#put the hands in handers

[full---ofstarlight]

i'd follow him to hell and back but i wish he'd stop going there x

--

so so thrilled with this avis x anders commission from @skellagirl !!! ive thought about this specific pose/vibe for these two for a while and she just totally blew it away and alksjdaklsdj

[mayasaura]

Harrow's surprsingly easy to play in Skyrim! Her main battle technique is to conjure skeletons and stand back to snipe from the side, but for big bosses she'll summon a spirit to fight for her. The game calls it Harrowhark's Undying Ghost, but I think of him as Nonius.

[phillipsgraves]

the ways that you say my name, have me running on and on. alex hawke x anders.

i made another one bc well. they were on the mind and i care them

[template]

[katakaluptastrophy]

Let's be very clear about what the Houses do.

When Gideon fantasises about leaving the Ninth, this is what she imagines:

Not for Gideon a security detail on one of the holding planets, either on a lonely outpost on an empty world or in some foreign city babysitting some Third governor. Gideon wanted a drop ship—first on the ground—a fat shiny medal saying INVASION FORCE ON WHATEVER, securing the initial bloom of thanergy without which the finest necromancer of the Nine Houses could not fight worth a damn. The front line of the Cohort facilitated glory. In her comic books, necromancers kissed the gloved palms of their front-liner comrades in blessed thanks for all that they did. In the comic books none of these adepts had heart disease, and a lot of them had necromantically uncharacteristic cleavage.

A drop ship of infantry. Armed with those infantry standard two-hander swords. Their job is to secure the initial bloom of thanergy. Which sounds like a very antiseptic way of saying that a House invasion starts with a suicide squad of teenagers whose job it is to cause as many casualties as possible, so that the necromancers have something to work with. Teenagers like Gideon, desperate serfs or just wanting to make something of themselves, sold a promise of sex and glory, economic assets of their far-flung Houses until their untimely deaths.

But how useful their deaths, and those they take with them are! To the necromanvers of the Second, who can drain your thalergy as you die screaming. The Third, who can draw energy from the corpses littering the battlefield. The Fourth, who can turn them into bombs...

Until the subdued planet can be flipped, a contract put in place, a profit exacted. That Third governor installed.

Later, John explains to Harrow how planets are flipped:

So back at the start we’d drop in a single Lyctor, unnoticed, to start the thanergy reaction. Not to flip the whole planet, you understand, just to get the juice flowing.” He made a hand gesture for get the juice flowing, which made your head hurt. “Then within an hour or two you could send down a team of adepts and be confident they’d have all the reserves they needed. Nowadays we can’t afford to use Lyctors, so the first strike falls to the men and women of the Cohort, and they do a magnificent job…but the old way was neater, and kinder too, I think.

And in NTN, Aim describes her own harrowing experience as a displaced victim of what happens after that invasion, after the long and exploitative economic contract, and after the planet finally succumbs to its flipping:

The usual. It had been under contract for a long time. I mean, we were the third settlement wave, they built the Crescent in the bones of two other cities, you couldn’t dig up anything without finding remnants of a people we’d never known. The microbial population didn’t show signs of serious decay until the moment before the sea went anaerobic. The things crawling out of there … they seemed to mutate all at once … The Houses pulled support, said they’d prep us for an early move, but they left minimal forces in the barracks. We dug up old caches of materiel and used them. On the mutants from the sea, on the animals as they changed, on one another, on the Houses when they saw what we’d got our hands on and came back to take control. Blood of Eden was there too, you know. And in the end the Houses won and most of us surrendered and we were moved. Two moves later, and I’m here. There’s still a facility on Lemuria, of course. A decade later the Houses made it safe for geopolymer refining. It must be desolate.

And so you get the "lonely outpost on an empty world", the assignment Gideon saw as so unglamorous.

[nodirectionhome-ao3]

Spilled Butterbeer

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts Day 2. 1271 words Prompt: A: “If anyone does X I’m going to love them forever.” B: Does X.

———

“You’re insane, you know that?”

“I most certainly am not.”

“A complete nutter. A mad, raving—”

“I think I get the picture, Sirius.”

The pub is loud—hot and sticky with the feel of too many people in too small a room. James and Sirius sit together at a table in the back corner, sandwiched between a group of excessively raucous third-year boys and a young couple who seem to be under the impression that one momentary break from their sloppy snogging might be enough to unravel the entire fabric of the universe. Or something equally dire. 

James takes a quick swig from his butterbeer, missing his mouth just a bit in his haste and sending some of it spilling down onto his cloak. Blast. “I just think,” he says, brushing at the wet fabric with the heel of his palm and grimacing a bit at how hot the butterbeer still is to the touch, “that if we are to truly fancy ourselves experts on subjects of marauding and well-meaning vigilantism—”

“Ugh, not this again.”

“—then we shouldn’t let something as daft as the law keep us from having a little fun at old Minchum’s expense.” 

Sirius leans back against the wall, stretching his legs out into the slim gap between their table and the snogging couple’s. (They still have not so much as paused for air.) “Prongs,” he begins, “as much as I enjoy spending my detentions with you—”

“Soppy.”

“—I reckon being sent to Azkaban would take some of the fun out of our sixth year.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” James takes another sip from his butterbeer, more carefully this time. “They don’t send people to Azkaban for using Levicorpus. If they did, half of Slytherin would’ve lost their souls by now.” He pauses to consider that, lowering his tankard down to the table. “Although,” he reasons. “I s’pose if that did happen, we wouldn’t much know the difference, would we?” 

Sirius snorts into his butterbeer, spraying some of it across the table between them. James grins.

“The problem isn’t the spell, and you know it,” replies Sirius. “I doubt the Aurors over there would see the humor in the Minister for Magic being hoisted up to the ceiling by his ankles.” 

“All the more reason to do it then, yeah?”

Sirius shakes his head, grinning. “Like I said. You’re a nutter.”

“Maybe,” shrugs James. “But if anyone does find a way to put that pompous, self-righteous, prejudiced git in his place…I’m going to love them forever. That’s all I’m saying.”

They both turn at that, shifting to observe where the politician in question is still holding court in the center of the pub, gesticulating drunkenly to his table of Ministry glad-handers. Even through the loud hum of conversation that fills the air around him, James can hear the nasal drone of the Minister’s voice as he talks on and on about ‘the problem with the pro-Muggle movement’ and ‘the proper order of a well-structured wizard society.’ 

James scowls. Minchum seems to be under the impression that opposing the Death Eaters’ violence makes him immune to any accusation of intolerance. Far as James is concerned, it doesn’t. Merlin, he hates that man.

A movement behind the man catches James’s eye, then, and he lifts his gaze to find Lily Evans striding confidently forward. She’s holding two teeming pitchers of butterbeer in her hands, and her expression is one of steely determination as she marches purposefully closer to the Minister for Magic. Nearing his table, she lurches—stumbling forward and stretching out her arms like anyone might do when they find themselves on the verge of tripping. In that split second, James is sure he sees her wrists tilt downwards in a deliberate motion right before the full contents of both pitchers come sloshing down over the Minister’s head.

The hum of the pub grows louder, briefly, with the sound of gasps before dropping off steeply to a stunned quiet. In an instant, it seems that all the heads in the room are craned to watch the Minister as he yelps and leaps to his feet. He splutters and gasps, dancing from one foot to the other and wiping frantically at the hot butterbeer that’s still sliding down his face. He is absolutely drenched with the foaming liquid, and—when he begins to dart his eyes around the room—it quickly becomes evident that he is also supremely embarrassed.

Lily, for her part, gives away nothing. She adopts a convincing look of feigned surprise, adjusting her grip on the now-empty tankards so that she can bring a hand up to cover her mouth. (No doubt to hide a smile). 

“I’m so sorry, Minister,” she gushes. “That wasn’t properly orderly of me at all!”

If the Minister detects any of the sarcasm in her tone, he doesn’t show it. He clears his throat when he looks at her, moving to straighten his robes as if grasping feebly at his retreating dignity. “That’s quite alright, miss,” he answers, his voice a bit more high-pitched than usual. “Not to worry, not to worry. I’ll just—” His hand darts up to adjust his necktie, and his face is bright red when he turns to address the stunned Ministry officials around him. “Well, now, I’d best be off, chaps. Lots to do, of course, lots to do…”

He flees the Three Broomsticks at a brisk pace, head bowed as the room fills with snickers. 

“I’ll leave these here, then,” says Lily innocently to the Ministry men. She sets the tankards down on their table and turns away from them, setting off through the crowd. When she draws nearer, she catches sight of James and Sirius and smirks. 

James feels a flurry of something in his chest when their eyes meet. Realizing his mouth is hanging open, he forces it shut.

“Potter, Black,” Lily says, still smirking when she reaches their table. “Bit clumsy, sometimes, aren’t I?” 

James can do nothing but stare at her.

“Do you mind, Potter?” she asks, gesturing to his butterbeer. “I spilled mine, you see.”

James, still speechless, manages to push his tankard toward her. She picks it up and tilts back her head, draining it in one breath. Setting it down, she wipes the foam from the corners of her lips (are her lips always that red?) and meets James’s gaze with an undeniable glint of mischief.

“Marry me, Evans,” James says, without thinking. 

She laughs loudly, swatting at his arm and throwing herself down into the empty chair beside him. “In your dreams, Potter,” she says. 

She settles back in her chair, kicking her feet up onto the empty one next to Sirius—who gives her a small smile of grudging admiration and passes her his tankard. “I like your style, Evans,” he says.

She accepts his butterbeer with a nod and takes a few sips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

With a barking laugh, Sirius stands up. “I’d better get you another round,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to be empty-handed if Old Minchum shows his face again.” 

He stops on his way to the bar, pausing just long enough to stoop down and whisper in James’s ear: “Congratulations, Prongs. I’ll expect to be Best Man.”

James, his face growing hot, elbows him sharply in the ribs in response. But the move only elicits another snort of laughter from his best mate as Sirius hurries away to fetch them all more butterbeer.

“So,” Lily says, taking another sip from Sirius’s tankard and fixing James with that mischievous smirk again. “You were proposing?”  

[firefly--bright]

ur so pretty.

jean kirstein x fem!reader, modern a.u.

summary ; jean liked to drive alone, to sit in his thoughts for a while. it's getting harder to think when he can't stop himself from thinking about you, though.

warnings ; jean is canonically left handed (yes this is a warning)

taglist ; @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @berrijam , @jeanscremebrulee , @kivernova , @imgayandshesanime , @potaho3frog , @katestrophes , @cherrypieyourface , @xakilicious , @moonmalice shoot me and ask or fill the linked form to join!

✿ masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ requests are open! ✿

middle tile art creds - @nahoiya on instagram!

✿

jean liked to drive alone.

even before he got his driver's license, he'd made a plan of being the designated driver, researching different car models and gushing over the sleek designs, shiny coloured metal, and all of the features they had to offer. of course, he'd never actually buy the more expensive ones no matter how attached he was to them when he was a young teenager.

no, instead he drove comfortably in his mother's sedan that had gone through too much. there was a particularly harsh dent on the passenger side - the paint slightly chipped from when some asshole tried to park dangerously close to his car.

regardless, his first addition to the car was now long weathered under the uncontrollable temperatures - a bumper sticker he had bought when he first got his learners license, reading "LEFT-HANDERS HAVE RIGHTS TOO!"

not his wisest decision. Connie never let him live it down. speaking of, his friend also gave him a car hanger he had made himself, consisting of a lego version of jean that was messily glued onto a hoodie string. marco commemorated jean getting a drivers license by getting him a keychain of a mini lucky 8 ball, and Sasha had presented him with what he was sure was a lifetime supply of the little tree air fresheners.

despite all the years jean had put that poor car through, it drove as good as new - something you always praised him for.

getting into the driver's seat, he strapped on his seatbelt, turning the keys. the car started with a tremble, and jean threw his bag on the backseat before taking off to marco and his shared apartment just a little ways off-campus, providing for a nice, quiet ride that jean preferred after a long day. he liked to think about the day, mentally note everything down before having to open the door to his house again.

he bopped his head to the tune of the song you had introduced to him, thinking about how you had called him in the middle of the day after your classes had ended, in disbelief of how incompetent your classmates were.

"i mean, I'm not doing all the work, and I'm not going to take credit for it either, but I'm just annoyed that no-one even tried to participate. we're all doing this for a grade, at least act like you deserve one!" you rambled, and jean could hear you speed-walking through campus, your voice being carried away by the wind. he could hear each huff you took, and tried not to smile to himself as he sat back in the library, getting comfortable.

he hummed. "who are these people?"

you breathed out an annoyed laugh, "I'm sure you know them. this guy named Floch and this girl named Virginia?"

jean cringed, "I hate people that name their kids after states. be more creative-"

"exactly!" you said, and jean swore he saw the way you were smiling, a mental picture of your eyes bright and the apples of your cheeks pressed up against the corner of your eyes, smiling widely.

jean stopped at the red light, the song playing through his car, and he tried not to think about how you had come to him one night, almost in tears about it, claiming you put too much baking powder in your cinnamon rolls to the point where they had a "weird pineappley bite-back kinda taste," in your words, which he surprisingly understood. and then, how when it was just the two of you later that night, you admitted how much you missed cooking for Sasha after she had moved, and jean took you in his arms.

"wanna shit-talk about niccolo?" he had asked with a grin, resting his cheek on your head with one arm around your shoulders. he could feel them move as you laughed.

"no, I'm good. I'm glad he gets her," you said.

he paused to let you complete your thought, but your voice never presented itself. "but?" he pushed, knowing there was an answer.

he tried not to think about how well he knew you altogether, as he accelerated, his hands on the steering wheel. but he couldn't help himself and his mind seemed to like how hot his cheeks grew when he thought back on it.

"but...I don't know, I guess...I feel kind of lonely? i mean, I love sash-"

"mhm"

"and I'm very happy for her-"

"of course."

"i just, feel like the place is too empty and I'm just reminded that I'm alone."

he pauses again. "you're not alone, though." you lift your head from his shoulder, resting it on the back of the couch, your eyes looking at his and he feels himself shudder under the warmth of it all. youre looking for an answer in him and he gives it to you without even having to think about it, and he tries not to think about how he'd give you all the answers to all the questions there are to ask if you were the one to ask them. he tries not to think about how you wouldnt ask him, though, because he knows you too well to know that you wouldn't ask much of him other than that he should be himself.

"you're...well, you have me. can't get rid of that."

you laugh, settling back into his arm, and jean tried not to think about how your hair smells like vanilla. "i don't want to get rid of you," you admit, shrugging, like it's an easy thing for you to say.

no matter how hard jean tries not to think about it, he can't stop. he can't stop thinking about you and how his ears went red over when you gave him coffee from your own mug and he thinks about how even then, he had tried not to think. not to think that you had drank the same coffee from the same cup and your lipstick stained the rim of it and how his own lips grazed it as well and then, before he could stop himself, he thinks about kissing you.

another red light and another shift in the music, playing the soft tunes that he now knew by heart. he shifted in his seat, trying to get more comfortable, and his thoughts went back to you.

he tried getting them not to, though. he tried thinking about how he'd have to call his mother tonight because he hadn't done so since the night before, and then he though about how marco had told him that groceries needed to be bought, and then he thought about how you had said you liked those off-brand marshmallows and he had made fun of you for liking them.

but you defended them with your life and he ultimately gave in, buying you a pack, and tried not to think about how you got excited over it.

dammit. he turned the familiar left, switching his indications on and off, checking his rearview. he cleared his throat when he tried not to think about how you had used the mirror to apply some lipstick on your lips before heading into the party Reiner was throwing for his birthday. he tried not to think about the domesticity of it all - marco, Connie and sasha had already piled out and you wanted to help jean park into a tough spot. after parking, however, you climbed back into your seat and fixed your hair in the mirror as jean turned his keys to the side, removing his seatbelt and grabbing his phone from the dashboard fully prepared to get out the moment you were done.

he looked at you. he tried not to, but he couldn't help it - the tip of your ring fingers wiped off the excess lipstick from the corner of your lips, and then you leaned back, making no attempts to move.

jean had cleared his throat, trying to get your attention.

"y'know," you started, still seated comfortably in your seat that he was sure you had claimed since the beginning of college, "when I was small, I would always get motion sick in the car on roadtrips. it was uncomfortable, and most of the times I had to sit and try not to complain to much about my mom's driving," you said, breathing out a laugh.

jean blinked, confused. "do- do you feel sick right now? i have a bag, i think, you can th-"

"no, no, I'm fine. I'm okay. i was trying to say that you make me feel comfortable. comfortable enough to complain and take my time, ask for help if I ever need any." you say. he tried not to think about the way your words shape him, about how if he could give anyone the power to build himself back up again should he melt under your gaze - it would be you.

and then you got out of the car before jean could open the door for you, and he was left in his seat, with a storm in his heart as you opened the door for him, nodding your head for him to get out with a smile.

and jean tried not think about how his hands are shaking slightly as he pulls into a familiar street lined with familiar apartment buildings and neon orange street lights as he stops infront of an all the more familiar gate. he stops only for a minute before his hand is reaching for his phone and he doesn't think - this he can do because his mind shuts off when he hears your voice, your smile, your-

"hey, jean."

the way your say his name makes his shoulders relax. "hey. I'm downstairs."

it's familiar. all of it - the way you smile and open your curtains a little to take a peak of his car, turning around and saying "I'll be there," into the phone before keeping it, how jean's heartbeat lulls to a softer version of itself, relaxing completely as he waits for your company to climb down the stairs. the only thing he can think about is you.

maybe this is what his mother meant when she told him stories about love, about how when she met his now step-father, she never felt like she had to keep an act up. about when sasha told him how niccolo made her feel like she could act without permission, without limits as herself. and then he thinks about himself, and how thats all he's ever felt with you, because thinking about you comes so naturally to him and being around you makes him feel more familiar to himself than he's ever felt before.

and before he can stop himself - not that he'd want to - he thinks, hes in love with you.

three familiar knocks find their way to his ears and he looks at where you're bending down to meet the window of the passenger seat. if he wasn't so busy thinking about you, he'd have opened the door for you, but your smile is so blinding that all he can do is open the door from the inside with a smile of his own.

it's too familiar, he thinks, as you slide into your designated seat again, strapping yourself in and turning your head to him.

and he doesn't stop himself when he says, "I love you." out loud into the silence of his familiar car.

your smile turns softer and jean notices everything about you, really, but in this moment notes how your shoulders also relax, how you breathe out softly and rest your head on the seat.

"i love you too."

[miladydewintcr]

Happy Friday and welcome to DADWC! How about “I came as soon as I heard.” for Anders/Hawke?

For @dadrunkwriting

I've merged this prompt with this one from @vaxilfan too, I hope that's okay?

Have some cutesy pre-relationship Handers (and some sibling shenanigans with Carver, too!) I hope you enjoy <3

tw: injury, blood Word count: 1005 Rating: T

“I came as soon as I heard,” Anders said, shouldering his way into Varric’s room at The Hanged Man. There was a well-worn leather bag tucked under one arm, and Hawke knew it was full of his emergency medical supplies- bandages, numbing creams, antiseptic poultices. Isabela slipped in behind him, pulling the door shut.

“I already said, I’m fine,” Hawke huffed from her position atop Varric’s bed. “Carver took the worst of it.”

In truth, they both looked awful. Hawke had a blossoming black eye and a split lip, and Carver’s hands looked like they’d been put through a washing mangle.

“What in the world even happened?” Anders asked, setting his kit down and going to examine Carver first. He knew there was no way Hawke would accept any sort of medical attention before she knew her brother was alright.

Carver scowled as he held his hands out.

“Someone said they recognised Hawke from Lowtown,” Isabela explained. “They said they’d seen her using magic.”

Anders shot Hawke a look. “You have to be more careful.”

She flashed him a blood-stained smile. “But then what would you do all day?”

“I have other patients, you know.” He turned back to Carver, guided him through attempting to flex each finger in turn. “Alright, so you’ve broken both hands.”

“You should see the other guy.” Hawke bumped her brother’s shoulder with her own, and Carver smiled a little despite himself.

“I’m pretty sure you broke his nose, Junior,” Varric commented from the corner of the room.

“Defending my honour,” Hawke added, unable to keep the pride from her voice.

“Well, I could hardly let him tell the Templars about you, could I?” Carver said, clearly embarrassed, yet simultaneously enjoying the praise. “I’d be alone in the house with mother and Uncle Gamlen otherwise. Imagine.”

He winced as Anders applied a thick cream to the cuts on the backs of his knuckles. “I’ll heal you up properly once I’ve assessed your sister. Don’t move your hands.”

Carver sat stiffly, his hands held out directly in front of him.

Anders took a step to the side. “Is it just your face?” he asked Hawke.

She hummed non-committally.

“He dragged her off her chair first, too,” Varric supplied helpfully. “She hit the floor pretty hard.”

Hawke shot him a filthy glare before turning back to Anders, all smiles. “Everything else will be fine on its own, I swear. Really, the face is fine, too. Nothing’s broken! It’s all good. Just use your magic hands on Carver and we’ll be off home.”

“Hawke,” Anders drew out warningly.

From the doorway, Isabela snickered. “If you’re shy, sweet thing, I can lend you my room. I know there are parts of you you probably don’t want your brother seeing.”

The Hawke siblings flushed an identical shade of scarlet.

“Alright, now I’m really concerned,” Anders said. “Tell me where it hurts.”

Hawke shook her head.

“Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

She stayed silent.

“Maker, sister, he’s a healer, just bloody tell him,” Carver said eventually.

For a moment, it looked like Hawke was going to insist on staying silent. Anders hadn’t thought she could blush any harder, and she was looking very pointedly at the ceiling so that she could avoid making eye contact with him.

“It’s my arse,” she said in a rush. “I have a fucking great big bruise forming on my arse. And it will be fine on its own.”

“Oh.” Now Anders was blushing a little, too.

Isabela laughed so hard she snorted, which made Varric laugh along with her.

“Well, I can give you a poultice,” Anders suggested carefully. “Which you could take home and apply yourself. If- if you want to. And that should speed up the healing process.”

Hawke gave him a short nod in confirmation, and Anders reached into his bag, retrieving a small ceramic pot for her. As he passed it to her, it was impossible to avoid letting their hands brush, and they both very pointedly pretended they weren’t flustered by the whole exchange.

“What would you like me to do about your face?” Anders asked.

“Are you joking?” Carver cut in. “Heal it! Otherwise our mother is going to be asking all sorts of questions that I do not have answers for.”

“Not answers that we should share, anyway,” Hawke conceded. “She’ll never let us out after dark again. And considering most of our work happens after dark…” She trailed off, allowed her eyes to meet Anders’. “Be gentle?” she asked softly.

“Always am, love.” The tone of endearment just slipped out, and was apparently the wrong thing to say because Hawke’s blush returned with a vengeance. “Tip your head back a bit for me? Bela, could you get a basin of clean water?”

Isabela pushed off from the wall and slipped out of the room.

“I’m going to clean you up. I think it looks a lot worse than it is right now. I’ll probably be able to get away with just putting the same cream Carver’s got on over your bruising.” He hesitated, eyes darting down to the cut on her lip. “Do you want me to do something about that?”

She shook her head. “Save your energy for Carver.”

Beside her, Carver sighed.

“Carver, you’ve broken your actual bones!”

-

Later that night, the siblings walked home together. Carver’s hands felt a little stiff, but they looked as good as new. Coralie’s eye was bruised, but now that the blood from her lip had been cleaned away, she looked a lot better.

She had to walk a little slower than usual, much to her annoyance, because her other bruises were sore. Mercifully, Carver was content to match her pace without comment.

“You have a crush on Anders,” he noted aloud.

Hawke squeaked in surprise, and then rammed her shoulder into his. “I do not!”

“Do you want to tell mother you’ve fallen for an apostate that lives in a sewer, or should I?”

“Maker’s balls, Carver, fuck off!”

[feii1effect]

— Are you okay? — Yes. — Should we call the police? — Wait. — We should. You were attacked by three men last time too…

Baek Hyun Woo🔥🔥 Kim Soo Hyun's performance when Eun Sung took Hae In away is insane! He looked at her and spoke like Eun Sung. He even took into account little things like the umbrella, because Soo Hyun (and therefore Hyun Woo) is left-hander, but this time he held the umbrella in his right hand (because it was actually Eun Sung) and put his arm around Hae In's shoulders exactly like Eun Sung did. Kim Ji Won is not far behind. The way she acted her shock in the car made me feel scared too.

[the-black-bulls]

Magna, giving Asta dating tips: All right, if Noelle puts the bags down before she greets you, that's a good sign.

Asta: Right.

Magna: You know, anything in the lip area is good.

Asta: Lip area.

Magna: You know, a hug - definitely good.

Asta: Hug is definitely good.

Magna: Sure.

Asta: Although what if it's one of those hugs where the shoulders are touching, the hips are eight feet apart?

Magna: That's so brutal, I hate that.

Asta: You know how they do that?

Magna: That's why, you know, a shake is bad.

Asta: Shake is bad, but what if it's the two-hander? The hand on the bottom, the hand on the top, hers between mine, the warm look in the eyes?

Magna: Hand sandwich!

Asta: Right!

[guywrestlingaddiction]

That Wrestling Moment: The Jeff Clark Perspective (nrwrestling.com)

Heel or Jobber? It is the enteral question in gay wrestling after all.  But I say, why pick one when you can have both?  I bring to you - the Jeff Clark perspective. 

Jeff Clark POVs (nrwrestling.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.

The Backstory

I was slow to catch on to POVs in gay wrestling.  Maybe I was distracted when they came out or maybe I didn't see the appeal but I gotta say that after watching Jeff Clark; well that man is a league of his own in POVs.  

The Action

We start with Jeff dominating his opponent in all his glory.  Unfortunately in this case, his opponent about to get the beat down is YOU.  Jeff enters the ring, all 6 feet 2 inches of pure confidence. The man may look like the heel of your dreams but don't get distracted my friend or you will regret it.  He's ready to kick some serious tail.  

Jeff: This is it.  Your one chance with Jeff Clark.  You ready for this? 

And just like that you are down.  It happened so quick.  You barely had a chance to look up and down Jeff's hairy, muscular body before he put you down.  

To prove how much of an alpha he is, Jeff keeps you down.  Stomp after stomp.  The guy won't let up. 

Jeff knows you've been checking him out and just to taunt you even more, he strips off that sexy red singlet to let that even sexier hairy chest breath. 

Jeff has a good time trashing you.  By now you're numb to all the pain but Jeff is enjoying that glazed look on you and knowing that you are never coming back from this. 

On second thought, Jeff is enjoying this entirely too much.  That smile, if it weren't so sexy, would be humiliating to see how much he's enjoying this. 

You were never ready for all of him.  As a result, your hairy chested dominator stands over your beaten body.  He proved he's the man and now he's just toying with you before delivering the knockout blow.

The Moment 

It seemed like you'd never recover from that punishment but you slowly make it to your feet and vow to get your revenge on Jeff.  You become obsessed with getting even.  You want to humiliate him like he did to you but if you're being honest, deep down you're driven by more than that.  You hunger for the man ... 

I mean look at him taunting you and every other human on the planet stretching that sexy body on the ropes. 

Now you may not be proud of it but you had to resort to dirty tricks to level the playing field.  I mean this is Jeff Clark - no mortal wrestler can stand up to him. 

Three punches in a row.  He sure didn't let up on you so you won't let up on him. 

The most important part is to lay him out like he laid you out.  Hairy chest and abs exposed.  All of this in anticipation for the beatdown. 

There's the two hander to those hairy abs. 

The hits are coming ... but remember that it means more when he's good and ready. 

The man can barely hold himself up.  He's ready...

This is the moment when your beatdown is complete.  This is still wrestling after all and you proved your point.  

So what have we learned today? Well, this is the season of giving but depending on who you are - you will have preferred either Jeff giving it or taking it. Personally I enjoyed both - looking up at a dominating, in-charge Jeff Clark owning you is just as thrilling as getting your hands on that sexy chest and abs. You see that's one of the things that's so seductive about gay wrestling Jeff Clark, the man is equally beautiful whether he's brutally dominating you or moaning his submissions.

[zoneofsmites]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @autumnfangirler (via my main) - will be posting it here cuz the WIP is dragon age (❁´◡`❁).

Tagging @veilkeeper, @crossdressingdeath, @nebuluxx, @swordsandspectacles <33

Thought too hard about Malcolm putting his kids through a harrowing and woke up with a two wips of two pov's. One of Ambrose, and one of Carver. The wip is an excerpt from Carver's pov.

Father had taken him aside before they had gone into the barn. Pressing the two-hander Carver had saved up to buy from that traveling merchant for months in his hands. "When Ambrose will do this, there is a chance a demon will take over." Father had said, looking down at him with that hard expression Carver was too familiar with. Squeezing his shoulders painfully, father had continued; "When this happens, you have to be ready to cut your brother down, Carver." "I- I can't." Ambrose was his brother. He read him stories, snuck Bethany and him candy, and healed his scrapes when father wasn't looking. Ambrose was his brother, and Carver was just a kid.

Damn Carver you really are just a kid (like - at max 13 here). Malcolm what the fuck man. <- says guy who is putting them all trough this.

Anyone else subscribe to 'Malcolm is NOT winning any dad of the year awards' hc orrr??

[sweetmage]

Happy Friday and welcome to DADWC! How about: "Please don't leave me" from the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompts for M!Hawke/Anders?

Hi!! Happy Friday! Thank you so so much for the prompt <3 After much waffling on it, I decided to do a little bit of Hawke fearing losing Anders since I haven't done that as much!

Please Don't Leave Me - M!Handers

@dadrunkwriting

TW: Parental death, grieving

Words: 1220+

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, angst

Summary: After losing so much, Hawke doesn't know how to cope with the loss of his mother nor the fear of losing what little he has left. Anders tries his best to comfort him.

Full fic below the cut!

The room was quiet, as it so often was, but on this night it only served to exemplify what was missing. Who was missing. 

The scent of blood was still fresh in his nose, the feeling of rot hadn't left his fingers, nor had the loving tingle where she'd held his hand until hers went limp in his.

Hawke was utterly devastating beyond what he could put to words. 

Anders had long since stopped trying to soothe him with words, instead threading his fingers through Hawke's hair while he laid up against his feather pauldrons. 

It felt wrong, almost, grieving for a mother he'd had the privilege of knowing for nearly three decades while wrapped in the arms of a man who had been denied that right. He knew Anders hadn't meant it that way when he called him lucky, but it stuck like a stone in his chest.

Sharing what he felt was hard, but some things could not be masked with humor. Sometimes things could not even be masked with silence, for as much as he tried. 

"Can I get anything for you?" Anders asked, breaking his long silence. 

After a moment, Hawke shook his head. "No," he said, voice hoarse from disuse and the lump in his throat.

"You're not thirsty? Hungry? You haven't had anything all day." 

Losing a loved one wasn't exactly conducive to an appetite, but he understood Anders's concern all the same.

He shook his head again, though Anders still moved, still slid from beneath him. The sudden absence was like a blow, and he sat up quickly.

"Anders," he called, but he gave him no time to react before he was on his feet and grabbing for him frantically. "Don't. Please don't." His tone came harsher than he'd meant it, and he hated the way Anders tensed up at his tight touch.

Hawke loosened his grip on his arm, but he didnt let go. He couldn't. "I'm sorry, I'm not—I don't mean—"

"Love, I was just going to—" Anders said, soft, gentle, and turned around in his hold.

"Stay," he pleaded, not letting him finish his thought. "I don't need anything else. If you leave I'll just think and I... can't. I can't."

He chastised himself for how childish he sounded, how selfish and demanding. 

He'd blamed himself for his father's death, for Bethany's, for Carver's mishap in the deep roads. He blames himself for denying Marian her last moments with their mother, for squandering them by making Leandra spend her last breaths comforting and reassuring him instead of the other way around. Were she to see him now, she might very well tell him the same.

Yet for all he was able to convince himself he was to blame, he could not stomach the idea of losing Anders's comfort. Of losing Anders, period.

That was what it really came down to. Losing him.

Anders's hand came to rest on his cheek, thumb smoothing over his beard in slow circles. He met Hawke's gaze with a cocked brow as if searching him, looking for a sign that his touch was unwanted or unwarranted. 

"I'm here love," Anders murmured.

There was no judgment, no anger, no impatience. How was he so good? How could anyone be so unreasonably understanding?

Hawke pulled him into a tight embrace and buried his face within his hair. "For how long?" He asked quietly.

"What?"

"I've lost everyone," he whispered. "Mother was supposed to be safe here. Tucked away in the estate, living a comfortable life. But it didn't matter. I couldn't even keep her safe, how am I supposed to protect you? How long until someone gets to you?"

He felt Anders shift within his hold, just enough to bring his lips near his ear.

"I won't lie to you. I can't promise that won't happen. But it won't be because you didn't do everything in your power to protect me. There is no place safe for an apostate, but being with you is the closest thing I've ever had."

While the truth was harsh, he found it preferable to platitudes and unkept promises. Still...

"You could be safer elsewhere. I'm not sure I can protect you or keep you safe," Hawke said. "You deserve better than this."

Anders wrenched himself free of Hawke's hold, and for a moment he feared his words to be misconstrued as rejection or doubt.

He was about to correct himself when Anders faced him with the fainted crooked smirk upon his lips. "I've fed you every line about how you should leave me, find someone better suited to you, how I'll only end up hurting you or worse. But here you are. You're not the only one who's stubborn. I would do anything, endure anything, to keep you at my side."

It was no surprise that Anders would feel the same, not after all they'd seen together, yet somehow it still caught him off guard.

It was strange to be the one needing comfort, he was so accustomed to nights spent wiping tears from pains long past, allaying fears of a future uncertain and, in those simple acts of assurance, finding his own comfort and healing. Now he felt so vulnerable and exposed, caught beneath that sympathetic amber gaze.

"Love?" He spoke again, when Hawke had yet to respond. His hand came to rest on Hawke's jaw, his thumb swiping tears he hadn't meant to let fall.

"Sorry, sorry. Maker, I'm such a mess." Hawke muttered and leaned into his touch.

"You're hurting," Anders said. "And that's okay. You don't have to apologize. I just... I wish there was more I could do. Or say... something. Anything."

Hawke leaned forward until his head was on Anders's chest, listening to the sound of his beating heart. It was so comforting he almost forgot that he'd yet to answer him. "This. You're doing enough."

"If you insist," Anders said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and carding his fingers through his hair. "Do you... want to lay down? It might help..."

"If you want," Hawke murmured.

"Do you?"

Hawke nodded. "Please."

He stepped back but didn't go far, pulling Hawke in close as he sat on the edge of their shared mattress. He swung his legs up and patted the space beside him where Hawke followed and rested his head upon his chest.

"Can you... stroke my hair again?" He asked quietly. "When I was small, Mother would—"

Warm fingers slid into his hair as if they knew, finding the right rhythm with ease, evoking another time.

"My mother, too," Anders murmured, one of the very few times he'd spoken of his past unprompted.

Hawke scooted up a bit within his arms, burying his face into his neck and bringing his hand up to Anders's hair as well. He loosed it from its tie and ran his fingers there, trying to recreate what had once given him solace and safety.

He knew now why he didn't speak of her, why it had to have been difficult, so painful. But he hoped Anders could feel the love behind the gesture, informed by his own Leandra's loving hand, just as Anders shared with him a touch from long past.

Things weren’t alright, may never be, but they had each other and their ghosts for now, and that was enough.

[transandersrights]

Anders, the player, and betrayal

This actually Is (I think) an unpopular Anders opinion but I don't think his lying to you about the Chantry boom constitutes a betrayal any more than the Chantry boom itself. Ignoring the fact that I have literally seen people call any element of a romance they don't like a betrayal (ie long distance with Dorian, Morrigan's whole deal), I think people are keen to throw around the word in specific ways.

I'm going to define it like this: a betrayal means undertaking an action, either materially or verbally, that would cause harm to the person you're betraying (or the reverse, for a vital action that would prevent harm. For example, refusing to help Fenris get rid of Danarius would be a betrayal). By that definition, the Chantry boom is a betrayal if it would harm or result in harm to Hawke.

The Chantry boom does not physically target Hawke, or anyone other than those in the Chantry at the time - which is very few people. So it's not a direct betrayal. It does, however, threaten Hawke with harm to the extent that Hawke would inevitably be involved in the conflict that follows - if Hawke is a mage, it puts them in harm's way, and if Bethany is alive and in the Circle then it puts Hawke's family at risk. However, this is the action that Anders/Handers fans are most likely to say is not betrayal. I'll get into that later.

On the other hand, there's the lying to Hawke bit. Because Anders does intentionally deceive Hawke… but not to their detriment. It is Hawke's lack of knowledge of the Chantry boom that means they're not also immediately singled out for execution like Anders is after the boom. If Hawke sides with the Templars, it is their lack of knowledge that can allow them to become Viscount. When Anders lies to Hawke, it's not to their loss. It doesn't put them at risk. It is, by some definition, the opposite of betrayal, because the only way that knowing can benefit them is either preparing for it (and Hawke should be preparing for things to go tits up anyway, considering the events of Act 3) or preventing it from happening in the first place (impossible, in the framework of the game - because we always have to remember when considering DA characters that they're just that: characters, constrained by the fact that the game has a single end point. Even if you don't buy that, the point of this post is the distinction drawn between the boom and Anders lying about it, so if you want to have the option to stop him then this isn't directed at you lmao).

So here, we reach the point: the Chantry boom is, by a pretty reasonable reckoning, more of a betrayal of Hawke than lying about it is. The former endangers Hawke; the latter protects them. When Anders lied, he was acting in Hawke's best interests. The distinction I'm specifically drawing here is: 1 - if you do something bad to someone and never tell them, it's betrayal 2 - if you do something good to them and never tell them, it's not betrayal 3 - if you do something good and tell them, it's not betrayal 4 - if you do something bad and tell them, it's betrayal

If the Chantry boom is seen as a bad action towards Hawke, then it is always bad, no matter when Anders tells them. If the Chantry boom is not bad, then telling or not telling them makes no difference to whether it's bad or not. If you lie about a good thing, it's still a good thing!

At worst, Anders’ lies are an intentional deception for a Hawke who he doesn’t even like. They’re not a lack of trust, they’re an act of mercy. Anders looks at Hawke and doesn’t want them tarred with the same brush as him; he doesn’t have a way out, but maybe they do. So: why do people say that Anders' lies are a betrayal? The reason I usually see is that he should have trusted them, but Anders has a canon answer to that very question: he did. The lies were for Hawke's benefit. He trusted them to do whatever they saw fit in response to the boom, but didn't want to see them lose out from a choice they wouldn't be able to sway him from. (Also, it's not like he's subtle about what he's doing. The rails the game puts the player on are not Anders' characterisation - if anything, they're Hawke's.)

The other thing I see people say is that Anders should have given them the choice to support or reject him before he did it. But it's not actually a choice that involves Hawke specifically. Why don't people frame Anders' decision as a betrayal of the other people in the party? Or of the entire city of Kirkwall? Plenty of writing surrounding the end of the game or after it is happy to do that, but that's also linked with seeing the boom as a bad thing. Again; they're not separable elements in that framework.

The one exception here is that I think it’s reasonable to say that your Hawke might feel betrayed by Anders’ actions when he lied to them. They’re in the thick of it, they have the ultimate perspective on how they would react to him telling the truth. But the player is not Hawke, and it’s the player who tends to talk about how Anders made them feel by lying.

This is potentially going to sound a little uncharitable, but at the end of the day, I think that the dislike of Anders’ choice not to speak to Hawke about his plans has very little to do with Hawke and everything to do with the player as an observer but also participator in the narrative. I’ve already gone into why I find it difficult to see Anders as having wronged Hawke — but he does, technically, wrong the player.

As the player, the game reveals (almost) all to us. When a character goes behind our backs, taking away our agency in a game that is, to a lot of people, meaningfully choice-based, it can feel like betrayal. Anders isn’t doing it for our benefit — he conceals his actions from a player only his writers know exists. Can you betray someone you don’t know exists by lying to them?

It isn’t Hawke who’s entitled to the knowledge of Anders’ plans; it’s the player who feels entitled to it. Anders exercises a power over the narrative that the player does not have, and the writers choose to have him do so without our input. The Chantry boom is his ultimate act of agency on more than one level, and players don’t like it. Anyway that’s my salty rant that went off in multiple directions.

Funnily enough, I started writing this with the viewpoint that I was going to argue that Anders’ actions weren’t betrayal. Instead, I want to leave you with this: it can be a betrayal, but only if you acknowledge the Chantry boom as one as well. If you think it isn’t, then he didn’t wrong anyone except your own desire to know and have a hand in everything that your allies do. One of the best things about DAII is that your companions really do have lives and wishes of their own, and wanting to be with them every step of the way just isn’t the way it works.

[pinkfadespirit]

Hi there and happy Friday! :) How about “Can I use your lap as a pillow?” for any pairing you're feeling tonight?

I wrote some silly Handers pining for this.

for @dadrunkwriting

It was a late night at the Hawke estate but the house was far from quiet. Though the party Leandra had hosted had begun to wind down a while ago, the room where Hawke's friends had hidden themselves away from the stuffy Hightown nobility was still buzzing with conversation. They'd finished several bottles of wine between the group and were all comfortably draped across various pieces of furniture while Varric told one of his stories. Or tried to, anyway. There had been a few interruptions so far.

Hawke had flopped into his favourite armchair as soon as he'd escaped the main party and figured out where his friends had disappeared to. He hadn't thought about it at the time but now he sat across from the sofa that Anders was sharing with Isabela he was sort of regretting not taking the empty spot in between them. Sure, it would have been the complete opposite of subtlety to wedge himself in between them when there was a  free seat on the other side of the room. But it would have got him closer to Anders. 

Was that pathetic of him?

Probably.

It was probably best that he hadn't done that.

But he did wish someone else would have taken this seat and given him an excuse for it.

Hawke decided to put the thought from his mind and focus on Varric's story instead. It didn't get him very far. Fenris had interrupted this time and Hawke's attention began to wander once more as the discussion veered off course. It seemed Isabela's had too.

"How long have we been here?" she was asking Anders. "It feels late. I'm exhausted."

"It is pretty late," Anders agreed. "If you're that tired, I'm sure no one would be offended if you took off."

"Pfft..." Isabela said dismissively before taking another swig from her bottle. "I think I'll just stay here and drink until I pass out on Hawke's sofa."

"Well that's another perfectly reasonable option," said Anders drily.

"Ooh, could I use your lap as a pillow?" Isabela asked. Like that was no big deal.

Anders just laughed like he wasn’t sure why she would want to but he answered, "Sure, why not?"

Hawke had to focus very hard then on not setting the arm of his favourite chair on fire as he watched Isabela casually flop down over the empty cushion where he'd just been thinking about sitting in and rest her head in Anders' lap.

It was strange, really, how much you could utterly hate the sight of something and be unable to look away.

Anders smiled like he was amused by Isabela's antics but he seemed perfectly willing to indulge her as he lifted his hand and started stroking her hair. "Ohh that's nice," said Isabela.

Hawke finally forced himself to look away.

"Merrill, could you pass me that bottle? I'd like a refill."

"Of course, Hawke," Merrill said with a smile and leaned over from where she was sitting on a cushion next to Hawke's seat to grab a wine bottle from the table. At this point she noticed Anders and Isabela. "You two look very cosy."

"Hmm," said Isabela. "His legs are a bit bony, if I'm being completely honest, but there are other perks."

"That's a fine way to thank me for letting you use me as human bedding," said Anders tartly, prompting Hawke to look back at him. Which he instantly regretted when he saw them casually touching in ways that Hawke had often fantasied about with Anders.

"You'd probably be better off with Hawke if that's the problem," said Merrill thoughtfully.

Isabela looked his way and smirked. "That is a good point."

"Don't even think about it," Hawke muttered. And yes, maybe that was the jealousy talking.

Isabela pouted playfully but Hawke wondered if there had been something knowing in the way she'd looked at him in the moment before that.

Merrill, however, didn't seem to have an issue with saying exactly what she was thinking. "I bet you'd let Anders if he asked, though."

Hawke felt his face heat up. "That's different."

Isabela laughed. "You're far too obvious."

Hawke couldn't help looking back at Anders and taking note of the blush that had crept over his face. "Well," he said, daring to meet Hawke's eyes despite the obvious embarrassment, "there's always next time."

Hawke's mouth dropped open but he couldn't manage to get any words out. He closed it, then tried again. "I, er... I might just hold you to that."

When Anders smiled at him then, Hawke started to think that maybe his jealousy had been a little unnecessary. After all, Anders hadn't smiled at Isabela quite like that.

[carriehobbs]

i would love to talk about juno 💕💕 !!

(these are probably not the best screenshots of juno but they are also my favourites. the first one because it shows the colour of her eyes and her little under-eye mole (the most important thing in the world) and the second one because i like how her armour looks and the shine on her hair)

juno is my other (and first) redemption durge! she's a wood half-elf ranger (hunter subclass, urban tracker/bounty hunter specs) who romanced gale! she fits very well into the selfless hero archetype she gets cast as during the adventure, but her only talking-to-people stat is intimidation, which i choose to represent as her having an off-putting and kind of threatening energy with strangers. anyone who knows her knows that she's a caring person, but she always reads as just a little bit dangerous to others. i miss playing her so much because she was completely unstoppable in combat (with 3 attacks (two main hand and one offhand that dealt almost as much damage), a cape that turns her invisible, 16m/approx 52 feet of movement speed, and an ac of 23).

juno's post-game breakdown (which is what i said i wanted to talk about the other day) is kind of a two-hander. firstly, it lets me play with one of my favourite tropes of all time: when an amnesiac character is immediately given a new (and often important) job upon entering a community, builds their entire identity around being the person who does that job, and then loses the ability to do the job (either permanently or temporarily). imagine that your entire sense of identity, self, value, purpose, etc., was all tied to one particular thing. the only person you have ever known yourself to be is the person who does this thing, but now you don't have that thing anymore. so who the fuck are you?

in juno's case, she doesn't remember her life leading the bhaalist cult. i know in act 3 you get some memories back, but i prefer to think of it more like she is able to remember some key details of her life that were previously lost to her and can remember some things that happened, but not everything, and that those memories don't really feel like they're hers. she knows objectively who she was and what she did, but it feels more like seeing someone else's memories rather than her own. she feels like her life started with the nautiloid crash.

this means that her entire life (that she remembers) involves solving everyone's problems, saving the day, and stopping the cult of the absolute. it's the only purpose she's ever had. it's the only context for her life that she's ever been given. she's always been needed. she doesn't see herself as "a person who happens to be doing this important quest" but as "the person who does this important quest", which is a subtle but significant difference.

and then she achieves her goal. she realizes her life's purpose. and she's still here, existing, except now she's directionless. she leaves one of the only cities she's ever known for a city she's only ever seen part of in one of gale's illusions. all of her friends (the only people she remembers being close to, the only family she remembers having) go their different directions and find new ways to give their lives meaning. and juno goes with gale to waterdeep.

and juno is genuinely thrilled to go to waterdeep and to marry gale. and at first things are going well, when they're in that honeymoon period as they first settle in. i think things start going south after gale starts working at blackstaff. because now she has empty hours to fill with her day while he's at work. she has no purpose anymore, she's in a brand new city, and her social circle has been reduced to her boyfriend, his mom, and his flying cat (who doesn't seem to like her that much). wedding planning can only occupy her so much. she doesn't even have a job to just fill her time. and given that the last two jobs listed on her resume are "ex-bhaalist cult leader" and "saviour of baldur's gate" and her professional skills are "murder", she's not exactly in a great position to get a job at waterdeep's fantasy walmart.

and, as much as i love gale, he gives me the impression of someone who can get a little too absorbed in their work. considering he's just returned from a year-long self-imposed seclusion followed by a quest to stop the illithid grand design, this is the first time he's been back in a wizardly and academic environment in a while. he's also not had a mortal partner for quite some time and thus not had to balance his professional life with his personal life the way he does now. so as much as he loves juno and wants to be a good partner to her, i don't think it's unrealistic to imagine him getting a little too caught up in his work and having some late nights at blackstaff.

which would be fine, except juno's now the partner who waits all day for him to come home, only for him to be late. which isn't a position she could ever be happy being in. she needs something to do, something to drive her. she's never been idle (or relaxed) before.

all of this (the directionlessness, the lack of purpose and meaning, the almost nonexistent social life, the idle time) is compounded by the second major component of juno's post-game breakdown: redemption durge kind of has harm ocd? it's not a perfect 1:1 representation of what ocd is like, but there are enough similarities that i had to stop as i was playing and go, "does durge have harm ocd? why did no one ever mention that durge kind of has harm ocd?"

(this entire description is going to be somewhat of an oversimplification of what ocd is like but) as redemption durge, you experience intense, ego-dystonic and unwanted thoughts (and sometimes images) that urge you to harm others throughout your daily life. furthermore, you literally have a guy (sceleritas fel) who follows you around, deliberately voicing these unwanted thoughts and trying to convince you that they are real and inevitable (a physical manifestation of intrusive thoughts). these thoughts may target the people or things you care about most, such as your friends or your partner. you may find yourself confessing these thoughts to people around you and seeking reassurance that these thoughts are not real, have not really happened, or that you are a good person.

the only place where this doesn't really fit is in the compulsions themselves: (again, this is an oversimplification, but) with ocd, your intrusive thoughts say "xyz thing is happening/is going to happen" and, in response, you perform a compulsion that ocd says will prevent the intrusive thought from coming true (ex. ocd tells you that, if you handle knives while cooking, you will use those knives to hurt someone in your home. the compulsion could be something like avoiding using knives or performing a particular ritual/habitual behaviour before or after you use knives. ocd tells you that in some way this repetitive, compulsive behaviour prevents your fear/intrusive thoughts (that you could hurt someone) from being realized). in the case of redemption durge, the compulsion kind of is the fear? you fear that you will hurt someone as a result of your urges, and so the compulsive behaviour that results is... for you to hurt people? it kind of falls apart here.

but after juno rejects bhaal and has her dark urges taken from her, there's so much space left over for actual ocd. a lot of her intrusive thoughts involve her urges coming back and causing her to hurt people. she avoids cooking (especially meats) because she fears working with meat will cause her urges to rise again (flesh is flesh, after all). she's terrified that she will kill gale without noticing it, particularly during the night (after all, she killed alfira in her sleep, and tried to kill gale in her sleep once), and so she compulsively checks on gale when he's home with her (things like leaving a room, having an intrusive thought about having killed him while she was in the room with him and having forgotten that she did it, and having to go back into the room she's just left to see that he's safe). things like that. and the thing about ocd is that it can get worse when you're idle, and so juno's empty time during the day exacerbates the symptoms of her ocd, making them much more acute.

but juno doesn't tell gale about these struggles (both to find a sense of purpose and a reason for her own existence after the defeat of the absolute and a resurgence of fears around her dark urges) because she doesn't want him to think she's not happy with him in waterdeep. she's decidedly not happy there (she's lonely, scared, aimless), but she wants to be happy there, and she hates the idea that she could ever make gale think she regrets coming to waterdeep with him or agreeing to marry him (which she doesn't, she does want those things, it's just hard right now). and she feels shame, too, i think, for struggling. everyone else seems to have settled so easily either back into their old lives or into new lives, and she seems to be the only one having trouble.

and so i think she kind of carries on with things getting progressively worse until everything becomes so unmanageable that it comes to a head. i don't know specifically the catalyst for it, but eventually juno has to tell gale about all of the things she's been struggling with. it's explosive, there are a lot of tears (and at least one wail about how tara doesn't even like her. juno has not been taking this well), and ultimately their relationship comes out stronger for having weathered this storm together. because now juno has expressed her needs and, while gale can't fix either of these problems for her, he can support her as her partner when he didn't know she needed his support before.

and eventually juno does find a new purpose: she decides to start doing whatever research she can into bhaal and bhaalspawn. she seeks to understand the information about herself and her legacy that she's been missing since the amnesia, and to be prepared in case bhaal or his other spawn rear their ugly heads again (and, though she and gale are not decided on if they want children, she has determined that she would not have biological children before she knows what happens to the children of bhaalspawn who have been disowned and stripped of their urges - she wouldn't want to pass her urges on, or give bhaal the chance to turn a child of hers into his new chosen).

but it makes the 6 month reunion in the epilogue very bittersweet for juno. though she's doing better by then than she was, she still feels delayed compared to everyone else, and she still feels a lot of shame and embarrassment over the ways she struggled to adjust to life after the absolute when everyone else seemed to manage so easily (especially since everyone keeps asking her what she's been doing and how she is). and just because she's doing better doesn't mean that the spectre of those hard times doesn't linger. at this point, she and gale aren't even married - the game gives you the option to reference your wedding day, but i never choose it because, in my mind, after juno has her big breakdown, she and gale decide to delay the wedding. they've not called off the engagement, but just decided to leave wedding planning until she's feeling better and more settled in their new lives together.

time (and a new direction) helps juno settle in waterdeep. eventually she and gale do marry and she gets used to the city and starts to make friends (and makes regular trips to see the other companions, no matter how far and wide they're spread now). she grows closer with gale's mother morena and finds more family in her. she and tara form an uneasy truce that grows into mutual respect and eventually affection (though juno knows her friendship with tara will never touch what tara has with gale). so, while things are rough for a while, they do get better :)

[tobythewise]

Happy Friday and welcome to DADWC! How about A 'please be okay' kiss for Handers?

Thank you for the welcome and the prompt! I hope you enjoy :D

(Written for @dadrunkwriting Warnings for hurt Hawke, Anders' self esteem issues, angsty thoughts but with a hopeful ending)

Anders isn’t sure he’s ever been this tired before. His entire body aches down to his very core. He’s so tapped out that he’s positive he couldn’t even conquer a spark. His connection to Justice is barely there, leaving him feeling completely and utterly alone despite the commotion going on around him. 

“Bandages. I need more bandages,” he manages to grit out through clenched teeth. 

His heart is in his throat, his hands just barely keeping from shaking. It’s a testament to his time as a healer that Ander is capable of keeping his cool at all right now. 

Isabela places more into his outstretched hand. He doesn’t even have the energy to properly thank her. Ander continues his work, patching up every wound he can get his hands on. 

Maker’s breath, there’s so much blood. 

There will be consequences of what happened today. Hawke might have come out of this fight on top, but everyone saw him use his magic. Everyone saw Anders use his magic. There’s no way that Meredith is going to let this go, but Anders can’t let himself think about that. Not yet. Not while Hawke is still fucking bleeding. 

Anders used the last of his magic to stop the internal bleeding and now that Varric and Isabela have helped him carry Hawke back to his estate, he’s working against the clock to patch up the rest. 

As he places the last bandage over Hawke’s chest, making sure it’s secure, clean, and medicated, Anders sits back on his heels. He lets out a long breath, wishing he could feel Justice. He needs the reassurance that he’s done everything he can, that he’s doing what’s right. 

His eyes never leave Hawke’s face. He places a hand on Hawke's chest, just to feel it move. Anders needs the physical proof that he’s alive, that despite everything Hawke should be okay. Anders holds onto that like a lifeline, keeping him from sinking into the all consuming despair nipping at his heels. He’s not sure he could handle losing any more people. 

He’s not sure he would survive losing Hawke. 

A hand touches Anders’ shoulder and he just barely finds the strength to raise his head and look away from Hawke. 

“You did good, Blondie. Hawke is already looking better.”

The gravity of what’s just happened starts to sink in. It’s only a matter of time before the templars are banging on Hawke’s door, wanting to pull the two of them into the Gallows. It’s only a matter of time before the place Anders has put down roots is torn away once more.

He’s so fucking tired of running. 

“Just another day with our fearless leader,” Anders says, trying his best to keep his voice in his usual sarcastic tone, but it falls terribly flat. “The Arishok really should have thought better than to pick a fight with Hawke.”

Varric squeezes his shoulder. He understands, no doubt feeling just as keyed up as Anders after seeing Hawke so close to death's door. “You should get some rest,” he says, his voice achingly soft. Anders has to fight against the impulse to push that softness away. He doesn’t deserve it, not really. Too bad he’s too tired to do anything but shake his head. 

“Can’t leave him,” he says, knowing it’s enough for Varric to understand. 

“Okay,” Varric says after a long pause. “I’ll be nearby. Give a yell if you need anything, alright?”

Varric and Isabela leave the room. Anders rests his forehead against the bed for a moment after carefully taking Hawke’s hand into his own. He gives it the gentlest squeeze, hoping Hawke can feel that he’s here, that he’s not alone. 

“Please,” Anders whispers, his chest aching with emotion. He shouldn't have allowed himself to fall for Hawke. All of this would be so much easier if he wasn't attached, if he wasn't willing to drag another person into his plight.

Loving someone at the best of times is hard and Anders has learned time and time again that it's so much worse to love someone while being a mage.

He kisses the back of Hawke’s hand, not caring that both of their hands are covered in blood that don’t belong to them. Hawke’s with the Arishok’s blood, his own hands with Hawke’s. “Please be okay,” he whispers between kissing each of Hawke’s knuckles, wishing the tales he read as a child about magical kisses were actually true. 

He rests his forehead against their combined hands. Maybe if the Maker hadn’t turned his eyes away from Anders the day he manifested his magic as a child, he’d take the time to pray to him now. Instead, he breathes through his panic as best as he can and waits. 

It could be minutes or it could be hours but eventually, Hawke squeezes his hand and Anders suddenly feels like he’s allowed to breathe again. Tears of relief spring to Anders’ eyes. There’s still so much to deal with and so much to prepare for. Anders can feel it, things are about to change and he’s positive it’s not for the best, but all of that can wait because right now, the man he loves is okay.

A fight is brewing and as much as he wishes he could shield Hawke from it, he knows it's too late from that. They'll fight this side by side and see this through. Anders just hopes that this won't break them in the end.