#and all carver got was the taint in his blood

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

Okay I thought I was done but apparently I'm not. I need to talk more about this banter you can get during the Legacy DLC between Aveline and Warden Carver because it makes me want to scream.

Aveline: I'm glad you found a place with the Wardens. Carver: Well, it's not the city guard, but it'll do. Aveline: Carver... it wasn't the place for you. Carver: No, it's all right. It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I? Aveline: Well...

In my last post, I talked about how Aveline had no place telling the guard to refuse Carver's application, regardless of if he was "right" for the job or not. But I believe he would've made a great guard, and getting that job not only would've provided for him and his family during a desperate time, but would've prevented him from either fate of becoming a warden or a templar. He was unfairly robbed of a chance to prove himself because Aveline believed he wasn't right for the guard.

This is one of the banters I brought up but didn't go too in depth about. At this point, it's been between 3-6 years since Act 1, depending on if you decided to do Legacy in Act 2 or Act 3, and every line here is important.

Carver's response to Aveline saying she's glad he "found a place" with the wardens is so telling. Not being accepted by the guard is still on his mind after all this time. He wouldn't bring it up if it didn't still bother him, and implies that he still would've preferred the guard over the wardens.

Which... yeah. Listen, I'm a dedicated "Carver joins the Grey Warden" player. I don't like leaving him behind to become a templar, and I certainly don't like him dying. For me, the Grey Wardens are the best outcome he has. It’s where he seems the happiest and finds the most fulfilment, and it fits well with how I play my Hawke. But it obviously has some tragic issues.

Like the fact that becoming a Grey Warden only delayed his inevitable death within the Deep Roads. Eventually his Calling will come, and Carver will go back down there and fight until the darkspawn eventually kill him. I'm sure that's not traumatic to think about given he was a soldier at Ostagar and then watched Bethany die at the hands of an ogre. Oh, and there's the whole nightmares and voices thing.

Carver didn't choose this life for himself. It was either this or death, but a "what if?" still lingers in his mind about the city guard.

Something Aveline ruined for him.

And continues to ruin.

Aveline: Carver... it wasn't the place for you.

You hear that? In the distance? That's me screaming.

I must reiterate; what makes Aveline believe it's her place to tell Carver whether or not the city guard was right for him? Why did she think she should get a say in whether or not the guard takes him? What's made it HER call?

And still, after all this time has passed, she believes it wasn't right for him and she's unwilling to consider otherwise. Maker forbid she do some reflection and question if she was in the right for interfering at all, too!

Carver is standing right there before her, proving everything she said about him wrong, and she just doubles down. There's no reason to say this to him unless she's trying to remind him of his place; he's a Grey Warden, and she's Guard-Captain of Kirkwall's city guard. But c'mon, Aveline, he's hardly a threat to your precious guard anymore given the whole dedication to killing darkspawn thing he has now.

Maybe if you paid more attention to the threats within your guard, Kirkwall would be a safer place with less murder going around? Just saying!

But isn't that how it's always been? Aveline putting him in his place, making sure Carver remembers she's always outranked him?

Carver: Did you approve my application? Aveline: I can't make you a guard, Carver. Carver: We were both soldiers. Why won't they take me? Aveline: I was an officer. And I follow orders. Carver: [laughs] No you don't. Aveline: I also think of others before myself. You seem tired of that, and that's dangerous. Carver: Just when it's not my choice. You told them not to take me, didn't you? Aveline: Yes.

That he should remember who he's talking to?

Carver: I'm surprised you still travel with us, Aveline. Aveline: Carver, don't. Carver: You're ever so busy with the guardsmen. It must be a burden to slum with the refugees. Aveline: It's oddly comforting that you insult me like I'm family. Carver: That wasn't... no, I didn't mean that. Aveline: I know. But you should be glad that's how I took it.

That she's in charge?

Aveline: Your form's sloppy, Carver. Stiffen up or the darkspawn will take your blade. Carver: Right. I'll keep that in mind. Aveline: And you're angry, why? Carver: You didn't fare any better than I did the last time we faced darkspawn. Aveline: If they take your blade, people die. That's not happening again. Stiffen up. Carver: Yes ma'am.

Oh, and she used to spy on him [and Hawke].

Aveline: I don't like some of the people you've been associating with, Carver. Carver: Talk to my brother/sister. He/She's the one in charge. Aveline:  Maybe, but I know you get around. This city's full of people who are dead set on ending badly. I don't want to see you end up the same way. Carver: Would asking you to stop spying on me help in the least? Aveline: No.

That's their banter.

But sure, she's glad he found a place in the wardens. I don't think she's being ingenuine when she says that, but I think it's a little more complicated than a mere "congrats on doing well, I knew you could do it."

But Carver's response? Oh Maker's ass. It actually hurts me.

Carver: No, it's all right. It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I? Aveline: Well...

I... what can I even say?

He accepts it, but you can tell it hurts to do so. It DID cost a lot. More than Aveline will ever understand. And it doesn't matter now! He can't become a guard now anyway, so what would be the point in him disagreeing with her? Carver acts as the bigger person here because he does get it, even if Aveline doesn't.

But it's that last part... that last damn part... Don't be alarmed, that screaming you hear is still me.

Here's the deal; Carver acknowledges that he could be an ass back in Act 1. Hell, he acknowledges it IN Act 1. For example, when you talk to him after finding your grandfather's will, he's an ass to you about Bethany no matter what you say.

But y'know what? You can be the biggest piece of shit to him and have Hawke literally call him a "lazy brat with a chip on his shoulder," and Carver will still be the one to be apologetic for what he said and attempt to explain his feelings.

"Brother/Sister... I feel... I don't know. It's like Mother taking things out on us. She was just scared. I don't have a place in the life she's trying to bring back…"

Carver can be an ass, but he's aware of that and actively tries to change his behavior. If you bring him and Fenris with you on the Mark of the Assassin DLC, there's a moment where Carver says, "You still don't like me? I've tried to change." And if you bring Varric, he once again acknowledges that he used to be an ass.

BUT... that being said. If you don't remember, "I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I?" is referencing back to this conversation in the barracks of Act 1:

Hawke: This must be a very different pace from serving King Cailan. Aveline: It's just one more change, though. The real end for me was Ostagar. What about you Carver? You were there. Do you feel something similar? Carver: No. Aveline: All right, then. Bit of a tit, your brother.

Now, I've already expressed my beef with Aveline over insulting Carver in the middle of the barracks just because he doesn't agree with her view point on Ostagar... but consider the fact that Carver says nothing. He just lets her insult him without a complaint! Carver Hawke, who tends to complain! And he says nothing!

Not only that, but he actually internalized that insult enough that years later he's able to repeat it back to Aveline word for word, and all she has to say is, "Well..."

This isn't the same thing as him reflecting on his past behavior and acknowledging his flaws. This is Carver accepting a snide jab Aveline made that hurt him because apparently he was wrong for not wanting to discuss any trauma Ostagar left him with as openly as she does.

Oh, and don't forget that any other companion you brought along dogpiles on, too!

Carver: No, it's all right. It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I? Aveline: Well... Varric: No shit. Fenris: Insufferable. Isabela: Legendary. Anders: Maker, yes. Sebastian: I've heard as much. [If Hawke has a humorous/charming personality] Hawke: Spoiled, annoying, thick-headed, brattish little nitwit of a... oh, have we stopped?

Y'all ever wonder why he's so on edge or hostile with the other companions?

Also, I have to point out that Merrill is the only companion who doesn't say anything in agreement if she's there. In fact, across all their banter, Merrill's never been rude or insulting toward him. All she does is ask him if he's talking dirty to her and compliments him on what a great sworder he is. It's pretty obvious why Carver develops a crush on her, c'mon.

But to wrap this up-

This banter strikes a nerve due to how telling it is about both characters involved.

Carver has grown and done what he can to improve himself, but there's regret that lingers, a longing for a better life he could've had if given a chance. Maybe he would've failed, maybe he would've succeeded. But there's nothing he can do now, so he looks forward, just as he's always wanted to do. He's a damn good Grey Warden who wants to do right.

Aveline remains stagnant. She hasn't changed, nor has she improved, and maybe she would if she could figure out how to dislodge her head from her own ass. She still believes she was in the right to tell the guard not to accept Carver's application despite knowing the Hawke's were desperate and that Fereldan refugees couldn't find work. She knew Carver's a skilled soldier who fought at Ostagar just as she did. The guard wasn't the place for him so she's in the right to deny him any chance. Aveline knows best.

And y'know what, I think all I have left to say is...

Fine, Aveline. You're right. It wasn't the place for him.

Carver was too good for your city guard.

#dragon age 2 #da2 #carver hawke #aveline vallen #dragon age #aveline critical #okay i promise i'll shut up now and stop picking on aveline and find something else to talk about #even though my beef list is still incredibly long but we'll save that for another day since i'm just so salty about her right now #and i just have a lot to say about carver and how wronged he was like i know it's just a few bits of banter but put the bits together #and they tell a whole story y'know? in case it wasn't clear carver's one of my favorite characters in da2 #and so much about his banter with aveline gets to me #again it doesn't matter if you think he was right for the guard or not my point is that aveline had no right to block him #from a potentially great job ESPECIALLY after all the hawkes did for her... y'know like helping her get outta fereldan #and getting into kirkwall and helping her expose jeven for being a corrupt bastard that led to her promotion as captain #sure aveline step on everyone's backs and hands and then wonder why they aren't climbing as fast as you #carver hawke deserved better than this #aveline got an easy promotion to guard captain and a sexy new husband and never had to face real repercussions for her mistakes #and all carver got was the taint in his blood #he and merrill never even had a chance to get together and i'm not okay with that >:[

[bowiebond]

“Adeve”

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41488308

Relationship: Munver aka Eddie Munson/Jason Carver

Summary: If a creature like Eddie Munson could walk through their church doors so brazenly, perhaps Jason was set upon this earth to be the abomination he tainted and devoured in place of another, better, soul.

CW: Intersex!Jason, Vampire!Eddie, Past Chrissy/Jason, fem language used, implied genderqueer!Jason, church sex, blood drinking, oral sex, implied P in V sex, catholic guilt, religious symbolism/metaphors used sexually :)

Words: 1.8k

No one was ever supposed to know. No one but his parents and Chrissy were supposed to know, sweet sweet Chrissy who just understood and never loved him less for it.

And now he had the town freaks head between his legs, making his toes curl as he sucked at his fat clit and lapped at his slit like he hadn’t just shoved his tongue into him moment before like he intended to fuck him with it instead of his cock. Not that he’d let him fuck him, God no, he had gone too far just allowing him to kneel between his thighs in the backroom of his church.

It was supposed to be a fight when Eddie dared to walk through those doors after seven, after everyone had long since left. Yet they were both upset and childish and it was more of a wrestle and grapple at clothing and hair than fists and blood. And of course Eddie was the kind of asshole to pants a guy and laugh about him having his dick out except Jason didn’t have one of those.

A girl, the doctors had called him at first. Had insisted on it. Until tests were run and things started to look strange. Infertile from deformity; from a lack of Fallopian tubes and eggs, a uterus that was damn near useless. Higher levels of testosterone as he got older, bigger, breast tissue that was so small it couldn’t barely be called a breast to begin with.

He was a boy, at least he seemed to grow into one in an unnaturally peculiar way. By the time he was five, his parents decided to call him their son instead. They always wanted a boy after all. So they sent away their ‘daughter’ to distant family due to health reasons and implanted the idea that they had adopted a young boy after her tragic passing. Good Samaritans they were.

They only had one rule. No one could know about Jason’s abnormal puberty. He didn’t get a period, thankfully, but he didn’t get nearly as hairy as his peers. Couldn’t shower with them or fuck girls like they did.

Chrissy had been a gift. The girl he intended to marry. Sweet, kind and uncaring of his deformity when he told her in a soft voice a year into their relationship. He expected her to be disgusted, to say she had no interest in him after the reveal, but she just smiled and sweetly touched his face.

“I’m so happy you told me. I don’t care, Jason. In fact, I think I’m in love.” He really had wanted to marry her. To live his life with her. Yet now she was dead, had been for months now, and he had graduated without her. He had planned to propose on that stage, had held his grandmothers ring to his chest and sobbed for hours after all the self righteous ire had seeped out of him.

Now he had her once suspected murderer eating him out like it his holy mission and fuck, could Jason stoop any lower? He had failed to find Patrick and Chrissy’s murderer. Eddie was in the clear after Jason had admitted on the stand that Eddie didn’t lay a hand on Patrick at the time of his death and wasn’t possessed even after the priest ‘exorcised’ him. Eddie came back from his hiding a week after that night in the creepy abandoned house, and by then, Jason was willing to listen. Lucas had made a desperate request because it was Jason’s fault his girlfriend was in hospital. He didn’t understand much of the situation after the earth cracked open, but he understood that. If Jason could regret anything, it was taking someone’s lover away. He knew how much that hurt now.

He sunk his teeth into his lower lip and suppressed a moan, almost rolling into Eddie’s mouth but holding himself back. There was a difference between taking it and participating. Even if it felt amazing.

And really, was there much choice in Eddie’s tight grip on his thigh? The way he pulled him forward until he was almost hanging off the edge of the desk? In the strong hand shoving him down onto his back? A punched out moan escaped his lips and he stifled it halfway with a hand. There wasn’t much choice at all, but maybe that was for the best. It gave him blissful ignorance to his own eagerness to be touched.

Chrissy and him had decided on waiting for marriage. The most Jason had ever gotten was a few sneaky fingers into the fine blond hairs below his waistband while making out, even if he had fingered her clumsily once on the couch while they were alone during movie night. Jason hadn’t had a chance to be with anyone else, been too scared to, and he was nineteen in just a few months. Temptation was a lot harder to ignore when it was thrusting a finger into his hole, wet with spit and dribbles of slick, a curious tongue swirling around his thick clit.

He didn’t want to think about the way his own legs curled around his neck, keeping him close as he groaned into his palm, mind melting away as Eddie slipped a second digit in, wrapping his lips around him and sucking. It was obscene, the way Eddie licked and sucked at his pussy, messy but hot and dirty in a way Jason had never felt before.

It made his face burn, his heart pound, his sex ache for more even as it was fed thick fingers and worshiped by a filthy mouth that took the Lords name more often than not. The pleasure was hot and tight in his gut the longer Eddie touched him, the dark haired mans insistent mouth driving him insane. He whimpered, flexing his thighs as Eddie sucked harder, thrusting faster, deeper, trying to draw more reluctant sounds out into the quiet of the church’s dusty interior.

Jason flinched as the pleasure turned to pain, grabbing Eddie’s hair and shivering as his breath caressed over his cunt.

“Don’t stop me.” His voice sounded hoarse, had since he entered the doors, and Jason gritted his teeth as Eddie ignored his grip and brought himself back down to his pussy, dragging his tongue from his fingers buried in his cunt to flick over the tip of his clit. It felt good. Still felt good when he put his mouth back on him, Jason clenching around his fingers.

But then it hurt, intense and mixed with a strange sense of pleasure as he squeezed his thighs as tightly Eddie was forced away from his throbbing bud. The dark haired man gave a low growl, barely recognizable as human as he gripped his thigh and pinned it to the desk, uncaring of Jason’s sound of discomfort before he was viciously focusing on Jason’s clit.

“Fu-!” He pursed his lips to hold back the curse, tugging on Eddie’s hair as he swirled his tongue and sucked, ignoring Jason’s whimper of pain until it turned into overwhelming pleasure. His heel dug into his back as Eddie wrangled an orgasm from him, convulsing around his fingers and gushing messily onto his lips, his chin.

Like a dog, he lapped it up, and it should have been worth degrading him over, but Jason’s head was blank. Legs shaking, chest heaving and strangely tired, he was the most at ease he had been in months. Probably years, honestly.

Jason choked on a gasp as something sharp pierced the fat of his inner thigh, two pinpricks of searing hot pain, so close to his weakly pulsing cunt that it rippled through, making him clench. He fisted Eddie’s hair tighter and tugged, but there was no budge. It was clear now that any power Jason had had was simply Eddie letting him think he had it. It was almost humiliating to realize it himself.

He looked down, brows pinched in a grimace as Eddie sucked and licked at the broken skin. The sensation was strangely soothing and pleasant even as prickles of pain from the saliva against the wound shot through his sensitive inner thigh.

As if sensing his gaze, Eddie pulled away just an inch to flick his eyes up to meet his. Jason couldn’t meet those blown brown eyes or the stained crimson lips, focused instead on the soft stream of blood that slipped down his thigh, catching the curve of his sex and slipping down like rain droplets on a car window.

They say the first bleed was a sign of sin in Eve. The sin of intercourse, which left her with the curse of blood. But Jason was not a woman, he was a man laying with another man, yet also not. He was also a woman laying with a man unwed and truly, Jason could never escape sin because he was the embodiment of it. A man and a woman, the original Adam and Eve one within him, and his love of any flesh would stir chatter for however long he may live.

He might not live long if Eddie kept looking up at him as if he was a delicacy he wished to consume, licking the drying drops of blood from his pussy lips before dragging it up to guzzle at the fresh flow. Jason knew he would consume him, truthfully, if nothing else.

If a creature like Eddie Munson could walk through their church doors so brazenly, perhaps Jason was set upon this earth to be the abomination he tainted and devoured in place of another, better, soul.

It was easier to think about it that way when Eddie slithered up his body like the snake in the garden of Eden, and if Jason was to be both Adam and Eve, he would be burdened with the knowledge he should never have possessed.

Like how Eddie’s lips felt against his, how his own blood and essence tasted intertwined with Eddie’s saliva. How his body shuddered at the dark intention of his pale blue rosary being ripped from his neck, beads scattering and falling to the floor. How it felt to be breached, fucked slow like water lapping at a ship body as his skin was punctured and sucked and kissed.

Maybe in another life he had married Chrissy, and he would have given her a half-life as a half-man. In this life though, he was two halves intertwined beneath Eddie and every inch of his skin was buzzing. He was alive for the first time since she died, but when the morning came, he too would be dead or repenting at the altar, but for now, he was alive and whole.

Perhaps, Eddie felt a similar sense of euphoria in that church backroom they shared for one night, and hopefully, for one night only.

(But predators always came back to an easy meal. Jason had made himself too easy).

#munver #tigerfreak #carson #eddie munson #jason carver #smut #lemon #vampire eddie munson #jason carver x eddie munson #jason x eddie

[dreadfutures]

i dearly need to see the [cup] prompt from that hands prompt list with ixchel and whoever you’d like (if you need a suggestion I am Always down for Solavellan)

Thank you!!! For @dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Solavellan (#broken mirrors)

-:-:-

"Happy?" Ixchel asked, mopping sweat and blood from her brow.

Solas made a disgusted noise. "Do you mean to ask if I am happy that the contents of a gurgut's entire colon have spilled over my belongings?" he demanded. "No, I cannot say I am happy about that, Ixchel. Could you not have squashed the thing outside of camp?!"

"I thought of leading it off on my own," she admitted innocently, "but no one seemed to be following me so I figured it'd be best to stay."

Solas shot her an irritated look. "Shoving a rampaging gurgut away from where we *share* a tent is different than running off down a long dark maze of Tainted Stone, and you are well aware of the difference. Or have you sustained a head injury and lost your sense?"

Her humor only seemed to grow as his voice turned acerbic and she set aside her axe as she picked her way through the ruined campsite. "Look, maybe Hawke and Thom and I just need to work on our battlefield signals," she drawled. "I did honestly try to indicate I wanted to shove the thing into the woods, but no one seemed to get my drift. And that's fine," she quickly added as Carver looked over with a frown. "We've all got different training. Mine's biased toward Chevalier, yours is either Fereldan or Warden? If I wanted to say, 'Let's all charge this thing and shove it back forty feet,' what'd you expect?"

Carver guffawed. "You're giving the Wardens far too much credit."

"Alright, then what about your brother?" she asked.

Merrill piped in with a grin. "Now you're giving Garrett too much credit. He just stands to the side and drags everyone into a neat pile for Fenris and Carver to smash up. It's kind of his specialty, really."

"A real pillow princess too, probably," Carver muttered, and Merrill shoved him with a laugh.

Ixchel stared at them disbelievingly for a moment, then turned back to Solas with a sheepish smile. "Okay, it seems like it is my fault, but not because I was trying to make a point! I'm sorry about our things."

She was relieved to see that his stance had somewhat relaxed, but she did not expect him to reach for her as soon as she stood before him. She shifted closer at his beckoning, and blinked up at him as he cupped her face in his hands.

She offered him a smaller, shyer smile when he began to stroke her cheeks with his thumbs. "Apology accepted?" she asked hopefully.

"Hm? Yes, of course."

"Then why are you still looking at me like that?" she asked.

"Because I've determined that it is *not* blood on your face," he said with a rueful smile. It widened into a grin when he saw how her ears twitched back in embarrassment. "I suppose I will need to wash *all* the contents of my tent, then. Including you."

#da drunk writing circle #solavellan #bloodied and broken bits #broken mirrors

[aarongoldenwrites]

I have some thoughts and additions. 

Adaar washes when they can. When they meet the Bull and especially Vivienne, they begin to wash more frequently. If Adaar romances Sera, Sera joins them whenever possible. 

Alistair likes to wash, he just forgets. If you remind him, he stammers and gets embarrassed. Although she will never admit it to anyone, Morrigan starts using magic to wash him without him knowing, especially if he is part of the dark ritual.  

Amell and Surana (Warden) likes bathing because it’s the only time they can be reasonably sure that the Templars will leave them alone. 

Anders is a successful medic working out of the dirtiest places in the world while also having been locked away in solitary confinement for a good chunk of time. Dude is probably *obsessively* clean, like all the time. 

The Architect is fascinated by bathing practices but does not, himself, partake. 

Bethany likely does her best to wash the magic off her, and is always a little disappointed when it doesn’t work. 

Blackwall begins bathing regularly once his secret is out. He punished himself with his stench. Punishing everyone around him was an unintended consequence. 

Carver’s got a typo that I kind of love: I really like the idea that he’ll just keep washing his hands until you tell him to stop. He stares at people when he washes his hands, too. He does it specifically to annoy Bethany. 

Cousland washes every chance they get, and will demand the same of their lover if they take one.     

Dorian is a big user of essential oils because they smell nice and make him feel pretty. Vivienne is initially put off by his Tevinter scents, but the two of them end up talking about (a) where to get or buy the most subtle perfumes and (b) how to use them on Solas without him noticing. For his part, Solas likes bathing when he has the chance to relax (he uses magic to keep himself clean), but none of the scents he was used to exist anymore and he doesn’t know how to tell anyone that. The first time Josie finds something really old and he recognizes it, he cries. No one ever knows why. None of the Inquisition mages believe the oils do anything other than smell nice. 

Hawke likes to wash to get the blood off. Even Aveline can only do so much to keep them from being arrested when they walk everywhere covered in other people’s entrails. Sandal has an enchantment created specifically to unclog Hawke’s drains. Hawke does not know this, but, if Anders is romanced, Anders does and quietly pays to have a similar enchantment added to his clinic.   

Isabella loves to bathe in streams and rivers, and does so whenever possible. She eventually gets Fenris to come along, and he learns to love it.   

Leliana is obsessively clean. 

Lavallen, Merrill, Mahariel, and Velanna are all clean people. One thing about the Dalish camps we see: they are all neat and organized, and tribal peoples tend to be pretty big on cleanliness and hygiene. They probably know more about keeping clean than any of the city folk. 

Meredith is fastidiously clean. She needs to wipe the disease of magic off her in the morning and the evening. She’s more of a shower person than a bath person, and while she uses deodorant she never uses perfume.

Morrigan smells nice because she knows exactly what herbs to combine to give her unique and subtle scents and uses magic to wash the dirt from her body (it’s a trick Flemeth taught her). It drives Vivienne insane because she does not have the skill. Dorian trades her candy for small samples that he utterly fails to reverse engineer. Josie and Leliana get their hands on Dorian’s stash and manage to make reasonable copies. 

The Mother does not bathe. 

Nathaniel Howe is used to washing every day and feels dirty when he doesn’t. The first thing he does if you let him out of prison is have a bath. 

Oghren doesn’t really bathe, but that’s not representative of the dwarves as a people: they need to be cautious of darkspawn taint and lyrium poisoning, so they’re probably pretty clean as a people. It’s the one thing Varric actually likes about Orzammar, is the common use of soap and plumbing. This applies to Cadash, Brosca, Aeducan, Sigrun, Harding... pretty much everyone but Oghren.   

Samson was probably as clean as any of the Templars but stopped being clean when he became homeless and stopped caring when he became a red templar. None of the red templars wash; the Inquisition’s forces can smell them from a mile off, which makes tracking them easier.

Tabris would love to wash more often.  

Zevren loves to bathe, but hates to bathe alone. Perhaps you will keep him company...? 

#dragon age #dragon age origins #Dragon Age Awakenings #dragon age awakening #dragon age 2 #dragon age exodus #dragon age inquisition #alistair #anders #carver #aveline #bethany #blackwall #solas #vivienne #dorian #morrigan #dalish #elves #dwarves #sera #orzammar has plumbing and you can't change my mind #if they can move magma through hallways for heat #and have vents to keep the air pure #they can move hot water and cold water where they want it to go #and even the casteless would have access #because while the dwarves are horrible to the casteless #they do not want a bunch of darkspawn crawling out of the slums #likewise #the tribal communities and peoples we have in the real world all have some pretty strict laws about keeping clean

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Ohh maybe 1, 2, 3, and 28? 👀

*takes a sip from my can of soda* Ahhh~! Caffeine for the soul~ >:3

But you know what's better for the soul? Questions! Curiosity! RAMBLING ABOUT CHILDREN! >:D Let's GOOOO!

1. What would your Warden generally think of your Hawke and your inquisitor?

Rylen: 

Now, I kind of see Elise eventually meeting or at least, reaching out to Rylen after the events in Kirkwall. After all, she’s an Amell, and so is Hawke. They’re literally the only family each other has (that’s not ‘found’ family, that is.). So, I think Elise would reach out through a letter or somehow manage a visit to her cousin and...connect. She would see him as inspiring; Rylen always manages a smile and a quip. However, if they were to spend more and more time interacting with each other, Elise would see that Hawke isn’t very well put together, especially after the Chantry explosion. She would question why Rylen chose the templars, why he executed Anders who was a like a brother to her, but eventually she would come to understand the whys. Elise would see it as no different as when she decided to spare Loghain at the Landsmeet; they did what they believed to be right and what would be best in that very moment. Both Rylen and Elise sacrificed their own happiness for the benefit of others, and were still blamed for future complications and there’s something comforting in a finding another who can relate. :3

Fane:

So, I actually have some later fic ideas for a confrontation between Elise and Fane (after Trespasser, kind of Pre-DA4 shenanas~), and suffice it to say, these two have similar ways of thinking, but their methods are entirely different. Fane is rash, prone to barreling head first into conflict without thinking about those around him. Elise is analytical, always assessing and placing the pieces in her head to make sure everyone comes out alive. This isn’t to say Fane doesn’t care about his comrades; he does. There’s countless, countless times he takes a blow for someone else without batting an eye or thinking that he could die. He just doesn’t plan; he acts. Fane can get lost in the moment of battle, in the heady scent of chaos and blood. Elise, at first meeting him, would see him as any typical warrior; eager for battle and a garden of death. But if they were to sit down and talk...I think she might find him endearing and fascinating. More or less she would think, ‘He’s so mature for someone so young. I mean, he’s twenty-four, but...he speaks as if he’s older. His speech is manicured, measured as if decided upon carefully. And his eyes...there’s pain, a deep, deep pain. Like some of the older Wardens, those just hearing the Calling. But also...hope? Conviction? Who are you, Inquisitor? What has the world done to you?’

2. What would your Hawke generally think of your warden and your Inquisitor?

Elise:

Rylen would probably have the same opinion of Elise as she does with him. They’re family, split apart due the misconceptions and fear, and my Hawke cherishes family. He lost everyone else he could rightly consider family. Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, Isabela, and Merrill are the only people he can call family now. (Anders and Aveline are complicated. I won’t go into that can of worms. For now~ >:3) He would definitely feel a level of guilt for what he had to do in Kirkwall with Anders, with the mages, with...everything, but Rylen just tries to make it through another day. If he and Elise started to interact I think it would be extremely beneficial to Rylen. Elise is patient, sometimes stern, and not afraid to lay all the facts out. Rylen would admire that since he’s had to go through life wearing a mask, a smile, a facade just to placate someone else. He would see Elise as another sister and his opinion of her would probably be along the lines of, ‘I won’t let another member of my family be torn from me. Father, Bethany, Carver...Mother.. I failed them. I won’t fail her. I won’t fail her. She’s bright and she keeps her head held high. Heh, now I see how she killed an Archdemon and lived to tell the tale. ...Bet the lightning has something to do with that, too.’

Fane: 

Rylen and Fane, in my head, actually hit it off from the get go. They’ve both had to take mantles of power, even though they never, never wanted to. Though, for different reasons, of course. But Rylen would find Fane inspiring and wholly capable of doing what must be done. He’d be kind of put off that most of his well thought out jokes and pokes would fall flat on Fane, but eventually, Rylen would see why that is. (Draconic nature withstanding.) Also, once my Hawke found out Fane is dragon?  OHHHH, BUDDY. There would be yelling and screeching and cries of, ‘WHY DO I KEEP MEETING DRAGONS, FENRIS?! FIRST THE WITCH, NOW THE INQUISITOR?! ..I’m done. I’m putting my daggers down and stealing away into the mountains. Varric, you wanna come with? I know you’re fed up with this shit, too! Don’t lie! DON’T. LIE.’

3. What would your Inquisitor generally think of your warden and your Hawke?

Elise:

Fane would probably think of Elise as...interesting. Not in a bad way. Just...interesting. Fane isn’t comfortable with Wardens after Adamant. He learns that he can hear the corruption inside of them and that terrifies him. And confuses him. And makes him go, ‘What the fuck am I? I don’t even know anymore. Why do I try?’ But, if he were to get over that and, like I said with Elise, talk? He would have another perspective of the men and women that had let fear take them by the throat. It wouldn’t change his feelings regarding the Wardens entirely, but one level mind, one open mind, is enough to make Fane tap into his nature and consider other sides of a very, very large cube.

‘She’s more...quiet than the others. Maybe because it’s just her? No...Loghain was still loud as fuck when it was just him, so why? Ugh, I’m so sick of these puzzles. At least she’s more stable, but I can see the pain in her eyes; green like mine, but missing the gold. Maybe the Taint is stronger than she thinks? Perhaps, but still she fights, still she claws her way towards something that may be impossible. ...Hmph. How typical. A similarity. This world continues to confound.’

Rylen:

Fane respects Rylen after spending some time to feel him out, know his cues, and piece together which is his actual face. Once that happens, Fane can move into respect with my Hawke. These two have a fairly similar moral compass; pragmatism regarding most decisions. Again, they both have been thrust into a position without asking for it, so that would be a stepping stone upon the bonding path. All in all, Fane’s general opinion of Rylen would be, ‘He’s worn that mask of smiles and bright, grey eyes for too long. It’s cracking at the edges, wearing down to mere mortar. Then again, I have my own mask. I’m in no position to judge and condemn, but...it’s worrying. Even the strongest wings can be torn and all that greets is the earth below. I hope your wings don’t falter, Champion. It would be disappointing for the world to lose someone who cares when those who should are content to point the finger towards anyone but themselves.’

28. What is their favourite location within their own game and what would be their favourite in each others?

Fane: The Emprise du Lion! Snowwwww! Coooold! Ice dragooooon! >:3 ...minus the red lyrium. *snorts* 

Origins: Hmm, I think Fane would like the Brecilian Forest. He enjoys forests as much as he enjoys the cold, the ice, and the snow. He likes the animals, even though he tries not to interfere with them, and he likes the quiet. No chattering, no demands. Only trees, leaves, and the occasional whistle of wind. Also, Fane likes to investigate ancient ruins. He’s not interested in the history, really. He just wants to see if he can find any remnants about his kin that the elves may have left behind. :3

DA2: Probably Sundermount since again, wilderness. Fane doesn’t do too well in crowded areas and Kirkwall would make his heart rate sky rocket. Not just because of the people, but because of the size. Those cramped streets of Lowtown would just make him...eugh. *shivers*

Elise: She adores Orzammar! Especially the Shaperate! The dwarves fascinate Elise since not many tomes in the Circle went into depth about them! :D And if we want to with Awakening areas, I would saaaay...Amaranthine. She’s always like towns and cities due to not being able to experience them until the Blight! :3

Inquisition: Elise would adore the Frostback Basin. Like, really enjoy it! All that flora and Avaar culture and wilderness? MMMM!

DA2: Definitely the Wounded Coast. Hands down. My daughter enjoys the sea so much. The salt in the air, the feel of sand, and the pretty, pretty shells and rolling waves? Every Circle mages’ wet dream. *waggles eyebrows*

Rylen: So, if we’re not talking like open world areas in the game, I would definitely say Rylen’s favorite place is the Hanged Man. The man needs a drink to deal with Kirkwall. Just saying. It’s also where he can just...be himself with the people who know him. 

Inquisition: Hinterlands. He’s a FERELDAN. He wants his MABARI to RUN in native land! He wants to...go home. ;3;

Origins: I like to think the Hawke family went all over Ferelden before settling in Lothering. I mean, they kind of do, but maybe for more than a few months at a time? So, Rylen would enjoy Denerim. He likes to go where people are, where life is. He likes crowds because he can blend into them and not be tracked down until he wants to be tracked down. ...My Hawke just wants to live in peace with his glowy elf husband and run a mabari ranch. Is that too much to ask, Bioware?! Let Hawke REST!

Woo! That was FUN! It really got me thinking, too! X3 Thank you so much, friend! <3

#ask #asks #dragon age #oc: fane lavellan #oc: elise amell #oc: rylen hawke #all my children need therapy *sighs* #i think rylen needs it more than fane #now THAT'S saying something #*snorts loudly* #...i wasn't kidding about the mabari ranch #rylen wants a FLEET of mabari #he just loves them so much #SO MUCH #elise is kind of a scrapbooker too! #she collects things and preserves them! X3 #...and fane likes to roll around in the snow like a polar bear #blank faced too XD #boy needs to CHILL #...in two ways >:3 #thank you again! <3

[bitch-of-the-wilds]

Dragon Age 2: Abridged

You start the game and as you're running 🏃‍♂️💨 away from the Zombi- I mean Darkspawn, the very first thing that happens is one of your 2 younger siblings fucking dies. ⚰️💀🥀(RIP Carver)

Then there's a dragon 🐉 which is awesome! But also: fuck, there's a dragon and you're level 1. But wait, now the dragon's an old lady who you swear sounds familiar. 🧙‍♀️ But she won't teach you how to become a dragon, so who cares.

Anyway, your mother cradles your sibling's cooling corpse to her chest and blames you for their death because you're the oldest and (somehow⁉️) you were supposed to protect them from the massive 5-ton ogre and stop it from crushing their rib cage like a gerbil in the hands of a vindictive toddler. 🐹

It's mentioned in passing that "At least they're with father now," and oh, yeah, guess your dad is dead too.

Surprise! Welcome to Dragon Age: 2 -The game where the plot is made up and your feelings don't matter. 🎆🎇

After you finally escape the fuckin 🍭🔥Candy Land from Hell🔥🍭: you're sold into servitude (see also: slavery) to pay your way into the city because your drunkard of an uncle has gambled away every penny of wealth your family ever had, including the house (and the dog too, but don't worry, there's DLC for that 🐕)

Then, after a year of smuggling and/or shady mercenary work for the dickheads that hold your leash, you're still broker than a ramen-filled Millenial with an undergrad degree in psychology, so you have to go into the Deep Roads to find your fortune.

Do you take your only remaining sibling with you into one of the most dangerous places in Thedas? Or do you leave them in Kirkwall, an almost equally as dangerous place, without even little ole' you there to protect them or your aged, decrepit, spiteful mother (who still kinda hates you for letting your sibling die)?

📱VOTE NOW ON YOUR PHONES! 📱

The kicker is that NO MATTER WHICH CHOICE YOU MAKE, you still lose your sibling! They're taken by the Chantry, (the ⭕Circle/⛑️Templars) if you leave them at home, and if you take them with you, they fucking DIE.

Oh, UNLESS you brought that one edgy, possessed, fugitive Gray Warden you met in the ass end of Darktown with you. Then they don't die. Instead, they themselves are given to the Gray Wardens to try and save them from 🤎😩The Taint 😩🤎 who then disappear back into the Deep Roads for 3 fucking years. IN FACT you don't even know if your fucking sibling LIVES or DIES until Shit City winds up on fucking 🔥FIRE🔥 and they just happen to run into you while you're up to your tits in body organs.

And also that one edgy Gray Warden rebel, Anders -who you actually kinda like, even if he is a whiney bitch, happens to stay on with you because you helped him kill his ex boyfriend (*Micky Mouse voice* it's a special tool that will help us later!🎁)

Oh, and let's not forget that Grand Adventure where your ancient ass mom 🤶 is kidnapped by a Coo-Coo for Cocoa Puffs serial murderer and then canabalized into a semi-living sex doll 🧟‍♀️(that smells a bit like formaldehyde under the stench of rotting old lady flesh) just because she happens to look a little bit like the dude's dead FWB/wife. 👩‍❤️‍👨

So, when you finally fucking find her -buried under a cesspool of blood, shit and demons (where else?)- you obviously have to kill the dork-ass, serial-killing, LITERAL MOTHERFUCKER who took her.

But OOPS! His blood magic🩸 was the only thing keeping her build-a-bitch body alive, so naturally it disperses as he death-rattles on the floor.🤮

She only lives long enough to say her last regret is leaving you alone in 🗡️ Murder City™️ 🗡️ by yourself before she fucking DIES IN YOUR ARMS in front of your sad ass friends and probably your love interest.

Speaking of which, I hope you didn't dick-down the pirate 🏴‍☠️ then fuck around and find out you caught feelings and shit, cause she straight up leaves your ass to skip town on bail with a Super Special Book. 📖

And god forbid you romanced Fenris because his broody ass just ups and leaves you after a mediocre as fuck one night stand, leaving you with Lyium-blue balls. 🧪 Oh, did I mention that it took 3 fuckin YEARS of courting to get him to into bed? 🛌 But at least he stays with you, helping kill bitches and whatnot, casually twisting that little knife in your heart an inch at a time because he has enough emotional baggage 🎒👜🧳🛍️ to sink a fucking naval armada to the bottom of the Boeric ocean. 🆘⛵🛥️🛳️⛵🚢🛥️🆘

But the fun doesn't stop there! No, no! Because while you may have lost your entire family -i.e. your mother, father and both baby siblings- and potentially your love interest 💔 (You can keep your shitty drunken uncle tho lmfao), that doesn't matter cause we're not done with our field trip through hell just yet kiddies. 🚎 Beep beep, bitch.

So, what's next on 💥Apocalypse Bingo?💥 Oh, that's right, you gotta stop the invading force of massive roid-raging dragon-people with kick ass horns, and their leader just decapitated the king👑 in front of you.

Also they burned 🗑️Trash Town🗑️ to the ground and you have to pick of the pieces of your shitty city. Again.

And after you've done that, after you've done what all the king's horses 🐎🐎🐎 and all the king's men🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️ couldn't fucking do, you're awarded the title of Champion because no good deed goes unpunished!

Yay! You're the savior of Shit City! Hooray. 💩

✨🌟⭐ But wait! There's more! ⭐🌟✨

That one Glowy Red bitch you've seen around the Gallows when you're not ogling Cullen's noodle hair is pissy at Skeletor the Secret Blood Mage. Time to play peace keeper.

It doesn't go well. They're both still assholes. 🤷🤷‍♂️🤷‍♀️

Oh but, remember Anders? The edgy Gray Warden dude? The one who hears voices in his head, but swears it's just his 👻☄️Spirit Friend☄️👻 The one who you kinda like?

He needs to go grocery shopping. For... cookie ingredients. 🍪

Here's the list: 📜

-Mushrooms 🍄

-Literal, actual shit 💩

-Sulfur 💨

-Amonium Nitrate 🔥

-Other shit, this time metaphorical🚫💩

Okay, weird request, right? But he did help you kill some hoes and give you the map to the Deep Roads which may or may not have gotten your sibling killed, so you owe him one, right? And, well, maybe you kinda like this edgy weirdo who occasionally turns blue when he's mad 👺, so you're willing to do him a solid.

Well, turns out that trip to Kirkwalmart wasn't for ingredients to Anders' fav cookies.

It was actually

⚡💥💣☢️A FUCKIN NUKE☢️💣💥⚡

which he uses to blown up the church ⛪ which happens to be in the city 🌇 your pathetic ass spent 6 years Humpty Dumpty-ing🍳 killing a few hundred innocent people and probably at least one or two dogs🐶💀🐶 so either way he's a fuckin dildo.

Oh, and that kicks off World War Thedas, and the FBI 🚔 thinks you're responsible, so you have to leave your Shit City and lay low.

But you got to meet Varric so it was worth it. 👍

Probably.

#shit post #dragon age #da #da2 #dragon age 2 #fenris #isabela #varric #anders #hawke #carver #bethany #mine #my post #funny #kirkwall crew #flemmeth

[kirkwallgremlin]

WIP Wednesday

I got tagged last week by @dalish-rogue and @briarfox13 and I didn’t really have anything to share BUT I do now and I’m sharing these bc 1) I’m kinda proud of how these paragraphs turned out so far and 2) I’m feeling evil and I want more people to suffer 😈 because I hurt myself writing this

It’s ok though, Carver will be fine! He just needs to find the Wardens first <3 

Everything hurt.

That was all Carver could think about right now, the burn of his own tainted blood running through his veins, the ache in every part of his body as the world began to blur around him. His head ached with the effort of focusing on his surroundings as the corruption inside him spread, taking over more and more of his body with every step he took. 

He took another deep, rattling breath, reaching for as much air as he could. It wasn’t enough but his lungs didn’t feel like they would hold anything else as he leaned more heavily on his brother's shoulders, his body not having the strength to hold itself up, to do anything more than force his feet to keep stumbling forward.

Tagging @sweethawke @pinkfadespirit @laurelsofhighever @jellydishes and @allisondraste of any of you have anything you like to share (but also please feel free to tag me if you have anything you want to share because I’d love seeing people’s things!!)

#this is the start of carvistair pt. 2

[theoverlyenthusiasticwriter]

Wondrous Misfortune

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

This is a acotar fanfiction set a few years after acofas. The bone carver’s prediction is not all that meets the eye and so the next generation of warriors must navigate in the world that their parents built for them.

Please read and enjoy!

*****

It was a physical effort for Nesta to get out of bed. Her stomach, swollen so much that she’d forgotten what her toes looked like, made many tasks a particular pain. But she’d be damned if she was going to wake Cassian up to help her to the bathroom.

She was only weeks from her due date and thoroughly tired of being pregnant. It was only the thought of the lives growing in her womb and Cassian that kept her from tearing out her stomach.

Yes, Madja had told them months ago that there wouldn’t be just one child for them to care for, but two. Nesta only hoped they were boys--girls were bitches.

Nesta swung her legs over the side of the bed, rocking her body so she could plop soundlessly on her feet. She waddled over to the bathroom, relieved herself, then waddled back.

Cassian was awake when she returned, and sitting upright in bed. He rubbed at his eyes, yawning loudly. “What are you craving, sweetheart?” he asked at last. When she made to climb back in bed, he beat her to it, lifting her onto the mattress. 

She glared at him. “Strawberry cake.”

“With buttermilk frosting?”

She nodded. Cassian’s cake was to die for, but strawberry was her particular favorite.

He arched an eyebrow. “You sure? You’re looking a little fat there.”

She threw a pillow at him. “That’s your fault. Now get me my cake, slave.”

He laughed but slid effortlessly off the bed. “Come shower with me first.”

“No.”

“Nesta, you haven’t bathed in three days.”

“It’s tiring.”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her knuckles to his slightly chapped lips. “I’ll wash you and massage you after.”

“What about my cake?”

“Okay, okay. Cake, then shower.”

Nesta grinned in triumph.

She felt Cassian’s eyes on her as she waddled out of the room and down the stairs. She had prevented him from carrying her after manalically holding a knife to her belly until he promised not to. It probably wasn’t the craziest thing she’d done while pregnant, but it was high on the scoreboard.

None of her dresses fit anymore and the maternity ones barely did so most days she just waltzed around in a tank top and Cassian’s underwear.

However, Elain was in town now and visited nearly everyday. Feyre and, surprisingly Azriel, also came often enough that the blinds were shut when she wasn’t properly dressed. Today, though, she wore one of her better fitting dresses and went to one the blinds.

The early morning light felt glorious on her pale skin and she wriggled slightly in front of the window.

Cassian, retrieving the batter he had made last night, barked out a laugh. “What are you doing?”

“The sunlight is pretty.”

“You look like a deranged worm.”

Nesta flipped him off over her shoulder.

Feeling light on her feet, she wandered back over to the counter and sat at a barstool, watching her mate. He deftly seperated and poured the batter and set it in the oven, moving on to make the frosting. She tracked his movements through the kitchen--eased and practiced.

She didn’t realize she was crying until she sniffled and Cassian dropped his wisk. He was instantly there, wiping away her tears, but they kept coming. “What is it? What is it, sweetheart?”

“You’re going--going to be such a great dad,” she sobbed.

He blew out a breath, wrapping her in his arms. “Don’t worry, they’ll have a great mom too.”

“I’m not--” A sob. “They’ll hate me.”

“Oh, my love, that’s ridiculous. They’ll love you so, so much. Almost as much as I do.”

She sniffled. “You think?”

“I know." He ran his fingers through her hair. “Do you want me to finish the frosting? I’ll let you lick the bowl.”

She nodded. “I used to--” A hiccup. “--get strawberry cake for my birthday. It was the only thing I liked about it.”

“I know, sweetheart. You tell me everytime.”

“Oh. I hate being pregnant.”

“You also say that.”

Nesta giggled, which was a very un-Nesta like thing to do. She was going to curse these kids sound for making her like this.

Cassian pulled away and she let him continue in peace. The cake cooked faster thanks to the way he kept throwing his magic at it, heating it even more. It also cooled faster when he retrieved it so he could spread the frosting.

“Hey, Cassian,” Nesta said mildly while he hummed, evening out the sugary goodness.

“Hmm?”

“My water broke.”

The spreading knife dropped to the floor. “Oh.”

*****

It was not an easy birth--births. But between contractions, Nesta got to eat her cake, laced with whatever drugs Madja deemed necessary.

The Inner Circle was gathered throughout the house. Nesta only knew this my the murmur of conversation and the fact that one of Elain’s girls had barged in, asking where her sister was hiding.

Cassian had then gently ushered the girl out while Nesta had trembled from another contraction.

It was the most painful thing Nesta had ever experienced. She actually injured Cassian’s hand from squeezing it too hard but an extra healer had reset and healed the bones. Nesta’d then burst into tears and blubbered out apology after apology before biting her lip when he kissed her brow reassuringly.

It wasn’t long after that that she’d cursed him over and over again for making her pregnant in the first place and vowed never to have sex with him again.

He laughed out loud.

Nesta had screamed when the first baby came out in one mighty push, then screamed louder when the next one did, exactly twenty minutes later. Then she’d collapsed onto the sweat and blood dampened sheets.

She awoke only seconds later to the sound of a babies cries and then to the sound of her mate’s. He was holding two squirming bundles, weeping and smiling at the same time. Nesta wished then for Feyre’s paint if only so she could record the moment in all its poetic beauty.

Cassian looked up gently, so very gently, passed one of the bundles over to Nesta.

Nesta had never believed in love at first sight but she would tear down every wall in herself, lose everything she owned, take a knife to her own heart, for this child in her arms.

It was a boy. And the one Cassian held--a girl.

Nesta started crying.

She took the girl from Cassian, sobbing slightly. Cassian came to sit in front of her on the bed, pulling her--all of them--into his large arms. Together, Nesta and Cassian sat that way for what could have been ages, staring at the two children.

“They need names,” Cassian whispered after a while.

“I know.”

But with them so young, Nesta was afraid to taint their existence with such a strong thing as names. They had already picked some out--two boy names and two girl names--but they had never thought of the possibility of having a boy and a girl. Now they had to choose a name from each category which was more difficult than it seemed.

There was a polite knock on the door but neither of them bothered to answer it. The door creaked open and then Feyre and Rhysand were there, gaping at them.

Nesta looked up at last and saw the tears shining in her sister’s eyes. In Nesta’s arms, the babes began to squirm.

“Can I… ?” Feyre asked, unable to form full sentences.

Nesta hesitated. Now that she was holding them, she didn’t ever want to give them up.

“I--they. I--” She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t deny her sister this, who had lost a child of her own. Who now had that careful fragile hope in her eyes.

“They’re hungry,” said Cassian, pointing out the way the boy kept opening and  closing his rosebud lips, searching for his mother’s breasts while the girl just peered in confusion around the room. Her eyes--oh gods those eyes--one was the clear hazel of her mate and the other was cornflower, baby blue.

The boy’s were the exact same and his tongue darted out still searching.

“At least tell us there names?” Rhysand asked, kneeling before the bed. The boy stared quizzically at him.

Cassian and Nesta exchanged a glance.

“Titus,” Nesta said to the boy.

“Aralyn,” Cassian said to the girl.

And Nesta could have sworn her high lord and lady trembled in response.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #post acofas #fluff #feysand #sarah j maas

[kunstpause-archive]

📚 from the fic ask c:

I am gonna do this for The Hands of Fate Are Your Own bc it’s the thing that is the most recent and most persistently on my mind.

So five facts:

1. The first draft of the story is over two years old and it went in a massively different direction back then. I wanna post some ‘what if’s’ and outtake chapters on day bc damn things have evolved… It had a “magic made them do it” trope chapter that I personally found hilarious but that didn’t fit into the story anymore after a rework

2. This is the first of three stories we have planned. Part one is finished. Two is in the middle of the rework and three was half finished before we started reworking stuff so that one will probably have to be written totally anew.

3. All of this more elaborate writing actually started bc @elveny, another friend of ours and me dared each other to write a short story/chapter in the most cliched romance novel style ever. Elveny’s original chapter ended up in her Solavellan story as far as I know, mine is actually still in this story, though in a more serious version and slightly less over the top.

4.  We threw out 150k words that were already written earlier this year bc we had an idea when Elveny was at my place for a relaxing writing weekend - and it spiralled. It went like this: “Wouldn’t it be super bad/fun if..” - “We are not really contemplating that, we are just doing a thought experiment…” - “We are doing that, but it’s just one small change, how much rework could that be?” - “Fuck!”

5. In the original first draft Cassia was a blood mage. Her story went vastly different and certain romances never happened. Though I wrote a very short “20 years later” epilogue (which actually spawned the whole disaster that is her now canon relationship…)

And bc why not: Five headcanons

1. Cassia has always idolised her twin sister. She never took her father’s “Why can’t you just be more like Adriene” as something negative because she always asked herself the same thing.

2. Carver and Bethany are actually the ones that got all the common sense in their family. Bethany is tough as nails when she wants something and Carver actually turns into the level headed, responsible Hawke in his time with the Wardens in Amaranthine. When my warden leaves for finding a cure for the taint he becomes the new Warden Commander.

3. Cassia loves bright colours and dressing up in things that draw attention. She grew up constantly hiding and trying to be as unremarkable as possible and the more distance she has to her parents, the more she does the exact opposite.

4. Cassia has a perfect poker face when she doesn’t care or even dislikes a person. But she is completely incapable of actually straight up lying to people that she cares about. The only reason she can keep some of her secrets from the people that she loves is because they are not asking the right questions.

5. I actually wrote one of the DAI multiplayer characters into this story at a later point. They have a super minor role but I have a super extensive headcanon for them, backstory, early life, career and how they ended up in first Kirkwall and later Skyhold. 

#Kunstpause writes stuff #The Hands of Fate Are Your Own #headcanons #Dragon Age Fanfiction #DA2 #captainderyn

[bubblegumnebulaa]

📂

these are pretty random and disorganized but they’re all dragon age centric

• fenris likes to sing/hum whilst idling about in his mansion. he’s got a very nice & controlled voice (but he wouldn’t be caught dead singing in front of anyone — except maybe hawke if he’s romancing them)

• hc heights for the da2 gang: Fem!Hawke — 5’5”, Bro!Hawke — 6’1”, Anders — 6’1”, Fenris — 5’10”, Varric — 4’8”, Isabela — 5’8”, Carver — 6’3”, Bethany — 5’5”, Sebastian — 6’2”, Aveline — 6’0”, Merrill — 5’3” (this formatting is atrocious sorry)

• this is emo but tamlen is the one that carries mahariel out of the cave & leaves them there for duncan to find because he’s rapidly succumbing to the taint and is afraid he’ll kill them

• another dark one but if their origin isn’t chosen & they’re female, aeducan is taken by the darkspawn and turned into a broodmother after being exiled to the deep roads for trian’s murder

• if romanced, solas gives lavellan his wolf jaw necklace

• isabela isn’t isabela’s real name (i feel like this may already be canon....?)

• vallaslin design is uniform across all dalish clans (ik the designs in inquisition & origins are different buT)

• this is moreso a theory than a hc but something is telling me that solas is gonna use all the elves he recruits as a mass blood sacrifice to enter the golden city and tear down the veil ._.

#these suck sorry #also this is very wordy #kris’ inbox #kris answers #dragon age headcanons #dragon age #ask meme #folder ask meme

[tonks32]

Inktober #18 - Greif

Hawke and Cullen again.

This got away from me big time! 

  Cullen heard the whispers of Leandra’s death making their way around the gallows right after afternoon meal. The news was enough to stop him in his tracks. In their time running around Kirkwall together, he learned that Hawke had lost Bethany while fleeing Lothering and her father a few winters before that. With Carver now with the Wardens, Leandra was the only family of Hawke’s that remained. He figured her Uncle didn’t count given his treatment upon their arrival to the city. Now, she was alone. The thought didn’t sit well with Cullen and haunted him as he forced himself to see to his paperwork and other duties instead of finding an excuse to leave the gallows to check on her.

  They had a professional relationship that, at times, crossed into a friendly one having met her and her friends at the Hanged Man a few times for a drink or two. It was natural to feel sorrow for her and want to make sure that she was okay. Cullen simply kept it to himself knowing it would only serve to set Meredith wrong. He could send a missive, he mused crossing the Gallows. A simple one to express his condolences while trying to plan a trip to the city in order to see her out personally. That would have to do for now even if it didn’t sit well with him.

  That all changed when word reached him on just how Leandra died. Murder. Necromancy. Body snatching. Blood magic. It was all sickening. Cullen’s heart grew heavy as he listened to a retelling of Hawke’s battle against the killer and his demons, one with the face of her mother, in the lower Foundry. Were her friends with her? Where was she now? He glanced up at the setting sun. Was she all alone in the estate? Cullen found himself frustrated that he had no way of knowing the answer to any of those questions and that didn’t sit well with him.

  He needed to make sure that she was okay. As he marched to his office, Cullen tucked it away for later on just why that was.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

  It was dark by the time that Cullen made it across the bay into the city. She wasn’t at the Estate. The dwarf stated that she only returned briefly after the incident, giving no indication of where she was going. Cullen thought for a moment she was with the archer, Sebastian if he recalled correctly, up at the Chantry arranging a funeral, but the dwarf’s words on Hawke’s state told Cullen she was far too distraught for that tonight. That send Cullen in search for the mage at the Hanged Man. The haggard faces of her friends told him what their words couldn’t. Whatever he heard about Leandra’s death was far worse. They too hadn’t seen Hawke after getting her to the Estate. Cullen wasn’t sure if they were simply trying to protect her location from him out of mistrust, but the idea of her being alone made him sick.

  No one should be left alone at a time like this.

  Aveline stopped the Templar outside the Tavern. “Are you here truly to check up on her, Rutherford?”

  Cullen nodded. “Why else would I be here?”

  “Meredith,” The Guard Captain replied. “We all know that she wants Hawke locked up in the Gallows and we are all willing to do whatever we can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  It was true. Ever since Meredith found out that Hawke, a mage, was running around freely in Kirkwall gaining influence and power, she’d been bound and determined to find a way to get Hawke off the streets, submitting to her rule. The idea put a sour taste in Cullen’s mouth. He tried not to dwell on that too much at the moment. “Do you know where she is?”

  The red head’s frown deepened. “No. I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t have any of it. I am looking for her myself and so far, nothing.”

  Cullen’s brow furrowed. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Me either,” Aveline whispered as they started down the darkened street of Lowtown. “Hawke doesn’t deal with emotions very well. She drank herself sick and then some after returning from the Deep Road where her brother was infected with the taint. It took Varric and I three days to find her.”

  And that terrified him. “Where have you looked so far?”

  Aveline had her reservation about enlisting the Templar for help, but seeing how the rest of her companions were steeped in their own emotional turmoil over the day’s events, she put them aside. “I went to Darktown thinking she may be at the clinic and then came here.”

  “Okay.” Jaw set, Cullen found himself clenching the hilt of his sword with more force than intended. “I’ll go along the east side of Lowtown and start my way through Hightown on the side routes instead of the main one I took to get down here.”

  Her hand shot out to catch Cullen before he could move. “Give me your word, Rutherford,” She demanded. “Your word that no harm will come to her?”

  Cullen blinked at the intensity in the woman’s voice.

  His silence put Aveline on edge. “I swear to the Maker and his bride that if you take her-.”

  “You have my word,” He quickly assured trying to ignore the need building in his chest again when it came to Olivia Hawke.

  Satisfied, Aveline released him.

0o0o00o0o0o0o

   Everything hurt. All but blind drunk, Hawke stumbled her way alone some street in Hightown. And it wasn’t simple body pain from the battle beneath the Foundry. Her heart, mind, and soul ached in ways she couldn’t begin to explain. That’s why she’d avoided every single one of her friends since working with the Guard to bring back her mother’s body. They would try to sympathies with her. Give her gentle pats of comfort while mummering ‘there, there’ all night. None of them would understand.

  Well perhaps with the exception of Aveline who helped her husband meet the maker before the taint consumed him.

  The Estate was the last place she wanted to be. Everywhere she looked, Hawke was reminded of her mother. Of the grief welling inside her. Yet, another person she loved gone. It was her fault that Bethany was dead. IF they fled soon. If they’d taken a different route. And Carver? Maker, their mother begged her not to take him down to the deep roads and now he was all but lost to her wandering around with the Wardens.

  Tears blurring her vision and legs growing weak, Hawke slumped against a building and pulled her legs to her chest. The pain. By the light, she wished for death to take her. How could she go on after this? She found herself curling into the ball on the ground, silent sobs wracking her system.

  “Hawke?” She heard her name through the haze of grief. “Andraste’s Mercy, Hawke.”

  The mage stirred, but that’s all she could muster. Her limps had grown heavy along with her head. How long had she been laying in the dark on the street? Who was calling her? Couldn’t be bandits, Hawke silent mused burrowing further within herself in hopes to generate heat. They usually cursed her name.

  “Hawke? Open your eyes for me,” The voice gentle demanded. “C’mon, damn it. Please, still be in there?”

  A warm hand to her cheek had Hawke’s head turning and eyes fluttering, but truly unable to focus. There was a figure looming over her.

  “That’s it. Are you hurt?”

  “Sadly, I’m just alive though I did my best to drown myself in drink.” Hawke felt a heavyweight of a cloak spread around her. The scent, though not familiar, brought her a small sense of comfort.

  She could hear a frown in the voice when it spoke once again. “How long have you been like this?”

  Hawke shrugged.

  “I’m going to pick you up and get you to a healer.”

  “No healer,” Hawke groaned, trying o get her eyes and mind to focus to recognize the person hovering over her. “Let me just stay here. Death will claim me soon enough.”

  “I won’t let that happen. Up we go.”

  In no condition to fight, Hawke let to pair of arms lift her off the freezing cobblestone and found herself cradled again a metal breastplate. It wasn’t Aveline holding her leaving the possibility of only one other person. She titled her head back. “Cullen?”

  “Yes, I got you,” Cullen replied. “Can you wrap your arms around me?”

  “Why so you can take me to the Circle?” She asked complying none the less. “It’s what I deserve after all. I shouldn’t be allowed to roam free. I only bring pain and misery.”

  He eased her head on his broad shoulder. “I’m going to take you back to the Estate.”

  “No,” Hawke argued. “I belong in the Gallows. Under Meredith’s rule and punishment. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’m a danger to everyone I’ve come into contact with.”

  “I’ll let you gave this one because you’re grieving. Say it again and we’re going to have a problem.”

  Hawke drifted in and out as Cullen carried her through Hightown. He let her ramble, cut herself down and beg to be taken to the Gallows, offering her no other comfort then the warmth of his arms wrapped tightly around her. He let her grief in her own way when anyone others would try to argue with her, which was useless in her current state. His warmth and scent of cedar and Lyrium helped quell some of the anger raging inside her.

  She stirred out of her stupor, just a bit when her back hit the softness of her mattress. In the dim firelight of her sleeping quarters, Hawke could see the hard line creasing the Knight Captain’s brow, emotions flickering in his amber eyes. Was that compassion she saw there? Whatever it was gave her pause.

  “I’m going to get you out of your armor,” Cullen announced giving her time to object.

  “I make men at least buy me a drink before they undress me.”

  He let out a soft chuckle. “I think you had enough to last an entire winter.”

   Hawke’s clouded mind lost track of time again, getting lost in the shadows of the fire in the hearth flickering along the walls, not really registering Cullen’s actions. In another frame of mind, she would find herself disappointed as Hawke had found herself fascinated by his hands on more than one occasion.

  Leaving her dressed in her tunic, Cullen pulled up a blanket up around her shoulders. “Rest now, Hawke. I’m going to find you some water.”

  “No.” Hawke found herself reaching for him paying no mind that a Templar was in her bedchambers. “Stay. I-I can’t be alone.”

  Feeling the bed dip under his weight, Hawke curled towards him, hand reaching for his as sleep took her.

#dragon age #cullen rutherford #Cullen x Hawke #Hawke #writing #mine #Olivia Hawke #dragon age fanfiction #inktober

[fandomn00blr]

Another Bit o’ Birthentine’s Writing

@funkypoacher generously sent me three birthentine’s prompts from this post (prompts taken directly from this year’s @14daysdalovers list!), and told me I could pick which ones to do...which just means I started working on all three! 

So here’s the second one: Nate/Carver and Day 7 Pride or Day 11 Envy...and this sort of feels like both?

It’s also kind of cheating, I think, because it fit so perfectly into where I’m currently at in my WIP Warden Hawke with these two, that I was able to use this opportunity to actually work on the next chapter!

“About earlier…” Nate gasps, when he catches up to Carver at the far corner of the cavernous hall.

“You don’t need to worry,” Carver mutters. “I understand.” He throws down his bedroll and slumps down on top of it with his stew, refusing to look at Nate as he stands there, his bare chest heaving and glistening with beads of sweat from his exertions with the dwarf.

"I don’t think you do.”

“Right. Because I’m an idiot. Or too young. Or too new. Or whatever. So how could I?"

“Stop! Just…” Nate bends down, resting his hands on his thighs as he tries to catch his breath. “I don’t think you’re an idiot, okay?”

Carver finally looks up at him, and Nate can’t tell if he’s fighting back tears or the urge to punch him in the face. Probably both. Oghren’s already worn him down enough that he probably wouldn't stand much of a chance against Carver if he decided to try and tackle him. And the look in his eyes gives Nate the sense that he might not be quite as gentle as the dwarf. Plus, Carver’s bigger than he is. At least with Oghren he had some physical advantages.

Nate takes a deep breath. “I don’t. I just…I don’t want to make things any more complicated right now for you.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Check and see for yourself, if you want.”

“Huh?”

“Through the Taint…you can sort of…” Nate trails off into a frustrated huff. “Look. I know I did a shit job of trying to show you how to do this earlier, and then the Darkspawn showed up, but it really would be a lot easier than me trying to explain. I’m not particularly good at this sort of thing…”

Carver doesn't have to search for his heartbeat at all this time. It’s right there, practically pounding out of his chest as he leans over him. Warm and bright and…Carver really just wishes he could crawl up inside of him and bask in it. But he’s already made the mistake of following that instinct enough to try and kiss him. And that is how they got here, isn’t it? With Carver just trying to get a chance to pout to himself about his unrequited feelings, and Nate insisting on having to explain why he’s not interested.

Nate lets out an exasperated sigh, and crouches all the way down next to him. Carver tries to scoot away, because it’s not fair. It’s not fair that he’s being so nice to him when he clearly doesn’t feel anything close to what Carver is feeling for him.

But he’s wedged himself between Nate and the stone wall now, and Carver is so desperate for any kind of connection besides the Archdemon, that it’s nearly impossible for him not to reach out to him. To the tainted blood that courses through him, the same tainted blood that now throbs in his own veins.

“Just try to listen,” Nate whispers. “And I hope you can understand where I’m coming from.”

Carver listens. But it’s not really like hearing. Unless you count the blood pumping all the way up into his ears. Instead, he feels Nate’s pulse, gradually slowing now as he catches his breath, and as Carver’s begins to quicken.

Carver closes his eyes, and their heartbeats sync up, and shapes begin to form out of the darkness he sees behind his eyelids. Everything is blurry and unfamiliar, until he latches onto something he recognizes. Anders? But he’s different. He’s wearing an earring, for one thing, and smirking like an idiot, like he’s just been laughing — the Anders he knows rarely laughs, a thought that fills him with sudden unexpected sadness — and he has this look in his eyes…so needy and desperate. Carver knows this. It’s the way he feels, reflected almost exactly in the face of this strange version of Anders that apparently lives within Nate’s memories.

Nate shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear Anders, and the sadness this has conjured, out of it, and Carver suddenly sees the silhouette of a person with strong arms and a broad chest begin to take shape. He doesn’t recognize this person. He’s wielding a sword like a ferocious warrior, hacking Darkspawn to bits and backlit by a kind of light Carver hasn’t seen since crossing the Waking Sea to Kirkwall. The way the setting sun reflected over the water made it seem like they were sailing through a fiery abyss, and each night, he had to convince himself that they had actually outrun the Blight and weren’t still back at Ostagar or Lothering. Not that things in Kirkwall were much better.

The figure’s icy-blue eyes come into focus, staring right back at him somehow from Nate’s mind, or his soul, or whatever he’s tapped into through their shared blood, but before the rest of the image can fully form, Carver shakes free of it and opens his eyes. It reminds him too much of the Emissary…the way it had locked onto his consciousness. Saw into his soul. His fears…his desires.

“Now do you believe me?” Nate asks.

“I mean…I guess?” Carver’s still not sure what Nate is trying to convince him of.

“The way you’re feeling right now…it’s going to change. You will get through it, even though I know it feels impossible. But it’ll eventually burn its way through you, like it does everyone, and you’ll…well, you’ll be alright. You’ve already made it through the worst of it. And I don’t want…”

“You don’t want to get my hopes up,” Carver interjects. “I know…I know…everyone’s always so worried about that. I really wish they wouldn’t be.”

Nate looks confused. “What?”

“It’s fine. You’re just not interested in me. That’s all you need to say. You’ve clearly got feelings for someone else, or at least some vague idea of what you want, and I’m not it.”

“That’s what you took away from that?”

“You showed me Anders and then some kind of god-like knight in shining armor type person…what was I supposed to get out of that?”

“I…”

“Now, if you don’t mind…” Carver lays down facing the wall with his back to Nate. “I am going to try and get some sleep.”

Nate stays there, speechless, kneeling down beside him for a few more moments. He reaches a hand out toward him — how could Hawke not have seen himself through his eyes? — but pulls it back. He knows how this ends, having been through it all before, and it’s better this way, he thinks. He should consider it a mercy that Hawke’s too blinded by his own insecurity to have realized that the ‘knight in shining armor’ was him.

#dragon age #birthentine's bits #14daysdalovers #nathaniel howe #carver hawke #day 7 #pride #day 11 #envy #carver/nate #previous anders/nate sorta #carver has been through a lot today #prompts #warden hawke #tainted love...whoah-oh.... #sorry #oh wait no the theme song for this fic is supposed to be take on me! #my bad #my writing

[darks-ink]

Disinterred CH.4

Chapter 4: And There Will Be Nowhere I Can Run

Even if (if!) his parents accepted him… What then? Even if the police wouldn’t kick him out because Phantom hadn’t kicked him out, they still saw him as a ghost! And ghosts… ghosts didn’t go to school. They didn’t get jobs. They didn’t get to live.

(the full summary, previous chapters, author notes, content warning, and the links to AO3 and FFnet can be found here)

The ride back to FentonWorks was quite possibly the worst car ride Danny had ever experienced. The driving itself was fine, nothing like the driving he was used to.

No, it was the knowledge of what was to come that tainted the drive over.

He felt like he was heading towards the gallows, ice-cold dread pooling inside him. And the slowly rising guilt he felt over lying to the cops wasn’t helping, either.

It had been for their own sake, mostly. The truth was just so… so unbelievable, so ridiculous. He doubted that they would have believed him if he had told them the truth. No, it was better to play along. And clearly Sam and Tucker agreed, as they had followed along with the lies as well. He just hoped that it wouldn’t come back to bite him.

Which, more than likely, it would. He wasn’t sure how, yet, but he knew how these things tended to go. Ever since the Accident things just kept going wrong.

And, honestly. Everything about this situation was begging for things to go wrong. There was no positive outcome to this whole mess, not really. Even if, from here on out, everything went perfectly… It still wouldn’t be good. His parents would know, at least partly.

And the police thought him dead. Even if (if!) his parents accepted him… What then? Even if the police wouldn’t kick him out because Phantom hadn’t kicked him out, they still saw him as a ghost! And ghosts… ghosts didn’t go to school. They didn’t get jobs.

They didn’t get to live.

So Danny didn’t think it likely that the police would let him carry on with his life, either. Unless he admitted the truth to them.

Which probably would just get him in even more of a mess.

So, yeah. The combined force of his dread and his guilt was starting to get overwhelming.

Danny tried to focus on calming himself down. He took a deep, if somewhat shaky, breath. Tried to clear his thoughts, to stay in the present.

Calm down Fenton, he bit at himself. You’ve faced off against ghosts like Pariah Dark, but you’re scared of your own parents? They love you, they’ll accept you, and it’ll be fine. They don’t even know you’re Phantom! They have no reason to hate you!

Despite his own assurances, and those of the cops accompanying him, Danny still felt danger loom over him. He was sure his parents would accept him, ghost or not. They had done so before, in other timelines. When his dark alternate future attacked, and with Freakshow. Hell, even his weird alternate-timeline parents that didn’t even know him accepted him!

But… His parents were volatile. Quick to react to danger. The upcoming conversation had to be handled carefully, the news broken gently. If he had been given more time, he would have called Jazz, so she could try to disarm their parents. At the very least, she could have acted like a protective barrier.

Unfortunately everything had happened so quickly that he hadn’t had a chance to contact her. The whole thing at the police station had been so overwhelming that he hadn’t really thought of what was going to happen, not until he sat down in the car. Well, not until they started driving and he finally got a chance to work through everything that had happened.

And that had allowed the reality of the upcoming conversation to settle in, which had led to his current situation of… well, everything. He just hoped that the officers knew what they were doing. The Fentons and their hostile reactions to ghosts were known throughout all of Amity Park, so surely detective Payton would know to handle the conversation with care. Right?

He was broken out of his introspection when the bright neon sign of FentonWorks came into sight. They had reached his home, simultaneously all too soon, and not soon enough.

Danny followed the cops to the front door, still trying to cork up his overworked emotions. He was so occupied that he didn’t even listen to the conversation between the police and his parents. Didn’t think about how this must look to them; him being led inside by two cops.

If he had, he would’ve seen their expressions. Their worry, their fear, their uncertainty. But he didn’t.

When they were allowed in Danny simply trailed after them, into the living room, where he slumped into a chair.

He heard detective Payton clear his throat and snapped out of his thoughts, cringing slightly at the worried expressions on his parents’ faces. Luckily he was saved from trying to explain himself by detective Payton, who drew the attention back to himself by starting to talk.

“So, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton. As you know, we recently found the body of a dead teenager in the woods near Amity Park.”

His mom frowned, glancing between the officer and Danny. “Yes. But how is this related to Danny?”

“Well, we successfully identified the body-” Oh no, nope. Too brash. They needed to break this to his parents with more care. “-and we’ve received statements confirming it,” the man just kept talking, completely oblivious to Danny’s panicking. He tried to catch Payton’s attention, but only succeeded in catching officer Carver’s before Payton uttered the damning words.

“The body belongs to your son, Daniel Fenton.”

Danny froze up. His fingers dug into the armrests of the chair with almost enough force to tear them, as he anxiously gazed at his parents. His mental cursing fell silent, the overwhelming dread finally washing away, taking all his other emotions with it until he just felt numb.

The expressions on his parents’ faces hardened. Their hands shifted to reach towards the anti-ghost weapons they carried, and yep, this was going exactly as he feared. But he stayed still, frozen in place. He could see, from the corner of his eye, that the two cops were silently communicating. But he ignored it in favor of watching his parents.

The moment was broken when his mother swung up an ecto-gun, which was swiftly knocked aside by officer Carver.

The shot just barely missed Danny, so close that he could feel the pulsing energy whiz by. He panicked and went intangible on instinct, driven by years of ghost hunting, and fell through the chair.

He hadn’t intended to show off his ghost powers, not yet… But he guessed that he had no choice anymore.

“A dirty ghost replaced our son! Some filthy piece of ectoplasm killed our Danny and replaced him!”

He hit the floor behind the chair, crouching to use it as cover. The roaring voice of his dad was loud, but Danny barely heard it. The sound of his blood rushing muted everything else. The thudding of his heart was overpowering.

“Please calm down! We assure you that no ghost killed your son-”

He ignored the shouting match between the cops and his parents momentarily to focus on himself. He could feel adrenaline bubbling up. His core released ghostly energy into his body in answer, and he was struggling to stop himself from transforming. Could barely stop the brilliant white sparks from forming.

“And how can you be so sure?! It’s been pretending to be our son for lord knows how long, how do you know it didn’t lie about-”

He blocked out the rest of his mom’s yelling as he pulled the energy back into himself as much as possible. He managed to restrain the urge to transform, but he was fairly sure that his eyes were glowing green nonetheless. If the cops saw they would probably ask him about it… but it was better than a full-out shift.

Finally, he allowed himself to focus back on the events happening. His parents were still shouting, but he had heard them slinging insults at Phantom enough to tune it out. A rather sad thought, really. But he would work with whatever he had, at least for the moment.

Danny hesitated, uncertain of what he should do next. He knew that if he had come on his own, he would have fled, but the cops likely wouldn’t take that well. They might have believed him, and Sam and Tucker, when they told the story about his accident, but still. Ghosts were suspicious, and a ghost that ran from police intervention… That was just asking for trouble, really.

He bit his lip, uncertain, before deciding that he had to somehow inform the cops that he wasn’t sticking around for this any longer. Surely they would understand that he wouldn’t stay? The situation had become too volatile, and he didn’t want to get shot. That was okay, right?

Glancing around the chair, Danny managed to catch the eye of detective Payton. He jerked his head towards the door and blinked out of sight for a short moment, trying to communicate his intentions to the man without alerting his parents.

Thankfully, Payton understood what Danny meant. Or well, Danny thought he did, because the man nodded almost imperceptibly. He did seem a little thrown off, but Danny wasn’t sure what had caught the man off-guard; the volatile reaction from his parents, the sudden change in eye-color, or the display of his ghost powers?

That last one, probably. Almost everyone who knew about his ghostly abilities was thrown off when he used them in human form. Apparently it was unnerving to see someone so human do things only ghosts could do. He never really thought about it like that. From the start, the lines had been blurred. He couldn’t count how many times he had almost gotten caught because his powers activated in human form.

Danny took Payton’s nod as the dismissal it probably was and turned himself invisible. He lingered for another moment, watching the chaos in the living room.

His parents and the police were in the middle of a heated discussion. Neither side could convince the other, or so it seemed. Danny knew with certainty that the police wouldn’t be able to convince his parents. Jazz would have to take care of it when she came home.

He turned himself intangible and launched himself at the nearest wall, phasing through it.

Once outside, Danny looked around to make sure no one could see him, before releasing his invisibility and intangibility. He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to calm down again. He had to stop and think for a moment, figure out what to do next.

Feeling marginally calmer, he checked if he still had his phone on him. Thankfully he did, and he shot a quick text in his group chat with Sam and Tucker, asking if he could stay over at one of their houses. He was sure that they would accept, if they could. They had been there during the conversation at the police station, after all, and knew that Danny was going to reveal (part of) his secret to his parents.

He stuffed his phone back into his pocket before either of his friends could answer, though. He could feel his emotions threatening to overwhelm him again. To some degree he was used to his parents talking bad about ghosts, about Phantom. But now they were talking about him. Actual Danny Fenton him.

And it hurt. Even if they meant well. If they only wanted to protect him. It still hurt.

His core released even more ghostly energy in response to his fluctuating emotions, and Danny groaned.

No, it was better if he went on patrol first. He had to blow off some steam, vent away some of this adrenaline and energy.

He let go of the reins on his ghostly core, letting the cold power flood over him. The crackling blue-white energy circled him, and once it faded away, Danny Phantom was left standing where Danny Fenton had been.

Danny glanced back at the house, his house, before shaking his head to clear his thoughts. Instead he turned himself invisible once more, then launched off into the air. He regained his visibility again somewhere in the clouds, speeding away from the alley where he had been.

After a short bout of flying and an unusually vicious fight against the Box Ghost, Danny settled on a random rooftop. He pulled out his phone, grimacing at the mass of messages from both of his friends. Apparently they had gotten worried.

Maybe he shouldn’t have send a message asking to stay over at their places before going quiet. Whoops.

He sat down on the edge of the roof, legs hanging down. Then he texted back an apology, explaining that he had to go relieve some tension.

As always, his friends were more than understanding. Within moments, Sam offered up her place for Danny to stay.

‘my parents hate yours,’ she texted. ‘no way that the Fentons will come looking for you’

He had to admit that her reasoning was sound. Unfortunately, there was a bigger problem with that idea.

‘true,’ he send back. ‘but your parents also hate me.’

Sam started typing something back, but Tucker interfered before she got her message done. ‘besides, he’s always welcome to come over for dinner at my place. my mom would love to have him.’

‘fine’ was what Sam ended up texting back. She must’ve deleted her previous text when she received Tucker’s. ‘but i’m coming over too.’

Danny was glad to hear it. He still wasn’t feeling great, even after venting some of his emotions on the Box Ghost. But his friends… They always found a way to make things better.

And he could really use that right now.

‘tuck, can you let your parents know that i’ll stay for dinner? i don’t think that it’ll be safe to come home by dinnertime.’ A sad message to send, but the sad truth. He wasn’t sure when Jazz would come home, but he highly doubted that she could get his parents to change their mind that quickly.

‘will do,’ Tucker replied. ‘come over soon, ok?’

‘i’ll fly another lap around amity and then i’ll be there.’ Danny waited another moment as Sam finished up her message.

‘i’m on my way now. see you soon danny.’

He smiled at the support of his friends, even if he wasn’t quite feeling it. Not yet. But that would come, once he got over there. He was sure of it.

First he needed to release some more frustration. And flying… Flying had always been his favorite power. There was something freeing about being up in the sky.

Danny stuffed his phone back into one of the pockets of his jumpsuit and got up. He balanced on the edge of the building for a moment before letting himself fall.

His flight took over before he hit the ground and he zipped away.

Not much later, Danny rung the bell of the Foley household. Mrs. Foley let him in with a smile, and he quickly made his way over to Tucker’s room, where both of his friends were already waiting.

Danny listlessly dragged himself over to a nearby beanbag. He sunk into the seat with a groan, burying his head in his hands. The dread he had been feeling ever since leaving the police station had not only returned, but had also smoothly transitioned back into panic. He was starting to feel worn out from the emotionally heavy day.

“So, what happened? Because we just kind of assumed that things went wrong, but you haven’t told us anything yet.”

Danny groaned again, acknowledging that Sam had spoken but delaying his need to answer for a moment longer. Eventually he dragged his hands off of his face, however, so he could properly answer her question.

“Well, long story short, that’s pretty much what happened. Payton and Carver came with me, they decided to tell my parents themselves, but my parents flipped out. And since they were trying to shoot me I left.” He shrugged, trying to somehow wordlessly express the mess of emotions he was feeling.

Thankfully his friends were adept both at reading his emotional state and at dealing with said emotional state. Tucker rolled over on his bed to look at him, and Sam moved her chair closer to him so she could lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Danny, calm down. Things might seem like a mess right now, but everything will be fine,” Sam assured him. Danny felt his warring emotions settle down, and he smiled hesitantly at Sam.

“Yeah dude, you’ve got the police on your side and everything! And even if they can’t get through to your parents, Jazz can deal with them when she gets home.”

“I guess so.” Danny sighed. “I’m just worried about this whole thing. Even if things get figured out with my parents, I can’t just go back to how things were. I mean, the police think that I’m dead.”

“Danny, we’ll figure something out, I promise. We can always tell them about you being Phantom, that should warm them up to you a little more.” Sam smiled at him, a warm and comforting gesture that didn’t suit her goth nature.

“But-”

“Dude, don’t,” Tucker interrupted. “You’ve done so much for this city. You’re allowed to benefit from it for once.”

“I- I guess.” Danny offered them an apologetic smile. “Sorry for freaking out so much on you guys, it’s just...”

“It’s been a long few days, we know,” Sam soothed him, now rubbing his shoulder with the hand that still laid there. “We’ll deal with it, like we deal with everything.”

Tucker rolled to the side of the bed, slinging his feet down to settle them on the floor. “And you know what you need? A hearty Foley family dinner!”

Danny laughed, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Yeah, alright. Are we still on for patrol afterwards?”

“Please, can’t you just not worry for like, a second?” Seeing that Danny was about to protest, Sam continued speaking. “We’ll go on patrol, like always. But the city won’t burn down just because you’re taking an evening for yourself, okay?”

He sighed but didn’t protest. If Sam had her mind made up about something, it was almost impossible to go against her, and he didn’t have the energy for it right now. Instead he dropped his head backwards, flattening himself into the beanbag, and pressed his hands against his eyes.

Everything will be fine, he mentally reprimanded himself. Don’t worry so much. You’ve dealt with things way worse than this, and you’ve always come out on top. This is no different.

But for some reason, the assurances felt hollow, and did little to hold back the ever-present dread.

#danny phantom #dp fanfiction #dp fanfic #phanfiction #phanfic #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #hey look i posted a bonus chapter after all! #i'll upload the next one this wednesday btw so the schedule isn't gonna change #next up is chapter 5: I'm Still Here But Not Completely #dark writes #disinterred #haha whoops i forgot to use my actual writing tags on this

[captainderyn]

“ i really need you to hug me right now. ”

This has been sitting in my ideas folder for literal months at this point and I’ve only just got the energy and headspace to write it. 

Warnings: Hardcore angst, character death, spoilers for All That Remains in DA2 (if y’all have played through that quest you know why)

Briar Hawke/Anders

(“You’re mother didn’t show up for her weekly visit.”

That alone hadn’t been enough to put a chill into Briar’s bones, none of the Hawke family had been particularly fond of Gamlen since their rise into Hightown and surely her mother had simply run into a delay in the marketplace instead of suffering their weekly meeting. Or perhaps, Bethany and Briar hadn’t been fond of Gamlen. For some reason Mother still tolerated him. 

So, she had crossed her arms, cocked her hip and had a sharp retort ready on her lips when Bodahn wandered into their conversation and dried her retort right in her mouth. “Maybe she’s simply with her suitor.”

That couldn’t be right, Leandra had no suitors. She hadn’t looked at another man sideways since father had passed, not any that Briar knew of. It wasn’t as though her mother would have snuck around like some teenager either, she was a grown woman with two grown daughters, she didn’t need to. She echoed the sentiment out loud, mirrored by Gamlen’s own. At least on that, they could agree. 

“Well, those lilies arrived for her this morning.” Idle flowers, resting on the corner table in a simple vase, crisp white petals only just starting to wilt and brown at the edges from the ongoing heat of the hearth. Briar hadn’t even taken note on them when she had walked in.  

No. No. That wouldn’t…

“The killer…” Though Briar’s voice had hardly been above a croaking breath, both Bodahn and Gamlen’s eyes snapped to her, her uncle’s voice cutting into her shock like a knife when the thought struck her. . 

“What?” 

Briar was already shaking her head, a tremor starting deep in her gut and working into her voice. “There’s a killer, he always sends his victims white lilies, he’s killed several women already.”

That wasn’t what was happening. Mother was fine, she had simply taken a different route, or run into a bit of a crowd at the market. 

“Leandra is fine, that can’t be right.” Gamlen’s own uncertain words echoed her own thoughts, perhaps the last time they’d see eye to eye on anything. “She must have just taken a different path. I should go wait for her, laugh about all this fuss.” 

Then he was gone and Briar was tearing into her room, all shaking hands, and wide eyes as she tied her sword and scabbard around her waist, abandoning her armor when her fingers wouldn’t work the clasps. She just needed proof, she just needed to see that this was all some laughable overreaction. 

“Mistress Hawke!” Bodahn called even as she shouldered past and into the streets of Kirkwall’s Hightown, scanning the crowds and hoping that she’d see the face of her mother, smiling at her and her silly notion that she had ever been in danger. 

She found no one.)

Her heart stopped when she found the blood, slicking Darktown’s dirty streets and staining the wooden stairs deep, rusty brown. “It leads somewhere, the blood leads somewhere.” She babbled uselessly, reeling even as her feet carried her forward and her eyes carried her down, down the swirling pattern of that blood peppering the streets. 

“They’re here somewhere, they have mother. Mother!” She had been raising her voice now every few strides, there was never a response. No face that turned towards her was Leandra’s, and no one stepped forward to calm the terrified young woman screaming for her mother like a lost child. 

(She had run from Hightown to Darktown, near tumbling down the steps that led from Kirkwall’s best to Kirkwall’s worst, and slammed into the door of his clinic before her fumbling hands had the chance to attempt the latch. 

“Anders!” If she screamed loud enough maybe she could drown out the fear pumping her heart faster than her breathing could keep up and maybe she could drown out the thoughts of those pearly white flowers, taunting her on the corner side table, and the thought of the killer’s hands on her mother. 

Her hands beat on the wood palms down, forehead against the splintered wood grain as she all but collapsed against it. “Anders!” 

The mage barely had time to open the splintered door, hands on her shoulders as she tumbled forward before she the words rushed from her, tripping and scattering in all directions. Her hands locked on his arms and when she brought her eyes up she saw the crisp eyes of a healer assessing her as if he thought her to be injured. No…no this was far worse than any injury. He shouldn’t be worried about her, he should be worried about--

“Anders, they’ve taken mother. They’ve taken her and I don’t know where she is and they’ve left lilies and I don’t know where she is and she’s somewhere, but where–”)

 “Mother!” The cry that had been building for what felt like hours ripped painfully free of her chest, her vision tunneling to the prone figure across a wooden board set up like a cot, seeing only the shock of white hair, the similar cut of the dresses that were so in fashion to her mother and the older ladies of Kirkwall. “Moth–” When her hand on the shoulder met no resistance, the body of a woman resembling but not being Leandra flopping over onto her back, eyes boring sightless into Briar’s, she shrieked again--a terrified wail born of fear and disgust. 

Then, scribbled notes scattered around, notes in a rushed hand on preservation, textures of skin, eye colors, all building into one sick and twisted image that Briar barreled past. This wasn’t happening, the answer lining in up in front of her wasn’t true.

“Briar!” Anders’ hand snatched at her as her sprint stumbled into a halt, dust pooling around her as she fell to her knees. While his hands steadied her on her shoulders–neither he nor Varric, nor even Isabela, had been able to do anything to stop her frantic run through the streets of Kirkwall and had finally decided just to sprint after her–she dug into the dust, her hands pulled from the dust a broken and trampled on locket. 

“I know this locket.” Letting her head fall back she stared hard at the ceiling, everything starting to spin around her as her word narrowed another inch. “it belongs to mother. It’s mother’s, why is mother’s locket down here?” 

Their eyes drifted up among the scattered papers and notes, tables and torn books, to fix on a painting fixed above a gruesome mantle and Briar’s horror condensed into one whimpering moan. “I need to find Mother, I need to find her now.” 

“I was wondering when you’d arrive.” Briar only saw the man at the other end of the room, staring at her with unfocused and serene eyes, swaying on his feet when they charged into their only possible option, all other tunnel’s dead ending. “Leandra was so sure you’d come for her.” 

She hated the tremble in her voice, putting her back to being a child, crying after a horrible nightmare into her parent’s arms. “Where is she?” 

“You will never understand…chosen because she was special..part of something greater..”

The words floated by her ears like water in a river, a shaking hand jabbing a finger at the man as her voice rose. “Where is my mother?”

“I have done the impossible.” Only then did Briar see the oaken chair behind him, the sound of shifting silk. “I have touched the face of the Maker and lived.” 

Already she was taking a step back, the rank smell curling her nose, and already her friends were at her back, reaching for her but froze halfway, all eyes fixed just as her’s were. “I pieced her together from memory. Her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers, I’ve found it all. And at last, I found her face, her beautiful face.” 

The shifting silk stood, wavering on its feet like a doll on strings, toddling after the mage and facing them fully. 

Only then, did Briar look into sightless blue eyes, pallored grey skin, and cry soundlessly, mouth gaping and lungs convulsing as they searched for air that she couldn’t remember how to get. Her heart worked into her throat, choking her, and her stomach plummeted into the ground at her feet, threatening to spill what little was left in her stomach. 

She didn’t remember the mage falling, only turning and catching the staggering woman in her arms. “Mother!”. Without the man’s power, she sagged heavy, bringing Briar to her knees. The putrid scent of decay swirled around her, watering her eyes with far more than just revulsion and horror, even as she cradled her mother’s shoulders in her arms and laid her across her lap. 

Just as Leandra had done with Carter, broken and laid across the stones by the Ogre. Just as Briar had done with Bethany, shuddering from the Taint as they waited for the Grey Wardens in the Deep Roads. 

“That man’s magic was the only thing keeping her alive. Briar…I’m…” Anders’ voice faded into white noise as her mother lifted a trembling hand towards Briar’s cheek, only for it to fall limply back to her chest. 

“I knew you would come.”

“Mother, don’t move.” Briar’s voice wavered, pleading and demanding all in the same breath. “I’m going to get you help, I’m going to…”

She fell silent at her mother’s hush, tears gathering on her lashes and falling in streams down her cheeks. 

“Don’t fret darling, that man would have kept me trapped. Now I am free. I can see Carver, and you’re father again.” Each breath rattled and rasped in her throat, continuing on even as Briar shook her head on every syllable. No, she didn’t want to be alone. She couldn’t be alone. “But you’ll be here alone..”

“I failed you, mother. I came too late. I should’ve found you sooner, been stronger..I’m sorry.” Sobbing, Briar’s revulsion did not rear it’s head when Leandra’s cold, bloated hand found her arm. 

“My little girl, you’ve done your best, you’ve been so strong and I love you. You’ve made me so proud.” With her last exhalation, as though exhausted by her words, Leandra went limp, clouded eyes finding the ceiling in an unseeing gaze. 

As though all her strings were cut too, Briar bowed over her mother’s body, shaking until it became unbearable and an anguished scream ripped from her raw throat. A second and a third, more agonized wails delving into panicked cries for her mother; the scent of death surrounding and suffocating her until someone’s arms went around her, pulling her up and away. Twisting to the side, she retched, body spasming against the revulsion that built and built and built alongside the grief. 

Someone’s hands on her shoulder, another brushing her hair back from her face until pulling her up to her feet. Unable to support herself, unable to find who, she just buried her head against their shoulders and shook. 

Someone deposited her at their–her, now, she’s the sole member of her family with a claim to the walls and floors around her–estate, settling her in a chair with some mumbled promise that they’ll be back. She nodded lifelessly and stared into the flames, watching them dance back and forth. 

“Did you find her?” 

He didn’t even bother to knock, didn’t bother to announce himself. Instead, her uncle barged into the room, trampling down the stairs, with little regard to his sister’s daughter slowly crumbling to pieces on an old family chair. 

Just as her look was vacant, Briar’s voice was hollow. “She’s gone. I’m sorry, Uncle.” 

She braced herself for the vitriolic response, the shouting and maybe him stamping over to her so that she’ll look him in the eyes and repeat it. She doesn’t expect him to wither on the spot, shoulders slumping in her peripheral. “You were right then, about the flowers. I…she’s gone? Why her? Why Leandra?” 

Hanging her head, pressing her palms against her forehead, Briar heaved a breath and whispered. “I was too late.” 

That’s all the iron Gamlen needed pumped into his bones, enough to stiffen his spine and raise his voice until he was practically screaming acid at her. “So you’re to blame! If you had been stronger, quicker…you could’ve..she could be…”

“I know that!” Briar pushed herself from the chair, stumbling to face Gamlen and clinging white-knuckled to the cushioned back of the chair. Her voice cracked even as she shouted right back, though the acid in her own voice poured back onto her. “I know I should’ve been better, I had to be better and I failed her! It’s my fault and I don’t need you to tell me that!” 

The tension went out of her shoulders and she slumped over the back of the chair, her wrists straining to support her crunched over position. Tears dripped down her nose again and Maker, she felt as though her head was going to burst with the pressure of it all. Voice broken, when Gamlen offered no opposition to her claiming the blame, she said softly; “The killer used Mother to magically recreate his dead wife…had I been earlier..”

“You’re brother, you’re sister, you’re mother…” Gamlen spat at her, disgust seeping from his every word, though he did not finish the thought. “I never should have asked, I wish you hadn’t told me what that twisted son of a bitch did to her.”

“If it’s any consolation, Gamlen, the killer is dead.” Lifting her eyes, twisted with pain even in the firelight, Briar fixed her uncle in a cold stare. “Now please, leave. I will handle writing to Bethany..she deserves to know.” 

By the time Anders cautiously padded to the threshold of her quarters, pausing in the doorframe; she was sitting on the edge of her bed, the skin of her arms rubbed raw from her scrubbing with a cloth now homed in a pink-watered basin in the corner and in a new tunic. The one she had so foolishly run from the estate in only hours previous simmered and crackled in the heart, the flames eating at the blood-stained fabric scented with death slowly. 

“I know nothing that I say will change it…” Anders started slowly, his voice–low and soothing to hear in the silence that had surrounded her since Gamlen’s whirlwind departure–catching her attention. Though she did not take her eyes from the low burning hearth her cheek turned slightly to him, hair cascading like a wall between her face and his. “But for what it’s worth, I’m so sorry.” 

In her lack of response, Anders crossed the distance between them and perched on the bed beside her, not enough for them to touch, not without her say so, but close enough that she could feel his presence. It was…comforting. “You were lucky to have her as long as you did. When the pain fades that’s what will matter.” 

“I failed her. I woulf still have her if I didn’t…if I had..” Briar shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear and then letting her hand bridge across her eyes. 

“She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, she didn’t blame you–” He began, before breaking it off with a weary sigh. “Though that does not make it easier. But, I’m here for you,” and he moved ever so slightly closer, just so that their shoulders touched. “whatever you need.” 

Tired beyond measure, exhaustion clambering deep into her bones, Briar let her head list to rest on Anders’ shoulder. “I just..I just really need you to hug me.” 

Then, Anders wrapped her in his arms, in his warmth, and Briar tucked herself next to him. Curling her knees up in the space between them and her head against his chest, she breathed out and tried to forget the empty estate around her. 

#I answer things! #dragon age 2 #DA2 #femhawke #femhawke/anders #oc: Briar Hawke #otp: Until Dawn Comes #oh look I have time to write again and this is what I do with it #my HEART #my SOUL #all are DEAD from this shit that happens to my poor girl #rewatching this scene to write from was almost as horrifying as my first time playing through it #legit chills #I hate this quest #but I needed to write this #at least 5 months later and its written #..yay?

[of-storms-and-saints-blog]

Part 01: Tainted Hero Chapter 11: A Proper Grey Warden “How do you feel?” Duncan’s face hovered over her own, his expression neutral. A small hint of relief reflected in his eyes. “Like I’ve been trampled by a Gurn . . . And that nightmare . . .” “What did you see?” “The horde . . . Thousands of nightgangers . . . And . . . And a huge dragon . . . The Archdemon.” Duncan nodded. “Now you understand how we know this is a Blight. I’ve arranged a meeting with King Cailan and General Loghain at mid-morning. I want you and Alistair present.” “Me? I’ve only been a Grey Warden for a few minutes.” “I can’t discuss it now, but there’s an important task you and Alistair are best equipped for.” Duncan turned on his heel and left. Brina glanced back at Jory and Daveth. At some point after she passed out, Alistair and Duncan had wrapped the bodies and draped blue flags with the Grey Warden’s silver griffon sigil over them both. Such a waste, but I understand now. Thank you, Korth, for delivering me from such a fate. Alistair sighed heavily. “Two more dead . . . At my Joining only one of us died, but it was . . . Horrible.” They stood in silence for a time. Brina couldn’t erase the images of their deaths from her mind. Without warning, her stomach growled loudly. Sudden hunger brought cramps to her stomach. “By-the-way, you’re going to be very hungry for a few hours. It was a surprise to me too.” Brina shot him a look of irritation. “Thanks . . .” A broad grin spread across Alistair’s face. “Don’t mention it!” “You could have warned me sooner.” “Where’s the fun in that?” Alistair unbuttoned a pouch on his belt and took out a slice of bread wrapped in cheesecloth. “Here, it’s not much, but it will get you between here and the breakfast fire at the Warden’s Camp.” The hunger prompted Brina to snatch the bread from his hand and devour it in two bites. After she swallowed the last mouthful, her eyes grew in embarrassment and horror. She covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what’s come over me.” Alistair laughed. “I told you! Go get some food. I’ll take care of everything here.” Brina nodded and went down the steps. She turned at the bottom. Alistair had knelt between both bodies with his head in one hand. This . . . This is only the beginning, isn’t it? Brina, what have you gotten yourself into? She followed the scent of food; eggs, sausages, flatbreads, various roasting meats and fish from the Wilds. Vegetables were somewhat scarce with winter so close at hand. As long as the battle was soon, what food remained would last the journey home, however far it might be. So long as they won. Brina found herself back at the infirmary. It had become familiar. Sister Paulette greeted her with a smile. “Good morning, Sister . . . Ah . . . May I have some of that?” Over the central fire were several pans. One had sliced sausages and scrambled eggs. Brina’s mouth watered and her stomach growled again. “Of course!” “My thanks.” Paulette handed Brina a full plate. She then went to a nearby table and sliced a chunk of bread and spread some butter on it. “Here. A shipment from Rainesfere came in just before you arrived. They haven’t sent soldiers, but at least they are helping . . .” Brina struggled with her food. She wanted to eat it in a single gulp, but she forced herself to eat slowly, one bite and a time. “What is your name, Sister?” Paulette’s face turned red. “I’m sorry, I never introduced myself! My name is Sister Paulette.” “Where are you from?” “Edgehall, originally. I lived in Honnleath for a time when I was little. Then my family moved to Denerim. It was there I joined the Chantry. Being the youngest of six with few prospects, it made the most sense. What about you? I know you’re Avvar . . . But that’s it.” Brina swallowed a particularly large bite. Her appetite was getting the better of her. “My hold is the- was . . . The Black Wolf Hold. I am called Brina Ulriksdotten, daughter of Ulrik Brynjolfsen. He was the Master of Hunt. Considered the best in our region even among the other holds. He was such an expert, the Thane depended on him during war times for organization. My Ma was Aela Caldansdotten O Stone Bear Hold.” Brina laughed to herself at the thought of a story she was once told. “You know, my Da was so good at hunting and tracking, he managed to sneak into Stone Bear, steal my Ma, and sneak out without even leaving footprints. What makes it even more impressive was the fact he had announced he would sneak in that night and challenged the Thane into doubling the guard and having them watch for him.” Paulette nearly dropped her cup. “He stole her? I don’t understand. That’s so . . . That’s so-” “Barbaric?” Brina raised her brows. Paulette blushed again. Brina laughed. “‘Ts all right. I know how it sounds. That’s how it’s done.” Brina paused and took a drink of water, noting that Paulette was listening very intently. “She was willing and even helped. The Thane of Stone Bear was so impressed that he pledged a blood oath to our hold . . . If only they had known we needed help . . .” “What do you mean?” “Do you know how Duncan recruited me?” “The Warden-Commander?” “He was visiting the hold when I underwent my ritual to become a shaman . . . The hold was attacked by nightgangers. Darkspawn. It happened so fast, during the night. No warning. No time to react. Too many for my hold to take.” Paulette's hands were over her mouth. “Oh . . . I- I had no idea . . . I'm s- . . . I'm so sorry, Brina.” Brina shook her head. “I will not rest until every last one of those bastards is dead. It may not bring back my hold, and I'm sure there are too many nightgangers for me to take alone, but I'm going to try.” “I . . . I think I would too . . . were I in your place.” Brina finished off her stew and bread. “Thank you again, Paulette. How are Carver and Aveline? The injured soldiers from yesterday?” “Aveline's fine. Senior Enchanter Wynne completely healed her. She'll go back to the main camp today. Carver-” A commotion broke out. A large man with messy jet black hair and blue eyes tried to force his way between the guards at the entrance. His armor bore no sigil. In fact, it appeared his armor was pieced from multiple sets and were ill-fitted for someone as burly as he was. “I need to see my brother! I need to see Carver!” “Ser, you cannot just barge in here! The patients here need rest to heal.” From across the infirmary, Wynne approached calmly. She placed a hand on one guard's shoulder and the other on Carver's brother's arm. The men stopped struggling. “Ma'am, are you in charge here? Please, how is Carver? I only just heard. When the soldiers didn't report back this morning, I thought he was dead! But he is here . . . I must see him. Please.” Wynne turned to the guards. “It's all right. Let him in. I will take him to his brother.” The guards released him. “Thank you. Where is he?” “This way. What is your name, Ser?” “Garrett. Garrett Hawke.” Wynne and Garrett approached a tent, where Brina assumed Carver was being kept. “What? What are you doing here?” That was Carver's voice, I think. “What do you mean, 'what am I doing here?' I thought you were dead and then found out you were here. I came to see if you were okay!” “I'm sure you did. You came to gloat because you came back from your scouting mission unscathed.” “Well . . . I- . . . No. All right, maybe. Did you at least get the bastard that did that?” “Do you really care?” “Yes. I need to know you aren't going to go on a revenge rampage.” “Yes, I got him.” “Good. You won't be able to participate in the main battle tomorrow.” “What? They said I'd be good to go!” “I say you're not.” “That's not fair! You're not Mother. You're not Father either!” “Carver . . .” “No! Say it. Say I'm going to be at the battle!” “I just don't think you're ready.” “I'm going. I don't care what you say.” “You-” Garrett cut himself off before growling. He was silent for a moment. “Fine, but you will be at my side the whole time. Mother can't know. Or Marian . . . Or Bethany for that matter. This is between you and me.” Brina couldn't see them, but Carver's voice dripped with sarcasm. “Yes, Mother.” Garrett sighed loudly. “How do you feel?” “Fine.” “I'll . . . I'll let you rest . . .” Garrett emerged from the tent, rubbing his face. Under his breath, as he passed Brina and Paulette, he muttered, “Fucking little shit. He's damn lucky I love 'im.” Brina glanced at Paulette. “Well . . . That answers that . . . I must be going.” “Oh! All right.” Brina made her way to the Grey Warden Camp to find Alistair. At the entrance, another guard stood watch. At first, he eyed her suspiciously but seemed to recognize her. “Warden Brina?” “Aye.” “A messenger was just sent to find you. Report to Warden Constable Amaya. She has some equipment for you.” “Where is she?” “Follow this row. Third on the right.” Brina followed the row and stopped at the third tent on the right. The flap was tied open. She bent to glance inside. “Well don't just stand there. Come on in.” “Oh!” She entered the tent but was unable to stand upright. The tent was too short for her. As her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit tent, Brina was surprised. Warden Constable Amaya was a dwarf. Her hair was shoulder length and mostly grey. Half of it was pulled back into a ponytail. What was surprising to Brina, was the fact that most female dwarves she had encountered kept a clean-shaven face. Amaya had thick mutton chops on her cheeks and a long braided goatee that was tucked into her belt. This dwarf was obviously a warrior. Her armor was made of thick plate. The few bits of visible leather and cloth were dyed blue, matching the Grey Warden sigil that decorated most of the tent's furnishings. Inside the tent sat a cot and a table covered in maps and messages. A gigantic, very thick two-handed hammer was propped against the bed. A large number of mugs laid about as well. It was then Brina realized the air smelled heavily of liquor. It was almost enough to make Brina feel warm and fuzzy. “So, I see you survived the Joining. Good thing, too. We lost every single recruit in the last three groups.” Amaya never once looked up at Brina; instead she was focused on one particular map in front of her. “Be prepared for nightmares until the sodding Archdemon is dead. Then get used to it. Drinking helps sometimes. Drowns it out.” Amaya looked at her. “Until then, you need better gear. You can keep your staff . . . Or whatever that is, but we have armor that will better protect you from melee and ranged attacks. And, as a Warden, you're expected to bear the sigil.” Amaya gestured at Brina, and they left the tent. Brina was relieved to stretch upright again. She blinked at the bright light. “Normally, I'd tell you that you'll be kept to the back, up high so you can strike at a distance, but the Warden-Commander told me he has a different job for you. So your gear has some modifications.” They walked all the way down the row and stopped in front of a blacksmith. “Hey! Jerome!” The man stopped hammering. “Yes, Warden Constable?” “Is the new recruit's shit done?” “Eh? Oh, yea. It's here. Just got it back from the Tranquil about ten minutes ago.” Blacksmith Jerome went to a chest and pulled out several armor pieces; several layers of chainmail and padded leather, a metal breastplate, bracers and shin guards, a set of rerebraces with griffon-shaped pauldrons, and cuisses. Lastly, she was handed a helmet with griffon wings adorning the sides. “Oh, Sweet Tyrrda's Tits . . . I've never worn anything like this before . . .” Warden Constable Amaya blinked at her. “That's right. I forgot you're a savage. Come, I'll take you to Warden Lorrel. She was one of the last recruits who survived before you. She's also a mage. She can show you how to put on your shit. This way. Thanks, Jerome.” Jerome grunted and resumed hammering. Brina followed Amaya two rows over and back up the direction they had come. They were about seven tents down from the entrance. Both flaps were tied back. “Hey! Lorrel! Help this new Warden.” Amaya turned on her heel and left. Brina stood looking back and forth between the tent and the dwarf. An elf appeared from the darkness. “She's a bit much, 'in't she?” “Ah, aye . . .” “Ya never worn armor before, have ya?” Brina shook her head. “A'ight, com'on. First, take off your outer layers, but keep your small clothes on . . . Trust me. Chaffs less . . . then put this on.” Lorrel tossed one of the chainmail layers at her. Brina noticed it had a soft cloth layer on the inside and had straps that went around her feet and hands to keep the sleeves and legs from riding up. Gaps on the inside of her elbow and knees for improved moving and comfort were also present. Brina noted the flap tied between her legs. And here I thought I'd have to worry about bathroom breaks. “Okay, now this layer.” Lorrel tossed another layer of chainmail. This draped over her like a tunic with straps at the sides. It went down to her knees. Lorrel threw the padded leather. It also hung like a tunic and was about the same length as the chainmail tunic. It was striped blue and white with a black belt around her waist. “I'll help ya with everything else. They're tricky the first couple times.” Lorrel slid the breastplate over Brina's head and tightened the straps. The bracers had leather gloves attached. Brina got them on, and Lorrel tightened the belts. The rerebraces and pauldrons were trickier, but soon they were strapped to her upper arms and shoulders as well. Brina slipped her boots on. The shin guards covered the front of her knees and part of the top of her foot with tiered plate. The cuisses attached to her belt. When it was all on, Lorrel helped her connect them together. “There now! A proper Grey Warden ya are!” “Thank you.” She glanced outside, and a realization hit. Brina's eyes grew wide. “Hakkon's balls, I'm late! I'm sorry, I must go. I need to get to a meeting. Thank you, again!” Brina ducked through the opening of the tent and dashed out of the camp back toward the old temple. On the way out, the guard at the entrance yelled after her. She didn't hear most of it, but managed to catch the words “Alistair” and “war meeting.” She waved behind her.

#fanfiction #dragonage #dragonageorigins #avvar #avvarorigin

[whereismywarden]

Tabris/Alistair - 2, 12, 26; Hawke/Anders - 14, 29, 30; Surana/Carver - 4, 7, 23)

Thanks for asking! That was a lot of fun!

Under the cut, as always.

Tabris x Alistair

2. Big spoon/Little spoon?

Alistair is the big spoon most of the time. He just likes to hold her in his arms for as long as possible, and Tabs likes the comfort of his warmth.

12. Who initiates kisses?

They both do, but Alistair does it more often. Tabs mostly initiates ‘hello’ / ‘thank you’ / ‘goodbye’ types of kisses while Alistair is more spontaneous and will smooch any time he feels like it.

26. What would be their theme song?

It’s a tie between Bruce Springsteen’s Happy:

All I know’s since I found you, I’mHappy when I’m in your armsHappy, darling, come the darkHappy when I taste your kissI’m happy in a love like this

and Kingdom of Days:

With you I don’t hear the minutes ticking by I don’t feel the hours as they fly I don’t see the summer as it wanes Just a subtle change of light upon your face 

Hawke x Anders

14. Who kisses the hardest?

It’s a contest. When one kisses hard, the other tries to match his passion or even top it. But I would say Anders kisses with the most hunger for he fears every kiss might be the last.

29. one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

Anders’ condition has worsened terribly fast ever since Hawke disappeared in the Fade. The only thing stopping him from falling completely over the edge has been his little sister, Surana, who’s been keeping him busy researching the cure. But even then, he’s been letting Justice take control more and more often.

30. one headcanon about this OTP that mends it

After the Kirkwall Rebellion, they spent some time with the children who escaped the Gallows. They taught them a bit of magic, but they mostly just played with them, treating them like normal children and showing them the kindness they’ve been lacking in the Circle.

Bonus: They also met Surana’s daughter during that time and became her dotting uncles. She now wants to become a healer when she grows up.

Surana x Carver

4. Favorite non-sexual activity?

Dancing. His brother might think he’s got the grace of a druffalo, but Carver is actually a surprisingly good dancer. He taught Ana several dances when she told him one of the reasons she avoided going to court was because she would be expected to attend parties, and she didn’t know how to dance. So now, they do it whenever there’s music, whether they are standing in a ballroom or the local tavern.

7. What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

At first they both try to repress their feelings, but fail miserably.

Carver pretends everything is normal, but everytime she enters the room, he becomes flustered and awkward. Ana, on the other hand, goes out of her way to actually avoid him. So Carver ends up thinking she really doesn’t like him and he’s already one foot out of the door when she confesses her feelings.

The other wardens, however, see right through them and make bets on when and who will finally make the first move. Sigrun in particular actively plays matchmaker between them. And while he doesn’t want to get involved in his commander’s personal life, Nathaniel wins the bet.

23. Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Both, really. They like to have back and forth banter, making a game out of which of them can come up with the worst cheasiest line. It’s a tie. Example:

Carver: If you were hotter, you’d be Andraste.

Ana: You know what she said. ’Magic exists to serve man, and nerver to rule over him.’ Well, I’m ready to serve you tonight.

Carver: Are you a mage? Because I certainly seem to be under your spell.

Ana: Come with me and I’ll show you how magical I can be.

Carver: You must be a maleficar, because you’re doing blood magic in my pants.

Ana: You better smite me with that big sword of yours, then.

Carver: I’ll show you my blade if you let me explore your Deep Roads tonight.

Ana: We’ll need to do a little joining of our own first, so I can master your taint.

[Ask me about my Pairings]

#no-id-no-person #jenn speaks #oc ask meme #kallian tabris #ana surana #alwyn hawke #pairing: carana #pairing: tabristair #pairing: handers