#so can fenris. they make it work in the stupidest way

[x-letsbreaksomerules-x]

going back to my roots.. doing screenshot redraws again

[bettydice]

Okay for the kiss prompt I NEED #17 (I think that's the kiss to hide from bad guys one), but I will let you choose the pairing based on which ones would be either the most awkward at it or the most like "this is the stupidest thing you've ever come up with"

Patsy was in the middle of a long internal debate over whether she should have frozen pizza or an entire box of cereal for dinner, when Fenris suddenly rushed into L3v3l Up, looking distraught.

He looked around, spotted her in her bean bag chair, and walked up to her, eyes slightly crazed. The urgency made him even hotter, if that was at all possible.

"Help me," he pleaded in a hushed voice.

Patsy immediately sat up straight, slightly alarmed. Or straight-ish, she was in a bean bag chair after all. "What's going on? How can I help?"

Patsy usually wasn't high on any "People to ask for help" lists, so she felt honoured that Fenris had come to her. But they were making out on the regular, maybe that had moved her up on the list. She could practically hear Bobby yelling You're not just making out, you're an actual couple, Patricia! in her mind, but she immediately smothered Mind Bobby with a pillow. What did Blobster know - nothing!

"He is here..." Fenris looked around with a haunted look. Was someone chasing him? "My boss... Alistair... and he wants to ask me for, and I quote, 'relationship advice'."

"Alistair wants relationship advice? And he's not asking me or Bobby? How dare he, what an ungrateful little bastard! We spend all this time rezzing him in multiplayer and now he finally has something not-boring going on in his life and he doesn't come to us?"

"Patsy, please, he's looking for me!" Fenris bent over and put his hands on her shoulders to make her focus.

And indeed, out of the store window Patsy could see Alistair standing in front of the Brewmother, turning in a circle and looking like an abandoned puppy. Then he looked straight at L3v3l Up and his face lit up like someone set the puppy on fire. She'd be tempted to help him if it weren't Fenris in front of her and if Steve (or Alistair, whatever) hadn't betrayed her by withholding important information from her. Granted, she already knew he had a crush on Warden; it was about the principle!!!

"Don't worry, you came to the right person," Patsy assured him. And she meant it, Steve-wrangling was easy.

She stood up, smiled at Fenris who looked at her full of hope. He really believed her that she could help him! Why was that so... ugh, no time for feelings, get it together Paste!

She pulled down her t-shirt as though that would show off her cleavage, even though the neckline really wasn't low enough for that. Isabela would still be proud. "Kiss me."

"... What?"

"Trust me." She smirked at him and cocked her head a bit, hopefully in an inviting way.

Fenris stared at her for one, two seconds - possibly wondering whether he'd made a mistake coming here - but then he nodded, pulled her closer by the hips (fuck, so hot!) and kissed her.

Patsy had the best ideas!

Alistair had almost reached the door, so Patsy wrapped her arms around Fenris' neck and murmured against his lips:"Put your hand on my boob."

Fenris obediently grabbed her tit and just in time, because just then Alistair entered the store.

Patsy made sure to make some We're Kissing And It's A Really Good Kiss noises for him to hear.

For a moment, Alistair didn't say anything, didn't seem to move as well. Then: "Oh Maker, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to- Enjoy your - Well, I'll be leaving."

Fenris hummed his approval, which made Patsy hum her approval. Mhmmm.

Alistair made a few steps backwards, turned around and then retreated to the Brewmother.

When he was sure that Alistair was gone, Fenris breathed a sigh of relief, then looked at her and cocked an eyebrow. "I can't believe that worked."

"As I said, trust me," Patsy grinned, very pleased with herself.

"I do." Fenris grinned, too, but sounded like he actually meant it.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. No, no, no, what was this mood shift, where was it coming from, BEGONE! Patsy cleared her throat. "You know, I think we better keep kissing. Just in case he comes back... "

"Ah, I see that you really are an expert when it comes to these situations. I would be a fool to not follow your advice here."

Luckily, it turned out that bean bag chairs were excellent for making out in and they were only walked in on by one (1) scandalized customer!

[mythvoiced]

-. patrick-core bc i had another one lmao (pt. 2)

is a Corrector, if he doesn't bother correcting you, he truly does not give a SHIT about you, one way or another

thank you, that's very considerate = you just got demoted to forgettable acquaintance

oh, really, you shouldn't have (polite) = i am begging you to forget i exist

oh, really, you shouldn't have (sarcastic) = i will use this favour to humiliate you, jokingly or genuinely

oh, really, you shouldn't have (genuine) = your kindness and my affectionate response can be equaled to psychological warfare enacted on my being right now

hmm, i wouldn't mind brainstorming some more, cover our bases and all = that was the stupidest plan i've ever heard do not make me tell you

are you sure [question] = genuine question, i do care to check specifically how certain you are about this, do not hurt yourself

hmm... and you're sure [question] = literally please just scrap this idea

really not a... doesn't really listen to a lot of music unless it's classical which, okay, wow, elitist--

does love norse-inspired folkmusic but he'll fight the devil before he'll tell you

could still effectively communicate with aesir in old norse

casual intimacy is actual psychological warfare on him, it gets worse the closer you grow; it's pretty bad if you're strangers but there won't be other baggage to help make him want to quite literally flee the scene

could be worse = i do not trust this endeavour will work out so i will pull some other strings in the background to guarantee its success

if he attempts to talk about his feelings or his concerns or his fears he will literally?? come up blank, he'll start a sentence and then just open and close his mouth and make a few awkward hand movements and then just deflate and give up

he's (outwardly) relatively calm and doesn't let other people's provocations get to him, but he does abhor insistence and he can be very cruel if you get him to snap at you

has this weird superiority complex where he doesn't think he's better than most, but... more than most, he's yknow the Fenriswolf, he's above humans in a purely factual food chain way

but he's actually? a relatively good team-player and doesn't assume himself to be the only one capable of things or to be a leader, he's? a good strategist in that aspect?

he also kind of hates himself but also not really, it's more of a... he abhors existing and who can he blame for that but himself in lieu of... being the one... who exists-- hey, wait, don't stand up, listen, it makes sense--

sure = i'm sarcastically ending this conversation/i would believe you only if you paid me/do not keep talking to me

of course (no expression) = small talk filler answer/i'm listening

of course (polite smile) = literally die

of course (soft smile) = i would kill the sun for you

understood = understood

got it = if you tell me one more time-

if you must touch him, don't, throw something at him

doesn't have a driver's license, just kind of walks everywhere

you never want to see his teeth when he smiles, if you see his teeth when he smiles, he's thinking about killing you ♥

does he kill people? no, not really. he actually genuinely avoids circumstances under which he'd have to kill someone, but only because of how messy it makes everything, both in a literal and consequences-way, not because he's... against it, per se

like, he's a passionate advocate of self-defense and vigilante work

you can always ask him to find you something, information or actual objects like a book or anything at all, it's not a conditional favour, just be sure you're not on his bad side because you'll get more than you asked for lmao

he dOESN'T LIKE DOGS--

he is a fancy supernatural creature that i made up when i was 13 lmao so he does have cool shit directly related to his being fenris, like... ashy grey hair that falls apart if you touch it like ash would, smoke coming out of his mouth when he exhales very deeply, the ability to growl like a wolf, BUT only... in very small, limited doses because gleipnir is a limiter and i put it up for myself to not engage in goofy shenanigans

will straight up not tell you things; that's it, no information, nothing; he overheard something? that's his to overhear; he fucked around and found out? that's his to find out; he just... knows shit and doesn't share unless he likes you or you ask very specifically

not even exaggerating the 'specifically' part, if you're both aware he's withholding information that you could use, you will have to be very specific because he somehow always manages to figure out ways to answer without actually answering

patrick warming up to a man is SO FUNNY to watch you can literally watch him go through the five stages of grief about it (and then a few more while he's at it), it's hilarious

doesn't cuss, not really in the habit to, but he COULD--!!!!

do not misunderstand his unwillingness (trapped by social conventions bc he doesn't want to be perceived) to choose violence (ruin your whole career) as the inability to do so

[baejax-the-great]

Aches

Fenris x Hawke (G)

1850 words of banter about old injuries between even older friends. Mentions of alcohol, spiders, and aging.

Read on AO3

~

When Bethany summoned ice from thin air, Varric reflected for the umpteenth time what a fantastic waste locking up all the mages had been for all those years.

“Thank you, Sunshine,” he said while scooping it into a handkerchief.  It would soak through eventually, but it was going to get the job done.

Hawke watched him with a raised eyebrow. “Was I the only one who thought the ice was for our drinks?”

“Ice in wine? Yes,” Fenris replied.

“I don’t know, it might have been nice to try it cold. Something new?”

Fenris shook his head.

“I’m an old man now,” Varric explained as he tied a knot to hold the ice in, “I have aches and pains, and in my time in the charming south, ice helped.”

“What aches?” Bethany asked.

“My wrist,” he replied. He rolled his eyes at Hawke’s failure to hide a childish smile. “There’s a cranking motion I have to do for Bianca and—”

Hawke was no longer pretending to listen seriously, giggling to herself, and Varric put his hands back on the table, regretting his choice to act out the motion in the air for more than just the predictable pain that came with it. He set the ice to do its work.

“Tell me more about how you crank Bianca,” Hawke said with a flutter of her eyelashes.

He shook his head. “I know I’m not the only one here suffering. Come on, Hawke, you’re practically a walking bruise at this point. Maybe you’d like to be put on ice for a bit.”

She grinned. “Well there was the old shoulder injury. And the knee injury, of course. Every time it rains it starts creaking. And I really did roll that one ankle too many times. It seems always on the verge of rolling again.” Bethany quietly began summoning more ice as she spoke. ”And, well who could forget my back that one time, except that the answer was all of you forgot my back or nothing would have happened to it in the first place…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bethany tied up the ice and handed it to her sister, who only used it to gesture in the air as she said, “Honestly, at this point I take a healing potion prior to fighting just so I can make the stabbing motion without wincing. And I’m still not half as fast as I used to be.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was whisky.”

“You thought I was getting drunk before fights?”

He nodded. “I was worried about you. Now I know you are in too much pain to hold a blade. That’s much better.”

“Not after I take one of these,” Hawke said, wiggling a small vial in front of him. She seemed to remember the ice in her other hand at that point and after some consideration she balanced it on her right elbow, her smile fading into consternation. “And then take three more the minute we’re done, or I’d have to make you carry me home.”

“Give me that—” Bethany said, snatching the vial before Hawke had the chance to protest. She swirled it in the light, popped the cork to delicately sniff it, then sighed. “You really shouldn’t be taking four of these in one day.”

Hawke snatched it back with her tongue stuck out. “It’s better than taking a knife to the gut, but I’ll keep that in mind. Not all of us can shove healing magic into our shoulders after every fight.”

“Maker, don’t remind me. All that twirling has taken its toll.” She sighed. “And Alistair—all that plate mail on his big body—his knees are practically dust at this point. I think magic is all that’s holding them together.”

Hawke laughed and offered her elbow to Bethany, who prodded at it a bit with some magic. Fenris was conspicuously silent through all of this, and Varric just couldn’t help poking.

“What about you, elf?” he asked, “Where’s your worst pain? No, don’t tell me. It’s either the shoulder or the elbow, and my money’s on the elbow.”

Fenris took a slow drink of ale, and Hawke, to her credit, didn’t shout out the answer. “I may not know my age,” Fenris drawled, “But I am now certain I am younger than all of you. My joints are fine.”

Hawke laughed. “Maker, but you were a haggard teenager when we found you,” she snickered.

“Bull shit,” Varric replied. “And here’s how I know it’s bullshit and that it’s your elbow. I haven’t seen you do that over-the-head hack move in two years. Now I know you’re strong enough to lift that enormous sword of yours, but I’m guessing your elbow won’t let you do the follow-through.”

Fenris shrugged. “It was an inefficient maneuver,” he replied simply to Hawke’s giggles.

Bethany, who had prepared yet another handkerchief full of ice, turned to Varric and asked, “Should we play pin the ice pack on the elf? Honestly I’m guessing there are no wrong answers.”

Of course, with her time spent healing, she had an eye for these things. She leaned over and whispered in Varric’s ear.

He grinned. “Alright Mister-Younger-Than-The-Rest-of-Us, let’s have a demonstration of your peak physical condition. We’ll start with something nice and easy. Put your hand all the way up in the air, as far as it will go.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and started to raise his hand.

“The other hand,” Varric and Bethany protested at the same time.

Fenris considered the hand currently holding his cup of wine. “No.”

Hawke accepted the ice pack from Bethany and placed it on his shoulder for him.  “I really thought I’d be much older when all my conversations devolved into what hurt where and how bad,” she said, Seems like a conversation for people with white hair.”

Fenris gave her a very pointed look.

“I mean like Varric,” she sighed. “He’s not nearly gray enough for this conversation.”

“Thanks, Hawke.”

“Any time. Anyway I suppose we’ll really be lost when we start arguing over whose pain is the worst.”

“It’s you,” Bethany said simultaneously with Fenris’s “Yours is.”

Varric, who might have enjoyed a great sympathy for his poor wrist that started the entire conversation, had to agree. “We all saw—”

“Don’t bring up the Arishok,” Hawke interrupted flatly, “I’m so tired of talking about the blasted Arishok—”

“That golem-looking thing in the Deep Roads that crushed your foot,” he finished.

“I was going to say that time a Maker’s Fist blasted her right off a cliff on the Wounded Coast,” Bethany said, “I think she hit every shrub on the way down.”

“I was thinking of the Arishok,” Fenris said.

Hawke elbowed him.

“We all had our fair share,” she said, “What about that time Merrill got that spider bite and we had to carry her home?”

“That was nothing,” Varric said, “She was fine by the time we got back, but I think she was enjoying the ride. Void, she probably weighs less than Bianca, so it wasn’t some big imposition or anything. Whoever had to carry her staff got the worse end of that deal.”

“What about when Isabela got that nasty burn? I can still remember the smell,” Bethany said, scrunching up her nose.

“But you healed that in about a minute,” Hawke said, “She hardly suffered at all.”

The rest of the evening was spent arguing over not over which injury was the most grievous, but which injury was the stupidest in their history. Isabela’s hand blowing up twice its usual size because of what turned out to be a very infected splinter was right up there with the time a crab snapped Fenris’s bare toes and refused to let go until Varric bolted it. Varric personally felt that while Isabela’s injury was more serious, Fenris deserved the crown because he could have just done his lyrium thing at any moment to get away, but instead hopped around like an idiot for a solid minute before Hawke got him to hold still.

Regardless, the ice eventually melted, leaving them all a little soggy, a little nostalgic, and definitely ready for bed.

~

In their bedroom, after their slow, verbose goodbyes to friends and family that involved Hawke hugging everyone at least three times, including Fenris who was going nowhere, Fenris asked Hawke, “So what happens now?”

She frowned. “Well I was going to peel off this shirt and toss it in the hamper, and then normally I would take two more of these so I could go to bed, but Bethy just told me to limit myself to four.”

Fenris stared at the potion in her hand. “You’ve already had—that is not what she said—”

“Maybe a bath?” Hawke continued as if he had said nothing at all, “With those fizzy salts. That should help, right? Everyone always says those help. Have a bunch stored in a drawer somewhere.”

“No, I meant…” They had slowed down. Fenris had been mostly joking about the whisky, but he hadn’t really registered the extent to which Hawke was in pain. They were both in pain. “Are we…?” He didn’t even know how to phrase the question. What were they if not mercenaries, champions, and warriors? “Are we done?”

“With fighting?” She tossed her shirt away with a small grunt. “Maker, yes. That’s done. We’re old, it’s over, you couldn’t pay me to pick up my blades again, which no one does anymore anyway. May they rust wherever I dropped them last time we came home.”

He nodded, though he couldn’t quite tell if Hawke was serious or not. “Just like that?” he asked.

Hesitating a little, her flippant attitude smoothed into sincerity as she walked over to him and rested her arms over his shoulders.  “Do you remember that time you got bashed over the head?”

“Not really, no,” he replied very honestly.

“Right. Of course. I do, though, and after tonight’s conversation, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The slower I get, the stiffer I get, the greater the chance it happens again. Only this time I might not finish off our assailants on my own, or get you to the healer in time, or be able to carry you at all if I have to.”

Fenris rolled his bad shoulder. That thought had crossed his mind once or twice, that should extraordinary circumstances occur as they often did around Hawke, there was less certainty of them prevailing. Still, he didn’t know what a future of quiet peace looked like.

Perhaps it looked like Hawke, slowly undressing as she spoke.

“So I’m done,” she continued, “Didn’t realize it until tonight, but I am serious. Someone else can clean up Darktown or mend the Wounded Coast. I’ll be in the bath, with my salts.” She tossed the rest of her clothes and sauntered toward the bath, pausing to look back at him. “Are you coming?”

Questions of the future aside, what could Fenris do but follow? She had certainly led him to worse places before. “Always.”

[louiseleblancdiggory]

"i'm gonna kiss you right now" for rowaelin

Ok so I used this prompt to make a part 2 for Drunk Mistakes (I really want to kiss you right now prompt)!! I hope you guys like this because I had fun writing it. It is heavily inspired on a conversation I’ve had with my best friends

Drunk Mistakes (part 1)

Tipsy kisses

--

Rowan’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to read into her words.

Aelin’s heart was beating so fast that maybe Rowan was narrowing his eyes because even he could hear it. Underneath the covers, Aelin twisted her hands, both of them starting to sweat.

“Nothing at all?”

She shook her head, getting up from the bed. If he kept staring at her like that, she’d probably break and commit the same mistake from the night before. All Aelin wanted was for Rowan to drop the subject and believe that she was just a blabbering drunk. She just wanted him to forget last night.

“Did I do something? You know how I get when I get drunk like that.” She said, forcing worry and curiosity in her voice but not turning her face to him. She entered her bathroom and Rowan, thank the gods, didn’t follow.

She looked at herself in the mirror and almost gasped. A corpse looked better than her at that moment. Smeared makeup, the hair a mess and huge bags under her eyes, the pounding headache wasn’t the only thing a hungover brought to her. “Fuck, I look hideous.”

She was trying to change the subject, trying to make things seem natural again. Judging by Rowan’s silence, it wasn’t working.

“Ro.” She called again, finally looking back at him through her reflection in the mirror. “Did I do something?”

Rowan stared at her for a few seconds before shaking his head. “No. No, you didn’t.”

Aelin nodded back, a forced smile on her lips. She couldn’t tell if she was happy or disappointed with his answer.

—————

Six weeks. It had been six fucking weeks from her little drunken incident and Rowan was still acting strange around her.

Whenever she thought of it, Aelin wanted to cry. This is why she didn’t want to tell him about her feelings. This is why she didn’t want to make a move on him. If he was all tense and strange after hearing her say she wanted to kiss him while drunk, Aelin couldn’t phantom what he would do if she had said the words sober.

Maybe a restriction order. Or just finding excuses to not even look at her when they went out, even if he was already doing that.

“I hate this.” Aelin murmured, taking a deep chug of her beer. She was a little tipsy and the beer sent a rush to her head. “And I hate beer.”

“No, you don’t. You love beer, you’re just bitter lately.” Fenrys answered, putting an arm over her shoulders and pulling her close. Aelin laid her head on his chest, groaning quietly. “Just talk to him.”

“Last time I talked to him in a bar, I fucked it up and that’s why things are the way they are.” Aelin grumbled and Fenrys only chuckled, rubbing her arm with his hand. “Gosh, I’m an idiot. Four years. I managed to keep my mouth shut for four years and then I get drunk one night and fuck it up.”

Fenrys wasn’t surprised at the words. He had been her friend for much longer than she had known Rowan. Actually, both of them met four years ago because of Fenrys. Both he and Rowan were planning on going to pre-med, and were to be roommates during freshman year of college. Fenrys threw a party during the summer and that’s when Aelin met Rowan.

Since the beginning Fenrys had been the first person to know about Aelin’s feelings towards Rowan. The other four people were Manon, Lys, Elide and Dorian. Manon and Dorian were currently traveling the world in their gap year, only sometimes stopping by Orynth. Elide and Lysandra knew everything, but Fenrys had always understood better. She didn’t even had to tell him four years ago, the asshole just guessed.

After that Aelin was more careful in expressing herself with Rowan when there were other people around.

“Everyone makes drunk mistakes, baby.” He said, voice always carefree.

“You were supposed to stop me from making this certain mistake!” She smacked him across the chest. That had been their pact; Fenrys wouldn’t let Aelin confess her feelings when she was under distress, sad, overjoyed or, as he had failed, drunk.

“I tried! I fucking came by and swept you away, it’s not my fault you have this big ass mouth.” He hissed when she hit him again. “You were dancing with Vaughan and then I blink and, oh gods, where is Aelin?”

Aelin huffed a laugh at the sarcasm in his voice. “Three seconds earlier and I wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

Fenrys laughed, ending his beer. He put the bottle on the table with a loud thud and everyone around them, including Rowan, turned to them. That was the first time during the night that he had looked at her and not averted his gaze quickly. His eyes narrowed a tiny bit while he watched Aelin and Fenrys. When Fenrys put his hands on her shoulders and drew her away from his chest, Rowan shook his head quickly and turned back to talk to Lyria.

“You want my advice?” Fenrys said, looking her dead in the eye. Aelin laughed at his sudden seriousness.

“Yes, give me all your extensive knowledge.”

“Smartass.” He replied, not letting go of her shoulders. “I fuck up a lot—”

“I have noticed, yes.” Aelin nodded solemnly.

“I will gag you if you don’t shut up.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “As I fuck up a lot, I know when a situation needs disfucking—“

“Did you just say disfucking?” She was either a little bit more than tipsy or Fenrys was just being his usual self.

“For the love of the gods, will you let me finish? Yes, disfucking. When you un-fuck what you fucked up.”

Yeah, just Fenrys being his usual self.

“Fuck down then?”

“Disfucking.”

Aelin was bitting her cheeks to keep herself from smiling. This was the stupidest conversation she had ever had and the alcohol made it ten times funnier.

“Proceed. How do I disfuck Rowan?”

“How do you what?” Vaughan who was passing nearby stopped, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“Oh, gods.” Fenrys rubbed his temples, sighing and looking at Vaughan. “Disfuck. Now get out.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Vaughan said, turning to Aelin.

She shrugged. “Un-fuck what you fucked up.”

“Fuck down?”

“No!” Fenrys shouted and everyone looked at him again. “Disfuck and fuck down are different.”

“What the hell?” Lorcan sitting by Rowan’s side murmured.

“Mind your own business, M-rated Grinch.” Fenrys snapped at Lorcan and this time Aelin could help but laugh. She was almost doubling over when Fenrys turned to Vaughan. “You get the fuck out.” He turned to her. “And you, baby, shut the hell up and hear my teachings.”

She nodded, breathing hard. She looked at Rowan again to see him with furrowed brows. He turned away again. She sighed.

“You won’t disfuck this situation.” Fenrys explained. “It won’t help, it’s already too throughly fucked.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“What you will do, is kiss Rowan.” Fenrys finished, flashing her a smile.

“Someone needs to disfuck your brain. How is that supposed to help?”

“It won’t. He thinks you don’t remember but he does remember. He won’t forget. If the relationship is destroyed, at least get the kiss you’ve wanted for four years.”

“He’s right.” Vaughan added quietly.

“Bloody gods, you’re still here.” Fenrys turned to his brother-in-law. “Didn’t I tell you to piss off?”

“I was curious.” He shrugged, approaching Fenrys and Aelin. “But he’s right. Everything already went to shit, so why not?”

Aelin’s heart constricted at the words. “The two of you are so, so helpful. I feel much more comforted now that you guys said my relationship with my best friend is ruined.”

“They have no social skills, that’s why. It’s a wonder they can ever have a conversation with other people.” Lyria said, coming on their direction. “But they’re right, you should kiss Rowan.”

“You can’t have one private conversation these days.” Fenrys grumbled and Lyria hit him in the back of the head.

Aelin ignored him and turned to one of her closest friends. “You think?”

“I mean, yeah. I’ve known you for four years and Rowan for longer than that. I have been wondering why the two of you haven’t done it yet.” Lyria said, her voice calm and steady. She smiled knowingly at Aelin.

“Isn’t he your ex? You’re trying to pair up your best friend and your ex?” Fenrys butted in.

“You can’t have one private conversation these days.” Lyria mimicked Fenrys and the two immediately started bickering as usual.

Aelin stared at them for a few seconds before turning to Vaughan. “Can you take Lorcan away from Rowan?”

“Anything for you, princess.” Vaughan smiled at her, turning around and starting to walk to the bar. “Salvaterre, drinking competition. You say no, you’re a spineless coward and I’m showing Elide your baby pictures.”

Aelin watched as Lorcan immediately got up, following Vaughan as he threatened her friend.

Without giving herself time to consider what she was about to do, Aelin drowned the rest of her beer and got up. Her head was buzzing and she didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the adrenaline. She dodged Lyria who was still standing near Fenrys, arguing with him. With a purposeful stride, Aelin walked up to where Rowan was sitting. He saw her seconds before she stopped in front of him, brows high.

“You ok?” He said when she stood before him.

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” He answered, and Aelin could hear the confusion on his voice.

“Neither am I. A little tipsy, but that’s besides the point. And I lied six weeks ago.” She said, voice coming out rushed. Her heart was thundering and her mind was racing. She was feeling an adrenaline rush and would probably want to murder Fenrys, Vaughan and Lyria when it ended. “I was drunk, but I remembered the whole night.”

Rowan’s eyes widened at that, and some sadness took over his expression. “You lied?”

“Yeah, sorry. I thought that you were giving me an out the following morning. Because, you know… I said I wanted to kiss you and you didn’t want that.”

“I—“ Rowan started, dumbfounded.

“But it doesn’t matter, because I can’t disfuck it so I am going to kiss you.”

“You will?” Aelin sworn she could see Rowan fighting a smile.

“Yeah.” She nodded at herself. “I’m gonna kiss you right now.”

Aelin grabbed Rowan’s face in her hands, stepping in between his legs. The second before Aelin’s lips met his, she could see him finally smiling.

Rowan’s hands went immediately to her waist when her lips touched his. Rowan’s mouth was warm and soft against hers, and Aelin sighed contently. He drew her closer, and Aelin felt her body flushed against his. Aelin skimmed her hands from his face to the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair. When Rowan’s tongue swept over her bottom lip, Aelin opened her mouth and would have probably moaned if they weren’t in public.

They kissed until Aelin lost track of time, mouths and tongues moving against each other, his fingers hugging her waist and hers playing with his hair.

When they finally drew apart, both were breathing hard, a small smile on Rowan’s lips and a very satisfied one on Aelin’s.

“So this is disfucking.” She said after breathing in, voice raspy.

“What the hell is disfucking?” Rowan’s brows furrowed, but he was still smiling.

Aelin merely stepped forward again, catching his lips with hers.

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[loquaciousquark]

Bloomingtide, date? ?

awake! and they l eft me alone, it all is pain

skewered like

like a sausage on a spit, right through and then

up so high high I could see all their faces, little moons and thousand gleaming silent starry eyes

hurts like vodi void itself tearing apart inside my ribs

lived anyway, A has me on cocktail so sotrong ste st

keep falling asleep

fuck you Kirkwall fuck you won’t kill me no matter how har hard you try, can’t save anyone else but I refuse I will not die i swear it

Bloomingtaid

head splitting so bad I can’t stop tearing up, side effect of skewer or anodyne ?

Fenris sent O for A, not here yet

said maybe this would distract me but I can’t think st

straight

iron spike through my skull, crack me in two maker maker

bloom

back on cockta il

f is alseep sleep in chair next to me

looks v tired

i do love him

late

nightmares are so muc h worse on laudanum

dumar

his head bow bounced like one of tob’s balls down the st airs

the crown fell & rolled & stopped at m

my feet as if i wanted it

F is taking my pen no I’ll bite y

11th Bloomingtide

Carver was there with the Wardens

my little brother, grown even taller than last I saw him. He looked so tired and pale and strong and stern and if it hadn’t been for Mother’s eyes I wouldn’t have known him.

He couldn’t stay. I wanted him to so badly, so much to tell him, and I think he had things to tell me too, but the city burned and his commander called him away. Could have killed the man despite his glorious mustache

I think they’ve killed something in Carver, the Wardens. But they saved him, too, and continue to save him even now. Can I hate that? I want to. I want him here

He was wearing the gloves Mother and I sent him so long ago. They fit him perfectly

Too tired for more now

13th Bloomingtide. Sky’s clear through the window, which is the only exposure to weather I’ve had for over a week

I’m lucid today and capable of holding the pen, which is so marked an improvement I think I deserve a cake. According to Anders, this is also the day he’s at last become convinced I’m thoroughly out of danger--admittedly less impressive considering I was either unconscious or on the violent side of raving for the last two weeks, and therefore quite unable to enjoy the fuss.

Doesn’t mean my gut doesn’t still hurt like the Void from navel to breastbone, even when I’m not moving a muscle. It’s as much as I can manage to remain propped upon my numerous and fluffy pillows. Ugh. I might as well be one of those fools from Mother’s stories, holding court from my bedcovers and gazing down imperiously upon all those come to supplicate at my feet.

I won’t lie, I can still feel some of Anders’s anodyne. My head’s remarkably loose ‘pon my shoulders, and I keep catching myself giving Fenris the stupidest looks.

Do I talk about him here? I feel like I should, and I also feel like the way he looked when I woke the few times during these last weeks is something so private I don’t want to share it, even with these pages.

His eyes hurt. Exhaustion and fear and a terrible worry and a banked, impotent anger that made my skin burn when I looked at him. He held my hand when the pain was worst, when my skull was trying to split itself apart and Anders wasn’t here yet, and again later when Anders had to re-mend parts of me that hadn’t knit right the first time.

He was there every time I woke, even when I wasn’t really awake. I don’t remember much, but... I remember that. Sometimes he was asleep, and sometimes he only spoke to tell me he was leaving for a while, but even when the nightmares twisted Dumar and my mother into one clear horror, I never woke alone.

A remarkable and dangerous thing, I think, to be the sole focus of that man.

He’s out, now, eating lunch with Sebastian and Donnic. Aveline is here instead, busily rearranging my sloppy bureau drawers and tutting every time I breathe wrong. I appreciate the mothering, but I am glad she’s not decided to hover. Donnic’s influence, I think. They are so sweet together despite themselves. I like him very much. I like his flatbread more. If you read this, Aveline, I demand assorted pastries posthaste. I also demand a place in the wedding, which is less negotiable. Hint.

Flames, I have all the stamina of wet paper. Only a half-hour and I’m already flagging...and here comes Fenris, home from the wars, to silently scold me with his eyebrows and take my weapon of choice from me again.

Except he’s brought me food from wherever they ate, and I can see at least two loaves of brown bread peeking out of that basket. If he’s got butter in there as well I swear I’ll kiss him.

Well. Perhaps I won’t, but I’ll wish quite hard and settle for hoping he gets the hint.

15th Bloomingtide. Slow rain with patches of weak sunshine

I had a memory this morning, or a dream of a memory. Somewhere in the first few days where I had no mind except for the pain, and all I could do was writhe about and swallow the screams as Anders tried to put my insides back together.

It was warm and sunlit...mid-afternoon, maybe, right after Anders had given me that absolutely disgusting potion for pain and healing. He’d left to get more thread for stitches, and I was lolling about in a cloud, and then Fenris came in and sat down in the chair beside the bed and took my hand.

It’s all very smeared when I try to think of it. I know he said he was sorry--for what I haven’t the faintest idea--and that he wished he could have thought of something to say to the Arishok. That he knew I’d respected the man and must have been sorry to kill him, even after everything.

I was. I hadn’t realized he’d known. It was so hard to stay awake...

I remember pulling his hand up next to my face. I remember him cupping my cheek in his other hand and closing his eyes, and at the very blurry edges I remember him leaning down close, like the parts of a dream right before you wake up.

If he did really kiss me, though, I can’t remember a damned lick about it. Clearly he should repeat

Toby’s flopping over everything and has upset the inkwell twice. I suppose I’m done for now.

17th Bloomingtide. Stormy, overcast, threat of lightning. I wish

Scare of my life today. (Aside from all the other scares, I mean.) Over two weeks confined to this bed and it never once occurred to me I might have difficulty walking by myself after. Although--to be fair, it wasn’t the collapse two steps in that frightened me so much as the excruciating pain that rocketed from my spine down both legs, followed by the tingling and then total numbness from the waist down.

For my part, I think I handled it very admirably. I did not scream, not even at the thousand flashes of my life never standing or walking on my own again, and I only very slightly hyperventilated at the thought of never again feeling Fenris’s hand on my knee. Part of me recognized that as ludicrous, but for the rest of me it remains a very real concern

Anyway, I laid there for a few minutes next to the bed getting my life in order, all the way to my last will and testament for when Anders told me I’d ruined my only chance of survival, and then the door opened and in came my shining elvhen knight who went from distracted to panicked to flat-out furious with me in a matter of about four seconds.

It turns out some people have no understanding and even less sympathy for someone about to die without a privy. Ass. Don’t put the pot halfway across the room, then, you lyrium-riddled potato.

Spent a good ten minutes afterwards arguing about my level of invalidity. Felt good to shout--won’t pretend otherwise. He didn’t, this time, but in its place he leveled that cold disdain that can freeze right down to the bones if you care for his opinion. Never have I ever felt so small as when he’s truly angry with me for doing something hideously reckless. Still, I was hot enough it rolled off me like a duck’s back, and if nothing else it made me forget how sharp the pain running down my legs was.

To make a long story less long, by the time Anders found us I was red as a beet and Fenris was wound so tightly he might have been one of Orana’s dishrags after brisket night. He listened, remained sadly unimpressed by either of us, popped me face-down on the bed and spent about twenty minutes undoing whatever it was I’d done to myself in the fall.

I’d like to pretend I was stalwart and steady throughout his work, but when Anders said it wasn’t serious I just about went to jelly in relief. Something had pinched off something else and had swelled to thunder, but nothing he couldn’t touch up given enough time. Honesty also compels me to mention my pillow may have ended up a little damp by the end of his healing, though everyone was tactful enough not to mention it.

More bitter was I to hear I’m not to even try standing for another four days without supervision. Supervision, he says. I’ve been standing on my own for almost thirty years, you pile of unsympathetic feathers. I hardly need someone holding my hand now that I know what to watch for.

I will say Fenris did make the effort to hide his vindication the moment he saw the tears I was trying to hide. A room full of stifled emotion, and none of us happy about it.

I’m so sick of this bed.

19th Bloomingtide, storming again

Two dozen steps today, Anders hovering the whole time. Still, progress.

Heard from Carver--short letter, but good. He likes Stroud as a commander. Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t set him afire for taking Carver away so quickly.

Varric offered to host cards here instead of the Hanged Man since I’m housebound for the foreseeable future. Turned him down, though--with Isabela still off who-knows-where it already feels different enough. I can only handle so much change at one time.

28th Bloomingtide. Sunny, warming at last

I just realized I missed Summerday. Bethany’s favorite, naturally. I’ll go to the Chantry next week for her candles.

She’s been gone six years already. How in the world did that happen?

I wonder if Carver remembers that time she got us all in trouble for stealing pears, then innocent-eyed her way out of punishment after, leaving the two of us to do the milking before dawn for a month. I’ll write him tomorrow and ask.

3rd Justinian. Getting quite hot, I’m still mostly indoors and already wilting

Had a letter from Seneschal Bran today. Thought it was going to be a bill for damages--turns out they’re giving me a title and official recognition for the Arishok slaughter. Champion of Kirkwall, he’s calling it. As if advertising my apostitudity (?) to the entire noble caste of the city wasn’t bad enough, flaunting it in the Knight-Commander’s face will have me thrown in the Gallows’s bowels by Tuesday.

She already can’t stand people like me--unshackled and unapologetic--and this is going to make it so much worse. She looked upon me twice during the invasion and both times I thought I was going to shrivel into a husk from the animosity. Of course, the second time I was well on my way to dying, so it didn’t seem nearly as important, but still. Title aside, I was powerless enough before not to warrant her attention, even with Mother’s title. If this--Champion--thing goes through, I’ll be a threat. Not so easy to ignore that, even if I’d prefer to remain beneath her lofty notice. And yet...

There’s to be a ceremony in a month if I’m strong enough to stand for it. They underestimate me There’s also, according to the letter, going to be a ball with dancing and music afterwards. This whole thing sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, but I don’t see how I can turn it down without scorning the...I don’t know the word. Protection, maybe--the protection that the title will provide--not just for me, but for Carver and my friends. Especially Anders and Merrill, the more I think about it. Sheltering apostates is still a crime. Sebastian and Aveline skirt the edge of catastrophe close enough as it is. If Aveline lost the guard because Meredith took out her grudge against me, I think I’d walk right off one of the bluffs of the Wounded Coast into the sea and be done with it.

I don’t know what to do. I need to decide soon. I need to talk to Varric, I think.

In other less-distressing news, Merrill and I went out for tea together yesterday. We didn’t go far--there’s a tiny cafe that sells little biscuits right around the corner, and she made a surprisingly sturdy crutch for how slight she is. We had tea and cakes and these very hard little chunks of spiced bread you’re supposed to dip in your tea to soften first, but I didn’t discover that until I’d just about broken a tooth on the crust.

She’s been working on that mirror desperately. She sounds desperate when she speaks of it. Still, she’s willing to come out to things like this and she still goes to the Hanged Man every week, so I suppose I can’t worry too much. She certainly doesn’t like it when I do, anyway.

She did say one of the other families in the alienage let her help them with the vhenadahl last week. A little bit of paint touch-up and trimming some of the dead branches. Sometimes I’m overcome with wonder that something so lovely has lived so well in the city, despite everything working against survival.

The tree’s awfully pretty, too.

9th Justinian. Stormed again last night, rained so hard it knocked two of the Chantry’s trees over

Told Fenris he didn’t have to keep coming every day now that I’m well on my way to mending. He covered it well, but I saw the stark hurt that flashed across his face when I said it.

He doesn’t realize how much it’s killing me to have him here so often. I know what I wrote when I was incoherent on Anders’s potion. I meant it. I mean it now, as much as I wish I didn’t.

I was doing all right. I was, right up until today when he helped me stand from the sofa and let his arm linger around my waist, then snatched himself away with a grimace the instant I met his eyes. He moved so fast I almost fell.

I need time. That’s all. Just enough I can get a handle on this and stuff it back where it came from, where it doesn’t ache like a fist in my heart every time he moves just out of reach. We made it back into friendship before; I can conquer this and keep us there, I know it.

I will. I have to. His friendship is too important to me to lose over this. I just need time. Just a little more time, and then we’ll be back to where we were and he won’t have to flinch every time I come too close.

16th Justinian. Clear, stifling

He hasn’t come even once. I miss him so much I can’t stand myself.

22nd Justinian. Drizzling rain, lots of wind. Branches keep knocking against my window and startling me

Told him to come for weekly reading lessons if he wanted. It’s been over eight months since the last time we met. 

I don’t think he needs much more help, and I don’t think that fact has escaped him either. He’s still coming day after tomorrow.

Maker, but I wish Isabela were here. I don’t know what I’m doing.

25th Justinian. Cool for the season, which means it’s still damned hot

Enough pining. I swear, that brew of Anders has made me more gloomy than Toby on bath day. I’m alive! That’s more than enough to be glad about. I faced a man four times my size in single combat and bested him with magic alone. Got run through like a spike nail through a pincushion, but I won with magic against a man-sized sword and shoulders made of mountains and the city saw it, and I, a mage, still walk free in Kirkwall despite the fact that the entire noble caste knows what I am.

I have friends here. Isn’t that glorious? A healer willing to work himself to the bone for the sake of my kidneys--a beautiful guardswoman who refuses to be ashamed of all this degenerate company. Sebastian, who understands when I need to hear the Chant and doesn’t mind the doing. Merrill, who brought me three hawk feathers just this morning because she said they made her think of me. 

Dear Varric. He always remembers for me when it’s too hard to do myself. And Isabela, wherever she is--who else knows how to laugh in the worst of it? And--

And Fenris. Because I never woke alone.

I’m the luckiest apostate in Thedas. I won’t forget that again.

Later

Anders says I only have one kidney now. Hm. Good to know!

[oedonretired]

super detailed questions about eli hawke (3/5)

aka “Dio lordVivek is still not existentially at 100% and wants to ramble about a beloved oc to the point of annoyance, part c”

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper? If you’ve never seen Elijah lose his temper, consider yourself immensely lucky. For the most part, he tries his best to keep it in check -- especially when it’s liable to do more harm than good, like in negotiations or when children are around. But there are some slavers, maleficarum, templars, and garden-variety assholes that have seen the wrath of Eli, and it wasn’t pretty. In fact, they can’t even testify about it, because they’re very dead.

Let’s put it this way: Ketojan doesn’t sometimes call Eli “Ataashi” for no good reason.

22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back? “Nug-humper” cracks him up. He doesn’t know why. It’s just... so ridiculous. All dwarven insults hit him right in the funny bone, which is why Varric uses so many of them around him. It infuriated Bartrand, though, because Eli couldn’t ever take his fits seriously. (When they got locked in the Deep Roads, Varric originally blamed Elijah for making Bartrand vengeful, lmao.)

But as far as actually insulting people, Eli doesn’t bother. Most people don’t deserve to be insulted, and those that do are probably also worth punishing in a more effective manner. He saves the insults for playing the Dozens with the gang at the Hanged Man. (He always loses, though. It’s hard to clown someone when you’re too busy losing your entire shit every time Sebastian slurs, “yer muth’r”.)

23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces? He has a decent memory. Nothing remarkable. He’s sentimental, so most of his long-term memory is related to people he’s loved, lost, or both. If you want him to remember shit like Orlesian customs or what that particular Qunari insult means, it’s most likely a lost cause. (But that’s what Varric is for.)

24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress? He sleeps like a starfish -- just all over the damn bed. It’s bad enough that he’s big, but he’s gotta sprawl out and shift around constantly, too. It pisses Fenris right off, lmao. Merrill is fine with it because they basically have boxing matches in their sleep (she’s a sleep-fighter) so neither can really complain about the other. Alain figured out the secret -- lay on top of Eli so he’s less likely to thrash about. (Be ready for the, um, consequences of that choice, though. Eli loves partner-on-top. Cough.)

The other secret is to put a baby next to him. Then he somehow magically settles into one of two positions: either flat on his back with the baby curled up at his side, or on his side in a sorta-fetal position with the baby curled up against his stomach. It’s... disgustingly adorable.

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves? He finds the stupidest shit funny. Like double entendres, he loves those. And “Hawke stepped in the poopy” -- although to be fair, it’s mostly Fenris’ deadpan voice that makes that so funny. Either way, he couldn’t stop laughing for like ten minutes. It was embarrassing.

He doesn’t, however, find cruel humour funny. Like, the constant ribbing they all give each other is done with love, and that’s what makes it great. They also know what subjects are off-limits, and trust each other not to cross those lines. But outsiders hear it, and think that it’s carte blanche for them to say any old thing about Izzy’s boobs or Sebastian’s accent and then wonder why they’re spitting their bloody teeth into their hand a millisecond later. Not your family, bro.

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions? Elijah’s very demonstrative in general -- so when he’s happy, he’s like a glowing beacon of euphoria. He’s boisterously affectionate, royally magnanimous, and is basically one tankard shy of skipping down the streets of Lowtown singing at the top of his lungs. But sometimes he’s quietly happy, too -- like when he wakes up and sees Fenris curled up next to him for the first time -- and then he kind of just vibrates with this loving, contented energy that rubs off on everyone (except grumpy people, like Fenris when he wakes up and sees Eli smiling all moony at him, snort).

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad? Suffering makes him sad, and unjust situations he can’t fix, and death. He doesn’t always show it right away -- sometimes he doesn’t even register that he’s been affected. But he’ll be quieter, more serious; he’ll unconsciously seek Fenris’ or Sebastian’s (or whomever, you know the drill) touch; he’ll often try to leave wherever he is, get restless and touchy -- a flight response, basically. What really sucks is when rage wears off and he’s left with nothing to show for it but bodies. Then it’s like a crash of the highest order. Sometimes he does cry, then.

He’s a pretty open crier, he wasn’t ever shamed for being emotional as a child or anything so he’s not inclined to hide it. Sometimes it makes people uncomfortable, if they’re not used to it or don’t know what is expected of them (Fenris), but if you don’t mind two hundred seventy-five pounds of sad-sack draped around you, you can just hug him and rub his back. He likes that.

Sometimes he falls into depressions. This is gonna sound crazy, but sex usually helps in that case, or at least heaps and heaps of cuddles and kisses. It’s... the connection thing.

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared? His biggest fear is loss. Ever since Malcolm, he has carried this fear of losing the people he loves to things he can’t control -- things he can’t fight. He fights what he can, and fights for whom he can, but things like disease, age, the Blight... what is he, against such ceaseless and enduring enemies? 

Similarly, he also fears dying. You’d think he didn’t care, with some of the risks he takes, but they’re calculated risks even then. He knows what he’s capable of, and honestly, he’s capable of quite a bit. But he knows he’s going to die someday, either by the hands of violence or by the hands of time, and it’s like a steel vise around his heart every time he thinks about it.

He doesn’t know what happens. He believes in Daniel’s Maker, the one that speaks to Daniel and enables em to help Eli and help Kirkwall; but he doesn’t think that he’ll go to that Maker’s side when he dies. He doesn’t think he’s Fade-touched enough to wander the Fade at death (it doesn’t make sense to him that everyone goes to the Fade, he thinks it’s only some that are destined to become spirits). It’s the not-knowing that scares him. And what will happen to his family, to his friends, to all the things he’s done and all the tenuous peace he’s brokered? Blargh.

29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective? Some fears he’ll tease about -- like how he and Merrill sometimes make fake spiders and put them in places Sebastian’s about to be in. But Sebastian lets them get away with it, so it’s all good. (After a while, he gets so used to it that sometimes he’ll see a real spider and think it’s one of Merrill’s toys and pointedly ignore it. Imagine his reaction when it starts moving.)

But he understands fear, so he’s sympathetic towards it. And he responds as the person wants him to respond. Fenris’ fear of intimacy is something he wants to work on with Eli, as painful as it is, and Eli makes himself available without pushing. Daniel’s fear of eir destiny is something that Daniel has to push through on eir own, and Eli stays out of it. And in any of these cases, if it seems like anyone else is pushing too hard, or unknowingly triggering someone’s fear, Eli attempts to put distance between them and the trigger as unobtrusively as possible.

30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out? Eli is very active, and gets most of his activity in doing things around Kirkwall, sparring with his fellow warrior friends, taking Fortinbras out on runs on the Wounded Coast, or having lots of sex. ...Hey, listen, that’s cardio, weight training, and flexibility training all rolled into one, so.