

“We’re not splitting up,” Isabela says. “We’ve separated enough. Not until we all have a place to go back to.”

“I won’t be long,” he says. “Just give me ten minutes to pray. And then we can move on.” Fenris fixes him with an unimpressed stare. He’ll wheedle it out of him eventually, and he’ll tell them, because despite everything he’s more than proven himself, he’s guided him here, hasn’t he? Andraste’s grace works in mysterious ways. He walks to the village chantry, head bowed, hackles raised at the villagers’ stares. The last time a stranger must have passed by would’ve been the Blight, and then the time before that? When the Templars took Karl. At least Karl grabbed his name before he left. Anders has left all that behind.

There is a name he has trained himself from flinching when he hears the first syllable, that he left behind when he realized he would never hear his mother call again. He had refused to hand it over to the templars, so they named him after his country: “that Anders child,” eventually simply Anders. He shapes his lips to it, mutters it under his breath, and walks into the town square, a flattened dusty piazza. There are perhaps five families in Thekla village. Not all of them have black hair and blue-gray eyes, but enough of them do for him to wonder.

The Chantry looms over the weatherbeaten limestone cobbles of the piazza, made from the same mountain stone as the rest of the village. Anders opens the familiar weather-scarred door, remembering suddenly the smell of wood made sacred by years of worship before he even realizes, this is Andraste’s house and that is Andraste’s incense, her sweet-burning flesh. Harsh sun softens through the stained glass windows into Andraste’s trials. Anders kneels as he faces the altar, and shuffles into a pew to pray.

At first there is no words, just the bleak exhaustion. He stares up at the gold mosaic of Andraste wreathed in flames, illuminated shockingly by cleverly designed windows above the door of the church. The whites of her wide eyes glimmer, recently polished. Her mouth, a slash of red glass, is resolutely closed. Her silence is what convinced Hessarian. Anders is not so sure. He would have preferred that she screamed. He would’ve, but he is no Andraste. Still, why must they suffer in silence? What good does that do? No one takes pity on those who are too weak to protest. She fought a whole fucking war for them! It’s the Maker who’s silent, not her. She pointedly wasn’t, not in the face of injustice.

Andraste bid him, fight for my people. Mages are the Maker’s children, as much as any other. Magic is meant to serve man, not to rule over them, and that meant the fear of magic as well. There is nothing in the Chant that says to rip away the spirit of any mage who falters. There is nothing in the Chant about Circles, templars, Tranquilty, or Exalted Marches either. There is, though, quite a lot about Justice. There is the demand of martyrdom. There is collective sacrifice.

Anders sings, “Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.” His voice reverberates in the dull space and grows silent. He waits, but the Maker does not answer.

He leaves the Chantry blinking blindly into the mute silent and as he stumbles towards where his friends wait with the mules he sees a man that could have been Karl, if Karl had been allowed to grow old, with a weatherbeaten face and sour expression and a mercifully clear brow, beard rather longer and whiter than he would have ever allowed. Anders opens his mouth but nothing comes out, there is nothing to say, so he keeps on walking.

[gothamcityneedsme]

I saw this bouncing around my dash and decided to fill it out myself for fun :)  I decided to not double-list any games, and I tried to mix up the companies I used too so that the list would be more unique.

Long post, so I’m doing a readmore for my longwinded part lol.

(read more)

Favorite Game: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic 2: The Sith Lords - I could talk about this game forever.  How it tears apart the Star Wars universe from within, how it creates a compelling story while challenging the usual themes, etc.  I could talk for ages about the characters and how their motivations slot in place, and how this game lends itself to interpretation and analysis alongside roleplay.  It’s just a wonderful game, one I deeply love and will always love.  It’s a game that isn’t afraid to have you talk to other characters for twenty or thirty minutes at a time and honestly I’m always riveted at every line.  This game deserves the cult fanbase it has, but I think there’s a lot the fanbase misses in appreciating this game.  (Note...gameplay is a little janky and a community made mod restores a lot content that was cut before shipping-the game wasn’t properly finished).

Best Story:  Fallout New Vegas - It’s the setting that makes the story here, and all the moving pieces and factions alongside the main conflict really make this game stand out.  There’s so many little pieces to find along the way in the world and the way the main quest splits based on who you want in power feels important--and you are choosing a future for this whole region.

Favorite Art Style: The Witness - This game is peacefully wonderful with its visuals.  There are wonderful nature scenes and nests of wires and panels spreading in various parts of the island that are fascinating to look at.  The environment is half of the gameplay in most areas, so it’s important to look around even though exploration is not really the gameplay.  You find puzzles in the world, even in nature, and it’s fascinating.  The colors are bright and beautiful.  There is even a map in the middle of the island inside of a lake that helps you track your progress if you notice it (it isn’t like a normal ‘map’).

Favorite Soundtrack: Shin Megami Tensei IV - I love video game soundtracks, but SMTIV is something special.  The music booms in ways that make you really understand the atmosphere of the world, and there’s a great mix of different kinds of tracks for different places.  I love the tracks for the other worlds you enter, and the themes of the different routes are done so well.  Some of the music draws from past SMT games, but the remixes done for this game really are stunning to me, and there’s so many fantastic original tracks.

Hardest Game: I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream - I love this game but I literally never touch it without a walkthrough, which is why it gets to be the hardest game on the list, despite being a point and click adventure game lol.  Also just emotionally this game is challenging too, but I definitely mean this more in terms of getting a ‘perfect run’.

Funniest Game: The Stanley Parable - Trying to make this list has taught me that I don’t really play many ‘funny games’.  I don’t know if a game where multiple endings demand that you kill yourself should count as a ‘funniest game’, but it is also a game where the narrator tells you to stare at a fern and memorize its features, so....it counts.

Game I Like that is Hated: RWBY Grimm Eclipse - I’ve been playing this game since it was in early access and have loved it the whole time.  I find the gameplay soothing and fun, and I like playing the different characters.  It’s a game I play to chill out and just enjoy some fun battle mechanics.  It’s a fun game and I’ve spent over 100 hours in it, so I hope I like it, lol.

Game I Hate that is Liked:  Nier Automata - Neither this game’s gameplay or story impress me, and the fact that you have to replay basically the same stuff from a more boring-to-play-character’s pov in order to SEE all of the plot is a huge damper on the experience.  The story, to me, someone who engages with a lot of robot-focused fiction, is far from impressive or new, and it hardly engages with genre specifics at all, let alone in a new or interesting way.  I view this game as ‘a story with robots in it’ rather than ‘a story about robots’, which, to me, is a detriment.

Underrated: Nevermind - This game is amazing and very unheard of--and when it is heard of, it has been marketed incorrectly.  Nevermind seems like a horror game, and does market itself as one a bit, but it’s much more than that.  It’s more about trauma, recovery, therapy, etc.  This is a game that is so mindful about the topics it engages in that I am impressed by it every time.  It’s heavy with symbolism and character, despite lacking conversations or other similar game mechanics.  This is a lovely game that I really wish more people knew about-`p5-all of the patients are so interesting, and the focus on recovery and mental health is impressive.

Overrated:  Fire Emblem - I sort of mean this as the series as a whole really.  I have enjoyed the entries I have played somewhat, but I overall consider the series much less impressive than I was led to believe by others.  The gameplay especially is not impressive to me in any regard, even though I sometimes do find myself enjoying it.  The stories are alright, but many of them are weighed down by the gameplay and as a writer and person who likes to analyze writing, it’s very hard to do so when it isn’t able to fully exist under the chains the gameplay forces on it.  There are ways to mix gameplay and story well, Fire Emblem has not really done that in any of the entries I’ve played.  That being said, I don’t regret playing them, and I will occasionally replay, but I consider them mediocre games at best.

Best Voice Acting: Devil Survivor 2 - I love the voice acting in this game.  I feel like all the characters are really suited to their voices, and it’s really easy for me to visualize their voices.  They really bring the game to life and make both the dramatic and the funny scenes more enjoyable.

Worst Voice Acting: Jedi Knight Jedi Academy - I love this game, I really do, but some of the voice acting is janky.  Some of it is okay too--I think Kyle Katarn’s voice actor does fine, and some of the others I like NOW but hated when I was a kid, but the male protagonist voice in this game is just awful.  Which is bad when Jennifer Hale is the female voice actress lol.  His performance is passable though unless you’re playing darksided--the darksided ending to the game lacks all punch when you’re playing the male protagonist.

Favorite Male:  Battler Ushiromiya from Umineko no Naku Koro Ni - He’s the protagonist for most of the visual novels and I adore him utterly, especially once you move past episode 2.  He’s a wonderful character who I care about deeply.  I love his drive and how he fights--he’s someone who is easy to cheer for.  He matures well throughout the series and his character development is just wonderful.

Favorite Female:  Naoto Shirogane from Persona 4 - I really like how Naoto fits so well in the game, especially for being a final recruit--oftentimes the final recruit of Persona games (post 3) have a bit of a more difficult time feeling right with the group.  Naoto works really well though, and I love her struggles and story as well.  I think the difficulties she has concerning living as a woman in her field hit very deep to a problem that has existed for a very long time.

Favorite Protagonist: Connor of Daventry from King’s Quest 8 Mask of Eternity - I’m like, one of four fans of this character in the world, lol.  KQ8 is not a very well liked game and it does have a lot of issues, both with age and with how much of a departure it is from the series prior to it.  It’s strange to take a puzzle adventure game and make it a hybrid with what basically is a shooter, and it doesn’t really work.  Add to that the fact that you spend most of your time in the game without anyone around to talk to and it leads to this really polarizing and weird experience.  For me, Conner goes through what I would consider to be the ‘Ultimate Nightmare Scenario”.  Everyone in the world is turned to stone except him (and he survived out of mere chance) and so now it’s up to him, practically alone, to save the entire world.  There is no game lonelier than this.  I adore him for his bravery in the face of it, and how he just picks up to do what must be done because someone should do it, and if no one else can, then he will.  I also really love how he apologizes to people who are encased in stone while he takes money from their houses to help him on his journey.  I really do think he went back after the game was over and gave everyone heaps of gold to pay them back with interest lol.

Favorite Village:  Oakvale from Fable - The first Fable is the only one I really like, and it was one of the games I played when I was little, so the hometown in the game always meant a lot to me.  I like how you grow up there and how your tragic backstory is there--and then how you get to return to the town years later after you’ve come into your own, and you can see it completely rebuilt.  I like to spend a lot of my time in this town, just wandering around it and playing the minigames.  Even though I have a house in every town, Oakvale is where my hero calls home.

Most Hated Character:  Merril from Dragon Age 2 - I don’t really want to lay into how I feel about Merril, but what I will say is that it was suggested to me that I totally ignore her when playing, and I did so.  I only met her for her quest, dropped her off in town, and literally never spoke to her or interacted for the rest of the game.  I had a much better experience for it, honestly.  She appeared after I made my choice in the end of the game, which felt weird since I hadn’t spoken to her in several ingame years, but other than that, the game was totally fine without her.  I sort of just wish you could kill characters in DA2 the way you can in DAO, then I’d just do that, tbh.  It doesn’t suit very many (or any) of the characters I rp in DA2 to keep her around or support her in any way.

First Game I Played: Mixed up Mother Goose Deluxe - I’m not actually sure if this is the FIRST game I’ve ever played or not, but it’s one of the first I played alone as a kid.  I really loved it--this is probably what created my love for point and click adventures, and the game was very silly and fun.

Favorite Company: Bioware - I’ve always been a sucker for Bioware games, ever since Knights of the Old Republic 1 was my favorite childhood game.  I love how they do stories and party members, and while I’m not a fan of all of their games, I really love what they’ve made and their style of storytelling and character driven plot.  Even though sometimes their stories get cliche, I think the suit video games well and most of my early gaming was within their games.

Hated Company: EA - Bioware truly only started to go to shit after the EA acquisition, so I fucking hate EA.   I know Bioware had issues before EA too, but I definitely don’t think EA has helped the situation whatsoever.

Depressing Game: The Beginner’s Guide - I relate to this game as a creator and a writer, and it affects me deeply because of the story it tells and the questions it raises.  It makes me reflect on how I think of myself as a creator, and it reminds me of friendships I used to have.

Creepy Game:  The Path - God, I love this game.  It’s just aimlessly wandering around and finding symbolic scenery and watching your current character comment on it.  Then, you go off to find your girl’s wolf, and each one is different and unique to her, and you watch it ‘kill’ her--and facing her wolf is the only way each girl can truly mature.  Whenever you get to grandmother’s house, the camera switches to first person, and your eyes keep closing, so you can only see while clicking to move.  It forces you to keep moving so that you can see, but since you are moving, you only get to see things somewhat vaguely.  It’s got a great atmosphere, and I love the symbolic storytelling.

Happy Game: Eastshade - This game is so sweet.  There’s some drama around to with many of the quests, but I like this as an rpg without combat, and I think this would be a really good kids game.  There’s a lot to see and explore, and the game was made to be really pretty so that you want to paint several aspects of it.  It’s really lovely to just wander around in this game and bike around the area, painting anything that suits your fancy.  As long as you don’t finish the main quest, you’re free to wander, and materials do respawn, so you essentially can infinitely paint once you get far enough.

Favorite Ending: Virtue’s Last Reward - I love the questions this game asks and where the ending goes.  It thematically ties together--the whole reason the game itself exists is to get the attention of a ‘higher being’--the player, essentially.  I love how it plays with that concept, and even though the final game in the series doesn’t entirely pick this idea up where this game left it, standalone this game is stunning in how it comes together.

[the-halo-of-my-memory]

Tell Me You Love Me Anyway (rough draft - tease)

A/n: This probably has a billion errors but I feel like posting it anyway. This is only a tiny bit of what I have in mind. I could use as much feedback as possible for this. 

---- [Act 1] ----

Maker, did Anders miss being drunk. 

Justice hasn’t let him sway under the influence since their union. He sees it as a waste of time and senses. 

But to lose one's senses was such a beautiful and intoxicated mess to be a part of. 

Can you stop speaking nonsense?

It’s not nonsense, it’s passion.

It is a waste of time. 

Anders chuckles, nearly spilling his useless drink in the process. 

“What’s so funny, mage?” 

It’s Fenris. He held a drink also, now flirting with drunkenness that will soon take him fully. 

The two have only met not too long ago through a mutual friend, one Garrett Hawke. Anders liked Hawke enough. He was a fellow mage and Fereldan refugee who suffered loss before reaching Kirkwall. He came to his clinic a month ago asking for maps to the Deep Roads. 

It sounded so ridiculous. People who went to the Deep Roads voluntarily must have a death wish. To want to walk in a place full of darkspawn and deepstalkers. A place with rocky terrain and putrid wet air. It was dark and in some places you could hardly see your own hand in front of your place. He could light a torch but it wasn’t worth accidentally burning someone. 

He never wants to go there again. Especially not without Pounce. 

Things changed though. For a favor, he asked for a favor himself. 

Karl……..

He did love him…….and to see him like that……...made tranquil…….

It broke more than just his heart, it shattered his entire being. 

Oh Karl…..

Back in the Circle, the two had agreed between kisses in a quiet nook away from prying eyes, that if either of them became tranquil, they would not want to live like that. There was no known cure. It was either be made a thoughtless pet of the Templars and the Chantry or death. 

It wasn’t actually a plan that would happen. He didn’t think this would be an actual choice that he would make. 

Oh maker, Karl…….

It has been a month since he had to kill him. He still feels the blood on his hands, the sound of his last breath, and how empty he felt when he fell upon the floor. 

He still yearns to get a letter from him…..anything from him. 

Despite everything, he had Hawke to thank. At least Karl has peace now. He can have the maps and himself for the expedition if needed. 

Though he resented it at the time, he was glad he went to have drinks with Hawke the night after. Hearing his and Aveline’s story of loss before reaching Kirkwall brought him back from the pain. 

Hawke had asked him to join him on another night like that.

“But you know, in much better spirits,” he said with a hand on the back of his neck. He swore he saw him turn a shade red underneath that smile and beard.

And here he is now. 

He sat at a table with Fenris, Isabela, Varric, and Merrill. The women were giggling and whispering, Merrill turning pink and covering her mouth while Isabella said something too low for him to decipher. The men were talking about one of Varric’s tales. 

“No, dwarf. I have never read any of your stories.” 

“Have you ever thought about it?” 

“No.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Varric, I can’t read.” 

Well, that’s news…….

Wait, where’s Hawke? He was here just a second ago. 

Anders spots him at the bar. Talking with someone, a human woman. 

He’s never seen her before. She was short, maybe the same height as Merrill. She had deep warm mahogany skin, short dark curly hair, and wore a shirt opened at the neck and chest tucked into the tightest pair of trousers he’s ever seen. 

Sweet Andraste, what an arse!

They speak for a short moment before they each grab a drink and walk over to wear the rest of them sat. 

“Maker, Hawke!” Isabella yells, “How did you find this fine lady? Tell me, are you seeing anyone. Do you have a sister?” 

Hawke’s friend laughs loud and boisterous, covering her mouth half way before she sits herself down. 

“I’m not interested, I'm afraid. If I have a sister, I wouldn’t know. But I know some ladies who would love to give some company to a humorous and attractive lady such as yourself.” 

“You’ll have to tell me all about them, kitten.” 

She sat next to Anders and Hawke sat on the other side of her. 

Now closer to him, he gets a good look at her. 

Fine lady indeed. She had deep dark wide eyes like the night’s sky. Lips pursed as she took sips on her drink. Lots of skin covered down her naked neck and chest, teasing the swell of her breasts where her shirt is undone by the laces. She had small hands with gentle fingers tapping on the drink and the table. She wore no makeup and no jewelry.

Not that she needed them. 

“Friends!” Hawke stood up, hitting and shaking the table on the way. “I want you to meet my friend, Valentine. Val, these are my friends. This is Varric, and that’s Merrill and that’s-” He introduces everyone by name and they all exchange words and greetings. When Anders’ was introduced, he said “hello there.” She replies with only one word. 

“Pleasure.” 

*******

I have no idea where I am. 

It’s green all over. The grass is green and long and being blown by the wind. And the sky is blue and cloudless.

It’s not cold. But it was cold? There were clouds and snow and cold. And now…..not anymore. 

I don’t understand. I was in the car with Jackson. Where is he? 

I remember something. When we were driving…...I saw lights. Like headlights and then…….

Am I dead? Is this a dream? Am I in a coma? I don’t understand at all. 

My suitcase is here. It has my stuff still in it. Didn’t expect that old vintage thing to hold up. My clothes are there, but it’s too warm for them. I’m wearing the only pair of shoes I brought. My notebook was also there, and I’m writing in it right now. 

I don’t know what to do. 

*******

The next time he meets Hawke’s friend is when they get ready for the Deep Roads expedition. 

They were all together meeting with Bertrand in Hightown. He had to give credit to Hawke for making a colorful group of friends. He sees her near him, dressed in leather armor and carrying a long thin sword in a scabbard by her side. 

Her eyes catch his and she waves a hello to him. He waves back. 

Hawke and the dwarven brothers are discussing something when someone cries out. 

It was from a woman with tied back greying hair, running towards the group with a worrisome look in her exhausted eyes. 

“Excuse me, but I need to talk to my children”

Oh, that must be Hawke’s mother. He’s only heard nice things about her whenever Hawke opens up about his family. 

He sees him and Carver walk over to the lady and he’s too far to overhear. 

Some sort of disagreement starts and Carver is yelling and Hawke and their mother try to subdue him. There’s a lot of head shaking and hand waving. At last, Carver appears to accept whatever was that was said. Hawke walks away and his brother and mother stay where they stood. 

Hawke walks over to his groups of friends looking lost in thought. A moment passes and then with both hands he waves over the group to come over. 

“What happened?” Merrill asks. 

“Nothing,” Hawke sighs. “Mother just wanted Carver to stay. He…..eventually agreed.” 

“Now what?” Fenris crosses his arms, a knot between brows form. 

“We have to decide who I am bringing on this expedition.” Hawke sighs once more. He takes in a good look at his companions and bobs his head side to side as if he’s rolling die to choose who he’ll bring. 

“Alright! Besides Varric, I shall bring Anders and Valentine. Do you two agree?” 

Fuck no. 

“Of course, Hawke,” Anders instead says. It was inevitable. 

“Sure,” Valentine nods with a small smile upon her lips. 

“The rest of you can go about your business. We’ll be gone for a while in the meantime.” 

Some murmurs of “alright,” “be careful,” and “see you soon,” were heard before the others left their separate ways. 

Anders watches Hawke go back to the dwarven brothers, no doubt to wrap up a few things before they head out. 

“So you were a grey warden, correct?” It was Valentine. 

“Yes, I was.” She really was quite short. She was a whole head short of him, couldn’t look like she could put her head on his shoulder if she wanted. 

“That’s a lifelong joining, isn’t it? I imagine they’re not happy having you…..displaced.” 

That got a chuckle out of him. 

“Yes, you could say that.” 

“That’s too bad,” she kicks a pebble with the tip of her boot, her eyes looking into the sky and nowhere in particular. “I’m sure they’re doing fine without you. You have more important things like spelunking with us losers in demon infested caves.” 

That got him to laugh out loud. 

“Well when you put it like that, I’m even more grateful I left the wardens.” 

When she laughs, she laughs with her being. She bends forward with her arms wrapped around her abdomen as if she was a tree swaying in the wind. 

She’s kinda cute, isn’t she? 

I do not see what this has to do with the task at hand. 

Relax. It’s just an observation. 

*******

I am in a country called Ferelden. I have never heard of this place before. Is that old English or whatever the fuck? I don’t know, my head hurts and I’m tired from all the travel. 

It took me days by foot, but I eventually reached a small village called Draycott. I asked around for a place to stay and work. And luckily I did. Their innkeeper/pub owner was looking for someone to help clean and keep order in their establishment. He seemed like enough of a nice guy to trust for now. Everything is ancient. There is no electricity or indoor plumbing. Everyone uses candles, gets water from the well, and shits in a pot. I’m afraid to ask why that is. 

I am currently writing in my journal in a room of my own by candle light in the late evening. I’m even using a quill and ink. It’s much harder than I thought. Hope I can read this later. 

This place is so much more strange than I first thought. 

This country and land is certainly beautiful. I believe it's either mid to late spring to early fall. Grass is long, the hills roll, mountains are tall, and the trees high. 

But then I noticed the plant and wildlife. I have never seen these herbs or flowers or whatever the hell they are. They look like something out of a story book. And the animals. I’ve seen wolves and bears from a distance. Luckily, I haven't bothered them enough to attack me. 

But then I noticed a crow. It had such a large beak with ruffled feathers and splashes of red? 

And spiders. The most gigantic ones I have ever seen. They look like the size of horses! What the fuck??

I must’ve been hallucinating. I should get some rest. The people here like to wake at daybreak. 

Farmers are insane. 

*******

They have been in the deep roads for a few days. 

It’s as claustrophobic and dark and all things awful as Anders last remembers. 

He wished the warden commander was here. She must be so warm and cozy now being the queen of Ferelden. 

And Pounce. His little mews and purrs was what really kept him going. 

Well, that and screwing around with Nathaniel was also fun. He had the best expressions. 

The company he has now however wasn't too bad. They certainly made an entertaining crowd. 

“Garrett, if you had to choose, would you rather eat your shirt or your trousers?” 

The echoes of Hawke’s belly laugh lasts almost a minute as they trek along. He had to hold on to his staff to keep himself upright. It was quite contagious and made himself, Varric, and Valentine laugh along with him. 

“Maker Val, I knew I wouldn’t regret bringing you. I think I would eat my shirt. My shirt in particular today looks rather tasty.” 

“I swear no one wants to eat their pants, it’s always the shirt.” 

“Who the hell wants to eat their pants?” Varric raises a brow. 

“I don't know, but I’m waiting for someone to tell me.” 

Without daylight, it’s impossible to tell when it's dawn or near dusk. After crossing corridors and making quick work of darkspawn that lurked, they all agreed to make camp and rest. 

Spare food and drink are brought out, bringing out better spirits for the exhausted party. Bottles of wine and flasks of water. Wrapped packs of dried fruit, meat, and nuts. 

Words start spilling and conversations follow. 

It never ceases to amaze Anders how well Hawke carries himself in social situations. He held a poise like a noble yet spoke like a child raised by pirates. Held confidence in his chest and said things like “Anders, can you help me get my hand out of this jar?” 

 He was like an affectionate pet. 

“Val,” Hawke said. He sat next to Varric while Anders and Valentine sat opposite them. “Did you know that our friend Anders runs a clinic in Darktown?”

Valentine laughs.

“That’s very all of a sudden, Garrett. That would make you a healer, yes?” She looks at Anders now. 

“That’s right,” he smiles back for politeness. “I just try to help the sick as much as I can.” 

“That’s incredibly thoughtful of you. You must make decent coin as well.” 

“Oh, I don’t charge.” Valentine nearly spits out as she drinks from a water flask. 

“You don't?” Her eyes wide and brows raised. “That’s insane. How do you get by?” 

“I get by by getting by. Also being dragged around by Hawke helps.” 

“And you are incredibly welcomed!” Hawke laughs, so does Varric, Valentine, and Anders. 

The group would soon pack their things and move on. 

*******

NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE GIANT SPIDERS ARE REAL I HATE WHERE EVER THE FUCK I AM AT 

ANYWAYS....

Life in the village is peaceful. I can’t complain.

Yeah sure, the food could be better and I have to shit in a pot but overall, I like it. 

Not shaving is a big plus for me.

I’ve made the mistake of asking too many questions. Some of the things I don't know are common knowledge, causing people to look at me weird. Someone even asked if I had brain damage. 

And then I realized having amnesia is a great excuse. Everyone now believes I have suffered such an injury. That’s my life now. 

The innkeeper offered me a position to keep his rooms cleaned and naturally, I accepted. He also asked me to watch and possibly teach his young daughter to read and write along with watching her.

She is the dearest thing I’ve seen in a long time.

Her name is Wenona. She is nearly four years of age, has light brown hair that is always braided, has a freckled face, and wears homemade dresses. 

She is mute. I have never heard her talk or make any noise. Her father says she’s only shy, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she was on the spectrum. She is nice nonetheless and gestures when she wants something like food. I speak to her with simple words but not any different than to the others i have spoken here in the village. She understands me just fine. 

We have so far spent days outdoors, picking herbs and flowers and laying in the grass and staring at the clouds. Indoors I help her learn how to write, have tea parties, and cook and bake . I read to her every night before bed and sometimes I sing to her. 

I’ve also realized that this girl has no friends. I’ve seen a few other children here, but they never go up to here to talk or play. I asked her myself and she nodded. I told her that she was my friend and the look in her eyes…..

Learning about the world through her is an amazing experience too. 

They have a religion here called Andrastanism. It sounds similar to Christianity, but instead of God, they have a maker and instead of a son, the maker has a bride named Andraste. I’ve read their biblical stories to Wenona. 

I still have so much to learn. 

****

[artemismoon12writes]

Title: The Difference Between Hanging Out and a Date is Flowers

Daltonfic Big Bang; Week 9, Day 3; Julian Larson/? Julian is forced to go to the Valentine’s Day Fair, despite last year’s sparking a whole lot of horror for him. Can’t he just have one good day? 

---

The Valentines Fair was huge this year; so huge they’d teamed up with Dobry Hall and just rented a fairground outside of town. Julian had planned to just stay in his room all day, given what happened last year. Murdoch refused, telling him he couldn’t have any special privileges when everyone else was out helping with the event.

So instead, he was there… and doing nothing to help because fuck his fellow Stuarts. They’d been following him all week, babying him like this was supposed to help him out emotionally or something. He knew he had baggage, but that was his own business. Let him just ignore these dramatic boys and try, in vain, to have a good day.

Between Logan pretending he’d had feelings for him all along, Sebastian reappearing to say ‘le fuck your healing process’, and whatever bullshit Derek hadn’t grown out of; he was planning to just avoid anyone he knew. Maybe he’d find some of the Day students. Wait, no, Riley Paige would get him to help with something. Fuck; maybe he could find one of Royal’s booths and just chill with Merril. It was almost enough to make him give up on boys altogether; shit, girls were so much less dramatic than these assholes he lived with.

He was looking for Merril’s booth (she’d texted him a pile of apple and pear tarts, so surely he could just follow the smell?) when he saw a short girl chasing Dwight Houston and Bancroft’s sister through the tents, yelling something about rocks. They looked frantic, escaping through a hole in a Hanover tent while she slipped on some of the half-frozen grass; still frosty in the February sun. That sucks… he should do something.

“Hey, need help?” He asked, walking up cautiously; she could be a fan after all. “You took quite the dive there.”

“No, I got it.” She sighed, standing up and brushing herself off. Her hands were red, but not skinned despite the fall. “I just suck at walking I guess.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you trying to kill Houston and Bancroft. Anything those two idiots do to annoy you?” Julian asked, genuinely curious. Dwight Houston did a lot of stupid shit; but his first thoughts usually revolved around whatever Derek did to piss off girls, and that didn’t seem like Houston’s style.

She shook her head, “They lost the collection of gems I had on display for our booth for Prima. Now I have nothing to sell, so Royal is going to take the prize for Dobry.”

“And why’d you trust those two with it?” He knew them by reputation alone for getting into trouble; but not much else.

“Because those two happen to be my best friends.” The girl said, sounding like she couldn’t quite believe it herself. She put on a faint smile though, looking up and sticking out her scraped hand. “Sadie Moore, maybe you’ve heard of me.”

“Julian. Shame enough, I haven’t.” He shook her hand. “You’re new aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I transferred up here from Florida for Junior Year; but from the way the girls in Dobry go on, I’ve become some kind of one woman rumour mill.” She shivered. “It’s freaking cold up here. I don’t know how you all deal with it.”

“Don’t ask me. This winter is just as bad to me. I’m from California and everytime it snows here I get whiplash.” Julian smiled as she laughed. It was a nice laugh. “And one-woman rumour mill? What’s with that?”

She rolled her eyes, “Dobry girls see romance everywhere they look; a chunk of them think I’m dating Dwight, the other half won’t shut up about that time I kissed Laura, and the rest of them think I’ve gotten both of them, when like? Fuck you just cause I’m bi doesn’t mean I’m a slut. Jeez, it’s 2012, I just want to enjoy the Valentines Day Fair without all that.”

“You’re bi?” Julian asked, before he could stop himself.

She wrinkled her nose, suspicious. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“No! Just, I don’t meet many people who just say that aloud to people they just met, you know?”

Julian didn’t like being on the back foot with people. Let alone being caught off guard. Sadie kept looking at him until her expression cleared and she judged him not a biphobic asshole- which, wouldn’t that be ironic?

“I guess you’re right. Hey, you want to walk around? I guess I’m off booth duty until someone can find my gems; unless you have your own booth to get to?” She looked over his jacket, “Stuart? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Julian laughed, “I was ordered to show up and nothing more than that. And gems? Like? Rubies or something?”

“Semi-precious at most.” She explained, launching into a long diatribe about online ‘healing crystals’ versus her own, far superior, ethically mined quartz.

By the time they rounded Hanover’s Ferris Wheel (the compromise for a less dangerous ride this year), Julian’d caught himself laughing at Sadie’s geology jokes; sharing the time he snuck up to the Hollywood sign; learnt Sadie liked heavy metal; and told the entire story of Clark, Marcie, and him engaging in a spicy noodle challenge back in LA. He hadn’t even realized they’d walked that far; engrossed in conversation.

The air was turning colder, nipping his ears and turning the tip of Sadie’s dark nose red. She coughed, sticking her hands under her arms. “Fuck, this place is shit. How do people live up here?”

“You were here for December right? You saw it snow, and that didn’t scare you away?” He asked.

“Oh no, snow is pretty!” She insisted, “I’ve gone skiing with my parents in Whistler, that’s fun! But this? Where it’s just grey and gross and cold? Uh, it’s so stupid.”

“Well you not wearing gloves, so maybe that’s why?” Julian pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. “Logic. Facts. Maybe I don’t like gloves?”

“You forgot them didn’t you?”

She flushed. “I lent them to Laura actually, she forgot her own back at Prima.”

Julian looked down at her biting the inside of his lip considering. Ah fuck it. He pulled off one of his own gloves and handed it to her. “Here, put your other hand in your pocket. It should be fine.”

Her eyes widened. “You sure?”

“Yeah, whatever.” He looked over at the booths; they were squarely in Hanover territory. Huh. How long had they been walking? He should say hi to Abbot. But he was probably busy running things over here.

“Thanks.” Sadie said, her left hand stretching experimentally with a too-large glove and the right nudging his elbow. “That was pretty nice of you Mr. Larson.”

He snorted. “I was wondering when you’d realize.”

“I don’t watch many dramas. So, it took a bit to realize you were that movie star who goes here.” Sadie said, “Sorry I can’t say I’m a fan of you stuff.”

She looked genuinely apologetic; he shook his head far too quickly. “No, no, that’s… that’s a good thing.”

Julian could count on one hand the amount of people he’d known who were fans first, who he’d genuinely come to like as people. It was nice to talk about work and that was it; it was just work. Half the reason he’d decided to come back to Dalton was to have just a slice of that normal experience. And if he was bombarded by fans? Well, how normal was that?

“Oh, okay.” She said, confused by the quick refusal. “I guess, you want to keep walking?”

“Yeah. Tell me more about skiing, I’ve never gone all the way up to Whistler. Are you good at it?”

It continued like that; making the rounds of the booths, pocketed hands bumping against each other as they avoided the clusters of people pushing their way forward. Every so often Sadie would spy another Dobry girl and lament the loss of her inventory for her booth; but thankfully, Julian was so out of context next to her, there wasn’t an awkward encounter. It was weird, every second Dobry girl they ran into seemed to ask about Bancroft or Houston, expressing surprise they weren’t with her.

“I guess you were right about the Dobry rumour mill. It’s going full force this year.” Julian joked.

Sadie rolled her eyes. “It’s annoying, but hey, considering they’re off hiding together the rumours will hopefully leave me out of it after today.”

“You’re not worried they’ll start to connect you and me then?” Julian asked, the notion suddenly appearing in his own head.

“Like half of them even realized who you were. You’re not going around advertising you’re the famous Julian Larson; and standing next to Dobry’s current resident witch doesn’t help put two and two together.” She pointed out.

“I just haven’t turned on the charm.” Julian joked; it was an old Hollywood myth, but it had some truth to it about hiding in plain sight. He could stride forward, and let everyone know who he was, but it was nice to not have to chase off a horde of teenaged girls (and boys) this year. God knows last year was a shitstorm for that kind of thing.

“Julian!”

“I guess you turned it on.” Sadie smiled, before turning to see Derek coming towards the two of them. She frowned. “Oh, its that guy.”

“You know Derek?” Julian asked before Derek cut him off.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere! You haven’t been answering your phone. We needed you to help with the Lunch Tent.” Derek was annoyed. That much was obvious.

“I’ve had my phone on silent. Murdoch told me to show up, and that’s all I’m doing. I don’t care if Stuart loses again this year; I just want to have a Me Day.”

Derek’s eyes flicked over to Sadie, “Me Day huh?”

“Come off it, not everyone is a Don Juan wannabe like you.” Sadie’s gloved hand went to her hip, daring him to say anything further.

Derek blinked, alright then. He looked back to Julian, reaching out to pull him away. “Come on, I’m not doing Logan’s prefect duties alone.”

“Why not just let Logan do them?” Julian countered, stepping backwards.

Derek gave him a look. “You know it’s a two-person job, if not a three person job trying to control these freshman on any project.”

“Sounds like not my problem.” Julian shrugged. “Ask Murdoch for help, I’m out of here.”

“Julian!”

“He said no.” Sadie said firmly before Julian reached out and tugged her hand, motioning towards the gap in the booths. His almost laugh met her mischievous eyes.

Before Derek even knew what was going on, Sadie and Julian had taken a page out of her own pursuit that morning and ducked between the booths, darting down and around staves and tent poles to lose him. Maybe they ran for longer than necessary, maybe that was half the fun. They reached the Windsors row, gasping for breath and laughing.

“Do you think he tripped and fell?” Sadie asked, brushing her curly, brown hair out of her face.

“No, he’s more coordinated than that.” Julian said.

Sadie shrieking with laughter and shoving him, “You’re so rude!”

“You’re the one who faceplanted!”

“By accident!”

“It was funny.” Julian pointed out, avoiding Sadie’s playful shove and instead catching her hands and looking down at her like he was lecturing her. “These are dangerous weapons, I ought to report you for use of deadly force. Except I won’t, because you’re tiny.”

“Short jokes? Really?” Her grin betrayed that she found it just as funny. “Well, at least I don’t hit my head on doorframes.”

“You laugh, but I always have to duck getting into limos.”

“Oh that is the most Hollywood thing you have said yet.”

“I’ve babysat Angelina’s kids.”

“Angelina Jolie?”

“I can go on.”

“Oh my god, you’re a dick.” Sadie laughed, “I’d hex you, but I don’t think it would stick.”

“So they’ve been saying about me, since the day I was born.” Julian said, dramatically put upon. “I endure such slings and volleys of-”

“If you start quoting Shakespeare, I will lose it.”

“Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage-” Julian grinned, ignoring Sadie’s protests to get him to quiet.

“I suck at English, come on!”

“And then is heard no more: it is a tale, told by an idiot,” Julian continued.

“Yeah! You’re the idiot!” She tried to interrupt.

“Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

“Yeah, my fury. Goddamn you actors.” She said, looking up with pink cheeks to stick her tongue out at him. “If I could just recall lines like that, I’d never have to use a spell book again, I’d just memorize them all.”

“It’s a gift. What can I say? Not everyone is as good as me.” Julian teased to Sadie’s exasperated smile.

They paused, realizing Julian was still holding her hands and sprang apart; not realizing how close they were. Julian felt his own face flush but hid it well enough. Now wasn’t the time, nor the day, to really get close to someone; even if she was quite pretty, he had to admit to himself.

“Uh, so back there you seemed to know Derek. Even though it took you a bit to realize who I was?” He tried.

She coughed, waving a hand carelessly. “Yeah, well everyone in Prima got to witness what can only be described as the most pathetic display of pining in the history of the world. Casey’s already told everyone to stay away from him because she said he’s a cheater; but then he showed up one day before Winter Break with this giant apology bouquet, and get this, it’s full of white lilies- which I didn’t know she was allergic to, but if you really feel that way about her, maybe? I don’t know? Know her allergies? But also, those are funeral flowers. As far as apologies go, it’s pretty shit.”

“You’re friends with Casey?” Surprise tinged Julian’s voice.

“Not friends per say, but she’s part of the welcoming committee. She’s pretty cool.” Sadie clarified. “How are you friends with a guy like that?”

Julian shrugged. “Derek’s pretty cool. He’s a really good friend when you get down to it, but yeah he is kind of shit with girls. I guess that’s what happens when your best friend since childhood is a gay guy. It’s not like he’s really been comparing notes. Logan and him aren’t that bad once you get to know them.”

“Well, I guess I have pretty biased sources.” Sadie said, waving around at the Windsor tents. “If my friend Morgan’s cousin wasn’t one of yours, I think I’d probably just see a Stuart badge and kick you guys on sight.”

“So violent Miss Moore.” Julian smiled. “We are kind of dicks though, so fair enough.”

“You’re not half bad though Mr. Larson.” She teased back. “You’re fun enough to hang out with.”

“I’m an exception to every rule I will assure you.”

“Don’t start quoting shit again. I will end you.”

“Only if you can reach that high.”  

“Oh you!”

“Hi Sadie! Oh, and Julian? I didn’t know you two knew each other.” Reed Van Kamp said from behind the table of the nearest booth. “You two enjoying the fair?”

The pair smiled; Reed was always a welcome sight, no matter who you were.

���Yeah, it’s been pretty fun. We’ve just been walking around. I thought you’d be out with Shane?” Sadie asked, coming under the tent top to talk more easily. “He mentioned something about Valentines plans.”

Reed looked down bashfully, “Well, last Windsor party got us all banned from Warbler activities; Blaine thought it’d be good if I was sitting down for all of the Fair. So, we’re doing our date on the weekend instead.”

“Aww, that’s cute. Then you won’t have to deal with Valentines Day crowding.” Sadie pointed out. “Really its working out in your favour.”

“I guess.” Reed said, then looked over at Julian. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought I heard you were staying in all day.”

“What Murdoch wants; Murdoch gets.” Julian shrugged.

Reed smiled. “It’s good to see you anyways; at least someone gets to have a date today.”

“Oh we’re not-”

Reed flushed, “Oh heck, I’m sorry! I just assumed. That was bad of me. Here, have some cookies on me.”

“You don’t have to.” Sadie said even as Julian took what was offered.

He nudged her. “They’re good, take some. Wait, these are some of Kurt’s right?”

“Yeah, it took David and Wes all day to clean up the aftermath. He was a man on a mission!” Reed said, pushing a little ribbon-wrapped packet at each of them; then pushing them out as he cut himself on the edge of the plastic and had to call for a band-aid.

Julian and Sadie wandered off, happily snacking on their free cookies. They really were quite good, even if Sadie said there was nothing magical about them.

“You know, that’s the second person to assume we’re on a date.” Julian pointed out.

“And what of it?” Sadie asked.

“Well, what makes a date not a date?” Julian crunched down on another cookie. “You have two people sharing food and talking, and what makes it different between just hanging out and a date per say?”

“I think someone needs to ask and the other needs to accept. But yeah, its pretty arbitrary.” Sadie nodded. “Most people hold hands or some shit, or kiss. You saying you want this to be a date?”

“I’m just saying it could be an option.” Julian said, mulling the idea over in his mind. It would be nice to be on a normal date; not one where he had to sneak around with a guy and pretend they were just friends, or hide from paparazzi with a girl because his agent wanted maximum exposure for their upcoming film together. “It doesn’t need to be a thing. But I’ve liked talking to you. We should do this again, whatever you want it to be.”

She pursed her lips. “Hmm. I accept. You need to get me flowers though.”

“A date it is.” Julian confirmed, laughing at how easy that was. He offered his ungloved hand; hers slipping into it easily, with a crinkle at the corner of her eyes.

“So, flowers? What kind do you like?”

“Not lilies.” Sadie joked.  

“Belladonna maybe? What do witches like?”

“Well this witch likes roses.”

Julian froze, “Uh maybe something else?”

He face paled; she’d probably heard from Dwight and Laura. “Oh shit! I’m sorry! Look don’t worry about it.”

“No, no, it’s just, they’re not-”

“Marigolds then.” She said, hurried.

“I can work with that.” Julian recovered, the awkwardness still lingering. “You shall be showered in marigolds. You’ll be covered in pollen before the day is out.”

“Now that’s a picture.” Sadie said, letting him lead her towards the nearest flower booth and moving her head so he could tuck a marigold into her curls. “Aww, that’s so cute.” Julian agreed.

The rest of the day was much of the same. It was like they’d said; there wasn’t really much of a difference between hanging out and a date beyond the declaration of intent. It was fun though. He liked being able to wander around and feel like, yeah, this was a date. It was something he could say aloud. And she was nice. Maybe it wouldn’t go anywhere, but as far as dates went he’d had far worse ones. It was certainty better than dealing with all the romantic drama an all-boys school seemed to kick up.

By the time everyone started packing up, they were sitting on a bench near the entrance and exit gates, sharing a basket of chili fries. Sadie was telling him about her last boating adventure around the Florida Keys, and Julian’d been wistfully imagining a surf contest between the two of them if she ever ended up on the West Coast.

The Prima and Royal prefects were gathering their girls near the gate. Julian looked over, “Do you need to get going?”

“Probably. I wish I had been able to drive here on my own, but the roads are too icy for my bike.”

“Why the hell would you bike all the way here? The fairgrounds are like, ten miles from Dobry.”  

“No, motorbike. I ride sometimes with some other students, but I can’t do shit in the winters up here.”

“You have a motorbike?” Julian asked, “You realize that makes you like, ten points hotter.”

She blushed. “You’re an idiot. But yeah, I guess it does. Maybe I’ll take you out sometime when the weather gets warmer.”

“It’s another date I guess,” Julian said, crumpling up the paper from the finished fries. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around though? The girl clinging to the cool guy on the motorbike?”

“Well, it’s either you or Allison, and she’s still in her baby gay phase so I don’t want to mess with that.” Sadie stood, before bending down to kiss the corner of Julian’s mouth. She flushed. “I’ll see you around.”

Julian looked after her, a little shocked but in a good way. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

She waved as she went to join the other Dobry girls at the buses. Maybe he’d have to join the rest of his own House at some point; but either way… it had been a good day. Yeah.

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: The Days Before

Chapter 43 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! In which there are... a lot of convos, frankly. Fenris chats with Morrigan, Varric and Hawke, Cullen, Cassandra, and Cole. NEXT WEEK WILL BE ACTION THOUGH, SO THERE’S THAT.

It’s a long one (~9500 words); only the first half here. Read the whole thing on AO3.

**********************

Over the next few days, the Inquisition’s forces began to trickle back through Skyhold’s gates. Bull and the Chargers were the first to return, and Dorian promptly became unavailable for consultation, to Hawke’s delight and Fenris’s utter lack of surprise. Cullen and a squadron of soldiers returned with Samson in chains, and Fenris immediately gave Samson over to Dagna for study. He spent considerable time conferring with the advisors about Corypheus’s potential location and discussing the ongoing political unrest that was blooming across Orlais and Ferelden both in the wake of the Chantry’s disarray. 

When he wasn’t in the war room, Fenris spent much of his time, oddly enough, with Morrigan. Despite her dismay at being bound to her ineffable mother’s will, the witch was clearly enjoying the insights that the Vir’Abelasan afforded her, and Fenris forced himself to tolerate her smugness in exchange for the information she was able to provide. 

One such piece of information was the fact that each eluvian could theoretically lead to any other existing eluvian. “Imagine the implications,” Morrigan said to Fenris one day as they sat together in the garden pagoda. “Imagine if you could move your entire army across a continent in the space of seconds.” She shook her head in wonder and ran her fingers delicately over the ancient elven tome on her lap. “‘Tis no wonder the ancient elves closed all paths to the crossroads during their internal war. Seal the eluvians, and you prevent an enemy from using them to attack.”

“And yet not all of the eluvians are sealed,” Fenris said shrewdly. 

Morrigan raised one sardonic eyebrow. “Clearly, as you have seen yourself.”

He ignored her condescending tone. “Perhaps there was a reason they were not all sealed,” he said flatly. “We know now that elves from those ancient wars have survived. We also know that they have an extremely long memory when it comes to their loyalties. Do you see where I am going with this?”

Morrigan lifted her chin and eyed him appraisingly, so Fenris went on. “Is there a way to reseal the open eluvians? Beyond physically breaking them, that is?” If it was possible to permanently seal all the eluvians, an enormous source of unknown threat would be instantly eliminated.  

Unsurprisingly, Morrigan scowled at this suggestion. “The question we should ask is if there is a way to reopen the eluvians that have been sealed!” she exclaimed. “Imagine the mysteries we might recover of the ancient world, if only it were possible to unravel the eluvian network.”

Fenris folded his arms. “Imagine the destruction that could be wrought if the eluvian network fell into the wrong hands,” he retorted.

Morrigan shook her head in disgust. “Always so cautious, Inquisitor. I wonder at times how you have achieved such daring feats when you guard yourself so preciously.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Despite his best efforts, his ire was starting to grow. “You will not let this lie, will you?” he demanded. “This is what you’re going to use those cursed voices to learn. You’re going to try to–”

“Mother!” Kieran’s cheerful voice called out from across the garden, and Fenris and Morrigan both looked up as he approached. 

Kieran was carrying a laden tray in his hands, and he bowed politely as he entered the pagoda.   “Mother. Inquisitor,” he said politely. “Would you like some apple pie?” 

A bolt of amusement softened Fenris’s anger. As polite as ever, he thought. Kieran really did behave like a small adult at times. 

“Thank you,” he said, and he took one plate of pie from the tray. 

Morrigan smiled at her son and took the second plate. She took a delicate bite of pie, then looked at Kieran with wide eyes. “This is very good,” she said.

“I helped the cook to make it,” Kieran said excitedly. “I didn’t make a single mistake. She didn’t even smack my hand with the ladle like she does to Hawke!”

Fenris snorted softly – Hawke never had been the best cook, it was true – and Morrigan nodded approvingly. “Very well done, Kieran. Be sure to thank the cook for her instruction.”

“I will,” Kieran said happily. He bowed to Fenris once more, then turned and scurried back to the castle. 

Morrigan and Fenris ate in silence for a moment before Morrigan spoke again. “You believe that seeking knowledge is akin to seeking power, but allow me to dispel you of that absolutist notion. There is something to be said for curiosity, Inquisitor. True curiosity – learning for the sheer joy of mastery.” 

Fenris scowled as he munched his pie. Morrigan thought he was rigid and closed-minded, but she was wrong; Fenris did like to learn new things, and he read as much as he could when he had the time. It wasn’t the learning or the knowledge per se that bothered him. It was the intentions of the learner that he took issue with.

But… Morrigan had been with the Inquisition for months, and she hadn’t done any harm in her time here. She hadn’t made any attempts to escape Skyhold since Flemeth’s unprecedented visit a couple of days ago. And if Fenris was really being honest, Morrigan’s intentions weren’t really what worried him the most – not anymore. 

What disturbed him most were the implications of the new knowledge they were gaining. Everything that Fenris learned these days seemed to disrupt his understanding of the world and himself. The fact that Tranquility could be reversed, that lyrium was alive in some capacity, that vallaslin were slave markings, that an ancient elven goddess existed at all… Everything they learned just seemed to lead to more questions, and it seemed impossible nowadays to learn anything that didn’t give Fenris an instantaneous sense of vertigo about just how much he still didn’t know. 

On that note, there was another headache-inducing issue that required his attention. He sighed quietly as he chewed his final bite of pie, then placed his empty plate on the bench and rose to his feet. “I need to deal with something else,” he told Morrigan. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he gestured at the tome on her lap. “Thank you,” he said grudgingly. “For the information.”

“‘Tis my duty to share what I know, Inquisitor,” she said coolly. She didn’t look at him, but her shoulders relaxed slightly. 

Fenris turned away from her and headed for the Great Hall to find Varric. As he made his way through the garden and up the stairs, he tried to ignore the jittering nerves in his belly.

When he stepped into the Great Hall, it was to find Varric and Hawke in Varric’s usual spot by one of the fireplaces. Hawke was sitting on the carpet while Varric sorted through the mountain of mail on the table, and every time Varric handed an envelope to Hawke, she immediately chucked it into the fire. 

Fenris relaxed. He was glad Hawke was here, actually. It would make this conversation more bearable. 

Varric looked up with a smile as Fenris drew close. “Hey. Care to join us?” He tossed Fenris an envelope.

Fenris caught the envelope smoothly. “Of course. I wouldn’t spurn a time-honoured tradition.” He seated himself beside Hawke on the carpet, then tossed the piece of mail into the hearth. 

She smiled and leaned against his shoulder, and he glanced at the rotunda and lowered his voice before speaking. “Have you discovered anything new?” he asked.

“It’s okay, we can talk,” she said at a normal volume. “He’s taking a Fade nap in one of the quieter corners of the castle.”

“Ah. Good.” Fenris raised his eyebrows. “So…?”

She shrugged. “I was just telling Varric, I’ve learned a whole lot of stuff about the elven gods. Merrill would be proud of me if she were here.” She chuckled. “He lent me all the books he had about the elven gods by both the Dalish and the Chantry, and Maker, the shit the Chantry has twisted–”

Varric interrupted. “She asked Chuckles if he was a spirit.” He handed Hawke another piece of junk mail.

Fenris looked at her avidly. “And? What did he say?”

Hawke sighed and started idly tearing the envelope into pieces. “He asked me why I would think that. And I told him what Dorian said – he understands Cole so well, and he loves spirits and the Fade and all that. And he was all, ‘do you not think it is possible to love and understand a being who is unlike yourself?’” She threw the pieces of envelope into the fireplace. “And I mean, he’s not wrong, so… shit, I don’t know.” She grimaced at Fenris. “I think the answer was no, but I’m not sure.”

“Venhedis,” he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair and looked ruefully at Varric. “At what point shall we start accepting his incessant sidestepping as confirmation instead?”

Varric made a little face, and Hawke shrugged before tossing the remainder of the envelope into the fireplace. “His new mural looks great, though. I asked him how he learned to paint like that, and he started showing me the process. It’s actually really interesting!”

Her tone was cheerful and bright, and she wasn’t looking at either him or Varric. Fenris peered at her quizzically, and she glanced at him before letting out a little laugh. “What? You know I’ve always wanted to be an artist. Too bad there’s not a creative bone in this fine body of mine.”

A bubble of worry swelled in his belly. Hawke was doing her avoiding-and-humour routine – the same routine she used to pull when Fenris hassled her about Merrill and Anders. 

He tilted his head closer to hers. “Is there something you are not telling me?” he said quietly. 

She gave him a stricken look. “No. Of course not. I wouldn’t… you don’t actually think I would hide something from you?”

An image of her standing in the Well of Sorrows rose to his mind. He hastily shunted it aside. “No,” he said calmly. “But if you have concerns, you should share them.”  

She gazed at him in silence for a second, then reached up and ran her thumb over his eyebrow. “What about you? You looked like thunder when you first came through the door. What’s on your mind?”

He gazed at her in exasperation for a moment, but her tone and expression were determinedly cheerful. And unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong; he had come to speak with Varric, not with her. 

He sighed and put aside his Solas-related concerns for now, then rose to his feet and looked at Varric. “Are you busy at the moment?”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “Extremely busy, obviously,” he said with a wave at his table full of mail. “But I can spare some time for you. What do you need?”

“A favour, unfortunately,” Fenris said. “Can I speak with you in private?”

Varric raised his eyebrows, but rose from his chair. “A favour, huh? So you’re not kicking me out of the Inquisition?”

Fenris smirked faintly. “Only if you have been embezzling. We are suspiciously low on funds for Orlesian confectionery.” He turned to Hawke and gave her a meaningful look. “Will you join us?”

Her eyes widened. “Of course,” she said, and she rose to her feet as well and took his hand. Together, the three of them made their way to Fenris and Hawke’s quarters. 

Once they were in the bedroom, Varric folded his arms and gave them an expectant look. “All right, you two are making me nervous. What’s going on?”

Fenris glanced at Hawke, who had seated herself cross-legged on the bed. She nodded in encouragement, and Fenris turned back to Varric. 

“Hawke and I have been studying lyrium,” he said. “What it is, why it does the seemingly contradictory things it does. Or… we have been trying, but we have not gotten far. Dagna has told us what she could, but it… wasn’t much.” In truth, Dagna’s talk about lyrium had been more incomprehensible than Cole’s. 

Hawke spoke up from her spot on the bed. “It seems like lyrium has something to do with dwarves.”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “You needed Strawberry to figure that out?”

Hawke blinked at him, then grinned. “Your nickname for Dagna is Strawberry?”

Varric waved a dismissive hand. “Red hair, pale skin, sweet kid. You get the picture.”

Hawke laughed, but Fenris doggedly pressed on. “What Hawke means is that the link between dwarves and lyrium is more than simply mining. There is something more… inherent about the connection. But we’re not clear on what the connection is.”

Varric gave Fenris a flat look. “Is this where you ask me if I have a special dwarven sixth sense for lyrium that I never told you about?”

Hawke snorted, and Fenris tsked in annoyance. “No. This is where I ask if you’ll write to Bianca on my behalf.” 

Varric raised his eyebrows, and Fenris pushed on despite his growing nerves. “I was wondering if you might ask her if she and Dagna would consider working together. They are the two most qualified people I can think of.”

Varric shrugged. “Uh, yeah, sure. She’s not at her workshop, though. She’s in Emprise du Lion.” He tugged one of his earrings. 

On the bed, Hawke straightened up. “What? Why?”

“She’s studying the red lyrium there,” he said. “Trying to see if they can eliminate it. It’s really bad there, remember?”

“She’s trying to help get rid of it?” Hawke said in obvious surprise.

Varric shot her a chiding look. “She’s not all brass and salt, Hawke. Give her a little credit.”

Hawke slapped a hand over her mouth. “Balls,” she said, and she pulled an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry, Varric, I don’t mean to be such a bitch about her, I just–”

“I know,” Varric said in a softer tone. “Don’t worry about it.” He looked up at Fenris once more. “But why are you so interested in lyrium all of a sudden?”

Fenris’s gut twisted. This was the part of this conversation he’d been dreading. He took a deep breath. “I want to know more about the substance that’s been forced under my skin,” he said. “The more I don’t know about it, the more it revolts me. And to think it’s alive?” He swallowed and looked at lines on the backs of his hands. “The questions this has raised… their itch is worse than the scars that these cursed marks left behind.” He looked Varric in the eye. “I need to know what I am dealing with.”

Varric’s expression was very serious. “All right,” he said. “Any specific question you want to ask her, though? Lyrium is a big topic.”

Fenris glanced at Hawke’s warm and loving face, then turned to Varric again. “I want to know why lyrium infusions have different effects for mages and Templars. It does not make sense that the same infusion has such different effects.”

“All right,” Varric said. “And is there a specific reason you want to know that? Maybe relating to why you two keep looking at each other?” He jerked his chin at Hawke.

Kaffas, Fenris thought. His pulse was racing now. He looked at Hawke again. 

“Yeah, like that,” Varric said dryly. 

Hawke slid off of the bed and padded toward Fenris, and he turned back to Varric and took another bracing breath. “Solas told me something some time ago. About my… these marks. He said using the marks entails using magic.”

Varric tilted his head curiously. “So those tattoos are magic after all?”

Hawke took Fenris’s hand and squeezed it. Fenris swallowed hard. “Yes,” he said. “They contain magic. Magic that was… that is… mine.” 

Varric gazed at him in bemusement for a second. Then his eyes grew huge. “Shit. Andraste’s ass,” he breathed. “You’re a mage?”

“I was,” Fenris said quickly. “Now the magic is… it is contained in these marks.” 

Varric continued to stare at him, and Fenris could feel his scarred skin crawling with discomfort. Varric was the least judgmental person he knew, but this confession was so damned difficult to make, and his origins as a mage made him such a terrible hypocrite…  

Varric interrupted his frantic thoughts. “That’s why you were tired after fighting those Sentinels, isn’t it? You were getting overextended.”

Hawke replied for him. “I think he was, yes,” she said. “And I want to know what would happen if he took a lyrium potion. Theoretically it seems like it might help, but we’re not willing to risk it going wrong.”

Varric huffed. “That makes sense. Let’s not accidentally poison the elf here.”

Fenris’s shoulders loosened slightly at the joke, and Hawke smiled. “Exactly. I’m a little bit fond of this handsome elf, in case you didn’t notice.”

Varric snorted in amusement. Then he patted Fenris’s elbow. “Sorry, buddy,” he said softly. “That must’ve been, uh, something to hear.”

“You could say that,” Fenris said wryly. Truthfully, the knowledge that he was once a mage was the most jarring thing Fenris had learned since all of this chaos had begun.

Varric studied him for a second, then tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “Well, lucky for me that this doesn’t have to change anything in my novel. Lyrium tattoos is all my readers need to know. I like to keep things a mystery – keeps them coming back for the sequel, you know?”

At this, Fenris relaxed completely. The subtext of Varric’s words was clear: this new revelation had not changed Varric’s opinion of him, and it would remain private between himself, Hawke, and Varric.

Fenris sighed. “Thank you, my friend,” he said softly. 

Varric chuckled. “Ah, don’t thank me yet. When you start getting fifty-page-long reports from Bianca, you’ll be less than thankful.”

That is not what I meant, Fenris thought, but he simply smiled. After all, Varric knew that wasn’t what he’d meant, either.

Hawke squeezed Fenris’s hand once more, then released him and elbowed Varric. “Is she as good a writer as you are? If that’s the case, then those reports will be a pleasure to read.”

Varric smirked. “Actually, she’s not. That’s the one thing I’m better at than her. That and penmanship. Her handwriting looks like a one-toed wyvern writing with its left hand.”

“Hey,” Hawke protested. “I resent that on behalf of all left-handed people.”

Varric chuckled, and they made their way back downstairs. Once they were back in the Great Hall, Varric glanced at his table and sighed. “Well, I’d better get back to my mail. Aveline and Bran keep sending me letters. You can practically hear the yelling matches in their handwriting.” He smirked at Fenris and Hawke. “It’s some great drama, I have to admit. Inspirational, even.”

Hawke gave him a shrewd look. “They’ve been writing you a lot. Is there something you wanted to tell us?”

He shrugged. “Nah, not really. I’ve just been donating some coin to the repair efforts back home, that’s all.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “You have?”

Varric shot him a sardonic look. “Hey, I had a lot of funds from the Deep Roads. And from other things.” 

Fenris smirked at his innocent tone, and Hawke laughed out loud. “You’re still running smuggling routes in Kirkwall? Really?”

Varric tutted. “Hey, just because there’s an undead magister trying to kill us doesn’t mean the whole world comes to a stop.”

“It sort of does, in fact,” Fenris drawled.

Varric chuckled. “Tell that to the wedding you guys had a couple months ago.”

Fenris shrugged affably. “Fair enough.”

Varric smiled at him, then folded his arms. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Aveline about the dirty money. She’s delighted to get some funding for clearing out the docks.” Then he looked up at Hawke. “What’s up?”

Fenris looked at Hawke as well. She was studying Varric with a distinctly hangdog expression. “You’re leaving us after Corypheus is dead, aren’t you?” she asked plaintively.

Varric raised his eyebrows. “What? No.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not right away, at least.”

Hawke’s face fell even further, and Varric patted her elbow. “Hey now, don’t make that face. You two could come too.” He cocked his head at her. “You know your mansion is still standing? It’s… well, it’s a total mess, but it’s still there. And technically still yours. A few months of renovations and it would be livable again.” 

Hawke wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Varric. You want us to come back, don’t you?”

Varric rubbed his nose. “Look, I’m just pointing out that you have options. And I mean… honestly, Kirkwall is pretty boring without you guys.” He glanced at Fenris.

Fenris managed a smile, but he couldn’t reply. His chest suddenly felt very heavy. He hadn’t forgotten what Solas had said before: that Corypheus’s death wouldn’t mean the end of the decisions Fenris was being asked to make. The Chantry was still in disarray, and Josephine wouldn’t always be able to hold off the countless Chantry sisters and clerics and political parties who were demanding the Inquisition’s input or support. 

Oblivious to his thoughts, Hawke was still hugging Varric. Varric chuckled and patted her arm. “Ah come on, no need to strangle me.” 

“I’m not,” she said, and she hugged him harder still. “I’m just hugging my most-loved and favourite friend.”

“I know, I know,” Varric said airily. “I’m the smartest man in Thedas and the most handsome dwarf you’ve ever seen.”

She gasped dramatically and released him. “And you can read my mind! Maker’s balls, talk about hidden talents.”

Varric chuckled, and Hawke slung her arms around Fenris’s waist and Varric’s neck. “Forget your mail for now. Let’s go to the tavern for some lunch, just the three of us. What do you say?”

“All right, all right, twist my arm,” Varric said. “I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes. Let me actually read some of this mail before I start slacking off.” 

Hawke and Fenris left Varric to his mail, and as they left the Great Hall, Hawke took his hand. “So Dorian’s going back to Tevinter, and Varric’s going back to Kirkwall eventually. What do you think everyone else will do when Corypheus is dead?”

Fenris shrugged somewhat listlessly. “Cassandra and Leliana will certainly stay with the Inquisition. Unless one of them gets called to become the next Divine, that is. Cullen will remain. Sera and Blackwall will also likely–”

“Fenris,” Hawke said, “should we go back to Kirkwall?”

He looked at her. Her expression was so open and curious, and his heavy heart gave a dull thump. 

I might not have that choice, he thought. The countless advisor meetings in the war room weighed heavy on his mind. As time had gone on, the decisions he’d been forced to make had become less about Corypheus and more about politics, and Fenris had long stopped arguing with Leliana and Josephine that he wasn’t qualified to make those decisions. 

Somehow, the Inquisition had become the force that many parties across Thedas came to for political backing or peacekeeping, and as much as Fenris disliked it, he wasn’t sure that he had the choice to simply leave it all behind.

The sad truth was this: the more Fenris thought about leaving the Inquisition after Corypheus was defeated, the more he doubted that he would actually be able to leave. 

He swallowed. There was no harm in indulging Hawke’s question, even if it was… unrealistic. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “Would you want to go back?” He remembered this topic coming up a few months ago in another conversation with Varric, but he and Hawke had never actually talked about it further. He was fairly sure that she would want to go back to Kirkwall if they had the choice, but when she didn’t reply right away, he looked at her in surprise.

She winced. “Honestly… I don’t know. I wonder if everyone still hates me there for supposedly helping to blow up the Chantry?” She laughed lightly. “I still think it’s funny that they think I played a part in that. I mean, I’m a heathen and I like a bonfire as much as the next girl, but I’m not that extreme.”

Fenris tried for a smile, but his heart felt too leaden. He squeezed her hand instead, and she squeezed his fingers in turn before speaking again. “It might feel strange if we went back. Things are so different now. And it wouldn’t be the same without…” She trailed off, but Fenris knew who she was thinking of. 

Carver. Hawke had only seen her brother once a month or so during their years in Kirkwall, but he had always just been a short boat ride away at the Gallows. 

And now Carver was forever beyond her reach.  

They walked in silence toward the tavern for a moment. Then Hawke smiled at him. “It would be nice to be near Varric again, though.”

Her voice was stubbornly cheerful. Fenris’s chest swelled with a nearly-painful throb of affection. “This is true,” he said gently. “And we would be near Aveline and Donnic again. It’s certainly an easier visit for Isabela, as well.” 

Hawke’s smile broadened, and she released his hand to loop her arm around his waist instead. But as they approached the tavern, Fenris couldn’t help but recall the occasional wistful conversations they’d had about a life where they hadn’t been sucked into the Inquisition. And as it often did, the fantasy of a little house on the beach in Rivain crossed his mind. 

He recognized the irony of this idle imagining. He never thought he would be wistful for the days when it was just himself and Hawke hiding from the Templars and the Chantry. But sometimes, in the moments when he grew tired of the politicking and the decisions and the constant talking, Fenris would fantasize about settling somewhere new with Hawke alone – somewhere where they could have a completely fresh start without the mantles of their reputations weighing them down. 

But Hawke wasn’t like him. She loved company and friends, and despite her doubts about returning to Kirkwall, she would most certainly be happier if she were closer to the people she considered family.

She looked up at him. “Fenris, do you remember the conversation we had right after they made you the Inquisitor? We were on the battlements, and we talked about, um… I know we were just kidding around, but–”

He looked at her sharply. “The Rivaini beach house,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Yes!” she said. “Exactly.” 

He stared at her in wonder with his heart in his throat. Her eyes were bright with incredulity, but as he watched, a beautiful smile bloomed across her face. And in this perfect moment in time, Fenris knew without a doubt that he and Hawke were thinking the exact same fanciful thought. 

In this moment, Fenris felt so in sync with her – so much in tune with the thoughts going through her mind and the thrumming of her pulse that he thought his heart might burst. He stared into her eyes, and in their honey-coloured depths, he could see a perfect picture of the ideal: a small but cozy cabin steps away from the sandy shore. A cozy little home in a place that was warm throughout the year, so Toby could run around without his knees getting stiff. Somewhere safe and peaceful where he and Hawke were unknowns. Where maybe, if Hawke was willing, they might consider adding another element of chaos to their lives: another tiny person, perhaps…? 

Fenris gazed breathlessly into Hawke’s coppery eyes and admired the beautiful fantasies that were dancing there. When she lifted herself onto her toes and kissed him, he kissed her back with an aching heart. And for a blissful, carefree moment, they stood wrapped in each other’s arms and fantasized about the sort of shining, peaceful, idyllic life that they had never had. 

Read the second half on AO3!

[secretsfromwholecloth]

Dragon Age II, day 5.

The post-coital arm stroking in Merrill’s romance cutscene, reblog if you agree.

The sweetness. The realism. That is a thing I have done to people.

The more characters I meet with amazing voices provided by VAs who are actually from the relevant country, the more inexplicable the casting of Zevran becomes.

When I do an RPG series playthrough like this, I research and plan out my class and romance choices to experience a nice cross-section of stuff that appeals to me. (My first four Watchers in Pillars were the result of just this sort of planning to make sure I bagged the set of romances and faction alliances without making myself look cis or homophobic. I get twitchy about these things, OK?) For this run, I read up on my romance options and picked out Alistair, Merrill, and Blackwall, constructing the rest from there. Alistair was the obvious choice because he’s cute and appealing, of course. With Blackwall it became obvious very quickly that I was seeing myself in him; I’ve got a long speech on that prepared that I’ll give you when I actually meet him. I thought I’d picked Merrill because she was adorable, but...”lonely person researches the ancient past of their culture as a way of connecting with them even though the present-day community wants no part of them”? I, uh, may know something about that. Oh, Merrill. I hereby decree that Taran is giving you a shit-ton more hugs somewhere just offscreen.

So, Merrill, Varric, and Sten are writer-siblings, huh? Clearly madame loves me and wants me to be happy, because she’s taken very, very good care of me.

I love it when writers don’t hate me, whether for being fat, AFAB, non-binary, aro and/or ace-spec, a rape survivor, mentally ill, or just generally kind of weird and terrible. The Deadfire team won my undying loyalty that way, and Ms. Kirby has now done the same.

Hey, Isabela, get back here, I hadn’t had your Questioning Beliefs conversation yet!

Oop, time to fight some Qunari.

Stroud? The Grey Wardens are here? Thanks, guys!

BETHANYYYY *sniff*

Honestly, Taran would be having a much easier time of the whole “losing pretty much his entire family” thing if the last non-Gamlen relative standing didn’t resent him so much for the whole “packing her off to the Wardens” thing.

That’s...a lot of hostile Qunari. Welp. Let’s do this.

And now, on to Act 3. Meredith, you’re terrible.

Oh hello, Delilah Howe. Why, yes, I’d love to go looking for your brother. :D :D :D

Oh, Nathaniel, I’ve missed you. I think Anders has missed you, too. Hm, you sound a little off, but I suppose you’re in rough shape right now.

*sniff* Bethany!

Nate, Bethany, you two take care of each other. You can bond over your messed-up families and how fucked up everything got because of the Blight. Oh, hey, get Nate to tell you some stories about her majesty the Warden-Commander, he’s got some good ones. (Oghren’s got better ones from the Blight, assuming he’s still alive, but he’s best kept away from pretty young women for the sake of everyone’s sanity. Maybe get those second-hand from someone less...sexual-harass-y.)

Honestly, Taran doesn’t even have the energy to misread the situation and give Nate a threatening speech about his intentions. Just...take care of his sister, buddy. Because he apparently can’t, and you’ll never, ever convince him that she doesn’t need a big brother to protect her.

(As far as shipping Nate/Bethany, I find I rather like it. But we’re waiting until after this happens to have them fall for each other, right? An 11-year age gap is period-typical and doesn’t have to stop a pair of adults from doing anything—I’d be a hypocrite if I said it did!—but I’m a little more comfortable when it’s 26/37 than 23/34. Besides, that way they’ve had time to get to know each other, which is how I like it.)

A new Act means a new round of scouring the hinterlands for crafting resources and loot. Wheeeeeee kill me now.

...Zevran? Are you sending me after Zevran, Nuncio?

Oh, Zevran. I’ll admit, I did kind of miss you. I still wish you’d had a genuine Hispanophone VA, though. And wow, you look different.

You’ll never convince me that Zevran isn’t on retainer as their majesties’ convenient assassin friend. Or at least that he won’t be once he finds himself back in Ferelden.

Here Taran thought he’d track down some relatively nice apostates, he’d turn them loose, they’d be grateful, it’d be nice. Nope, here he is putting down abominations. He took Templar powers in the first place because he could be more useful and less dangerous to the mages around him if he could dispel or no-sell magic that went wrong instead of having to attack them. It’s wearing on him.

See, this business with Emile is how he wanted all of them to go.

Oh, Anders. It’s understandable why you would lie, considering what you’re actually planning, but...augh.

Anders, stop. We get it, you think blood magic is awful, but a) considering what you’re up to, are you sure you’re an improvement, and b) ragging on Taran and Merrill’s relationship feels kind of icky coming from someone who was so damned loud about wanting Taran for himself. You won’t get them to break up any more than they’ll get you to call off the bombing.

Sister Nightingale? *bouncyclaps* It’s after midnight, though, so I’ll have to go see her tomorrow.