#zev: they can’t do it on command

[vigilskeep]

the post asking if the antivan crows can have mages was literally just in favour of a stupid concept where zevran, taking down the antivan crows, finds a mage kid, bluescreens on what to do with it because rogue kids are much easier to rehome, and simply brings it back to surana like. this is one of yours!

#zev: theyre very talented! my dear show the good warden your flame blast #baby mage: i can’t do it on command #zev: they can’t do it on command #surana panicking: you came on a WOODEN BOAT

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

You are a hero to me

(I blame this entirely on @phrenic-a and their glorious writer-baiting. It was meant to be one genre, but of course Zev can't make anything easy for me....)

-

“Ex… Uhm, excuse me? Miss?” A tiny voice says, dragging Zev’sonya out of the conversation she’s currently having with Mose about whether they should bother securing more supplies or not before heading back to the ship and away from this awfully crowded marked. She looks to her left and down, towards the source of the sound, and is both baffled and displeased to find a green, little twi’lek girl standing there and staring at her with big eyes.

“What?” Zev’sonya snaps. Why isn’t anyone looking after this girl? She can’t be more than six or seven years old? She shouldn’t be hassling dangerous strangers who could snatch her up and sell her to slavers. Her guardians deserve a punch in the mouth.

“Are you…” The girl’s gaze slides over and takes in the sight of Mose towering behind Zev’sonya.

Her eyes grow even larger and Zev’sonya reluctantly braces for the inevitable shriek of horror while silently swearing she is indeed going to punch whomever is responsible for letting this little girl wander off.

“Y-you are!” The girl declares and shifts her attention back to Zev’sonya, but with absolute delight all over her face instead of fear. “You’re Zev’sonya Lee Lewna!”

Zev’sonya blinks. She can feel Mose’s confusion as strong as her own. Putting on her gruffest face, she scans the little girl and sees (and feels) nothing out of the ordinary. She’s dressed nicely, but not like a rich kid, is skinny but not malnourished, and has a large, yellow cuddle-toy hanging from her right hand instead her holding any weapon. “How do you know my name, kid?”

The girl leans to the side and outright grins. “And you’re Mose!”

Zev’sonya looks back at him, but he just meets her gaze with his equivalent of raising an eyebrow and underlines it with a faint shrug. No help to be had there. Great. Zev’sonya turns back to the girl and puts on her stern face again. “Listen, kid, I don’t know what you want from me, but you shouldn’t be wandering around on your own.”

“I’m not.” The girl says, then points with her free hand. “They’re right over there.”

‘They’ must be her family and ‘they’ are a twi’lek man and two other little twi’lek girls. The man, clearly someone in Zev’sonya’s trade of shady business, is busy negotiating with a seller and has no idea what is happening beyond that, but the two girls next to him are clutching their own cuddle toys and are staring wide-eyed at their sister talking to strangers. The girl on the left is hugging a raggedy looking human doll while the girl on the right is squeezing a falleen doll tight.

“I told them we might meet you one day! This is so awesome!” The little run-away declares with raw glee.

Zev’sonya shakes her head and scoffs. Not only does this little shrimp know her and Mose’s names, which is weird enough by itself, but she actually wanted to meet them? Is she crazy? “Why?”

“Because…” Now the girl finally lowers her gaze for a moment, suddenly a little shy, but it doesn’t last for long. She flicks her dark eyes up again and now they are beaming with awe. “I wanna grow up and be just like you one day!”

Zev’sonya feels like the kid just slapped her face. Yeah, must be crazy. She considers backing up in case it is contagious. Maybe it is brain-rot? Must be something serious, definitely. “What?”

“The Pyle heist! The Julita caper! The Aand sting! The Silver holdup!” The girl blurts out, increasingly excited. “They were all you.” A sharp gulp of breath is all she has time for before rambling on. “My dad goes away for work a lot of the time, but he always comes back with stories about you. When I was little, I didn’t think a twi’lek girl could be captain of a crew, but he said I was wrong and that’s when he told me about Zev’sonya Lee Lewna. The Pirate Queen! And Mose, her best friend and second in command!”

That’s when Zev’sonya notices that the stuffed doll the girl is holding on to is not something she’s seen for sale at any marked she’s been to. It is a home-made creation; a yellow hutt with brown stripes and big eyes. It is quite raggedy from being brought along to wherever this kid goes. For some reason, the sight of the clear replica of Mose makes Zev’sonya’s heart clench.

“All my sisters do is talk about meeting a prince and getting married and living in his castle, but they also claim that there are no nice hutts, so you know they’re stupidheads. I don’t wanna marry a prince, I wanna be a pirate, like you.” The girl declares with gusto. She swings her doll forward and holds it up for her to see. “I only have Hose right now. But one day I’ll run into a hutt who is nice, like Mose, and they will be on my crew and we’ll go on adventures all over the Galaxy..”

Zev’sonya has no idea what to say to that. Her brain is spinning at how unreal the situation is.

Lowering the toy, the girl tilts her head and studies the blaster hanging by Zev’sonya’s hip before she scans the blades strapped to her thighs. “My dad won’t let me shoot one yet, but I’m really good with my slingshot.”

“That’s… nice.” Zev’sonya awkwardly mumbles. She hears a quiet rumble of amusement from behind her and Mose is clearly handling this better than she is. But that’s because he’s nice and she isn’t! She’s no role-model. She’s a result of a cruel Galaxy. This kid shouldn’t-

“Is it true you even have a human on your crew now?” The little fiend seems far more shocked by this than Zev’sonya travelling around with a hutt by her side.

“Ye-es….” Zev’sonya replies, not sure why she is giving her answers instead of directions back to her family or spraying her with water to make her go away. How does she know about Leo too?!

“Hey, would you mind…” The girl starts, digging into her own pocket for something that she pulls up with a triumphant look on her face. “Signing this?”

The shocks keeps on coming today because Zev’sonya finds herself looking at the unrolling of a wanted poster of her and Mose. It’s an old one. Three or four years ago? That is really not a flattering picture of her. Yikes. Does she really look like that? She's never leaving the ship again.

Mose chortles from behind her.

Ok, this must be some kind of weird dream. Has to be. This can’t be real. No way.

When all Zev’sonya does is stare, the girl gives the poster a brief, suggestive shake.

“Sure.” Mose says, reaching by Zev’sonya and taking the poster to sign it.

Zev’sonya half-turns to stare at him with no small amount of disbelief that only grows when she sees the smile he’s trying in vain to fight off. He’s far too amused by this. Once he’s scribbled down his letters on the holo-surface, he hands it to her with an expectant look on his face.

Scowling, Zev’sonya hesitates for only half a second before signing it and turning to hand it back to the girl. “Here.”

“Thank you!” She says, beaming even more brightly despite how it shouldn’t be possible.

“Sure.” Zev’sonya clears her throat. “Now, go back to your father and don’t wander off again. Okay?”

“Okay.” The girl declares with zero hesitation and endless cheerfulness. “But when I get a little older, can I come work for you? Mom says I should focus on my dancing or singing, but that’s boring, so can I? Pretty please? Can I?”

Trying hard to ignore the long, rumbling chuckle she hears from Mose, Zev’sonya crosses her arms. “Give it ten to fifteen years, if you still feel the same, sure.” She doubts she’ll see this kid again, but there is still something about her that prods Zev’sonya to say the next words. “Just remember, being a twi’lek doesn’t mean you have to sing and dance. You do what you want to do with your life. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Even your mother. You can be whatever you put your mind to.”

Despite how it shouldn’t be possible, the girl’s face grow even brighter with happiness. “I’m going to be just like you!”

Wait, no t-that is not what she meant, absolutely not, but the girl takes off running towards her father and sisters before Zev’sonya can correct her. Then, after the cretin is reunited with her sisters, pointing towards her and Mose and clearly bragging, Zev’sonya spins around to leave in a hurry as their father finally catches on to something happening behind him and turns to investigate. Time to get back to the ship.

Mose is still chuckling when she stalks by him.

“Shut up.” Zev’sonya growls. Her face burns.

Mose outrights laughs.

“I will stab you in the eye!” She threatens, in vain as it has no effect whatsoever.

Back at the ship, Nohr is waiting by the open ramp. The nikto is standing guard and seems very ready for them to leave. He’s the impatient one on the crew. “We good to go?”

“We’re leaving.” Zev’sonya declares as she marches into the ship with Mose right behind her. “Now.”

The ramp starts closing behind them and Zev’sonya knows she should head up to the cockpit and have Bea’tah initiate take-off right away, but on the way she has to walk by the door to her quarters and she can’t help the way her gaze lingers on it.

“Lorda.” Mose says, now all quiet and gentle, stopping by the door. “I’ll head up. You go in.”

Zev’sonya pauses and glares at him.

Mose nods. His eyes are too mild. “You are the captain, Lorda. I know. You decide.” He’s indulging her bad temper and they both know it. “But I can handle the ship and you should check up on him.”

Hesitating, Zev’sonya is torn between her usual dislike of being told what to do and the fact that she actually wants to go inside that room. What happened earlier had left her with a knot in her belly, and now that twi’lek kid has made her head a mess too…

“Go.” Mose encourages. “I got this.”

She does not doubt that for a second. She trusts him without a shadow of a doubt and because of that, she can allow herself to be weak this one time. Zev’sonya exhales and gives in. “Fine.”

Mose nods again, relieved. “Good.” He shuffles by her. “It’s a seventeen hour journey to our next stop, remember? You might as well get some rest while you’re in there.”

“Mind my ship, not my business.” Zev’sonya snipes, uncomfortable. Mose is always looking out for her despite how she’s supposed to keep him safe. A captain watches over her crew, not the other way around. Mose never seems to get that into his head.

“Yes, Lorda.” He replies with ease, clearly not intending to heed her words at all. And people call her the stubborn one?

Stepping inside the room, Zev’sonya leans back against the door and pauses for a bit to take in the sight that greets her.

Lying on his back, arms by his sides, Leo is still fast asleep on the bed. As expected. As he should be. This morning’s attack had come out of nowhere and for several seconds that had felt like years, Zev’sonya had been convinced that the medicine had suddenly stopped working and that he would die in front of her. She had not felt so afraid and helpless since Mose was poisoned.

Taking a deep breath, Zev’sonya pushes herself away from the door and walks over to sit down next to Leo. He looks pale, but peaceful. No fear. Nothing like during the incident. He’s breathing deep and slow. She takes his hand in hers and forces herself to smile. “You’re going to be so angry when you hear you missed out on meeting someone as crazy as you.” His hand is warm and the contact feels reassuring so she places her other hand over his. “This twi’lek kid, she came right up to me and Mose and started talking to us. No sense of self-preservation.” Zev’sonya breathes a faint laugh of reluctant admiration. “No brain.” She shakes her head, weirdly… flattered? “You would have liked her. She said…”

- I wanna grow up and be just like you one day!

While Zev’sonya knows she’s anything but a role model, the idea that a twi’lek girl might break free from the booth others want to put her in, or even give a deserving hutt a chance because she heard stories about Zev’sonya and Mose, it is dangerously uplifting. And though the girl has horrible taste in heroes and the odds stacked high against her even before she starts her journey, Zev’sonya hopes she makes it. She really hopes she makes it.

Hmm, Leo is going to be a dreadful nightmare when he hears about this. (He won’t hear it from her but Mose is definitely going to tell him. Those two love to conspire against her.) His old nickname is going to be used a lot. “She said something crazy.” Zev’sonya says, easing down to lie next to the sleeping Leo. Everything in her wants to curl up close, wrap herself around him, place her head on his chest and listen to him breathe, but she only allows herself to hold on to his hand. It’s not much, but it’s more than what she’s allowed herself in the past. “You’re going to love it.”

The ship gently shudders as they take off and head towards the stars. Technically it is barely mid-day where they are right now, but the standard time teller tells Zev’sonya the ship will swap to night-mode soon and she realizes Mose must have known as he told her to get some rest. The different time zones between parsecs, even between some planets, can leave a traveller severely sleep deprived if one is not careful and that could get you killed in Zev’sonya’s line of work.

Fine. Sleep it is. For purely practical reasons.

Zev’sonya absently runs her index finger back and forth over Leo’s warm hand as she quietly starts listing up names of people she’s never met, except for one. Even if she’d been ignorant of Hauroko’s fate, Zev’sonya would have known it is souls Leo has lost from the grief she feels radiating from him every evening when he speaks their names. She suspects it is his way of keeping them alive in memory at least and as he won’t be able to tonight, Zev’sonya will keep them alive for him.

Zev’sonya Lee Lewna is not a hero. She’s not even a good person. But she is curled up next to one.

-

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #zev'sonya #leo aka leave-it #the one-shots start coming and they don't stop coming #someone please take the internet away from me #leave-it aka leo #dat song tho #Youtube

[melvinthedepressedrobot]

rambling about characters from my convoluted Dragon Age personal canon bc @bluerose5 asked the other day and I forgottttt (part 1 of idk how many because I HAVE A LOT, but for now u get the Big Three and a couple side characters)

okay so, first up, we have Breick Tabris AKA The Only Gay In The Alienage

A quiet, generally even-tempered young man with a strong sense of justice, never really wanted to be a leader but took it in stride because it was the right thing to do. Took him a while to warm up to the humans in the party, but he opened up a lot more after they picked up Zev and ended up very close with him in particular. Went through with the ritual with Morrigan at Zevran's insistance (and, ah, assistance) and stuck around as Warden Commander for a while before eventually leaving with Zev to search for a cure, leaving a mage they picked up at the tower, Camryn Amell, in charge.

More than anything, Camryn wants peace and bloody quiet, and if she has to set a hoard of darkspawn on fire to get it, so be it. Left in the mage tower after Jowan buggered off, she joined with Wynne after the party helped solve the abomination infestation, and underwent the joining ritual after the Blight. She comes off as abrasive, but she's a good'un, and keeps the Fereldan wardens well in line. Whilst Loghain was recruited into the wardens, she was actually the warden that met up with the Inquisitor through Hawke.

Despite being "cousins something-something-removed", Delilah "Lilah" Hawke seems to have little in common with Camryn - she's bright, loud and impulsive, and can't sit still for more than a minute. She finds making friends easily (and enemies even easier) and loves fiercely - be that her family, friends, or the eventual relationship she forges with Isabela - and, paired with her complete inability to mind her own business, this made the path to becoming the Champion of Kirkwall was a relatively straightforward one. The deaths of her mother and sister, and Carver contracting the taint and having to join the wardens, however, left her with a lot of guilt and Lilah ultimately sacrificed herself in the fade for her cousin and the Inquisitor.

Born into the Lavellan clan, Ala was taken from her family at a young age by slavers, ending up in Antiva after a narrow escape, where she spent some years on the streets, joining a group of thieves but fleeing the city after a job gone wrong and being caught trying to steal supplies by Breick and Zev on the road. They initially planned to find someone to look after her, but found themselves unable to give her up when the time came, particularly after being the ones to name her when she confided in them about her discomfort in being seen as a boy. Under their care, she opened up from a scared, near-silent child fighting to survive into a brave, adventurous girl who could talk for Antiva.

She did eventually reconnect with her clan, and, at 16, went to the conclave on behalf of both her families - using Lavellan as a surname to keep her connection to the Hero of Ferelden secret - and then tripped and fell into being named the Herald of Andraste and made the leader of the Inqusition.

She struggled a bit, as any teenager would, with this responsibility, and the whole Herald thing did almost go to her head, but, really, with the HoF for a dad, it wasn't surprising that she came through in the end. Leliana was, of course, the first the figure out who her dads were, and stepped up to guide her friends' daughter, and Ala also ended up with a very close, sisterly bond with Josie, as well as the nickame "Little Bird" from Varric. And she absolutely ended her adventure decking Solas in the face for lying to her face and breaking her sister's heart.

aaaand last up for tonight, Ala's biological sister, Heulwen. When Breick and Zevran couldn't make it right away to check on their daughter after the conclave, Heulwen volunteered to go and find out what had happened, opting to join the Inquisition and be by her sister's side. Being more patient and observant, she balances out Ala well, and though Ala didn't really remember Heulwen from her early youth, they did grow very close and protective of one another. Which is, of course, why Ala was so pissed when Solas - who Heulwen had fallen hard for, finding him charming and his knowledge (particularly of elven history) fascinating - up and disappeared on them and turned out to be behind the whole mess in the first place.

I did have a whole idea about her having had a kid that is 95% certainly Solas' by the point of Trespasser, but I can never quite decide on that being canon or not.

#jamie's chitchat #i need a tag for my DA OCs #blorbos from my brain

[spell-cleaver]

Whumptober No. 18 LET’S BREAK THE ICE “Just get it over with.” |  Treading Water | “Take my Coat”

Read it instead on AO3 or on FFN!

Zev had always hated the cold. But he hated being on a mission with Luke Skywalker more. This was the third time he’d put out a hand to force Zev to stop in the middle of the snowy forest, crouched low on the ground, listening.

“I can’t hear anything!” Zev hissed.

“Neither can I,” Skywalker replied under his breath. “But there’s something ahead, and we don’t want it to hear us.”

“Is this one of those Jedi instincts of yours?” Zev asked, his lip curling.

“Of course.” Skywalker eyed him. He wasn’t as tanned as he had once been, presumably due to the time away from his desert homeworld, but against the dirty white snow jacket, gloves, furred hood and boots, his skin stood out like a splash of colour. “Why?”

Zev shivered and told himself it was the cold. It had bitten through his heavy coat the moment Skywalker had landed them on this ball of ice; if it wasn’t for the goggles, he was sure his eyeballs would have frozen in their sockets. But even through those goggles, Skywalker’s gaze was uncomfortably intense, like he knew exactly what Zev was thinking.

Like—

“Vader does that a lot,” Zev said and made it clear in his voice exactly what he thought of Vader.

It rankled Skywalker, apparently, which Zev took as a win. He’d heard so much about the great destroyer of the Death Star: the man, the myth, the legend. Legends never held up. He was waiting to find out what was behind that uncrackable calm façade.

“You do know that Vader isn’t a Jedi?” Skywalker said tightly. “And that this sort of ability occurs naturally across the galaxy?”

“Jedi or not, it looks the same to me.”

Skywalker huffed to himself and turned away. Zev hated that this kid—who, admittedly, should only be three or four years younger than Zev at most—was being the more mature out of the two of them. He had been a commander after all before he resigned from Rogue Squadron, but still. Zev knew maturity. He knew self-discipline. His dad had taught him enough about that.

“Either way,” Skywalker said, “we need to be careful. The base is just up ahead—”

“And you know that how? We got thoroughly lost in that blizzard.” They’d hunkered down in a tent—Skywalker had meditated all night, who the hell did that—and waited it out, but by now Zev’s map was pretty useless. He didn’t like being useless. It gave people space to accuse him of being dead Imperial weight. “We can’t even see past that bank of trees for the snow.”

“It’s there,” Skywalker said. Maybe he was used to the Rogues obeying every instinct and order of his wordlessly, like good soldiers. He did really sound like Vader when he talked like that.

Zev had met Vader more times that he liked to remember. Imperial Army functions, where his dad would pull around his wife and child as a model soldier with a family; celebrations; parades; awards ceremonies where General Veers was awarded even more accolades. The last one had been the one that the Rebellion hated Zev’s dad the most for: Veers had received a commendation for what he’d done on Hoth, while Rebels hissed vitriol and called him the Butcher. Being the Butcher’s son, even a butcher’s son who’d defected shortly after realising how little his father cared about the Empire’s atrocities, had been less than easy.

At that ceremony, Vader had looked Zev, standing primly next to his father and fiercely missing his deceased mother, in the eye. He had looked from General Veers to his son several times, with enough intensity to knock the breath out of Zev’s chest. Then he had looked away.

Skywalker’s regard reminded him of that. It made him grit his teeth.

“I don’t believe you,” he decided.

“I get you’re new to the Alliance, but—”

“I know how army missions work, Skywalker.” Was he always going to have someone looking over his shoulder like this? Vader, sizing him up beside his father, and inevitably finding him lacking? Skywalker, dissatisfied with his lack of obedience to the ranking officer and leader on this mission?

“You don’t know how the Force works though,” Skywalker said carefully. Everyone Zev had spoken to had said their hero was bright, reckless, a bit clumsy with words and overeager but earnest. A damn hard worker. This meticulous way of speaking to Zev just made him feel like he was being coddled again. “I just wanted to explain it to you, if you didn’t. I get feelings, sometimes—they direct me to where I need to go, though it’s not always where I want to go, and they warn me of danger. And I can sense people’s presences. Life forms.” He noticed ahead of them, still crouching. “There’s a lot of life forms over there.”

“Can you read minds?” Zev asked. He wanted to know if Vader had been able to read his rebellious thoughts on him, like a dog smelling blood.

“Only if I try.” Skywalker seemed to be going for a joke, but he aborted it halfway. “I don’t.”

Zev wished he hadn’t asked.

“We need to get closer, then,” he said instead. “Our mission is to scout out the base.”

“If we get any closer, something will go wrong,” Skywalker said.

“What will go wrong?”

Skywalker hesitated. “I don’t know. But it will. I need you to trust that.”

That was impossible. Zev had been raised in the heart of the Empire. He had weathered the Imperial academy. There was no trusting someone until you saw them crack, and Skywalker was too composed for that. Too heroic.

“There might be another blizzard on the way,” he tried to justify. “We need to move fast.”

“We need to do this right.” Skywalker glanced at him. “If I told you what I suspected, would you listen?”

“Why haven’t you told me before?”

“I’m not certain—at least, I don’t want to be certain—”

“I’m going,” he decided and stood up.

“Veers, no!”

Zev barely made it three paces through the thick, snowy undergrowth before teeth snapped shut around his ankle. He howled.

Skywalker was next to him in a moment; he caught him before Zev fell hard into the thorny bushes; his grip was strong, but apparently Zev’s enormous height and subsequent weight was difficult for him. He struggled with him to the ground. Distantly, they heard shouts.

“Kriff,” Skywalker said. “I was right.”

“About the danger?” Zev spat, glancing down at  the ankle. Kriff—kriff—he could see blood. He could see bone. “You didn’t tell me they’d have a kriffing trap here!”

“It doesn’t look like it’s for humans, it’s for—”

“Animals, I know! I’ve been hunting before!” The Imperials at this base were probably hoping for game to get them through the harsher nights, or just doing it for fun, and they happened to have snagged an Imperial-turned Rebel instead—

“I wasn’t right about the trap. I didn’t know what that was.” Skywalker winced as well when he looked down at Zev’s injury, the metal teeth that went all the way through and out the other side of his squishy leg. “I was right about the other thing.”

“Which is?”

The distant shouts grew louder. They weren’t as distant as Zev had thought, he realised; they were far too close for comfort. Someone had heard him scream. He could hear them assembling.

And worse, he recognised the voice barking orders.

“No one’s sure where that came from, so split up! Two squads to the north. You lot, head west. You—” The voice paused; Skywalker went very still, turning his face away, closing his eyes. Zev watched, but clearly the camouflage against the snow worked. “—take the east side. If there are Rebels here, Lord Vader will want them found.”

Zev felt the colour drain out of his face. “You’re kidding me.”

“I was really hoping Vader wasn’t here,” Skywalker muttered.

“Vader’s here?”

“By the looks of it, Vader, General Veers, and a significant portion of the Imperial Army. There must be something important going on here.”

It wasn’t just the pain putting the nausea into Zev’s stomach. “It’s a strategic planet.”

“Yeah.” Skywalker glanced back. “We need to run. They’re headed this way.”

“Run? I can’t—”

A snap-hiss was all the warning Zev got. Skywalker’s lightsaber wasn’t blue, as Zev had heard; it was green. As green as his mother’s eyes had been. Zev yelped at the sight of it, then stifled himself. Skywalker slashed through the trap, close enough to the exposed skin of Zev’s legs to both burn and freeze it simultaneously and tugged the metal jaws out of his flesh.

Zev did his best, again, not to scream.

Skywalker cut a swath of fabric from his coat and swiftly tied it around Zev’s shin, the blood pumping over his hand, then tied it tightly enough that Zev thought his foot would fall off. His heart was thundering in his chest. Despite all his training, everything his dad had taught him, he had never been injured in the field like this. He did not know what to do.

But Skywalker did. “Run!”

That was one order Zev was happy to obey.

Pain lanced up his leg with every step, until he was gambling, galloping, stumbling through the undergrowth like a three-legged deer. Skywalker had shot off at the speed of light—how could Jedi move that fast—to begin with, but then he dropped behind and kept pace with him. It felt insulting. Zev knew it wasn’t meant that way.

“Keep running,” Skywalker urged, hardly out of breath. He pranced over hidden logs and bushes like they were nothing. “Our ship is nearby. We just need to get out of atmo.”

Zev stared at the lightsaber hilt, beating innocuously against Skywalker’s thigh. A literal sword of light from the stories, the romantic side he’d got from his mother prompted; the scepticism that the academy had beaten into him told him instead about how he’d seen something like that before, as well.

At his father’s medal ceremony, a rich, ornately dressed patron had loudly boasted how much they had contributed to the bounty that was out for Luke Skywalker’s corpse. Lord Vader had wordlessly and gracefully drew his lightsaber and sent their head rolling, bloodless, across the marble floor. They didn’t even have the chance for their expression to shift from that smug, inattentive smile.

What a barbaric weapon. At least a blaster did it from a distance. At least everyone knew to expect them. Why were people who could already kill with their minds allowed to just carry a sword of fire wherever they went? If he ever had to duel Vader, Zev would rather have a blaster at his side. And that might be a possibility they had to encounter, soon.

Skywalker held out a hand to stop them so fast Zev almost crashed past it. A force caught him and set him gently back down on the ground, before he floundered out of the woods and onto what looked like a beach. He picked himself up, grimacing with pain at the trail of bright blood he’d left in the snow like flags in a race, and glared at Skywalker.

“Don’t touch me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. There was the earnestness. But the way his head tilted as he scanned the white, featureless horizon, jaw working and brows creasing, undid the effect. He was staring into space again.

What happened, when two unnatural beings like Skywalker and Vader collided? If they didn’t move soon, Zev would kriffing find out, but Skywalker wasn’t moving.

“You said the ship was near,” Zev said. No matter that they’d been hiking for days to get over here. How had they got that turned around? “We need to move.”

Vader was here. Zev did not want to have him root through his mind, stare at him like he had before. He did not want to be the one whose head rolled. Unconsciously, he glanced at Skywalker’s lightsaber again.

His father had spent his life serving under a religious fanatic who made irrational military decisions, he thought, semi-hysterically. Zev was going to die this way as well.

“I misinterpreted,” Skywalker said.

“What does that mean?”

Skywalker pointed straight ahead. Zev peered out of the wood, following the snow plain to the horizon. He saw nothing.

Except, that wasn’t a snow plain.

“That’s a pretty bad misinterpretation, Skywalker!” Zev snapped.

“It’s a narrow channel. The river is usually very still. We can circumnavigate it, like we did when hiking here, or go straight across.”

“It wasn’t frozen over when we landed!”

“It is now.”

“Will it stay that way?”

Skywalker scrunched his eyes shut, reaching out a hand. For a moment, Zev had to stop and stare. Vader was never so obvious when he was uncertain, not from the stories he’d heard. At least Skywalker wasn’t an infallible hero in that, then.

“Yes,” Skywalker said at last, hesitantly.

“You don’t sound like you believe it.”

“It will stay that way if we’re careful. I can guide us over the safe bits; if we stick to the bits that feel safe, we’ll be fine.”

“None of this feels safe!” Zev gestured to his leg. Stars, he should’ve stayed with the Empire. Funnelled his pocket money into the Rebellion instead, or something. What the hell was he doing here? Why the hell had he agreed to go on a mission with this guy?

“We can go back the way we came,” Skywalker offered gently. “I have medical supplies. We can find somewhere to hide, pitch the tent, then I’ll stand watch while you treat your injury more effectively.”

“Yes!” Zev enthused. “Let’s do that.”

“Alright. It’s this way, then.” Luke nodded to their left. “We should hug the edge of the woods, get some more shelter—” He cut himself off. “Get down.”

This time, Zev obeyed fast enough that he didn’t get thrown down by an unseen force. They ducked behind a thorn bush, holding their breaths.

“And you’re sure the footprints went this way?”

It wasn’t near. In fact, through the forest, it would take General Veers quite a trek to get to them. But the voice seized Zev’s heart. Skywalker glanced at him; even through the goggles on his face, his expression was something uncomfortably like sympathy.

Longing, even.

Could he read the inferno of emotions in Zev’s chest? If he could, Zev would need him to unpick them for him.

“Yes, sir. They’re a bit muddled, but there’s a blood trail as well. It got a bit kicked up around here.”

“Then fan out and search this area. They can’t have gone far.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zev whispered, “We’re going across the ice.”

Skywalker glanced at him. “What?”

“I am not staying here to be found. We’re going across the ice. It’s against Imperial policy to follow on foot, and to get speeders they’d have to go back, fix them to deal with the cold, by which time we’d better be across.”

“We will be,” Skywalker reassured. It was obvious this was not one of his premonitions. “Alright. Move slowly. The ice is thick, but it creaks. Our coats should camouflage us.”

“What does a desert boy know about ice?”

“Hoth was a steep learning curve.”

Zev suddenly wondered if Skywalker had watched his squadron die under Zev’s father’s fire.

“Alright,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Zev had never moved so slowly. Every footstep, snow crunching underfoot, was like a cannon bursting from under his toes. The blood that drip, drip, dripped behind him, melting through the top layer of white snow crystals, was fairy tale-esque in the trail it left behind. The only colour in this bleak, monochromatic landscape.

Skywalker stepped onto the ice first. It creaked slightly under his foot, but he spread his weight, his snowshoes doing their job—Zev’s right one had been crushed in the trap, so he didn’t know how he’d manage—and got several metres without so much as a hitch. He beckoned to Zev.

“Come on.” His tone was a murmur, almost. Zev heard it in the rush of cold air against his cheeks.

He followed gingerly. Every tiptoe across the ice felt like inviting doom. Up close, it wasn’t white: it was deep aquamarine, shot through with frost-tipped planes. His own distraught face stared back at him as if out of a shattered mirror. Skywalker’s reflected back as well, upside down from this angle; Zev glanced at his reflection, and for a moment he thought he looked afraid. A crack in the ice bisected his reflection, like he was made of fragments himself.

“Stay low to the ice,” he murmured again. “They’re coming. We need to get into the haze of snow before they get here.”

They kept moving. Skywalker stepped in an irregular, zigzag pattern that made Zev’s head spin, but he knew how to dodge blaster bolts so the logic to it made sense. He followed behind closely.

Wouldn’t the ice, thick as it was, be weaker when he stepped on it, having already born Skywalker’s weight? Wasn’t he heavier?

“What is there to say that where you step is safe for you but not for me?” he asked. “I’m a lot heavier than you.”

“I’m paying attention, Veers. I don’t want you to die.”

“You weren’t paying attention back there.”

“I made a mistake, I’m sorry. This is a fast way to get to the ship.”

“It’s just also a dangerous way.”

“Yeah.”

Zev shivered. But that was his dad back there, searching for the faceless Rebel that had replaced his only son. Their last conversation played on repeat in his head: Veers’s absolutely adamance that Zev was wrong, that Lord Vader’s decapitation of that random Imperial was justified even if neither of them knew the facts behind it, Zev desperately trying to make his father see how the values he had taught him contradicted this.

It was either face the past or risk the future. He had to trust this unnatural Jedi hero. He resented it with every fibre of his being.

But the moment he divided from Skywalker’s forged path, he felt a change in the ice underneath him. It shifted under his step, groaning. His reflection rippled, afraid.

He slipped back onto Skywalker’s path. The faint fall of snow had split them from sight of the shore, Zev’s bright trail of blood leading into a white haze. There was nothing but Skywalker’s instincts to say whether they were heading away from the Imperials, towards their ships, or the wrong way entirely.

“Just to break the ice,” Skywalker said, then winced at his own phrase, “we’re both thinking it. I wanted to confirm. That’s…” He hesitated. “That’s your dad back there, isn’t it?”

“What’s it to you?” Zev bit out, a little louder than he should have. The ice bounced it back at him; he stumbled and heard it crunch, then scrambled away again. Before his eyes, the tiny plate he’d punched loose in his overeager kick bobbed merrily, caved in on all sides, and slowly froze back to the main plate.

“I’m sorry,” was not what Zev had been expecting. “I know it’s hard to have a parent on the other side of the war.”

“The hells would you know about it?”

For a moment, he hoped this would be the moment Skywalker cracked. This would be when he revealed that darker core Zev could tell was there. No perfect mask stayed unscarred for long. Vader’s mask was replaced regularly for the wear it took on the battlefield.

“I’m sorry,” Skywalker repeated.

“Don’t pity me,” Zev said.

“I don’t.”

“Don’t judge me either.”

“You think I would?”

“You’re Luke Skywalker. You wouldn’t understand any of this! You’re too busy saving the day to worry about the grey areas of the galaxy!”

And that was why Zev couldn’t trust anyone perfect. He was antsy around all the Rebel leaders, Princess Leia especially, for how they kept their faces blank and their feelings neutral throughout the war, their masks impeccable. He hated following symbols. They weren’t real people, they wouldn’t understand him, and they definitely wouldn’t try to. They’d just look right through him—or down on him, if they saw him at all. And they took everyone else away.

How many of his friends at the academy had never taken their anti-Imperial thoughts to their natural conclusion because they were so enamoured with the shiny stormtrooper armour? How many people had died for an emperor who sat on a throne and never bothered to look them in the eye? How many fathers had been lost, because they were so loyal to one, impossibly powerful leader, that they refused to listen to their own sons?

It had been naïve to think that the Rebellion might be different, for that. But Zev would be.

Skywalker said, “I understand what people say about me. I don’t like it.”

“They say you’re a hero.”

“Yeah. I’m not going to judge you, Zevulon.”

“If you’re going to be unprofessional and use my first name, it’s Zev. But don’t. Don’t use it.”

There were shouts in the distance. People were onto their trail. Skywalker looked behind them and swallowed.

“You can move faster than me,” Zev told him. “Go. They’re following my trail.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.” Skywalker’s gaze moved from them to him. “How do you deal with it?”

“What?”

“Knowing your father hates Rebels.”

That was the final straw. Zev stared at Skywalker, silhouetted in goggles and a massive hood against the white fall of snow. The ice underneath his feet was almost luminescent, blue-green and brilliant, with the light that Skywalker seemed to exude just by existing.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Zev said, his voice lower and colder than the bottom of this river. “Let’s get this over with.” He marched forwards, shoving past Skywalker.

“Veers, wait!” Fingers caught the edge of his jacket, but he brushed them off. He wanted to be done with this mission. He wanted to be done with all of this. He never wanted to think about his father again.

The ice cracked. His foot went through. His knee, then waist, then torso followed. When his head hit the water, it was like being folded in liquid nitrogen.

He instinctively gasped for air. Frigid water flooded his mouth, his nose. He coughed and spluttered, eyes streaming even underwater. It was so dark under here, that aquamarine fading to a dark, hungry blue that lurked beneath his kicking boots. His broken snowshoe trembled with how hard he beat his legs in the water, even as the cold bit into the holes the trap’s teeth had left behind; it wobbled some more, then dropped off his boot altogether. He watched it sink.

Everything was so slow. His head was pounding, but… He needed…

He needed to get out of here.

Straining, he reached for the surface. His coat was a dead weight around him; survival training, no matter how abstract it had been to swim leisurely in a pool compared to this, seized the back of his mind. He shrugged off his coat, watching that billow to the bottom of the river as well. When he reached the surface, he extended a hand.

He met only ice.

No, no, no—

How far had he shifted? Was there a current? Had the ice shifted instead? He couldn’t see the hole he’d fallen through anymore. Light streamed into the water in the distance, but it was too far away to make out—was that it? Shadows flickered along the surface. Where was he? Where was up? Down?

He knew where that was. The more he kicked, the more the cold sank into his muscles, and the less he kicked. Slowly, he drifted towards the dark blue embrace.

Thumping. Lots of footsteps, it sounded like—through the water, at least. Skywalker should run. When Vader caught him, he’d kill him.

Bubbles wibbled in front of Zev’s face. His lungs burned. Slowly, his vision went red. Then blue. Then, just before the true blackness crept in, he saw a shadow flicker above in the paler blue part of the world.

A spear of green shot through the haze.

The sight of a lightsaber so close to his face shocked him out of his stupor. He gasped, more water choking him, but it spun around him as neatly as a factory machine. He followed it around with staring eyes, bubbles dribbling from his lips. When he looked up, he saw a perfect circle of white, limned in green. It exploded outwards.

That horrible force he hated so much seized him. One moment he was dying, then he was lying on his side on the ice, retching. That green light had not stopped. It was… warm.

He noticed that where Skywalker reached it out, hovering it a few millimetres above his clothes, steam evaporated off of him.

“This is taking too long,” he muttered to himself, and deactivated it. Zev wanted to protest, wanted the light and warmth back. Skywalker shrugged off his coat. “Take this.”

“What?” But he’d already bundled it around his shoulders. A shock of residual warmth from Skywalker’s body went through his shoulders. “Why?”

“Because you’re half dead.”

“No,” Zev said, struggling to get it out. “Why didn’t you run?”

“Why would I?”

Of course he hadn’t run. He was a hero. But he didn’t look calm and collected now. He was shivering violently without his coat, one of his hands curled limply at his side, and kept looking to the horizon.

“Veers,” Skywalker said.

“Zev.”

“What?”

Zev stared at Skywalker’s lightsaber. “Just—call me Zev, alright? You’ve already saved me twice.”

That got a mirthless smile. “Alright. Zev. Do you think your father will kill you, if he finds you?”

“What?”

“If he finds you, will your father kill you? Rebel or not, you’re his son.”

“Why?”

“Because we can’t escape,” Skywalker said. “You can’t move very far like this. We’d freeze before we got back to the ship.”

“You can still escape.”

“Will your father kill you or not? Or hurt you?”

“No!” Zev said. “I don’t think. No. He won’t.” He was furious at him. But he loved him. Angst about their relationship and Zev’s betrayal aside, he had that low, low bar to count on: his father would not kill him if they ever saw each other again.

Skywalker swallowed. “I have a flare,” he said.

Zev’s eyes widened. “You need to escape. No.”

“You’re sure that your father won’t hurt you?” Skywalker’s voice cracked. And Zev watched, with shock and horror, as Skywalker cracked as well. Hot tears were steaming up his goggles. “That fathers don’t do that?”

“No! Why?”

“You think I’m like Vader.”

“Yes? No? It’s—”

“You should. You’re right. Do you know what he told me when I last confronted him?” Skywalker’s words were an avalanche. “He’s my father.”

Zev watched Skywalker. Skywalker watched him back.

That stare. That alertness, the instincts, and expectation that people should follow them, because they were evidently right. How Skywalker had flinched, revealing that first hint of the darkness at his core, when Zev first brought Vader up.

“He cut off my hand before he told me that,” Skywalker got out. He waved his dead hand. “It’s a prosthetic.”

Zev stared at it. “It must’ve died in the cold ages ago.”

“It did.”

“You’ve only had one functioning hand this whole time and you didn’t say anything?”

“It wasn’t relevant! Your injury was!”

“Vader is your father?” Vader had a son? A Rebel son? One who had an Alive Only bounty on big enough to buy the Empire out from under him?

“Apparently!”

He thought about how Vader had stared at him, at that awards ceremony. Standing tall and proud next to his decorated father: an army cadet, ready to serve by his side. He thought about how Vader had looked away.

Zev reached out a hand to take Skywalker’s dead one. “Send up the flare,” he told him.

“You’re sure? You’ll be alright?”

“So will you.” Zev’s chest ached. That might be from inhaling all that water. “Once they rescue us, we’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

“Send up the flare,” Zev insisted. “Now, you have to trust me.”

When Luke looked at him, he was not judging him. Zev didn’t know why he’d ever thought that he was.

This war had left no one unscathed. Maybe Luke, Princess Leia, Zev’s dad, Vader, all the symbols of good and evil he’d ever looked up to, were just much better at hiding it than he was.

Luke fumbled in his bag for the flare. Looked at it in his left hand. “I need you to help,” he said, wiggling his dead prosthetic.

Zev nodded and took the string. Together, they lifted it, aimed, and fired.

It soared into the sky with an ear-splitting squeal. Bright yellow, orange, red: the antithesis to this cold landscape around them. When it exploded, just the sight of the showering sparks warmed Zev, somewhat. So did the distant shouts.

They huddled together on the ice, heat bleeding through each other like hope, and waited for their fathers to rescue them.

#luke skywalker #zevulon veers #my writing #random words on a page #whumptober 2022 #no.18 #for darkness shows the stars

[noahissimping]

i’ve been thinking about Mahariel&Zevran A LOT (they occupied my mind i can’t)

mahariel was tainted before she became a grey warden & the taint in her body was slowly killing her till the joining

we all know that a female greywarden can get pregnant (say hi to fiona) but what if taint destroyed Mahariel’s reproductive system before the joining.

and we know that the crows put their recruits through a lot. and im thinking that they prob made their recruits drink poisons so they would get a resistance to them. like poisons are one of the main tricks that crows are using and it’d be kinda pathetic if they can be killed with it easily.

so. zevran’s reproductive system could be destroyed ‘cause of poisons.

+ yk that having kiddos when zev is constantly being hunted by crows & mahariel being a commander of the gw isn’t the smartest thing to do

but imagine while they’re traveling after mahariel cured the taint & crows aren’t that much of a problem they smh find a destroyed dalish camp (after revealing that new threat to the world is an elven god to the world i bet humans would hunt & kill elves out of fear or smth) and like all the elves there were killed M&Z kill the ones who did it & after find there a kid who survived.

both M&Z had no idea what to do with a child and couldn’t leave them so they were like well that’s fucked up but we prob need to take the kiddo with us and that’s how they became parents

p.s. i think it would be interesting if a kid was already like 7-10 y.o. so they’d had to adjust to each other. so at first M&Z were like okay we‘ll find another dalish clan or smth and leave the kid there but during their journey ✨a bound✨ between them and a child grew to the point where kid started calling them mom&dad and they were like 😳 what are we gonna do now????😳

p.p.s. with the fact that Zev was raised by whores and crows & mahariel was raised basically by the clan they both didn’t rlly know how to be ones but they would try their best

btw it can work with male! mahariel too i just usually play female one

#dragon age #zevran arainai #zevran x mahariel #they occupied my mind #idk if my adhd is a blessing or a curse but this hyperfixetion is killing me #dao

[mrs-theirin]

I’m writing a story about my warden Ronya joining the Inquisition with her boyfriend Zev and it got me thinking about my Hawke meeting my her during the events of Here Lies The Abyss and how well they’d undoubtedly get along! Have all your characters ever met? Do they get along? Also I can’t resist asking about Eden and Varric because I just wrote a sweet reunion scene between my Hawke and her best bud Varric and it made me think how extra sweet such a scene would be for Varricmancers! How does Eden feel about Varric taking up with the inquisition? On a scale from 1 to me hearing Varric’s voice in the da4 trailer and SOBBING how excited is she to see him when she arrives at Skyhold? Does she make any friends in the inquisition?

anon i am literally vibrating it is like you are injecting pure serotonin directly into my body

have your characters ever met? whoo boy okay. so for this one i’m gonna lay out all my ocs because you have opened this can of worms and i am not letting you close it

1st canon: faye cousland (warden-commander), eden hawke, ashariani lavellan

2nd canon: faye cousland (queen), eden hawke, noelle & perseus trevelyan (twins)

3rd canon: ariadne amell, eden hawke (LMAOOOO i cannot let her go), elias hawke

4th canon: elora mahariel & freya aeducan, varian hawke, athena lavellan

SO. faye and eden have met in both canons, they vaguely knew each other in lothering, but became better friends later when carver joined the wardens. they get along, but they’re not super best friends. eden loves ashariani, sees her as a little sister/daughter, especially considering ashariani has a father/daughter relationship with varric. faye loves ashariani as well, though they don’t spend much time together until after inquisition. faye invites noelle and percy to a private ball for their efforts with the inquisition. eden....hehoo okay so.

eden hates percy <3 as does everyone else. he is not a nice man. but NOELLE. well. eden gets along with noelle......so much so, that she, varric, noelle, and bull eventually become a polycule. eden and noelle find interest in each other SUPER fast, and at that point, noelle is in a non-committal relationship with bull, so he doesn’t mind. varric takes a minute to adjust, but he’s cool with it. their relationship does get a little complicated though, so hold on:

eden & noelle are dating. eden & varric are married. noelle & bull are dating/will marry. eden & bull are dating. noelle & varric are not dating. varric & bull are not dating. (noelle and varric have quiet moments with each other, but don’t feel any particularly strong romantic feelings towards one another. varric and bull are just very close friends whose wives/girlfriends happen to be dating each other LMAO)

ariadne and eden obviously know each other, they’re cousins, and pretty similar in attitude. they were best friends before ariadne was taken to the circle. same thing with elias akldhdnfsgdl she’s his cousin, though they weren’t as close. eden and elias’s relationship is. complicated. but they love each other very much. i got another ask inquiring about elias, so i’ll explain their relationship in that ask <3

elora and freya are married by the end of origins. varian knows vaguely about them through anders telling her stories about them. varian and athena are gently acquainted, but not super close. athena is not a “super close” type of person

how does eden feel about varric taking up with the inquisition? okay so VERY mixed emotions. he tells her pretty much from the start (they regularly send letters). for one, she feels scared. from what she hears of cassandra, she doesn’t sound like someone eden wants around varric, and she doesn’t like that. she also doesn’t like him being in danger without her around. on the other hand, she’s happy to hear he’s getting along with people, especially the inquisitors. she’s happy he has a home

how excited is she to see varric at skyhold? (okay first, that scale made me laugh out loud. me too man....me too. i listen to that trailer every other week) she’s VERY excited!!! she can hear his voice through his letters, but she’s beyond excited when she knows she can hear it in person again, that they’ll be able to slide back into their regular back-and-forth banter, without letters separating how quick they’d be in person. mainly she’s just really happy to be with someone familiar again, especially if that someone familiar is the love of her life

does she make any friends in the inquisition? boy DOES SHE. cole, dorian, and iron bull are in her favorites. sera, josephine, and the chargers are a close second, while the others, in order from “likes the most” to “despises” are: leliana, vivienne, cassandra, blackwall, solas, cullen. she absolutely ADORES dorian, they become close friends REALLY quickly, mostly by teasing varric. in every other canon, eden and bull are just close friends, but in that second canon they do eventually end up together. she will protect cole with her life, she absolutely loves that kid

#long post #sorry it's long ajdkslfhsdg #quill's asks #dragon age

[clarosowrites]

Reunited

After years of fighting the Crows and missing his Warden, Zevran returns to Vigil's Keep. The reunion he looked forward to, however, doesn't go exactly as he planned.

The next installment in my Clara Amell series, set sometime in Awakening.

Zevran slunk along the wall, his footsteps quietly pressing into the fresh snow. His slender ears pricked up at the sound of metal clinking against metal and he pressed himself into the long shadows. A solitary guard walked past him, spear resting idly on his shoulder.

He briefly considered knocking the man out--it would certainly make his job easier--but decided against it. His Warden took the safety of her men seriously and harming a guard, even an inattentive one, would upset her. Though he would still have a talk with her about their training.

He peered up at the stone walls of Vigil's Keep. Icicles hung off the parapets and windows, reflecting the pale moonlight. The old fort looked exactly the same--solid and ugly and thoroughly Fereldan.

He grinned. Against all reason, he'd missed this damn miserable country. Or at least the company he had left behind.

Taking the grappling hook and line from his belt, he widened his stance. It had been quite some time since he'd had to infiltrate a keep the old-fashioned way, but the motions came back to him quickly. He swung the hook once, twice, then sent it sailing up. It latched onto the edge of the roof and he quickly hauled himself up to the windowsill.

He could just see the bed inside. That bundle underneath the covers must be Clara. Slipping a dagger under the latch, he slid the window open, already imagining the welcome his Warden would give him. She would be surprised, of course, but happy to see him. She'd light up with that smile she saved just for him and-

Zevran froze, half in and half out the window, as a sudden clatter drew his attention. Next to the bed, a boy stood, mouth agape. A cup lay at his feet, water spreading quickly on the wood floor.

He screamed.

With a flash of pale skin, Clara shot up from the bed. Fire rushed towards him. Scorching heat enveloped him and his vision went black.

The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back and looking up at a very familiar, red-bearded face. He squinted as his vision blurred.

"Oghren?"

"Elf." The dwarf grinned, showing his cracked and blackened teeth.

Something was soaking into his clothes. Maker, he hoped it was snow.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice strained. He tried to life his head and groaned as pain echoed through his back.

A blonde human appeared behind Oghren. A mage, by the look of his robes. "You know him?" He exclaimed.

"You got caught, elf."  He laughed. "Thought we trained you outta that!"

"Well," Zevran grinned, pushing himself up to his elbows. "You can take the assassin out of the Crows, but you can't take the Crow out of..." He coughed, spitting blood into the snow. He sighed. "...you get the picture."

Oghren elbowed the mage. "Anders, heal 'em."

"He tried to kill the Commander!" He shouted.

"Just do it, sparklefingers." He grunted, glaring.

Zevran chuckled. Ah, the dwarf had been his usual charming self, then.

He closed his eyes as a healing spell washed over him, like a warm ocean wave. He sighed. That was something he missed--he had no mage friends in Antiva and had to be content with his own sloppy stitches for too long.

"Thank you." He said to the nervous-looking mage.

"C'mon." Oghren said, pulling him to his feet. "She'll want to see you."

Zevran stumbled into him, his legs weak, and leaned against his friend.

He looked up to his most recent perch, two stories up. The window was blown outwards, the surrounding wall blackened and scorched. Bits of glass and wood littered the ground between him and the wall, a good twenty meters away.

Braska, his perfect plan all gone to shit. What had happened? Who was that child?

"The hell where you thinking, anyway?" Oghren asked. "Commander don't like surprises."

"Maker forgive me for trying to be romantic." Zevran sighed dramatically.

Using his short friend as a rather smelly crutch, he limped toward the keep, leaving a sputtering human in their wake.

Oghren pounded on the doors to the main hall. "Open up!"

The doors swung inward. A dozen people were scattered throughout, some in sleep clothes, some in full armor, and a few in odd mixtures of both. All of them held weapons.

To his surprise, he recognized a man in the crowd--the blood mage from Redcliffe. This night was just getting stranger and stranger.

And then he saw her. His lover stood on a dais, a few steps above him, in front of a carved wooden throne. Her short blonde hair was tousled madly and she wore her golden dragon scale mail over a robe and trousers, the clothing sticking awkwardly from beneath her armor. Her silverite sword shimmered with electricity, held loosely at her side.

And behind her, the same child hid. Small hands grasped at her pant leg as he peaked out at him.

Zevran looked back up at her, his brow knitting. It couldn't be him, could it?

He saw the moment that she recognized him. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. But instead of smiling and running toward him and any of the number of things he'd dreamed of in their months apart, her expression hardened.

"Everybody out!" Clara call out sternly.

A dark haired man stepped forward. "Commander, you can't be serious, he--"

"That wasn't a suggestion, Howe." She snarled, sheathing her sword. "You're all dismissed!"

Zevran found himself frozen as the other Wardens filed out of the room, shooting curious glances at him. As he watched, Clara knelt down to speak to the boy, smoothing a hand over his blonde curls. He nodded and ran over to the blood mage, who swung him up on his hip as he left.

"Don't let her kill ya." Oghren said gruffly as he left. "Nobody else 'round here is any fun."

Then, he was finally alone with his Warden. His lover, his love, that he hadn't seen for over a year, and now she was looking at him with such empty eyes.

"Well, this isn't exactly the welcome I hoped for." He said, aiming for levity and falling short. "I imagined candlelight, some chocolates, and... rather less clothing."

Her expression didn't change. "You should've sent a letter ahead."

"I could say much the same of you, my Warden. I was beginning to think you had forgotten me." He said coldly. He hadn't had a response from her in months. At first, he excused it--she was busy, running the Wardens and fighting darkspawn--but now he knew it was something else.

"No. I didn't... I didn't know what to say." Clara said shortly. She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the floor. "My son. His name is Lolan. He lives here now and I know this...that you never agreed to this. I understand if you leave."

"Leave?" His heart dropped. "Am I to be turned away so callously, then?"

"I don't want you to go, Zev." She looked up and he was startled to see tears in her eyes. He crossed the room to her, his hands coming up to cradle her elbows, wanting to embrace her but not willing to force it. "But a child--that was never part of our arrangement."

"Arrangement?" He asked.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do." He said softly. "But to spend so many months away from you, dreaming of you, and to hear you speak of it so callously..."

"I don't know what else to call it." She sighed. "I'm sorry."

Zevran could feel her trembling in his arms. "You look almost afraid of me, mi amora."

"Oh, Zev." She pushed her forehead against his, closing her eyes. She reached up to him and carded her fingers through his hair. "I'm not, I promise. I'm just terrified of what you might say."

"I can say it in a funny voice if you like." He murmured. "I do a wonderful Neverran accent."

She laughed.

"Ah, there she is." He said, brushing a tear off her cheek. "You worry too much, Clara. Haven't I stuck around this long? Tell me what's frightened you and we can work from there."

"I don't know how this will change things. Being a mother." She whispered. "I want both of you in my life, but you might not want him around."

He sighed, not knowing how to respond. He'd never taken care of a child--and he thanked the Maker for that, knowing how the Crows treated their new recruits. Maybe he wouldn't like this one. Maybe Lolan wouldn't like him. Maybe Clara had outgrown him while they were apart. She was a mother now, as well as Warden-Commander, she surely had better prospects than him.

But as she melted into his arms, he felt his worries fading.

"Are you happy?" Zevran asked.

She nodded, her eyes shining. "I love him so much."

"Good. I won't ask you to give that up." He said. His Warden had spent so much of her life alone and he would never dream of taking any happiness away from her. "Do you really want me to be around him?"

"What? I'm not asking you to be his father, Zev."

"I know, I know." He shrugged. "But I hardly think I'm a good influence on anyone, much less a child."

"Let me worry about that." Clara pulled him in and kissed him quickly. "So you're staying?"

"At this point, mi amora, you couldn't chase me away." He smiled. "Why don't you introduce us?"

She took his hand, lighting up with that smile that she saved just for him, and led him away. And Zevran followed her, like he always did.

#zevran arainai #zevran #zevran arainai x warden #zevran x warden #female warden #female amell #zevran x amell #zevran arainai x female warden #clara amell #kids #warden's kid #oghren #nathanial howe #anders #dao #da:o #dragon age #dragon age: origins #awakening

[jewish-gay-elves]

Doomed Love 2/?

AO3 Link

Zevran and Daolin have an odd relationship. These documents were collected to try to understand what exactly they were doing after the Fifth Blight and the destruction of Amaranthine.

Words: 3431, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of the Daolin Tabris: The Family You Don't Choose

Fandoms: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Zevran Arainai, Male Tabris, Male Warden, Anders Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Warden, Zevran Arainai/Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden, Zevran Arainai/Male Tabris Additional Tags: this is a bunch of like letters or just documentation following my warden post-blight, and post amaranthine, idk how long it's going to be, Dialogue Drabble, talking about the Taint

[Overheard conversation between the Hero of Ferelden, Daolin Tabris, and Antivan Crow Master, Zevran Arainai, Skyhold Keep, 9:41 Dragon]

“Zev you just don’t understand okay?!? It’s different!” “Are you hoping that death will finally take you away from me?” “Zevran please I didn’t mean it like that, I just-” “Then how did you mean it, hmm? Because hearing one’s lover say ‘my life should not matter’ is not something that they desire hearing,”

“Zev no I just meant. It doesn’t matter, you’re right, I won’t say it again. You just scared me,” “Oh no, my Warden, I know when you are avoiding something and you are not going to avoid this. I scared you? What makes your life so indispensable? What makes you inconsequential to me?” “Love, please, let us drop this. I don’t want to fight with you,” “We have been dropping these since we arrived at Skyhold. Brasca mi amor no puedes esconder este. Tell me, my Warden, what are you so afraid of?” “I’m afraid of the Taint!” “Lo siento.¿Qué?” “The Taint, Zevran. This is what I am so afraid of. This is why you cannot throw your life away for mine for I already threw it away for a cause I didn’t believe in,” “Explain, now,” “I’ve told you of how I received my Warden abilities,” “The blood of darkspawn, you are immune to it now,” “Not quite,” “What do you mean not quite, amor, you cannot stop like that. You’ve been hiding this from me so just, explain!” “The Taint, it eventually, I have learned, eats at us from the inside out. From the moment we ingest it, it settles into our system and starts destroying us. Alistair told me not long before I’d met you, after we had already been on the run. He said I had about thirty years, give or take. Thirty years until finally the corruption has eaten away at my insides until the Blight is the only thing left in me. Then, once it is my time, I am to go to the Deep Roads for my last battle against the darkspawn. ‘In death, sacrifice,’” “Amor, I-” “So that, is why you cannot throw your life for mine, Zevran. If I were to lose you and live my last twenty years alone, I would kill myself before I hit the thirty year mark,” “No, there has to be another way, amor-” “That is why I asked you to come with me to Skyhold, because after the start of the Mage-Templar War, a mage who had previously been counted amongst the Wardens, called this place her home,” “What? She found a cure of some sort? How do you know? Does it actually work? Who is she-,” “It doesn’t matter Zev, she’s gone. Gone with the mages to rebuild somewhere in secret until they can prove they are self-sustaining, as the Inquisitor asked,” “No, I refuse to sit by, not now. How could the Inquisitor just not tell you their location? Surely he knows,” “If he does, he refuses to tell, said I need to show a proficiency for the arcane before I can know the location,” “Brasca! Él es un burro! Nosotros necesitamos encontrar un camino! Por favor, yo puedo no mirarse tu fallecerse,” “I’m sorry Zevran I’ve been trying I swear, I promise. I even thought about finding Avernus’ notes I just, I don’t know what to do anymore,” “Shh shh no no amor, I am not angry with you. That is a lie, I am angry you did not tell me sooner but, I understand why. I have not exactly told you every dirty secret of the Crows now have I? We need a way to find this Warden who is no longer a Warden. We need a mage,” “Shame that Wynne isn’t kicking us around any longer,” “Hush, I am thinking amor, where did Morrigan disappear to?” “She and Kieran disappeared into the eluvians I imagine. I wish I could have talked to him some more,” “You will amor, I promise, we just need a mage who would understand what we are doing and why,” “Well I know Velanna’s still at Vigil’s Keep, but I doubt she’d want to help her runaway knife-ear commander,” “Wait, wait, wait, wasn’t there another mage at Vigil’s Keep you spoke of to me? What was his name? The salaciously cheeky one with all the glittery jewelry he could have been a crow himself? The one who originally took care of the obnoxiously adorable kitten left with the grumpy looking man” “You mean Anders? Love, I have no idea where he is, especially after the mess we heard about Kirkwall,” “You trained him did you not? I remember him to be a creature of habit, he can’t have changed that much since,” “It’s been ten years, I-I don’t know Zev,” “We have to try, perhaps Leliana might have something for us,” “It can’t hurt to ask, no,” “I swear, I am not letting this Taint take you. We will find a cure,” “Just like that, we’re going to find the most wanted man in Thedas?” “Ten years ago, just like that we were going to stop a Blight, I believe this will be a bit easier,” “I love you,” “I know,”

[The agent who had been merely passing by at the time of the conversation promptly saw it best to report to Nightingale and leave it to his superior]

#zevran arainai #writing #zevran x tabris #daolin #daolin tabris #dragon age #dragon age origins #m!tabris

[dovabunny]

WIP LAST LINE TAG

So the sweet @midnightprelude and darling @dalish-rogue a while back! I'm tagging these muffins - @mago-emplumado @storybookhawke @emotionalmorphine @typhonserpent @tearsofwinter @contreparry show me your WIPs! If you want that is :3

I've been meaning to get back into Baker Guide You, and AU where Anders is a blind Baker who falls for Fenris, who thinks if Anders could see his scars and brands he wouldn't take another look. Fic is an old WIP with @protect-him that's on my mind like at least twice a week. Here's a bit I've scribbled down recently - (CW for death but nothing graphic)

________

"What are you doing here assassin," Fenris grumbles as he shuffles into his spartan apartment. He doesnt bother asking how the Antivan got in here in the first place.

"Good evening to you too, my fine friend," Zevran coos from his cozy reclined spot on the window sill. "I'm sure you know why I'm here. And and the questions I have."

Fenris wipes his hand down his face and around his neck. Of course he does. It's no secret that Zevran is very protective of Anders and that the two share a history.

He suspects Zevran is here to echo his own demons telling him to back away, that he is not worthy of Anders' shy smiles or gentle hands or kind heart.

"Fenris," Zev takes his silence as a go-ahead. "I wont insult you or myself by pretending we both dont know I know your history. I have my ways of finding things out. Especially when they relate to something important to me."

Fenris sits on his beat-up sofa he found on a sidewalk and braces.

"I also suspect that you are a man who is familiar with pain. As am I. As is Anders." For the first time since he first met him Fenris sees the Antivan squirm. "Know that I am telling you this for Anders' sake. The man has known enough pain in his life and if you are to add to that pain Creators know they wont find your body when I'm done with you."

Fenris just swallows and nods.

"Anders...wasnt born blind. He had a rough, abusive childhood, in and out of foster homes till he was deemed dangerous for his rebellious nature and ended up in a correctional school where he met Karl. When Karl turned 18 they ran. Karl to start a new quiet life with Anders, who he had asked to marry him after 4 years together, but Anders was barely 17 and wanted adventure. Anders begged Karl till he caved and they joined the Wardens. Anders lying about his age of course. It was supposed to only be a 2 year thing."

Fenris' brows furrow. He had known Anders had ties to the Wardens, but also that bringing it up brought a look of pain across his beautiful face Fenris couldn't take.

"They were out on a mission clearing the Deep Roads when they stumbled upon an underground trade route used to smuggled elves to Tevinter by slavers."

~12 years ago~

"Commander," Anders said, barely contained rage under his skin. "We cant leave this! We need to shut this down!" He looked over at the huddled would-be slaves around the dead slavers.

Tabris bit her lip and peered into the tunnel. She half suspected denying the man would only cause him to storm down there alone. Karl right behind of course. Those two stuck together like a beard on a dwarf. Her knew the poor man was counting the days till their 2 year contract was up. Just 4 months left if she's not mistaken.

"Fine. Nate, take your regiment on the north route. Velanna with Justice stay here and guard the survivors. Anders, Karl, Zev, Alistair- with me."

It had taken hours but they were able to track he tunnels to a cavern where it was clear the exchange of coin and slaves happened. It was a dirty fight, bloody, with Karl pushing to blast the exit tunnel to avoid any escapes. They would have to collapse the whole tunnel later anyway.

The slavers had a a guard of two dozen strong but the tide of the fight was turning. Anders and Zevran stood over the elves to protect them while Alistair and Tabris cirled them. Soon there was only one left, a man dressed in a way that reeked of 'Magister'. He stood in the middle with a glint of madness and bloodthirst in his eyes when he pulled the grenade out of his pocket and pulled the link out. Everyone screamed and ran for cover, but Anders saw the look in their eyes. No one would survive this. Anders grabbed an abandoned shield and held it up as he stood over and elves huddled behind the rubble and ruins, hoping beyond hope.

But then Karl was racing forward, ignoring Anders' cries.

Anders' last image was the surprise of the Magister as Karl threw him down and covered the grenade with his body. Anders had his shield up but an outstretched hand and wide eyes toward the blast.

Then. Darkness.

Hands. Shouting. Distant but close to rumble his chest. How? Where-

"Anders! ANDERS!?"

It settled like led and fire and acid.

"I can't see... I can't see! Karl! KARL ANSWER ME!? Oh Maker please... I CAN'T SEE!!!"

~ Present time ~

Fenris' throat struggled against the rough knot there.

Zev was staring out the window. "You are not a man unfamiliar with pain, you know the sounds a man can make. There is screaming in pain and distress...then there is screaming in agony. A pain deep and tormenting. The scream of a man trying to tear himself apart from the inside out."

Zev turns to Fenris then and he is taken aback at the fierceness he sees there amidst the sheen.

"He didnt stop for three days till his voice gave out."

#wip #last line wip #fenris #karl #kanders #zevran #da2 #baker guide you #a scribble #future fenders tho

[vigilskeep]

Hi, I am *intrigued* by these tags “#nathaniel admittedly did propose to minerva but he was proposing minerva and zev’s marriage. TO them. its a long story#someone had to do it”. I’d love to hear the story there, if you don’t mind?

AH lmao yes “long story short” probably does not answer all the questions there

so essentially minerva and zevran are in a committed relationship from “that sounds like a proposal” “only if you wish it” onwards, but there’s no further discussion of whether that was an actual proposal and neither of them makes any move to get married. minerva’s perspective on marriage can pretty much be summed up with “why get the chantry involved in a perfectly good relationship?” they’re an antivan assassin and a warden-commander, it’s not like they’re settling into a house and having a family together, marriage is completely not relevant to their situation. she doesn’t remember her parents and then she grew up in the circle so marriage hasn’t really been around to even see in her life. she doesn’t get it. she’s not against it, per se, but what’s the point? she also very strongly dislikes the idea of zevran feeling at all trapped, so why bring up something that would just tie him to her?

we cut to a few years later, and zevran and minerva have had a kid (this was completely unplanned). minerva gets into a bit of a political scuffle/extended stalemate with the chantry over her son because they want confirmation she’ll hand him over to the circle if she discovers he’s inherited her magic and she’s never given them a straight answer. minerva mentions off-handedly to nathaniel, her right hand man and closest friend, that if anything happens to her especially while zevran is away, it will naturally be up to him to protect the boy

nathaniel gets SO stressed about this. he’s thinking about it day and night. he’s losing sleep. to be fair to him, the current score is templars: 1 vigil’s keep: 0 over protecting even people they did have full rights to and now his baby nephew could be next and it’s HIS job to stop that. finally zevran comes by the keep for a visit. nathaniel immediately grabs him and minerva (“reunions can wait we have to TALK” “my my how bold. if you wanted to watch you only had to—” “what’s this about, nathaniel”) and explains why he’s been like this (“ah it’s as i said in my letter zev he’s still being weird about what i said about the baby” “that’s not—you report on me being weird in your letters?” “[flat lie] no”) and he’s like listen. we NEED the best legal position if anything happens to you so you two ARE going to get married so that as long as your son’s magic doesn’t come out zevran has definite full rights to him and that’s FINAL. i mean, uh, that’s final, commander.

anyway minerva throws out the above explanation for why they never got married somewhat snappishly because she’s even more bothered by the idea of zevran being forcibly tied to her because of the templars. nathaniel appeals to zevran to be the voice of reason and zevran somewhat uncharacteristically awkwardly is like, “well, i have no problem at all. in fact i’ve become... rather fond of the idea of matrimony. but if my dear warden’s opinions are unchanging then of course it cannot be” and minerva is naturally AGHAST, not at the idea of marriage but at the idea that zevran wanted to get married this whole time and didn’t say! (for zevran’s part he had taken minerva’s aversion to tying them both down as an understandable fear for her own freedom considering her history of being bound to one institution or another, and never pushed the issue again.) nathaniel just really wanting to get a good legal situation accidentally makes a breakthrough for zev and minerva’s relationship and just to make sure the validity can’t be questioned they end up having the grandest most public wedding of any elves in ferelden in living memory. everyone has a good time except the grand cleric. love wins

#i like to think alistair and anora are there too for the publicity and that its a bit of a step in the reconciliation #because i am a sap mostly #minerva surana

[kirkwallgremlin]

@gayvhenan putting this in a new post because it started getting long!

Frankie and Shayla very much don’t get on, and while they end up civil and with a lot of respect for each other, I don’t think they’ll ever be friends. That’s part of the reason Frankie ends up warden commander while Shayla takes off for Antiva and then who knows where with Zev 🥰

Frankie

Views leaving Orzammar as a positive opportunity

Idolises Duncan

Can’t wait to be a grey warden and a hero

Adores Alistair and likes him almost as soon as she meets him

Is passionate about helping the Wardens and stopping the Blight

Shayla

Views leaving her family and alienage as literally her only option despite not wanting to

Despises Duncan for not doing more to help and forcing her into this situation

Doesn’t want to be a grey warden, at all, and would definitely have fled prior to the Joining if given enough time and space to think and act

Hates Alistair bc he represents everything that’s hurt her (male, human, noble, warden), plus Duncan went and died on her so Alistair ends up the target for her frustration at Duncan too

Couldn’t care less about the wardens, she just wants to be safe and with her family but feels she has no choice but to help

Shayla thinks Frankie and Alistair are both naive and idealistic and doesn’t understand their devotion to the Wardens. She’s also dealing with some very fresh trauma (bc y’know Tabris origin) when arriving at Ostagar, which makes her very snappy and withdrawn and not the best at interacting with people, and then she gets the trauma of Ostagar on top of that so she’s not exactly in the best position to be particularly diplomatic. And while Frankie and Alistair have each other for comfort, Shayla is kinda dealing with everything alone because she’s put her walls up so much and refuses to let anyone in which pushes her and Frankie even further apart. Plus, her feelings towards Alistair mean she’s more than happy to join Morrigan with being mean to him sometimes which puts Frankie off side too.

#writing this made me want to write a fic where Shayla is....alone and very sad..... and then Dog is there... #oc: shayla #multiwardenau

[southernvampire]

16 for Adahari 🥺

thank you so so much for this prompt!! i’m so sorry it took me forever to fill it, but here you go!

16. happy kiss

words: 891

pairing: Zevran/female warden 

rating: G

Commander Warden Adahari Mahariel read over the letter she had just received, frowning. Why did it seem like once she had one problem solved, another took its place? She had asked herself this for some time, unable to come up with a good answer but always resigning herself to fixing the problem, no matter how small or impossibly large it became. No matter the many times she had tried to leave her position and hand it over to Alistair, she couldn’t resist being the one to fight off the Grey Wardens’ problems.

What was the saying again? Better do it yourself if you want it done right?

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Alistair, but that she knew she got results. Years of keeping the small, new order of Wardens afloat amongst the turbulent politics from the aftermath of the Blight proved to her that she was fit for commanding, and fear that something would go awry if she left the Grey Wardens clouded her mind. Alistair was more than competent, and over the years he had gotten more confident in leading others. And yet the guilt that if something went wrong the moment she left would destroy her, she knew. There was no room for being selfish when other people’s lives hung on your every decision.

Zevran walked up behind her in their bedroom, brushing aside her dark brown braid and leaning in to give her neck a gentle kiss. His strong arms wrapped around her middle as he peeked over her shoulder to see what she was reading.

“What’s wrong, mi amor?”

Ari sighed. “Nothing. Everything.” She folded the letter and set it down on the desk in front of her. “Another call for the Wardens to aid in local politics. Doesn’t seem to matter how many times I tell this country that we have no place in doing such things, they just keep asking for our help. Guess that’s what I get for messing in shem politics during the Blight.”

She smiled at her own wryness, but it felt forced.

Zevran squeezed her gently. “Seems like you already have your mind made up, but you’re still so tense. Does something else bother you?”

Ari laced her fingers with his and looked at him over her shoulder. She was ready to dismiss his worries and melt into his touch, but unspoken things have their way of being known. “I’m so tired, Zev. I don’t want to lead anymore.”

He rested his chin on her shoulder and gazed into her brown eyes. “I had a feeling you felt this way.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“My dear, I think anyone who is close to you knows.” He smiled and released her hand to drag his fingers along her jawline. She turned with his touch, facing him, and together they leaned their foreheads against each other. A smile wormed its way on her face, cracking through her fatigued expression, only for it to fade as soon as it appeared.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I just want to run away from it all and never look back, but I can’t. They depend on me, Zev.” She looked up into his hazel eyes, breathing in his warm and inviting scent. “What do I do?”

“Hmm, if it were me, I would vanish into the night and enjoy my retirement,” he answered. “But I know you would prefer a different method. Talk to Alistair. Hand him the reigns. You’ve done enough for the Wardens to last for years; let someone else take over.”

He looked so earnest and concerned for her it made her heart ache. Ari had been so blinded by her duty that she never realized just how much it made Zevran worry for her wellbeing.

She held his hands and squeezed them. “It’s easier said than done.”

“Yes. It is. But it’ll be worth it.” His eyes shone in the firelight as his mouth curled into a smirk. “Just think—the two of us travelling all of Thedas, never having a moment’s thought about the world ending or political intrigue. Just us, doing whatever we want to do.”

His words spurred an excitement in her soul that feared to burn too brightly. The freedom to do whatever she wanted with the man she loved sounded like too good of a dream, and yet it was within reach. All she had to do was grab it.

“Ari,” Zevran said, and she felt a little breathless from want. “You deserve to be happy. You’ve done so much. It’s time to let go of your control and lead your own life.”

“You’re right.” Her heart hammered with all the possibilities running through her mind, and for once she didn’t worry about the fate of the Wardens.

She leaned forward and kissed him deeply, happiness finally enveloping her as she thought of their future together. He returned the kiss, embracing her and humming happily against her lips.

“I’ll talk to Alistair in the morning,” she said, and a weight lifted from her chest. She couldn’t contain her grin. “Thank you, ma vhenan.”

He caressed her cheek, enraptured by the joy she so rarely showed. “Of course, mi amor.”  

She leaned into his touch, and the two lovers embraced to the sound of the fire crackling, feeling as light as the air around them.

#thank you so much for the prompt!! #it took me some time to figure out how to write these two again #because it's been so long since i've played dragon age #oc: adahari mahariel #ari x zev #sapphicvalhallas

[antivan-beau]

51-54, give me your headcanons

Aww thanks, Auby!! I decided to lean in and had a lot of fun with these.

51. Favorite Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor headcanons (any or all)?

GOSH, this is so broad! I’ll go with some HCs for my characters that are a little unusual and/or contradict things established in canon.

Beatrice Cousland - Morrigan performs the dark ritual with Alistair without Beatrice’s knowledge or consent. For those unfamiliar with Beatrice’s story, she and Morrigan get a slowburn romance throughout the events of Origins that has a pretty different trajectory from Morrigan’s canon romance. On the eve of the final battle, Morrigan proposes the ritual, and Beatrice flatly refuses to ask Alistair to go through with it. She is perfectly content to sacrifice herself, do her duty as a Grey Warden, etc, plus she argues that this ritual is just a final way for Flemeth to exert control over Morrigan’s life. But Morrigan can’t bear to lose Beatrice, and she feels she has very legitimate reasons for wanting an Old God Baby that her lawful good gf doesn’t understand. So after Beatrice falls asleep, Morrigan sneaks out and convinces Alistair herself. Beatrice is shocked and upset when she makes the final blow and lives through it. Her time during Awakening is spent with Big Angst trying to figure out why Morrigan would go behind her back, why she would leave afterword, and how the heck is Beatrice gonna find her swamp witch gf again.

Edric Surana - By the end of Origins, my boy’s personality is 50% mage rights, 30% wanderlust, and 20% spite. He has no desire to stick around and be Warden-Commander. He can’t bear to be told what to do or to give other people orders anymore. He also shirks his duty because he and his BFF, unhardened King Alistair, end the game on tense terms, since Alistair doesn’t want to be king and Edric thinks he needs to suck it up. After Edric survives killing the archdemon (in this worldstate, Morrigan’s ritual is very much an awkward act of wlw/mlm solidarity), Edric and Zevran leave for Antiva together. Edric is an active participant in Zevran’s quest to hunt down and kill Crow masters, which pleases them both immensely. I’ve got a vague idea that Edric actually shows up in Kirkwall with Zev during the events of DA2.

Anias Hawke - like many Hawkes, she is a disaster, but I think in her own special ways. She goes from “bright-eyed refugee trying to do the right thing” to “overtired bureaucrat/public figure, constantly thwarted at doing the right thing” to “washed-up celebrity who spends too much time drinking with Isabela on weeknights and Aveline on weekends.” Probably my most unusual headcanon about her is that I simply rewrote the whole end of Act 2 / beginning of Act 3 because I was so mad she didn’t immediately get to have a follow-up conversation with Isabela about stealing and returning the Tome of Koslun. Anias is doggedly persistent and simply would chase Isabela to the city gates if she had to. This short, kind of mediocre fix-it dialogue was my earliest foray into DA fanfic, before I even knew there was an active fandom :’)

Bastien Adaar - Only 15 hours into my first playthrough of this game, so everything about Bastien is subject to change! I’ve been toying with the idea of roleplaying her as a faithful Andrastean who genuinely thinks she might be the chosen one? I don’t see that much with Inquisitors, especially with an Adaar, so I’m trying it out and seeing where it gets me. 

52. Favorite non-Player Character headcanons?

Kirkwall feels so lived-in! My brain is full of specific ideas for the ways the DA2 companions spend their time away from Hawke’s missions. Merrill spending time with Alienage kids and telling them Dalish stories about elven heroes :’) Anders’ clinic is always busy, but every day is a different adventure - delivering babies, curing food poisoning, unexpected veterinarian queries that he’s 100% unqualified to answer but he’s so beloved by Darktown residents that people go to him, anyway. Fenris devotes serious time to learning to read, but I also like to think (after a particular Sebastian party banter) that he decides to teach Alienage elves how to fight. Aveline on the slow, tragic slide from ‘daily city patrols’ to ‘daily office paperwork.’

53. That One Headcanon that hurts to think about?

I love thinking about Taliesen and Zevran re-meeting in Denerim. I HC that Taliesen still has “yeah, we’re best friends! also, would definitely still sleep with you if you asked” feelings for Zevran. But since Zev’s actually experienced some personal freedom + healthy relationships by this point, his feelings about Taliesen are complicated at best. You know when you’ve grown and changed a lot, but somebody from your past shows up, and they haven’t changed at all? And they still have all their old flaws and lame ambitions? Must be an incredibly bittersweet moment for Zev - confronting his changed circumstances and how much he’s grown, but also confronting the realization that he doesn’t have any choice about killing his other lover, too.

54. Fluffiest headcanon ever?

Gosh… everything about Beatrice and Morrigan after the events of Origins’ DLCs. When they finally meet up again, perhaps a year or two after Witchunt, they are finally able to admit the depth and complexity of their feelings, and begin to reconcile their very different worldviews. They settle down in Orlais together, they’re very good moms to Kieran, Beatrice hangs out around the Orlesian court being a chill knight, probably stealing kisses with Morrigan in alcoves that aren’t as private as they think. I commissioned art of them at this point in their lives just to indulge my desire for fluff.

#ask meme #edric surana #beatrice cousland #anias hawke #bastien adaar

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

In the Depths of Winter

Pairing: Zevran Arainai x Alistair Theirin

Rating: G

Length: 3,076 Words

Tags: winter, bedsharing, first kisses, threat of hypothermia/frostbite, friends to lovers

Read it on AO3!

===

Winter.

Zevran hates winter.

He hates the way it sinks into his bones. He hates the way it clings to his armor and soaks his clothes with melted snow and sweat. He hates the way it makes him shiver and tremble, weak and weary.

Zevran hates the way it makes him think of his Antiva, with its white-gold sand beaches and high sun that kisses everything it touches, and the smiling, quick-witted people, even if they are Crows.

“You okay?” Alistair asks. His hand is a brand where it reaches and touches Zevran’s forehead. Zevran shudders, and Alistair frowns.

“I’m freezing,” Zevran retorts shortly. “I do not know how you can stand all the--this.” He flings his arms out in irritation.

Alistair takes Zevran’s hands; his heart lurches at the contact, and he whimpers when Alistair slides his beaten leather gloves from his fingers. Alistair studies them, turning them over in his examination, crooking Zevran’s fingers at each joint.

“What are you doing?” Zevran asks, barely a whisper. He ignores the way blood rushes to his face, heating his cheek like a burn.

“Checking for hypothermia. It sets in easily for folks who aren’t used to it, and, well.” Alistair blushes and slips the gloves back onto Zevran’s hands. “You’re still wearing pteurges and leather leggings,” he says, like it explains anything. “We should check how much longer ‘til we make camp. You could use a fire.”

Zevran groans. “Ask if it could be now,” he grouses, “I am about to fall asleep on my feet.”

Alarm chases over Alistair’s face. “I, yeah. I’ll do that.”

Zevran watches Alistair’s hustling back as he runs to the front of their little convoy. “And what is so wrong with leggings?” Zevran asks himself, looking down at his legs. He flexes his toes in his boots and winces at the resulting pain. “They’re comfortable!”

He plods forward.

He really, really hates winter.

-----

Alistair must make a pretty begging face--the Warden calls a halt for the day.

Zevran’s fingers slip as he attempts to set up his tent, not once, not twice, not even thrice, but a full five times. He swears in Antivan, not bothering to quiet himself as pain flares in his hands, shooting up his arm like tiny blades.

“Need some help?”

“What I need is for winter to remove its teeth from my throat,” Zevran grumbles. He waves ineffectively at the mass of fabric and tent poles that is his gifted shelter before shoving his freezing hands in his armpits. “Be my guest.”

Alistair crouches low and takes on the task with a snort. “You really never have experienced winter?”

Zevran shakes his head, shuddering. “Antiva never gets this cold, not even at Satinalia. Snow is a bare little thing, afraid of lighting upon our proud lands. No,” he says dryly, “I’ve never experienced winter.”

Alistair hums, the tent slowly building beneath his skilled hands. His skilled warm hands, Zevran thinks wistfully.

“Winter’s always been my favorite season,” Alistair confides quietly. He ties the tent posts together and sets the frame. “Sure, summer’s easier, but it has its own issues.” He makes a face. “I can always put on more clothes if I’m cold; I can’t take off my skin if I’m too hot.”

Zevran helps pull the canvas over the frame, assisting with the drape as Alistair secures it. A gust of wind buffets the flapping material, stealing Zevran’s breath like a knife to his lungs.

“How can you possibly live like this?” he demands. Zevran pulls his cloak tighter, but it does nothing to ward off the chill. “You and all your…”

Alistair stands, slowly, towering over Zevran, improbably close. “All my…?” he prods.

“Muscles,” Zevran mumbles. “Keeps you warm. Alas, my own slight frame.”

Alistair’s laugh fills the small campsite. “Right, right,” he says, blushing, “because being a hulking mass is better than a slippery shadow. I’ve seen you sneak around. It’s…”

Zevran’s ears perk at the tentative way Alistair trails off. “Yes?”

A shaking breath escapes Alistair, curling like dragon’s smoke in the dying light. “It’s incredible,” he says at last. His warm eyes meet Zevran’s own for but a moment before he takes a step away.

Zevran already misses him, just a few feet between them. He tamps down the urge to follow and press his cold nose into the hinge of Alistair’s jaw. Sometimes Alistair says something, does something interesting, some earnest little action that catches Zevran off-guard, makes him want.

But no. Alistair is still some blushing Chantry boy… isn’t he?

-----

No amount of curling into his fur blanket helps Zevran stay warm once night falls. He shivers, still fully dressed beneath the bear fur, teeth chattering; he bites his tongue for the third time and growls before throwing up his hands.

“This is ridiculous,” Zevran hisses. He chafes his hands and feet together, begging his limbs to warm again. Zevran sits up and stuffs his feet in his boots, still wet from the trek. With a huff, he wraps his fur around his shoulders and stalks out of his tent.

“Alistair,” he calls. He knocks on the front tent pole with a shaking hand. “Ali, let me in.”

“Zev?”

“I’m cold... I need help.”

A shuffling sound comes from the tent, then a soft, sleepy, “Come in.”

Zevran steps into the tent. It’s no warmer than his own, objectively, but even he knows that winter can be abated with enough body heat. He toes off his boots and ties the tent flaps closed behind him as a lantern lights at his back.

Alistair watches him intently when Zevran turns around. “Body heat,” Zevran mutters by way of explanation. “You… are a very warm man. I am not.”

Alistair snorts. “Come here,” is all he says, patting the bedroll beside him. He rolls onto his side, making room, and Zevran greedily drinks up the lingering heat trapped in the bedclothes when he slips beside Alistair.

“Give me your hands.” Alistair nods encouragingly when Zevran follows the command. He rubs warmth into the frozen digits with careful movements, bringing them to his mouth to blow hot air over them. He shifts to chafe his hands over the skin of Zevran’s arms, squeezing gently.

“Where did you learn this?”

Alistair looks up. “What?”

Zevran purses his lips. “This.”

“Oh.” Alistair shrugs. “I was training to be a templar, remember?” He gives a pained smile. “They’re supposed to be useful in all sorts of climates. Deep winter training was something I excelled at. I’m naturally very warm.”

It’s a fact Zevran appreciates dearly. “I’ve noticed,” he says, watching with rapt attention as Alistair breathes over his fingers again.

He groans in protest when Alistair sits up, their shared blankets slipping down and revealing a deep-cut sleeping tunic. His protest is cut short when Alistair’s big hands feel out for one of Zevran’s legs.

One hand wraps almost entirely around Zevran’s legging-clad calf.

It’s… a problem.

“What—” Zevran squeaks, voice breaking. He clears his throat and tries again. “What are you doing now?”

“I… massage? I guess?”

“You guess?”

Alistair nods, huffing through his nose. “I remember we had to massage the limbs of a guy who developed frostbite, bring blood back into his extremities. I don’t think you have frostbite, but…”

Zevran lets out a shaking breath at the way Alistair’s fingers clutch his leg. “Well then,” he murmurs. “Go on, if you think it will help. I defer to your expertise, my friend.”

Alistair colors in the low light. His eyes almost glow--curious, Zevran thinks, just before his mind goes blank with pain.

“Shh, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Alistair removes his hands and Zevran groans. “Sorry, I didn’t mean--are you all right?”

“It is not--the most comfortable of massages I’ve ever had, no.” Zevran lets his breath out in a soft hiss and shakes his pins-and-needles leg toward Alistair’s hands once more. “Please…”

Alistair pulls a face. “Are you sure?”

“Ali. My friend. I am freezing. Please, if you can fix that…”

Alistair’s hands are so warm they scorch as he works his magic. Zevran can’t help the moan that escapes him as the blood rushes back to his foot. Alistair presses his thumbs deep into the muscle, working at a knot there before moving from his calf down toward his foot.

If only he would move those hands upward, Zevran thinks deliriously, a new warmth pooling in his gut.

Alistair switches to the other leg and begins the process anew. It’s not so bad this time, with Zevran having warmed up bit by bit through Alistair’s cautious ministrations. He works in silence, looking up occasionally to give a lopsided smile before returning to his task.

“How do you feel?”

“Sleepy,” Zevran slurs. Content, he thinks, were it not for the season. “Come back to Antiva with me, we’ll make millions.”

Alistair chuckles. “Tempting.” He busies himself with sliding into the blankets, corralling the furs tightly around Zevran’s body. “Zev?”

“Mm?”

“You’re not going to… this isn’t some pretense, right?”

The question comes like a slap. Zevran reels back among the blankets. “What?”

“I mean—” Alistair blanches. “You’ve told the Warden of your conquests, how you lure them into a sense of security before, well.”

“Spit it out, Alistair,” Zevran says dryly.

“Well, you are a Crow—”

“Was. I was a Crow. An important distinction, that.” Zevran sits up, the furs falling to his waist. “I cannot believe—it’s been almost a year!”

Alistair hisses back, “You’re a professional assassin who was literally sent to kill us!”

Whatever warmth had been growing in Zevran dashes against the rocks of his disappointment. He sighs. “I thought we were friends, you and I. I suppose I was wrong. Thank you, Ser Alistair, for reminding me of that.”

“Don’t be like that. Zev, come on,” Alistair wheedles. His hand lands at Zevran’s wrist as Zevran gathers his blanket about him, stopping him cold. “I’m sorry, I just--sometimes I think we’re friends and I get reminded about how bad an idea that can be. I mean, I’m about to sleep with you—n-not like that,” he stammers, blushing under Zevran’s hard gaze, “but in the normal sense. Oh, Maker’s fucking breath. I’ve ruined it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, do go on digging yourself this hole.”

Alistair groans and flops back into the bedroll. He stares up at the ceiling and Zevran stamps down a twinge of pity.

“I… I didn’t have friends growing up,” he says. Alistair doesn’t look away from the shadowy apex of the tent’s ceiling. “I wasn’t allowed to play with the village kids, and there were no children among the servants of the castle. Back at the Monastery, you had a cohort that would be dissolved at the end of your training, sent off to various Chantries, never to be seen again. I never got to be good at having them—friends, I mean—so now… it’s almost surreal.”

Zevran sniffs and pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders, letting it cocoon him from the cold. “You think there were friends among the Crows?” he sneers. “I am one the sole survivor of my clutch, Alistair. Out of a hundred of us, I survived. I—I had to thrive like that. Do not blame me for what I had to do to please my masters and live another day.”

“I… I didn’t know.” His hand reaches out and pats Zevran’s knee. “I’m sorry.”

Zevran wilts into his blanket. “... braska, it’s cold. Damn your precious Ferelden. Teach it to have better weather.”

“I’ll get right on that.” Alistair rolls to his side and pats the bedroll. “In the meantime, come here. Least I can do, after shoving my whole foot in my mouth.”

Zevran slants a weak glare his way. “You’re not still secretly afraid?”

“Maker, I’m always afraid. But you—you’re my friend, aren’t you?” Alistair asks, tentative, soft. ”I hope so, even though I’m dumb sometimes…”

“You are not dumb, Ali,” Zevran mutters under his breath. He holds out a moment longer before crawling back into Alistair’s bedroll, burrowing into the warm bulwark of Alistair’s chest. His bear fur drapes atop the two of them, cradling them in growing heat.

Zevran does nudge his freezing nose into the hollow of Alistair’s collar bone and smiles indulgently to himself at the resulting yelp.

Alistair snuffs the lantern. He wraps his arms around Zevran’s middle, holding him tight against his chest. “Is this okay?” he whispers.

Zevran flexes his hands against the planes of Alistair’s back and twines their legs together. He snorts. “Very much so,” Zevran replies. “Halfway bearable now.”

“Only halfway, huh?”

Zevran nods in the darkness. “One of these days, Ali, my friend, I’ll take you to Antiva. You’ll see what I mean. White sand beaches, golden sunlight, spice markets, and trader’s squares… It’s nothing like Ferelden.”

“Sounds like you miss it.”

He shrugs. “Yes and no. There is much to miss, much to love, but also much to fear. I would not go back to be a Crow. I am thankful to the Warden for sparing my life.” Zevran nudges Alistair’s shoulder. “And to you, even though you spoke against it.”

“Me?” Alistair asked, voice warbling. “What—why? I was a jerk! I wanted… I wanted to get rid of you and be done with it. Move on.” He pulls back, and Zevran can feel the weight of Ali’s gaze on his face. “What could you possibly be thankful for me for?”

“Getting to know your little group, I figured you and I would not become bosom friends. Oh, how you distrusted me then! Kept me at a distance, one hand on your dagger. But then… Something changed, and I don’t know what. You changed.” 

Zevran reaches up to pull Alistair back down and plasters himself against his wide chest. “You willingly invite me to your tent to keep me from dying in my sleep. You let me sleep in your bed to keep from freezing. Do not think that any of the others offered to be so magnanimous.”

Alistair stammers out, “You—you probably wouldn’t die, it just—just wouldn’t be very comfortable…” His arms tighten, fitting into the curve of Zevran’s waist. “I just…”

“Just…?”

“I… just want you to be okay,” Alistair finishes on a whisper. His breath ruffles Zevran’s hair where it escapes his nightly braid. “Safe.”

“‘Safe,’” Zevran echoes with a touch of awe. “In the middle of a civil war punctuated by the damned Blight.”

“I can try,” Alistair protests. “I can try to keep you all safe. I’m good at that, at fighting. It’s what I’ve trained for, almost half my life now. I can keep you safe.”

Something twinges in Zevran’s chest at the decisive proclamation. He nuzzles into Alistair’s clothed shoulder. “I know you can, Ali. I… I trust that.” Even though I shouldn’t, he thinks.

Alistair melts around him, hands rubbing errant circles into Zevran’s back. “Zev?”

“Mm?”

“I like it when you call me that. Ali. It’s nice.”

Zevran smiles. “I like it when you call me Zev.”

“Good! Good. I remembered that, you know, from the beginning.”

“Hmm?”

He can hear the smile in Alistair’s voice. “You said your name was Zevran, but Zev to your friends. I remember being a jerk about it, though, thinking something along the lines of ‘but how does he have friends?’” Alistair shakes his head. “Maker, I was an ass.”

“I hope we can forgive each other our past,” Zevran yawns. He smiles sleepily into Ali’s shoulder. “There is so much better to be had to be dwelling on the past overmuch.”

“Yeah… you’re right.” Alistair nods. He shifts, shuffling to better cocoon Zevran against the cold winds that rattle the tent. “Goodnight, Zev,” he murmurs into Zevran’s hair.

Zevran pats Alistair’s back fondly. “Mmm. Goodnight, Ali.”

-----

Zevran comes to consciousness languidly, like a cat, stretched out atop Alistair’s chest. Ali’s hand cards through the loose hair that spills out between them, long since revolted against the confines of his braid.

“Good morning,” Alistair whispers, as if this is some spell he loathes to break.

“Good morning,” Zevran murmurs back. He blinks the lingering dreams from his eyes and stretches his hands, unwilling to move from his perch. “I would say I’m sorry but you are a most comfortable pillow.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so comfortable.”

They lapse into a companionable silence, just watching one another. Something blooms in Zevran’s chest at the intensity of Alistair’s stare.

“Keep looking at me like that and I just may have to kiss you,” Zevran jokes weakly. Alistair’s eyes blow wide with surprise.

“You… wow,” he says, face blushing a deep pink. Zevran’s own cheeks flush in kind. “Would you? Kiss me, I mean. You… fancy men?”

Zevran snorts. “I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting...” He trails off, suddenly unsure, but smiles anyway. “Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?”

Alistair breathes heavily beneath him. He gulps audibly. “No,” he finally whispers. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Good. Then hopefully you won’t mind if I...?”

“Please.”

Zevran grins. “As you command,” he says glibly, licking his lips. Heat pools in his belly at the way Alistair tracks the small movement. Zevran crawls up his body, straddling his waist, and bends down to pillow his mouth to Alistair’s own.

It’s clumsy at first. Alistair doesn’t seem to have much experience in the game, but what he lacks he makes up for with enthusiasm. His hands tunnel into Zevran’s hair, pulling him closer. He groans in a way that sends a shiver down Zevran’s spine, the sound obscene for all the chastity of the kiss.

But that’s all it is, trading lazy kisses on a cold morning like they have all the time in the world. Alistair levers up to press Zevran into the thin mattress of their shared bedroll, caging him in, surrounding him, and Zevran whines. Alistair kisses his way down Zevran’s jaw to nip at the sensitive skin where his jaw and throat meet.

“Ali…” Zevran gives a breathy sigh, smiling. His hands brush through Alistair’s hair.

Alistair peeks up. “Too much?” he asks, lips berry-red and kiss-swollen.

“Kiss me again,” Zevran demands, and, laughing, Alistair does, again, and again, and again.

=========

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#Alistair Theirin #Zevran Arainai #Alistair x Zevran #Zevran x Alistair #Zevristair #Zevistair #m/m #mxm #dragon age: origins #dao #da:o #fanfic #rating: g #soulrebel writes #reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated! thank you for reading!

[breazydreams]

luke and vader au

I honestly just needed a place to put this idea because it’s been in my head forever now, and super long and basically a rant, but I intend to try and write some actually stories from it... hopefully

So in this au, Luke was found by Vader, not as a baby, but when he’s around 7 or 8, so basically he’s dreamed about having a father, and then when he meets Vader his dreams are just a teensy bit crushed because ‘this is not what I imagined when I said dad in my head’ but hey he’s still super happy that he has a father. Vader, obviously is really mad at Obi-Wan but he can’t really do anything because (something happens to Obi-Wan), and so he takes Luke back to Coruscant because where else would he go?? mustafar would not have been an ideal growing up place, there’s not exactly a lot spaces to grow up on the Executor or any of the other ships that Vader has

 instead he takes Luke to Imperial Palace where he shows him off to old palps who is (unsurprisingly) not ecstatic about a baby skywalker roaming the halls, but of course in the best interest of evil and his reign he allows (read: tolerates) Luke to stay, and since the palace is so freaky big it’s not like Luke ever sees old palps anyway. Vader obviously wants to ensure that Luke has as little confrontation with the emperor at all, so he has him holed off at one of the wings of the palace, which is the furthest from Palp’s throne room, and that wing is basically transformed to Luke and Vader’s living quarters where Vader has a hyperbaric chamber set in place as well as his own suitable quarters next to Luke (which Luke is mad at because why are his so much smaller), but the arrangement works for the most part and Luke gets to befriend all stormtroopers that are stationed to protect (read: babysit) him

until he’s like 10, he stays homeschooled because Vader does not want the public or the media to ram their claws into itty bitty Luke who is too precious for the world, but then Luke starts to get older, and his doctor tells Vader maaybe just mAyBE Luke should tried to interact with some people his own age instead of the same stormtroopers and aids that are supposed to help him, and Dad Vader reluctantly sees that Luke is getting too old to just be friends with imaginary people now and so he enrolls Luke in the best institution for education there is on Coruscant: Imperial Center Institution for Higher Learning (which everyone just called I.C.I (some other au schools I have named are Coruscant High East/West/North/South, Coruscant Academy for the Gifted, Imperial High East/West/North/South ) Academy….which also just happens to be the most upscale uptight building of pretentious and snobby rich kids, and of course Luke feels miserable at first because he can’t build things and no one’s nice to him because they haven’t discovered who his parents are yet (and he plans to keep it that way)

eventually he makes some friends. His first friends (sort of) is Zevulon Veers, only because Vader realized Commander Veers has a son his son’s age so he makes Zev help Luke in school, but Zev hates that because he’s already a lOsEr as it is so his reputation is even worse with the blonde farm boy who does not understand social cues at all, but eventually through some unforeseeable circumstances (they basically foil some plan that was bad and they almost die but they’re fine...nothing like almost death to bring people together) do they become friends. And Luke’s second friend is another Outcast (wow who would’ve guessed) whose name is Adrian (why not throw in some OCs), but unlike Luke and Zev, Adrian is only an outcast because his older twin, Andros (oooh another OC) hates him, and he’s actually distantly related to royalty somewhere, but both his parents work in/for the Senate, but Adrian is like suuuuper smart and because of that Andros is jealous of him (but they resolve that problem later)

halfway through some time when they’re like 15 or 16, Leia comes into the picture and obviously Zev and Adrian and Andros are all like suuper inter her making goggly eyes, but Luke is just a little concerned (jealous) because wow did Zev get taller over the summer because now his black hair is so wavy and were his eyes always so warm and chocolatey? But basically Luke is a gay boy who doesn’t know what to do with his feelings. Back to Leia, obviously she has no time to waste on boys, so she doesn’t really pay them any attention, but Luke intrigues her for some reason, something just pulls her to him ya know?

And this is all happening between Luke and his daddy issues and also trying to not turn to the Dark Side of the force and evading old wrinkly papls at any chance he has, but eventually as he grows older he doesn’t know how to control his powers, so eventually Vader has to teach him some force control, and they do, and cue some nice Vader and Luke bonding, and Vader realizes he really doesn’t want Luke to be part of the Dark Side, so he stops Palpatine from realzing how strong his force power is by VERY strong shieling and wow look at that it works

So Luke is safe for the moment, but he won’t be forever, and eventually when he’s like 19/20 getting ready for that College Life Dude, Palps starts to get more invested in Luke, because there have been a few close calls, but is that power I’m feeling palps has his power sense tingling, so increases his surveillance on Luke, and of course Vader is not happy with it, and Luke himself is starting to have some rebellious thoughts, and just last year Zev had left with a tearful (and romantic) goodbye, and Luke is just wondering if what he is doing is right after all, and cue the big climax where Luke runs away (Artoo and Adrian both accompany him because why not) and he meets up with Leia, who has C-3PO and so of course Artoo and 3PO reveal everything and the big truth is revealed, and now all that’s left to do is kill old palps and bring order to the galaxy 

Somewhere along the adventure and danger, eventually Palpatine is killed off, Vader and Luke barely make it out alive, but they do, and now they have the just of the universe to think about, but that’s okay because now everyone is together and happy 

The end.

#star wars #luke skywalker #darth vader #luke and vader #lukeandvaderau #star wars au

[trvelyans-archive]

little things

commission for the lovely @goblinlore of his kingly oc maha and maha’s Bae, zevrannn <3 thank you so much for commissioning me again anthony! i hope i did good by your boy <3

---

The bed is empty when Zevran wakes.

The morning sun floods through the thin curtains and pools on the floor at the foot of the bed, washing the blankets that Maha must have kicked off in the middle of the night in yellow light. Zevran pushes himself up with his elbow and glances around the room, but his husband is nowhere to be found, nor are any of his clothes or his bag.

He lies in bed for a while longer, thinking, his naked body sprawled out on the sheets as the sun inches closer and closer to him from across the room. He should get up, go and find Maha, but he’s tired. And he’s upset. So he’ll stay in bed until he can’t.

It was foolish of him, really, to think that the gloves would have lasted forever. It’s been seven or eight years since Maha first gave them to him and he’s worn them every day since then, through the Battle of Denerim, through taking down the Crows, through all of the travelling and fighting and barely surviving in between. Of course they were going to fall apart. Nothing that delicate could last, not the way he led his life. How long they actually did until now was a miracle of itself, and he keeps telling himself he ought to be grateful that they did.

Instead he’s being dramatic and wallowing in it while his husband is out sure galivanting around town by himself and all Zevran wants to do is go back to sleep. He allows himself to stay in bed, but not his eyes to flutter shut.

There’s a plate of fruit on the table they picked through last night, but a few apples remain, so he crawls towards the bed just enough to be able to reach the table and grabs once, then snagging one of his knives off the bedside table and cutting the apple in half. Along with the blankets, what little clothes Zevran was wearing the night before are scattered across the wooden floorboards, and he holds his knife between his teeth as he bends over to grab his shirt. He should put that on, at the very least, in case one of the workers comes by to deliver their breakfast or try and clean up the room which, as of right now, would prove to be an impossible task.

The sun has crept across the floor even further into the room, now, and as Zevran stands to dress himself, he notices how unruly the state of bed is. He’s not surprised – he can still feel the effects of last night’s escapades across his chest, his shoulders, the back of his neck – and he makes no move to tidy it. It might make Maha laugh when he returns. It’s making Zevran laugh, at the very least, as he prepares for the day.

He’s just pulled on his boots when the door opens. Maha’s head pokes in first before he notices Zevran is awake and then the rest of his body follows as his lips spread into a wide smile.

He looks handsome this morning, Zevran thinks. Well, he looks handsome every morning, of course, but especially now, the tip of his nose red from the dawn’s steady chill, his cheeks flushed, and his gray locks hanging loose from the rest of his hair, which is pulled into a tight bun at the back of his head. He’s a little lost in thought for a moment as Maha approaches him, and it’s only when he bends down to give Zevran a kiss does he shake himself out of his trance. He can’t help himself sometimes.

“Good morning,” Maha says, smiling as he presses another kiss to Zevran’s cheek.

“Is it, mi amor?” Zevran replies, flopping down on the bed dramatically and throwing his arms above his head as he falls back. “Can we not just stay in bed forever?”

Maha sits down next to Zevran and draws his legs up, reaching across them to touch Zevran’s knee. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

Zevran tilts his head to look at him and sighs. “You are going to laugh if I tell you,” he murmurs.

“I’m not.” Maha moves a little closer, one hand still behind his back that Zevran has yet to notice. “Please, Zev?”

He stares at Maha’s face for a second before begrudgingly forcing himself to sit up, running a hand through his messy hair. “I… I know it is silly, believe me, amor, but… I must admit that I am very upset over the loss of my gloves.”

Maha’s face is blank. “What gloves?” he asks.

Zevran frowns. “My gloves,” he says. “The gloves you gave me on our travels during the Blight – the Dalish ones? Remember? The stitching came undone last week and I nearly left it on the side of the road when it fell off my hand?”

“Oh!” Maha nods, glancing around the room. “Yeah, I remember.”

He says nothing further, and Zevran squints at him, curious and intrigued but mostly very confused. “You are acting strange,” he comments loftily.

“Hmm?” Maha cocks his head. “Am I?”

It’s then Zevran notices the hand Maha still holds behind his back. He’s not even trying to hide it, really, so Zevran doesn’t know how he didn’t notice is sooner.

“Do you have something in your hand?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No.”

“Maha.”

“Vhenan.” Maha laughs warmly and stands, hand still behind his back as the other one joins him, the corners of his mouth dimpling as he fails to disguise how pleased he is. “You’re ruining the surprise.”

Zevran’s heartbeat stutters delightfully in his chest at Maha’s use of his favourite pet name, but he doesn’t let it deter him, because he knows that was the purpose. “Surprise?” he questions.

“Why did you think I left so early this morning?”

“I had assumed you were getting us breakfast, as you always do,” Zevran says. “You did not? I am feeling quite hungry...”

He feels a little lighter now after seeing Maha that he can put in the effort to tease him, and Maha smiles, and Zevran feels lighter still. “I got you something better,” Maha says, “but you have to close your eyes.”

This isn’t unusual for Maha. He often comes back from the market with a gift for Zevran or something to make a gift with – fabric, beads, even the occasional scrap of gold or silver that he crafts into something Zevran can wear. He has several new earrings, now, new rings that adorn his worn fingers. But he doesn’t like any gift as much as he likes his gloves.

Liked, he supposes, since they’re long unusable now.

He’ll still keep them, of course. Perhaps he’ll carry them around with him for luck. But they made him feel more powerful, more invincible. Now, he feels small. And not just because Maha is a head taller than him, three as he stands and Zevran remains on the bed.

“You know, if you wanted to really surprise me, you could have… Well, I have many ideas,” Zevran says. “Which one would you like to hear first?”

“Zevran.”

“Amor.”

Maha flushes, and Zevran stands up, finally, reaching to cup his cheek with the other arm silently winds around his back. “You are very handsome today, Maha,” he whispers. “This bed was rather lonely when I awoke… Surely we could make up for lost quality time together right now, mmm?”

This time, Maha opens his mouth to protest and nothing comes out but a string of hushed stammering, and Zevran feels an exceptional swell of pride in his chest. “I… Stop teasing,” Maha murmurs. “I would… I would like to give you my gift, Zev, please.”

“Fine,” he says, dropping the arm that he had been trying to secretly steal the gift with dramatically to his side and licking his lips. “Only because I love you.”

Zevran sits down on the edge of the bed as Maha drags a chair over from the table, sitting down in it and jerking his head in Zevran’s direction. “Close your eyes,” he says quietly.

“My, my, all this ceremony makes me feel like a prince,” Zevran comments as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Wait! Don’t tell me you commandeered a castle for me – you know you don’t need to treat me so, amor, I do so enjoy staying in dingy inns where we can hear the clash of bandit swords outside our window every night .”

“Zevran.” He can hear the smile in Maha’s voice.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “Do your worst, mi amor.”

There’s the sound of rustling as Maha unwraps what is presumably Zevran’s gift, and Zevran sits uncomfortably in the silence that follows until Maha clears his throat.

“Okay,” he breathes, “you can open your eyes now.”

Zevran considers teasing him, perhaps dragging the joke along a little longer, but instead he gives in, opening his eyes as his gaze falls on the pair of gloves in Maha’s hands. Zevran’s gloves. The Dalish gloves. The ones he thought would be too difficult to repair. The ones he thought were long gone.

“You said no one would be able to repair them,” he comments as he tentatively takes them from his husband. Maha slides off the chair and onto the bed beside Zevran, wrapping an arm around his waist and dropping his head to his shoulder.

“I said it would be difficult,” he corrects. “I’ve been working on them, slowly, during the mornings while you’re still asleep, but there were a few finishing touches I wanted to save for some craftsmen in the city to add because I didn’t have the access to the right materials…” He moves his head to touch his lips to Zevran’s face, brushing them across his jaw with a tentative nervousness. “Do you like them?”

Zevran stares at them in astonishment, noting the yellow and orange beading that wasn’t there before, the circular flecks of gold and bronze medal adorning the back, the dark red thread winding across the surface of the entire glove. “You shouldn’t have, amor,” he says quietly.

“Why not?” Maha challenges, asking not angrily but innocently.

“You always give me such beautiful gifts,” Zevran whispers. “And I cannot return them, no matter how hard I try. You are very hard to shop for, you know.”

Maha chuckles, lining Zevran’s cheekbones with light kisses. “You are my beautiful gift, vhenan,” he says softly, and Zevran’s heart stutters again, a feeling that has become all too familiar since they’ve wed. “I couldn’t ask for anything more. Besides, you don’t have to give me anything in return… Being with you and having you by my side is enough.”

Zevran slips the gloves over his hands, and the rabbit fur inside is softer than it’s been in years. “I will take good care of them,” he says, turning to raise one gloved hand to Maha’s face and drawing him close until their noses brush. “I promise.”

“I know you will,” Maha responds as he kisses him.

It’s long and slow, a suspended moment that seems to hang in the warm air forever, and by the time they break apart, Zevran finds his way into Maha’s lap and quickly takes the gloves off. “You know,” he mumbles, planting his bare hand on his husband’s chest and pushing him backwards as he tosses the gloves rather carelessly over his shoulder onto the bed behind him, “we still have the room until midday…”

Maha drags Zevran down with him as he falls back onto the crumpled sheets. “I see now,” he whispers as he works his large hands beneath Zevran’s shirt. “You are full of good ideas.”

Zevran follows suit, trailing his fingers over the scars on Maha’s abdomen. “That I am,” he whispers. “I might have a few more ideas for this right now, too…”

#wow i love them #literally so much. what kings #zevwarden #zevran x warden #zevran x mahariel #my writing #my commissions