#seriously there are three easily blocked tags that will never let you see my negative posts

[heretherebedork]

Why do you want to be a hater? Just block the tags, don’t watch the show, focus on the shows you do enjoy

Because if I'm going to criticize and discuss what I do and don't like in BL I have to watch it to know.

I don't tag my posts with the show or any fandom terms and, in fact, use a very specific set of easily blocked tags to insure that no one has to see the posts I make about the shows I don't enjoy.

But I get asked my issues with MAME and Jitttirain and other types of BL and I can't answer if I'm not up to date on what they're writing/showing/doing.

Anyway, have a great day enjoying media your way and feel free to block the tags: no tags here, criticism, negative and jittirain criticism

They are all good tags to have blocked if you don't wanna see it.

But I watch the shows I don't enjoy so I can fully understand what I don't enjoy, why I don't enjoy it, what parts I could improve and what parts I do enjoy in the end.

If I were a true hater, I'd be tagging my posts. But I'm not and I don't tag anything negative that isn't also written with love.

I will say this as many times as I need to, honestly.

And I will keep watching and keep posting and it's okay if you don't like it. I work hard to keep my criticism very specifically contained and I know that there are people who are very happy to see other people having issues with media. I know I'm happy to see other people criticizing media when it seems like all I see is praise for something I don't understand the hype!

[dogbearinggifts]

“Dad Sent Me to the Moon” vs. “Because Dad Made Me”

How Luther and Vanya Talk About Trauma, Part Six

This is Part Six of my series analyzing how Luther and Vanya both address their own trauma and respond to the trauma of others. I’m almost finished with the episodes, although I still have a lot to say that will probably wind up in a quote-free final thoughts piece, so stick around for that. 

If you missed previous installments of this series, or would like to read over them again, you can find them here: 

Part One  Part Two Part Three  Part Four  Part Five

They can also be found under the tag “how luther and vanya talk about trauma.”  

Episode Seven: The Day That Was (aka CHRIST ON A CRACKER, GET KLAUS A HUG ALREADY) 

Vanya brings up her exclusion twice either prior or adjacent to the following conversations. They seem to remain more or less the same as they were in the prior episode, so I’m not going to analyze them. I’m just mentioning that they happen to keep my trauma counts straight. 

**********

Our next trauma mention comes from Luther, shortly after Vanya and Leonard leave. 

Luther: Yeah, you guys go. I’m gonna stay behind and look through Dad’s files. I still think this has something to do with why he sent me to the Moon.  Diego: Seriously? Now you want to make the end of the world about you and Dad?  Luther: No. “Watch for threats.” That’s what he told me. You think that’s a coincidence? This all has to be connected somehow. 

I’m not going to spend a lot of time analyzing this, since I already did so in my analysis of the previous episode, but I would like to note that Luther’s mention of his time on the Moon here is still nothing more than speculation that he learned something that might help them save the world. Diego is the one who accuses him of “making it about him and Dad”; it’s an assumption that has little to do with what was actually said and more to do with Diego’s resentment toward Luther’s position as the parental favorite. 

***********

Soon after, Klaus approaches Luther with a length of rope over his shoulder. 

Klaus: Luther! Luther, you need to tie me up so I can…Are you drinking? Holy shi…holy shit, your’e drunk! And you busted into Dad’s liquor cabinet! He’s gonna be so pissed!  Luther: Get him. Dad. Do it now.  Klaus: I…I told you already, I can’t!  Luther lifts Klaus by the throat and shoves him against the wall.  Luther: Little shit!  Klaus: Please… After a moment, Luther lets go, and Klaus crumples to the floor, coughing. Klaus: Jesus Christ. Luther! Of course I’ve tried! God knows I’ve tried! But he is as he was in life, he’s a stubborn prick!  Luther: He needs to answer to me for what he did. For sending me up there. I sacrificed everything for him, my entire life. I never left this house. I never had friends. And for what? For nothing.  Klaus: Hey, no no no. Just…just relax. I could try again. I can’t promise I’m clean enough.  Luther takes another long sip of alcohol.  Klaus: Hey, that…that’s enough of that. Enough of that. Come on. Come on. Chin up there, big guy.  Luther: It’s okay. Just go.  Klaus: Hey, why—why don’t we find the others? I’m sure Allison— Luther: I don’t want her. I don’t want them to see me like this. Besides, I—you know I’d just hold them back. What they’re doing is too important.  Klaus: What’re you talking about? You’re our Number One! Remember? O Captain, my Captain? Remember? Yeah? Right?  Luther laughs, then breaks down in a sob.  Luther: You know, Diego was right. Dad sent me to the Moon because he couldn’t stand the sight of this. Of what…of what he did to me. Of what I’ve become.  Klaus: No, no, no. That’s…that’s not….It…Damn it, Dad was such an asshole, right to the end. Look, if there’s anything…anything else I can do…. Luther: I wanna be like you. I want to do whatever it is that you— Klaus: No, no no no. You don’t. Absolutely not.  Luther: Yeah. I do. Yeah. You just, you always seem so carefree, and I need that. I wanna be Number Four.  Klaus: Trust me. Trust me. You don’t want that. You don’t want that. 

I’m sure by now that everyone is familiar with the criticism Luther receives for this scene, and I’m not going to try to defend his behavior. Yes, he’s drunk, and yes, this seems to be the first time he’s ever been under the influence, but being under the influence is not an acceptable excuse to lash out in violence toward your loved ones—or anyone, for that matter. Pushing Klaus up against the wall, choking him and calling him a “little shit” for not doing something he, at that point, cannot do, tossing him across the floor—this is reprehensible and I’m not going to pretend it’s anything but. 

However, much is made of the fact that, aside from being incredibly noisy during his hangover the following morning, Klaus doesn’t hold Luther’s behavior against him. A popular consensus seems to be that Klaus is simply such a loving and accepting person that he will not hesitate to forgive the unforgivable, but that is not my take. Honestly, I think Klaus has been where Luther is. Lost to substances, crazed with pain, lashing out at his family for withholding the one thing he thinks can bring relief? For a man who hasn’t been completely or willingly sober since he was thirteen, this is probably familiar territory. Klaus’ ready exoneration of Luther’s behavior is not, to me, evidence of his capacity to forgive the unforgivable, but evidence of just how deeply he understands Luther needs to be dissuaded from the same path he walked. In this scene, I doubt Klaus is thinking “Oh, Luther’s my brother, he doesn’t mean it,”; he’s probably thinking “Oh shit. Not you, too.” 

As for Luther’s behavior in this scene, two things must be taken into consideration. 

First off, Luther spent the most time of any of the siblings in that house, directly under Reginald’s authority. As we see from flashbacks and Klaus’ talk with him later in this episode, Reginald was easily angered, emotionally distant, and emotionally unavailable. He held his kids to an impossibly high standard, and was often openly cruel to his children (as we see both with Klaus in the mausoleum and when he later refuses to let Vanya join in the family photo). To survive in such an environment, repressing emotion isn’t just a coping mechanism—it’s a necessity. When we hear Luther address his trauma with statements like “I felt like I was meant to be there [on the Moon]” or “He had a difficult decision to make and he made it,” we can see that this is exactly what Luther did. He repressed all negative emotions toward his dad, refused to let himself get angry, and was grateful for whatever shreds of approval or affection happened to come his way. 

The thing about repressed emotion, though, is that those negative emotions don’t go away. They just stay bottled up inside, getting worse and worse until they finally explode out all at once. If you’ve ever moved into a house that’s stood vacant for a few weeks and watched as the taps ran brown, you’ve got a pretty good visual for what’s happening with Luther here. He’s kept the faucets off for too long, and the water is running brown. That’s part of why he shifts so dramatically and so quickly from anger to despair: Everything is pouring out at once. 

The other factor that must be considered: It has been a known fact, since the beginning of human history, that getting drunk is not a good way to remain calm, cool, and collected. From Klaus’ disbelief and Luther’s lack of self-control, it seems safe to say that this is Luther’s first time ever getting drunk, which means he wouldn’t have known his limit or when to stop. Since his goal was getting wasted enough to numb the pain, he would have just kept drinking and drinking, possibly passing the legal limit before the liquor even fully hit him. 

There’s a distinct difference between Luther’s reaction here and his reaction in the previous episode, and I think it can be chalked up to two things: who finds him, and how quickly that happens. 

In the previous episode, Allison seems to find Luther just a few minutes after he discovers the packets. He hasn’t had time to process what he’s found; he’s only had time to calm down a bit. But I think it’s the fact Allison is the one to find him that has the greatest impact on his behavior: It’s Allison. He wants to put on a brave face for her, appear strong and capable. He doesn’t want to scare her, either, so when she pops in, he tamps down the anger he’s feeling, doesn’t give in to despair. Her successful attempt to distract him from the pain further pushes these emotions down. 

Here, though, Klaus had time to consider his plan, go upstairs to wherever he found the rope, maybe exchange a few words with Ben, and come back downstairs to ask Luther to tie him up—all while suffering withdrawals. Not only does the Academy comprise an entire city block with multiple staircases and long hallways, but in his weakened state, Klaus would have taken longer to get what he needed and return. He might have even stopped to rest, started to crave drugs, realized he had to enact his plan immediately, and gone to find Luther. 

All of this is to say, Luther had time to think about what he’d found. He had time to get angry, to wonder why Reginald would do something like that. And he had enough time to wander past the bar, possibly do a few shots to try and stop his thoughts from chasing each other in circles, realize it wasn’t working, do a few more….you get the idea. Although having time to process trauma is definitely a good thing—and an essential one—in a case like Luther’s, where he just received news that shattered his worldview, time alone would have been his enemy. He needed someone to talk to, and he only had his own thoughts. I don’t condone his using alcohol to cope (this scene demonstrates why it was a terrible idea) but I can sympathize with what drove him to it. 

Now, I would like to address something that Luther receives a lot of criticism for: his attitude toward Klaus’ substance abuse. 

Many people within this fandom mock Luther for that line—“You always seem so carefree, and I need that. I wanna be Number Four.” He’s roundly condemned for not understanding addiction and unhealthy coping mechanisms, to which I say….well, yeah. Of course he doesn’t. In this very scene, Luther says that he never left the Academy, he never had friends, he always stayed close to Reginald out of misplaced loyalty and a belief that the world needed him at the Academy. I doubt Reginald would have invested a lot of time or effort into programs about the dangers of substance abuse, so everything Luther knows about drug addiction would have been gleaned from his interactions with Klaus. 

The thing to remember about Klaus, though, is that he underwent a drastic shift between the end of Episode 4 and his next appearance in Episode 5. He had ten months of offscreen character development, and while his time in Vietnam left him with even more trauma and baggage than he had before, it’s clear that falling in love with Dave, and remaining with him as long as he did, brought out the best in him. He’s more openly empathetic. He’s more protective of his siblings. He flushes his stash down the toilet. 

But one thing I’ve noticed in this fandom is a tendency to retroactively apply Klaus’ positive character development in Episodes 5-10 to Klaus in Episodes 1-4. I don’t think this is done intentionally, but I think it does happen. Part of it is that this shift is done so well that Post-Vietnam Klaus and Pre-Vietnam Klaus don’t feel like separate characters. Pre-Vietnam Klaus was very flippant; Post-Vietnam Klaus takes life more seriously while still tossing off flippant remarks (“To save the world.” “Oh, is that all?”). Pre-Vietnam Klaus laughed at everything; Post-Vietnam Klaus still laughs during solemn moments, but his laughs are sadder, harsher, betraying more of the emotion they once concealed. 

I could go on at length about Klaus’ character development, but because my analysis of this scene is already nearly as long as some essays in this series, I’ll leave it at this: The Klaus who comforts Luther is not the same Klaus from whom Luther learned about drug addiction. This Klaus is the one who told Diego about Dave, betraying the full depth of his love for him with just the word “Beautiful”; the one who later pushes past his own bitter disappointment and the fact he just died to confront Reginald about how he treated all his children, not just him. The Klaus whose actions taught Luther about addiction is the Klaus who laughed and joked when Luther asked him to conjure Reginald, who responded to Five’s hurtful “Does it matter? It’s Klaus” remark by cheerfully robbing a convenience store. 

The Klaus who comforts Luther in this scene spent ten months learning to be vulnerable for a man who would eventually die in his arms. 

The Klaus whose actions taught Luther about addiction treated life as a joke. 

We the audience know Klaus’ addiction to be a means of self-medication for childhood trauma. We know his humor is an attempt to keep his hurt hidden from the world, and we can surmise he doesn’t even enjoy being high, if his “You guys are worse than the drugs” remark is any indication. Luther has seen precisely none of that. All he’s ever seen is a brother who does a lot of drugs and always seems to be in a good mood.  

This is not Luther’s fault for not understanding something that was never properly explained to him. It’s not Klaus’ fault for layering a flawed coping mechanism on top of a dangerous one. It’s just sad. 

***********

Our next trauma mention is somewhat oblique, and it comes from Leonard. 

Leonard: You spend your whole life trying to get over what happened to you as a kid, but the second you step back in, you feel just as insignificant.  Vanya: Yeah. I know. 

There isn't too much to analyze here, as it’s a fairly short mention that lacks any details of Leonard’s childhood trauma (most likely by design). But it is the first time we get an inkling of just how deep Leonard’s trauma might go. Previously, he’d kept mentions of his dad short and fairly casual—”I still don’t think my dad ever forgave me for being born” hints at something darker, but it’s delivered so quickly and lightly that it can easily be brushed off as a humorous remark about his family. 

One thing I’d like to point out, though, is that Vanya doesn’t ask for more information. Maybe she’s trying to respect his privacy, but given her openness toward her own childhood trauma, and her reputation within fandom for kindness and caring, it seems she might at least ask if he wants to talk about it, and respect his wishes if he says no. 

Now, there’s the chance she already did ask at some point offscreen and Leonard declined. It seems a likely possibility, and we can’t know for sure. All we know is that in this scene, when Leonard hints at childhood trauma, Vanya responds by hinting at her own. 

*******

The next one comes beside the lake, when Leonard is trying to get Vanya to learn to master her powers. 

Leonard: Vanya, you’ve seen what people with power can do. They can stand up for people who can’t defend themselves. Vanya: Yeah, and at what cost? I watched everything my bothers and sister could do ruin their lives. 

This exchange, though brief, raises a lot of interesting questions regarding Vanya and her attitude toward her siblings. 

It has been well established prior to this that Vanya does not think highly of her siblings. Perhaps the most obvious remark of hers (which is, coincidentally, the one providing the clearest contrast to this scene) comes when she is ranting about her siblings on her way out of the Academy: “Nothing is ever good enough next to their holier-than-thou, weight-of-the-world bullshit!” 

Taking a minute to dissect that remark, she almost seems to be dismissing their trauma. I wouldn’t quite say she is, since she doesn’t address their trauma specifically and doesn’t explicitly dismiss their pain, but she does reveal a very negative attitude toward the emotional baggage their superhero days left them with, dismissing it as “holier-than-thou, weight-of-the-world bullshit.” Rather than identifying it as the result of Reginald’s forced compliance with his vision of a crime-fighting dream team, Vanya views it as one more instance of her siblings believing themselves superior because of their powers. 

Here, though, she doesn’t treat their baggage as a moral failing, but as a result of the powers they had. “I watched everything my brothers and sister could do ruin their lives.” They don’t ruin their lives because of their powers; their powers are the guilty party. She removes the blame from her siblings and places it upon something over which they had no control. 

I see two very different ways to view this shift. 

Now that Vanya has realized she is like her siblings, she is able to see that their poor decisions and worse outcomes were not entirely due to their own weaknesses, but to powers they didn’t ask for that came with unintended effects. Her own struggle in controlling her newfound powers has made her more willing to empathize with them. 

Vanya is only willing to admit her siblings’ failures and frailties might have been a result of their powers because it allows her a means to escape responsibility for her own failures and frailties. She’s not inclined to let them off the hook for anything, but if it means she has a scapegoat for any mistakes she might make, she’ll allow it. 

I think there’s evidence for both interpretations here, with room in between for grey-area views. It’s also possible something else is going on—i.e., she has always harbored sympathy for her siblings, but was simply angry when she left the Academy and wasn't inclined to show it. My take on this line is simply that it is evidence of a changed attitude, although the reason for that change is not entirely clear. 

*********

Running count of trauma mentions (cumulative of all episodes thus far)

Own Trauma: Vanya 8, Luther 9

Trauma of Others: Vanya 5, Luther 3

Read on to Part Seven

[fatebreaking-a]

hi. I put some stuff in extra comments because it’s a multi and I overexplain everything and it’s 4 am oops!

Name / Alias:  Winter / Junie (Juniper) / Glitch / Yuki / Symphonia / etc. You know me by something, probably.

Are you over 18?  Yes  /  No Is your muse(s) over 18?  Yes /  No

When was your blog established? ...2015? Ori was 2014/2015, Ire/lia was within 6 months of that. Then this blog came around a year or two after. It’s been some time now. And I was on my OC as early as... 2013? As part of tumbles.

– W R I T I N G  –

Are you selective about who you write with? No (anyone)  / Semi (most people) / Yes (some people) / Highly (few people) / Private (mutuals only)

Are you selective about who you follow? No (anyone)  /  Semi (most people) /  Yes (some people)  /  Highly (few people)

If your muse is canon, how much do you adhere to canon? Not at all  / A little  / Some  / Mostly /  Strictly /  Not Applicable           ----// I am very divergent. Human Ori, Aviator Lia, Demon/Goddess So/na. I have a strict canon So/na blog though.

What post lengths do you write? One-Liners  / Single-Para /  Multi-Para  /  Novella / All of the aforementioned

Do you use icons and/or GIFS? No  /  Gifs / Icons /  Yes / Sometimes

Do you write on other platforms? No  /  Yes  

What level of plots do you write? Unplotted  /  Open-Ended Plots  /  Semi-Plotted /  Fully Plotted Epics /  All of the aforementioned

How quickly do you usually respond to threads? Very Slow (more than a month) / Slow (3-4 weeks)  / Average (1-2 weeks)  /  Fast (less than one week)  /  Very Fast (less than three days) /  It depends

What types of themes do you like? Adventure / Romance  / Fluff /  Angst / Smut / Violence /  Tragedy /  Domestic  /  Family

WHAT GENRES DO YOU LIKE? ( Feel free to add! ) High Fantasy /  Supernatural / Science Fiction / Historical /  Horror /  Comedy  / Romantic / Drama / Action / Adventure /  Espionage / All of the aforementioned

Are there any themes you’re uncomfortable writing on your blog? (Not triggers) No  /  Yes  /  Sometimes       

Do you have any triggers? How do you request it tagged? Can’t really ask people to tag what I want tagged. I don’t follow enough people and there’s always post block~!

– S H I P P I N G –

What types of relationships are you open to? Romantic  /  Platonic  /  Familial / All of the aforementioned

What types of pre-established relationships are you open to? Romantic  /  Platonic /  Familial / All of the aforementioned

Do you have OTPs? No /  Chemistry Only  / Yes                   ( I’m kind of really guilty of OriAhri and SonaSyndra being an OTP... I do have biases,  but no real ‘this is the only pairing’ thing unless you count the OriLiaSona OT3 :^) Typically, I let the other party choose which of my muses they would want to ship with so none feels forced/biased. )

Do you have NOTPS? No / Yes                                               ( I don’t really do hateships on this blog and it feels weird to have a few of my muses ‘forgive’ remorseless assassins...? Open to explore but the violence-oriented universe makes it weird. )

What is your muse’s sexual orientation? Heterosexual /  Heteroflexible  / Bisexual / Pansexual  /  Homoflexible  /  Homosexual / Demisexual /  Sapiosexual /  ( Grey ) Asexual / Still trying to figure it out.   --- ( Multi: Lia is gray ace lesbian, Sona is pan, Ori is bi )

What is your muse’s romantic orientation? Heteroromantic  /  Heteroflexible  / Biromantic /  Homoflexible  /  Homoromantic   /  Panromantic /  Demiromantic /  Sapioromantic  / Aromantic / Still trying to figure it out.       --- ( See above. )

Are you comfortable writing smut? No  /  Selectively /  Yes                  ( I need to trust you at least a little. It’s both really easy and hard to get that trust. Call it chemistry.  )

How early in a relationship do you ship romantically? Autoship / During plotting  /  After a couple IC interactions  / Several IC interactions / Slow burn / Plot dependent /  Never                  ( I am what the kids call a fool )

Are you open to toxic ships? No / Selectively  / Yes /  I am not sure             ( See ‘NOTPs’. I don’t like toxic stuff much here and I don’t want to pretend So/na “gotta protect everyone” Buv/elle is just going to be fine with people who like killing. So for example SonaTalon can either be awful or pretty neat. )

Are you open to problematic ships? No /  Selectively /  Yes /  I am not sure.

Are you open to polyshipping? No /  Selectively  / Yes /  I am not sure.           ( No one’s a homewrecker or a cheat.  )

Are you an exclusive shipper? Never /  Sometimes  / Yes                               ( With the caveat of don’t toss me aside like yesterday’s trash because someone else’s So/na or Lia appeals to you more if we’re shipping )

Does crack shipping ever happen? Nope   /  Yes 

————-

Tagged by: Stolen from @corpsetalker & @courageousguardian & @symqosium . 

Tagging: dunno who hasn’t been tagged. um... @lightbcund, @voracites, @arehri, whomever!  take it! steal it! be a pirate!

Extra commentary under the cut about shipping and plotting (semi negative): 

I write some super divergent interpretations, and sometimes that gets me in trouble with... people just not liking how I see the characters and putting their own vision on it. Or just backing off. I’m kinda insecure about it  ( ‘kind of’  ) and that usually informs how seriously I take a ship or interaction or whether I get involved at all. They just don’t match the dynamic people expect... I’ve had people act disappointed and feel really let down and it really wears me out. I’m pressed up against “create something unique so you don’t hurt your duplicates” and “not so unique or divergent that it’s basically an OC” and I get into this kind of mess easy. There’s a lot about my interpretations I can’t compromise on, but I’m so wiling to work with you on so many things. So, I know it’s a terribly naive thing to say, but please be gentle with me. I bruise really easily and cry a lot.

[lentaska]

Height Difference - Part 3

Have been busy with job and class, another crazy week passed soon :)

Note: Featuring Madman Fulton. First person POV, OFC from non-wrestling background. New oc is out and he is a good-looking asshole :) This is a work of fan fiction using characters from wrestling, I do not claim any ownership over them.

oc: Birdie (some doodles)

Tagging: @thecristsandcallihanmadness @monstersmaid @morie-leigh

Part Three “what if he loses you”

Trying new things would help people to know more about themselves, for example, this morning - the first morning of our “cohabiting experiment” - I just learned that I actually hit Fulton in sleep.

“And it’s not only the hit, you also kicked me. I woke up once around 5 am.” Fulton added more information. “The good thing is, you behaved after tucking yourself into my arms.”

Now I had the answer for why I woke up in Fulton’s arms and he looked like just had a battle.

“Sorry, I didn’t know that before. Did I hurt you?” I asked, rubbing his hand.

He chuckled, “with your strength? Of course. You will definitely defeat me in the ring.”

An odd idea popped up - it’s probably because I had watched one wrestling match and was motivated - I might be able to fight him for real.

This was also a naive idea, Fulton tried hard not to laugh at it and discourage me, although I still could see the grin he hid. He announced in joking tone, “if you lift me up for even half inch, you win.”

“I’m taking it seriously.”

“I know.” He opened his arms to me, grinning, “c’mon Birdie.”

The rule was simple. I took a deep breath, grabbed his waist and lifted him up - or tried to lift him up because he was not moving AT ALL, so I did another attempt but still failed. Wondering how this was possible, I heard Fulton’s voice, “wanna take a break?” based on the cheerfulness in the tone, he was holding back laughter.

“It’s warm-up.” I explained indignantly, making myself sound tough.

“Alright, alright.” Fulton snickered, “take your time.”

In a match or challenge related to strength, longer it took, less chance to win because the strength would come to exhaustion eventually, hence my third attempt was much worse and I couldn’t help gasping. I knew Fulton was built and strong, but I didn’t expect him to be this... heavy. This man was a brick wall, if I ever accidentally knocked against him, I would be dizzy for a while.

“Are you ok?” asked Fulton.

Managed to catch breath, I found myself the worst excuse, “I’m... hungry. You know, I have no strength when I’m hungry.”

Fulton nodded, pretending to believe my words.

I gave up, “I can’t do this. I was being silly to think that I can fight you.”

“Let me see...” he check the clock, “Five minutes, good job.”

“Take that smirk back.” I elbowed him gently.

Fulton grimaced and acted like he got hurt from my “attack”.

Rolled my eyes at him, I asked, “are you still taking me to your match tonight?”

“Of course, but this time you don’t need to make script about what to say to my friends.”

I guess he would not let go of any silly thing I did. He thought those things were “cute”. Like the time I freaked out on his Jason costume on Halloween and screamed “don’t kill me”, he still brought it up. It didn’t annoy me though, probably because of the affectionate way he used.

 When I arrived locker room with Fulton, the ambience was uneasy, the Crist brothers and Sami looked anxious, I had never seen them behave in such way, something serious happened.

I looked up at Fulton, who responded with the same confused expression. Noticed our appearance, Jake waved at us first, then Dave and Sami came to us.

“Do you know that your opponent is replaced?” asked Sami.

Clearly Fulton was not informed in advance, “whom I’ll be facing then?”

“The new guy just joined 3 weeks ago, we don’t know much about him.” Dave shrugged, “I don’t remember his name.”

Jake let out a sigh, “How can you forget one simple name... his name is Vasiliy. ”

The name brought Fulton on the alert. Subconsciously, I grasped Fulton’s hand more tightly. I did this when I was on nerve and I found myself doing this more often since dating Fulton, mainly because I had panic every time he had match. “Is he difficult to deal with?” I asked, praying that Vasiliy guy was just a regular wrestler.

Sami snapped in detestation, “he is plague.”

If the Death Machine himself commented a person so negatively, then this person was a real trouble.

“Sami is right.” Jake frowned and turned to me, “although it’s highly unlikely, if you ever run into that guy, leave immediately.”

Another Crist nodded, “something is wrong with him.”

I froze at their words. There was one moment that I wanted to ask Fulton not to go, but I couldn’t, it’s his match and I needed be supportive. I took a deep breath, said - more like to comfort myself, “Fulton will win easily, I have faith in him.”

 I was very wrong.

When Vasiliy showed up, I had goosebumps. He wore a plain mask with antlers, both hands were covered by bandage, and he was holding barbed wires. The audience had two contrasting reactions on his entrance, some cheered him while the others hooted in disapproval, but one thing was for sure, the world was almost when he took off the mask. It’s not exaggerated to say, Vasiliy had the most angelic face I had ever seen.

However, his moves were far from “angelic”. He hit Fulton right on belly several time with barbed wires twined around his hand, and then his face. I almost screamed in shock. Since I was close to the ring, the excitement on Vasiliy’s face was clear enough to make me sick.

“We shouldn’t let the fun end too soon, shall we?” the man chuckled, dumping one of the boxes which were set in the ring for their match. It’s a box of Lego blocks.

Fulton struggled to get up, but one foot stomped on his back maliciously. Grabbed a full hand of blocks, Vasiliy gave a harmless smile, then he forced Fulton to open his mouth, stuffed the blocks in and smashed his face to the ground.

My stomach twitched in agony. I knew wrestling match could be violent and wrestlers were trained to limit the hurt to opponents, but I could tell that Vasiliy’s doing was on purpose. He wanted hurt his opponent in the most painful way.

Although Fulton gained the upper hand later on and won the match, the prince was high, he almost collapsed due to multiple wounds and exhaustion. It hurt me to see him in such terrible shape, so I left auditorium and found my way to the backstage, all I wanted was to return to the locker room and hug my dreadlock bear.

But I ran into someone I shouldn’t. The black-haired man whom Sami referred as “plague” blocked my way, smiling innocently. The aura of him was like poisonous mist, whirling and tangling

“Vasiliy...”

I took one step back. The Crist brothers cautioned me against getting involved with him, plus what he did in the ring, he was the last person I wanna see now.

“My honor to be remembered by you.”

“It’s a... nice match” I said, against my will.

“I can imagine how much you loved to witness Fulton’s victory.” he giggled. “But I did have fun in making him bleed.”

The memory of him stuffing Lego blocks in Fulton’s mouth and smashing his face disgusted me. I wasn’t sure how this match went into such way, but that scene made my stomach twitched in agony. And now he said making Fulton bleed was “fun” with no regret? Was the personality and behavior he showed in the ring actually a reflection of himself in life?

I forced myself to be polite, “it’s late, I have to go...”

“To find your boyfriend?” he tipped his head a little, in the most harmless way I could imagine, but somehow I was alarmed. “Although joining this brand happened only weeks ago, I consider myself to be informed. I know Fulton loves you dearly. I’m quite curious: what if he loses you?”

I saw the excitement on his face, his smile twisted. He was serious.

Vasiliy’s eyes locked on me, “when I was seven, mother bought me a parakeet. She was beautiful and docile, I cherished her with my heart, but a stray cat killed it. Beautiful things never last long, do they?”

In the next moment, his hands were on my neck, I heard his sweet but malicious voice, “how adorable you are, I wonder what your scream sounds like.”

The strength pressed on was squeezing air out of me, I struggled, the suffering from suffocation and instinct for survival made me fight back for the slenderest hope, even though what I could do was nothing comparing his power.

“Scream, lil’ bird,” Vasiliy sneered, “or you prefer to suffer?”

Tears welled up from fear, it might be easier if I just screamed - he might let me go - but I could not let him win.

I attempted to get out of him by kicking and smacking, although I got him couple times, those attacks didn’t help me but instead stimulated his desire for destruction.

When I was about to give up, I heard Fulton’s furious roar, “you fucking leave her alone!”

The pressure on my neck was released, I was pulled into a firm embrace. Fulton had one arm locked me tightly, another arm was in defence posture. Based on how messed up Vasiliy looked, he already got punch on face from the mad dreadlock bear.

Stroking where Fulton hit, Vasiliy chuckled, “you’re almost late to save her. I was about to make her scream but she’s a tough one.”

Fulton gnashed, almost rushed out to give him another good punch, “you touch her again and I will break your fucking face, you hear me?!”

“‘Stupidity is also a gift of God, but one mustn’t misuse it’, you never know how naive you are, but it’s fine. We will meet again and have better game to play.” the angelic-looking man waved goodbye at me.

“Don’t worry, I’m here for you.” Fulton checked on me, “what else did he do?”

“Nothing besides strangling me.”

Unbuttoned my collar, Fulton’s face clouded over with anger. I was nervous, “what’s wrong?”

“You should see it by yourself.”

In the phone camera, I saw faint hand print on my neck.

“I’m gonna kill that scum...”

“He was serious about hurting me, but why? I didn’t even know him.”

“Vasiliy was new in the brand but he had feud with Sami in another brand, and it’s not only in rings. We act like crazy and bad dudes in the ring, but he is different. His personality in real life is what he shows in the ring.” Fulton wiped away my tears and patted my back, I saw how scared he was. He thought he would lose me.

“So he attacked me because I hang out with oVe?”

He nodded, whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong. And don’t think I’m gonna keep distance from you guys, because I like your friends and I will learn to protect myself. If Vasiliy ever does stupid thing again, I’ll kick him between legs hard.”

Chuckled, the dreadlock bear stroked my cheek. “That’s my girl.”

Yet I didn’t realize Vasiliy would become the most horrifying nightmare.

[space-unicorn-dot]

Oh, hey! I’ve been meaning to do this thing for a while since I first saw it and I keep forgetting, so thanks to @stormiesquall for the tag! And this also solved my crisis of what to do first in the morning! I’m also still hella in the mood for tumblr dev, so if you have any more questions or ideas for any of my sso ocs, go hit up their sideblogs with an ask, kids!

[name] dot, we’re gonna say. cause i’m still a wee bit uncomfortable just sharing that unless its close friends.

[sign] gemini

[height] 5′ 4″ ish.

[put your songs on shuffle and & list the first four]

going from my “general playlist” on spotify cause it’s where i dump anything and everything i enjoy. (dear god it pulled songs i haven’t listened to in a while, way to call me out, spotify)

all star // smash mouth

setting sun // miracle of sound - an rdr2 inspired song

drunk on a plane // dierks bentley

fuck this shit, i’m out

hey. you wanted honesty. i swear, there’s actual shit on here. but sometimes, you just gotta have a good meme song.

[grab the nearest book, go to page 23. what’s the 17th line?]

“your goal here is to control it by pulling the rod left or right in the [line 18, opposite direction to the movement of the fish].”

this book happens to by my official guide to red dead redemption 2, hard back, collector’s edition, if i remember correctly. and page 23 happens to be about the fishing mechanic.

it’s actually really relaxing. i’m not much for that sort of outdoorsy hunty stuff irl, but the few times I’ve done fishing in rdr2 have been really fun. i should do more of it. Let arthur have some arthur time away from camp idiots like micah, i mean, what?

[had a song or poem written about you?]

maybe? i did creative writing in high school for two years, and there was lots of poetry involved in my second year. we had lots of good times no matter what we wrote, and that was really the best part. i loved that class and all we shared in it.

[when was the last time you played air guitar?]

fucc, i dunno. probably coming home from work one night cause we listen to the radio a lot. if my mom doesn’t decide to talk my ear off. so probably within the last week or two.

[do you believe in ghosts?]

i don’t know. i’m a baby when it comes to anything horror, so, usually, i don’t like thinking about it because people like to portray the spooky scary of it, and if i think about, i scare myself thinking about those ghosts. but maybe. i’m also not religious, so like... i don’t know? i think it’s possible there could be, like, spirits that have unfinished business, or like they stay behind to look after someone, you know?

[do you believe in aliens?]

do i actively think about whether or not i believe in aliens? no. do i believe in aliens in, like, the sci-fi sort of sense? eh, not particularly, but in the whole concept of some sort of life out there on another planet? sure. why not? just because earth is perfect for us and we’re so widespread on this planet, that doesn’t mean that some sort of life out there somewhere else doesn’t exist. Microorganisms are fucking everywhere here, after all, and plenty are important in several natural processes.

[do you drive? if you do, have you ever been in an accident?]

i have a permit, but i haven’t done a lot of driving. i’m talking like around the block and in a parking lot kind of driving. i don’t think i’ve personally been in anything too bad that i can remember as a passenger? scrapes and dings, yes, but nothing that wasn’t ~easily resolved.

[last book you read? actual book?]

fuck, i also don’t know this one. i do like to read, i just... don’t do a whole lot of it now that i’m not in school. i think, oh god...

i mean, technically, i’ve read out of my rdr2 guide as needed and, of course, continue to do so when i want to reference something.

but the last book i remember reading is the first book in the warriors series about the origins of the clans? like, the one about the tribe splitting up and the group from the tribe travelling to the area the clans lived. i’d get up and go grab the title and series name exact, but i’m lazy cause i’m under a really comfy blanket. >.>

[do you like the smell of gasoline?]

i’m gonna be the odd one out and say kind of, actually. sometimes, not so much, but, usually, i don’t mind it. would i want to spend loads of time around it? fuck, no, but in a gas station, i’ve found it like... idk, interesting, how it smells, i guess?

[what was the last movie you saw?]

i literally had to look up a 2018 release schedule to figure it out, y i k e s. the last movie i think i saw in a theater was the nutcracker and the four realms. i intended to see more, but my mom and i are actually horrible at making plans and sticking to them when it comes to going out to see movies?

the last movie i watched though was... i think sherlock holmes (2009), with robert downey, jr. and jude law. i love that movie.

[do you have any obsessions right now?]

star stable online is like my ongoing obsession, and red dead redemption 2 - mostly arthur morgan is a good character and i’m still not over how pretty the game is and i’ve had it since release.

[do you tend to hold grudges?]

i don’t know, i don’t think so. tldr, i have a fucked relationship with my biological dad that took me maybe three or four years to finally cough up that i wanted him the fuck out of my life cause he was a toxic, negative influence, and i still want nothing to fucking do with him for good reason. i’d like to think most of the people i purposely cut out of my life are for something like that, not because of some dumb grudge. i was way too fucking forgiving for way too long in that case, so... i just. i don’t think i do grudges. if you’re bringing me down and otherwise being more of a bad influence and energy in my life than a good one, i won’t want to be around you. that’s what i do. if you hurt my friends, i’m going to keep that in mind.

that one bad experience i kept going for too long was just too much for me to not be hesitant and careful now when you really hurt me or someone i trust. i don’t have time to give twenty undeserved second chances, especially doing so much better like i am now, far away from all that.

sorry that got a little personal, but i mean... hey, it’s a personal ask. might as well be honest.

[are you in a relationship right now?]

fuck nooooooooooooooo, as friends and i would say memeingly. i’m very asexual when it comes to me things, and i’ve honestly just... never been interested in anyone that way. not seriously. i was the one in high school to hear all my friends’ relationship woes and think to myself “i don’t need that kinda extra added bs stress, i have enough to worry about.”

and i like to joke that being single = more pizza for me, myself, and i when i want pizza, so that is a definite plus.

so tldr, no, and i’m not interested. i’m happy being a single pringle.

[ofwolvesandshatteredshields]

Halamshiral

3k words, rated T, Fenris/Male Hawke

This drabble takes place about 13 years after Inquisition, and fairly soon after this one. I wrote it because there have been posts in the Fenris tag saying that creators shouldn’t make trans Fenris content so I have decided that every time there is a post like that, I am going to make some trans Fenris content to counteract the negativity with positivity for my fellow trans DA fans. Fenris is indeed trans here although it doesn’t come up very much.

——

The rooftop garden is closed for the winter so they have to sneak in, Fenris ghosting through a tucked-away door at the far end of the eastern wing and unlocking it for Hawke to come through. The stairs are dusted with snow and a little slippery; Hawke’s cane suddenly loses traction once and Fenris has to catch him as he flails, straining to heave his great weight upright again. The two of them collapse into each other, giggling madly.

“Thank the Maker.” Hawke kisses Fenris’s hair. “I thought we’d never get out of there.”

Fenris groans. “If I had to deflect one more question about Dumat’s death…”

“Hm.” Hawke nods thoughtfully as they ascend. “I do feel a bit badly for Aveline. Now she’s covering for us as well as Varric.”

Varric, of course, recoiled in horror the moment the word “Halamshiral” was uttered in his office; only with much stricken clutching of the chest and earnest desperation was he able to convince Aveline to represent him here instead. He is not fond of nobles, Fenris knows, and certainly not fond of five hundred of them gathered in one place, every one of whom wants something from him. Fenris has witnessed Aveline stoically absorbing numberless queries of Orlesian-accented “but where is the dear Viscount?” already this evening. And now as well “have you seen the Champion of Kirkwall, or his dashing consort?”

He will apologize after this. For now he and Hawke ascend into the night and cross the stone patio, a thick layer of powder breaking over their boots. The garden is dead—dormant, he supposes, the dense white-capped shrubs shorn of leaves, the spindly rosebushes twisting their questioning limbs into the air. To receive snow as answer, fine ridges building on each dark stem as if lain by some meticulous architect’s careful hand.

Hawk finds a stone bench at the rooftop’s edge, dusts it off, and sits. Fenris sits as well and leans on him.

“How long did Vivienne say we could stay?” Hawke asks.

Fenris shrugs. “As long as we like, I suppose. She owes me a favor.”

All of Thedas does, really, as it was he who tore out Dumat’s heart in the Fade early last summer; but Fenris does not plan on demanding recompense. Still. “This place is amazing,” Hawke says. “The food is incredible.”

Fenris grins. “I expect the accommodations are as well. A pity we did not come when the flowers were in bloom.”

Hawke’s shoulder shrugs beneath Fenris’s cheek. “I don’t know. I thought the ice sculptures were quite nice.”

“If one is willing to weather the cold,” Fenris mutters. He is dressed in a sturdy, warm wool coat with a scarf and thick gloves. Meanwhile, Hawke has only a cloak with a white-grey foxfur ruff that almost matches Fenris’s hair. From beneath the cloak he draws a flask from which he has been sampling all night; indeed, when he shakes it, it sloshes nearly empty. He heaves a piteous sigh. “Damn it all.”

Still, he offers it first and Fenris takes a swig of the fiery Fereldan whiskey. That will warm him up. Then he hands it back for Hawke to finish off.

For a little while they sit quietly, breath misting in the air—in tandem, and then one after the other. Fenris leans into Hawke’s shoulder. The foxfur collar tickles his forehead. It’s begun to snow again—not terribly hard, but tiny snowflakes drift down all around them, glowing in the light of a moon that peeks, timid, from behind her curtain of clouds. Lain out below are the palace grounds, a glittering sea of white broken by crests of topiary or gilded statues that reach their hands undaunted towards the sky.

“Hey, Fenris.”

Fenris looks up. “Hm?”

“I don’t mean to impose.” Hawke lifts the empty flask. “But, er, would you mind…I mean, it’ll be a lot faster if you do it.”

Fenris chuckles and takes it. “I will return in a moment.”

He rises and retreats across the patio, turning once just to see Hawke sitting there in the moonlight with shoulders sloped, gazing up at the falling snow.

Then he sighs and makes for the party again.

It’s still going in full force—he had faintly hoped that in the ten minutes he was gone everyone would have finished things up and dispersed. Unfortunately it was not to be. He slips and elbows his way through the throng, carefully avoiding trailing skirts and unwanted greetings. Where are the blasted kitchens? Ducking and weaving, he searches, but these damned masks are too elaborate and he can’t see over anyone’s heads—

A firm grip on his arm. He knows that grip. “Aveline.” He turns, caught in the act.

She glares at him, dressed smartly in a black velvet suit with gold trim. “Where in Oblivion have you been?! And where is Hawke?”

“Ah. Well—we slipped out. For a bit of—fresh air.”

“Slipped out where? The courtyard? I didn’t see you.”

“Er…the rooftop garden.”

“I thought it was closed to—“ Aveline breaks off, staring at Fenris while he waits breathlessly; then she exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. But you two will owe me after this.”

“Yes. Anything you desire.”

“I want you both on reports for two weeks.”

“Of course.”

“A month.”

“You have my word.”

“Go.” She releases him, flapping her hand. “And I will hold you to that.”

“You have my gratitude. Ah—do you know where the kitchens are?”

She sighs and gives him directions.

In the entryway there are racks of bottles waiting to be uncorked. Fenris crouches over them, searching, and eventually finds a squat brown bottle of whiskey. He thinks of taking the whole thing but his clothes are too fitted to hide it in. Instead, after a brief struggle, he uncorks it, refills the flask, searches for where the cork landed among the racks in the next room over, plugs up the bottle again, and makes his escape.

Once more into the fray. Fenris squeezes and evades, not quite knowing the way back to the eastern wing but pointing himself in that general direction, and before long the dark corridor appears before him. Letting out a sigh of relief, he makes his way to the door, still unlocked, and out into the wintry air again. As he climbs the stairs a breeze gusts a spray of powdery snow into his face, and he wrinkles his nose and rubs his eyes, making the top stair.

At the far edge of the roof Hawke is flat on his back, struggling with a woman who sits on top of him with a knife in hand. He blocks as she swings it, then tries to lift his hips and throw her off, but with only one of his legs working she easily keeps him pinned.

Fenris’s heart stops in his chest.

He lunges forward and the Veil breaks over his face like a crashing wave. When he comes out the other side, Hawke and the woman are right next to him. There’s a light in the air—his markings, a brilliant white-blue making the snowflakes glow like frozen fireflies. He grabs the woman and throws her bodily, lyrium strength charging down his limbs. She lands hard on her back with a startled “uh” and Fenris is on top of her, pinning her wrists and legs. “Who sent you?!” he shouts.

She’s Tevinter. Her skin, her features. “Murderer!” she spits. “You stole the silence from this world! The Void is too good for you!”

She tries to heave him off but his grip is iron, the lyrium a fixed point in space which she cannot hope to move. “A name,” Fenris snarls. “The name of the one who sent you, or I swear I will—“

“Fenris!” Hawke is on his feet now, limping over through the disturbed snow. “It’s all right! I’m all right. Let the guards handle this.”

Fenris looks up and discovers his heart is pounding in his chest. Hawke does look…mostly all right, but for a bloodied lip and a shallow cut above his eye. “I…I just…”

Hawke gets down on one knee, teetering a little, and kisses his temple. “I’m not completely defenseless, you know. Here, I’ll go find the guard.”

He retrieves his cane and heads for the stairs. Fenris remains where he is and tries to get some answers. All he manages to glean is the woman is part of a cult worshipping Dumat and she is irked at Fenris for killing him. She decided to target Hawked avowedly because Fenris deserves suffering over a quick death, but Fenris suspects it’s because they know he would be more difficult to kill. Before long six guards in gilded regalia appear to escort her away, Aveline at the head. She grasps Hawke’s shoulder as Fenris approaches. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Hawke tells her. “Most of me’s still good for fighting.”

“Good. We’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry. I’ll have security doubled around your rooms while you’re here.”

“Thank you. Although…” Hawke swipes at his lip, coming up with a tiny spot of blood. “Perhaps I was rather more seriously injured in the attack than I first thought. Maybe it’s best if I retire for the evening.”

Aveline glares at him. “You told me three seconds ago you were fine.”

“Yes, but that was three seconds ago.”

“Mm.” Fenris nods sagely. “I should also retire that I might care for him in his wounded state.”

Aveline’s glare gives way suddenly to a nasty smile. “Well, that’s just too bad, because I need to sweep your rooms and make sure nobody’s left you any deadly gifts.”

Hawke groans. “Aveline, please don’t make me go back out there.”

She shrugs. “Sorry, it’s for your own safety. Oh—and if anyone asks after Varric, just let them know he’s indisposed, would you?”

She gives Hawke a handkerchief, at least, to wipe the blood from his forehead. Some of it is dried on so Fenris licks his thumb and rubs at it.

Somehow the entire party appears to already know that Hawke’s just been the victim of an assassination attempt. They are accosted at the entrance to the courtyard by a mob of terribly concerned nobles asking after his well-being. “I’m fine—“ Hawke struggles forward, making little headway. “Really, it’s just a scratch—“

Then there’s movement in the crowd and the nobles part as the Grand Enchanter appears, regal as ever in a gown of white trimmed in red and gold. “Hawke, my dear!” she calls, and the clamoring drops to little more than an excited whisper. “I’ve just heard what happened.”

“Yes. Why don’t we talk about it while we return to the hall?”

The main hall? Fenris can’t imagine why he wants to descend into the varghest’s den again but follows anyway. “You have my deepest apologies,” Vivienne says. “Let me reassure you that I will find out exactly what happened tonight. And you have my personal promise that you need not fear for your safety during your stay here.”

“Your personal promise?” Hawke grins. “Are you going to come kill the assassins yourself?”

Vivienne gives him a radiant smile. “I have fought by your side many times over the years, Ser Hawke. I do love the Game, but the direct approach can be…refreshing.”

They talk as the crowd makes way. Hawke had assumed the footsteps behind him were Fenris until he saw the woman’s shadow and noticed something odd about the silhouette. Fenris relays what the woman said, and Vivienne nods thoughtfully. In the main hall the music is still going, a lively air that sounds like a rearranged folk tune.

“I’ll begin investigating immediately,” Vivienne tells him. “If there’s anything you need, you have only to ask.”

Then she leaves them, and Hawke turns to Fenris and sticks out his hand. “Fenris, would you dance with me?”

Fenris stares. “Would I what with you?”

Hawke falters a little. “Please. If we’re dancing no one can bother us.”

That…is an excellent point. “Ah. Then yes, I will.”

“Thank the Maker.” Hawke lifts his cane and freezes, staring at it for a second. Fenris thinks of asking Aveline to hold it but of course she’s busy securing their quarters.

Hawke solves the problem by sliding it into his belt at the hip. “There. Shall we?”

Fenris snorts, following him. “You look ridiculous.”

“Everyone’s got those ceremonial bloody swords hanging off of them. Only difference with this is I could actually use it to hurt someone.”

There are couples gliding and whirling across the floor so they pick a corner that’s out of the way. Fenris uses one hand to clasp Hawke’s and rests the other at Hawke’s waist. Around them the Orlesians perform elaborate sequences of steps, bowing and twirling and curtsying to various musical cues Fenris doesn’t hear. Instead he leans into Hawke’s chest and they rock slowly, the last bars of the air giving way to a sumptuous waltz.

“I wish people would stop trying to kill you,” Fenris says.

Beneath his cheek Hawke’s chest rises and falls with a great sigh. “Yes, well, you know what they say. No good deed goes unpunished.”

“It wasn’t even your good deed. I’m the one who killed Dumat. You were busy sleeping and eating Sister Catherine’s food.”

Hawke guffaws. “Well, now you know how I felt dragging you with me around Thedas for four years while the Chantry was hunting me down.”

Fenris grunts. It’s a fair point.

“I wouldn’t worry. I trust Vivienne to keep us safe while we’re here. She seemed to take the whole thing rather personally. And anyway…” Fenris hears the grin in his voice. “I’ve got a dashing partner who can teleport across rooftops to save my sorry arse.”

Fenris looks up, cups Hawke’s face, and kisses him.

No longer rocking back and forth, simply standing all to themselves in a secluded corner of the dance floor. The kiss breaks briefly and by a hair’s breadth at best, their lips meeting again almost at once. They must have kissed thousands of times over the years, yet now the warm flush of safety swells so strongly it threatens to bear Fenris away. Not his own safety now—not anymore. He can kill an Old God and walk away none the worse for wear. Hawke, on the other hand, struggles to defend himself from aspiring assassins.

But Hawke is here and alive, his lips warm and dry on Fenris’s own. When Fenris breaks away and leans into Hawke’s chest, the rhythmic thudding under his ear is strong and steady as ever.

Some things have changed but the way their bodies meet hasn’t—maybe the pure sensation of it, Hawke a little softer and Fenris not quite so thin. Still Fenris knows exactly the way Hawke’s shoulderblade rotates under his palm, the way Hawke’s chest presses against his own and his stomach when he breathes in expands just there. Feels it as they make their winding way upstairs, excused at last from the party by Aveline’s return, stopping now and then at corners or stone landings to hold each other and lazily kiss a few more times. It takes a good ten minutes for them to reach the bedroom at last, containing themselves for the sake of the five guards posted at strategic points on the approach.

But Fenris toes the door shut behind him and kisses Hawke again, the two of them drifting toward the bed and colliding with it gently. Hawke flops down on his back and pulls Fenris on top of him, and Fenris kisses Hawke’s neck, legs splaying loosely over his hips, trails down to the base of his throat. Hawke’s enormous hands slide down his back, coming to rest on his ass and cupping it. Fenris lets out a satisfied “mm,” and squeezes the thick muscle at Hawke’s chest—

“Er. Fenris?”

“Yes?” Fenris murmurs, kneading the muscle under his fingers.

“It appears I’m—er—a bit tired.”

Fenris blinks, propping himself up on one elbow.

“And this bed is…really comfortable.” Hawke winces a little, apologetic.

Fenris can’t help but laugh. “Then this will have to wait for another time, I suppose.”

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have had all that whiskey. Makes me sleepy.”

As they undress Fenris gets a look at the room he hardly had a chance to notice earlier when they were jamming themselves into their formal outfits for the ball. Delicate, lacy sconces line the walls, illuminating overstuffed chairs in deep red crushed velvet and daubed paintings of ladies in enormous dresses giggling to themselves in sunny pastures. Not entirely to Fenris’s taste, but as he climbs into the bed he discovers it is indeed incredibly soft. “Ah.”

“See? I told you,” Hawke says as he crawls in as well.

Fenris flips on his side and Hawke curls up behind them, the two of them skin on skin beneath the vast duvet. After a moment Fenris picks up the hand that’s on his stomach and places it over his breast instead. If they’re not going to have sex he can at least have that.

“Thanks for protecting me,” Hawke murmurs.

Fenris lets out a sigh. “With luck I won’t have to do it again.”

“Mm. I suppose we’ll just…have to stay here while Vivienne figures out what’s going on.”

Fenris snorts. “Don’t you think you’re rather taking advantage of her generosity?”

“Are you saying you don’t want to?”

“By no means. This bed is extremely comfortable.”

“I knew it.” Hawke kisses the back of his neck. “Tomorrow we’ll break our fast with roasted pheasant and quails’ eggs.”

Fenris smiles to himself. “Go to sleep, Hawke. We’ve had a long day.”

“Mm. I love you, Fenris.”

“And I love you.”