#VARRIC LOVES HAWKE MORE THAN HIS OWN FUCKING LIFE

[androgynouscardinal]

When you romance Anders and he says, “I wish we could stay like this forever, love”

When you romance Fenris and he says, “I am yours”

When you romance Varric and he says, “You people have done enough to her”

#dragon age spoilers #dragon age 2 spoilers #da:i spoilers #dragon age inquisition spoilers #da2 spoilers #hawke #anders #fenris #varric #dragon age: inquisition spoilers #iykyk #like anders having full awareness of what forever would be like to him attached to justice #and he fucking says this anyway #and fenris was tortured enslaved branded #hunted marked betrayed by anyone he dared to trust and once he is finally free of every last threat to his mere existence as his own person #he says this to hawke ????? #THIS???? #VARRIC LOVES HAWKE MORE THAN HIS OWN FUCKING LIFE #also obvs but fuck the da writers for being to chickenshit scared to let me seduce dwarves #fucking mage rights bitch

[vaguely-concerned]

listen I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore but on this playthrough of DA2 I found myself once more entranced and heartbroken to see hawke reenact their relationship with their mother with the entire cursed city of kirkwall. you can never do enough for leandra, and you can never do enough for kirkwall. leandra is proud of you, and kirkwall uplifts its champion, but no matter how hard you try for them you can't fix everything there that's broken, no one could, and even the fact that anyone would feel the burning responsibility to take that task on is a huge warning sign on its own. leandra will easily allow you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of the family's continued well-being again and again, even when she'll beg you to spare the twins from the same thing. it's such a sad, painfully realistic thing because I truly don't think leandra meant to fuck up her kids, and yet she primed her oldest for an abusive toxic codependent relationship with an entire ongoing dumpster fire of a city state better than she ever could have if she had meant to.

I think what leandra actually, deep down wants from you is something you can never ever give her and that is cruel to ask of anyone, but especially your kid -- to bring her back to a time when she was happy. to reclaim when you were all happy, when nothing was broken that couldn't be fixed, before malcolm died, before you had to leave behind bethany or carver's broken body on the ground. to get her childhood back from where she left it and found it all gone and in ruins when she returned. 'this is all your fault'. this is the tragedy of parenthood sometimes I think, that capacity to define a life: she said that once, in a moment of profound pain, and she probably wouldn't have said it under other circumstances and she apologizes later, but now hawke has to live with that forever. leandra can't bear her own emotions without letting them spill over onto someone else so she won't have to hold the discomfort of them anymore, and hawke is left to shoulder that burden and responsibility again and again, handed the impossible task of making it all okay again, somehow -- of stopping anything bad from ever happening again in the Nr 1 Bad Things Constantly Happening capital of thedas.

and then at the same time there's the mirror of how varric's whole family wants orzammar back (and to him orzammar is just a ghost he's seen in their eyes -- there's something in his voice when he says 'That stupid plate was the whole city of Orzammar to him' that gets me every time, how much he understands that he doesn't understand and how lonely that makes him among them, and on top of it all he's frustrated and ashamed and sad that he just doesn't get it and can't meet them on it -- like it's a betrayal that he actually belongs up here, when varric wants so badly to be loyal), just as the hawkes want happiness back. (I don't think it's Lothering in itself that longing is for, it's for being together. Lothering was just the place they stayed the longest.) they're all in exile, even as they try to make a new home out of that exile.

(varric and hawke's real 🤝 quality across all personalities, affinities and choices is 'parentified child' lmao. so much of varric's character makes perfect sense once you know he grew up supporting a mother who was an emotionally volatile alcoholic, honestly. between varric, the hawkes, isabela, seb if you have him and merrill's whole Situation with marethari I feel like DA2 covertly is to mommy issues what ME2 is to daddy issues fjsdjfa)

basically I think I'm trying to pick apart exactly why the fact that leandra is clearly proud of hawke and tells them so several times doesn't feel like it helps at all, almost feels more like a cage even though it's clearly meant well? and what I'm getting is that it's because my sense of what hawke actually needs, in general but especially from a parent, isn't admiration or approval but to be loved and supported and understood. I don't believe leandra ever quite understands them, and it scares her because it makes her think she maybe never even understood malcolm. (that's the subtext of a lot of what leandra will say about him in legacy, at least. he's slipping away from her as the years pass after his death and she fears she never really had him in the first place, if he had secrets like these.) she consistently treats her oldest more like a partner or peer than as her child, which considering hawke is always described as being very similar to their father… I mean I totally see how that could be easy to slip into for her after he died especially, but it doesn't make it any less fucked up or unfair.

the real leandra in legacy is. she is SO absurdly self-centered, if you really pay attention. I don't want to keep dunking on her because I don't think she's like this on purpose, but it boggles my mind. if you do the quest in act 1 she gets so upset and overwhelmed that the kids just sort of sit there like :( at the end, which adds to the trend that through the game you constantly see hawke comforting leandra, and you pretty much never see leandra comforting hawke, beyond some light vaguely encouraging comments in passing. if you do legacy in act 2 while she's still alive hawke comes to her, tentatively asking if malcolm ever spoke to her about any of it -- clearly requesting some sort of emotional support or help to make sense of it. she then expresses her side of it, but never once does she say anything to the effect of 'hey that was a lot to go through, are you okay after all that?'.

instead she essentially hands them the responsibility of having a good life, to repay what malcolm did for all of them. and in theory that's not the worst takeaway I suppose, malcolm probably would want them all to be happy, but in the moment it only feels like more expectation heaped upon you somehow? especially since you don't really get to express anything about how it made you feel before she goes to the 'ah no use complaining' zone (after SHE got to express her grief at feeling like she's losing more and more of that old life, and hawke barely got to say anything fhsfalkjfs). in general she really doesn't do much like. parenting, does she haha. there is so much love there in that relationship, and yet so little comfort. Oh, those days. All of us, in that simple place. Well, that's neither here nor there, is it. This life, we have to make the best of it. And thanks to you, and him, I will. Oh well, mum, I'm uh. I'm glad you feel better after that, at least. Nice to be of service.

it's varric's ghost-leandra who actually acknowledges what a burden hawke has taken on, that shows an understanding of why they're doing it, acknowledges the loss they've been through and also reassures them in their sense of belonging that still can't be taken from them, despite it all -- The best of him is still with you. The best of all of us. It's what makes you try so hard. You'll always have that. We'll always be family. (you can't take 'loved' away, huh.) you get a bit more of a reconciliation/reconnection between hawke and their dad's memory by being reminded he got like this too, you know (implicitly you're not alone). varric through leandra is the one who tells them what they probably would have wanted and needed to hear from a parent right then -- It's going to be alright. that's what Hawke, The Champion means to everyone else, and for once they get to be the one to hear it. except only in a kind dream that never really happened. I. it. hmmmmmm. crushing. that is crushing. but also so incredibly tender from varric's side, and so moving to me that he's seen all this stuff and so desperately wants to give them that comfort. anyway DA2 is about love in some of the realest and thus messiest and most human ways I've ever seen and it makes my brain go wild it's my favorite game of all time goodnight

#I don't even know what I'm saying anymore folks please just. accept this. it makes no sense/compels me though etc. #dragon age meta #dragon age #dragon age 2 #hawke #leandra amell #honestly someone should do an analysis of the mother figures of DA2 because oh BOY something is up here #elthina and all her talk of the chantry as a 'gentle mother' very much included #as I believe terry pratchett once wrote: #That's Nature for you in a nutshell. Always dealing off the bottom of the pack. No wonder they called her a mother.

[possessedopossum]

Words cannot express how much it means to me that both Anders and Hawke survive the events of da2 and dai. Anders is so depressed and hopeless in act 3, he feels like he's living on borrowed time and he has no choice but become a martyr in order to save the mages from genocide. He expects his own lover to kill him and when Hawke refuses to do so, Anders is genuinely surprised. Some people call him suicidal at this point but no, there's a huge difference. He doesn't want to die, he wants to live in a world where mages are free. And unfortunately, he also believes that this world can be created only if he dies. Later, in the Gallows, Anders sounds so...Inspired? Hawke had shown him that there is a choice, that he doesn't have to die. He doesn't have to sacrifice anything, including relationships with Hawke. And his fight for mages rights is not hopeless at all. I don't believe someone's story is good and worth telling only if the hero dies in the end. To me, the story is good only if Anders survives too see the world his actions created. He deserves to know divine Victoria disbanded the Circles of magi. He deserves to see mages not being afraid that the Chantry will tear their families apart. He deserves to see young mages who have never ever heard that their magic is a curse. In my hc, after they aid the mage rebellion, Hawke and Anders find a remote village in Ferelden to hide and just...Enjoy their life there. They have a kid together. Hawke works on a farm, like he used to before Kirkwall, and the locals appreciate having a spirit healer around a lot. No more templars, no more responsibility for an entire city. Hawke doesn't even go to Adamant. Because guess what? Anders does NOT deserve to see his another lover being taken from him because the Chantry said so. Honestly fuck Varric for that, my Hawke wouldn't even answer his letters after this. Corypheus is not his problem, it's grey warden and inquisition problem. Hawke is no longer the hero who saves the day. He's just a random ferelden man who loves his husband and daughter, okay?

So here's a picture of Anders and Isaac Hawke after they killed Meredith. The sun is rising, I like it way more than in game scene with dark lighting. Because it's not the end, but the beginning.

#dragon age #da2 #anders #handers #mhanders #hawke x anders #custom hawke #art

[jojotichakorn]

OK, I read your tags on that DA2-esque gif set and now I want to know! What do you think Top Hawke would be like?

what an excellent question that will be understood by two and a half people in total jgkdfjgfdjgfdkg no but it will be fun for me to answer so i'm not complaining

credit where credit is due, anon and i only thought of this because of this amazing gifset by the wonderful @sparklyeyedhimbo

i know we've only had one episode, but i honestly think top is as shallow as a fucking puddle and what we've already seen of his slightly more hidden manipulations is as deep as he gets. personality-wise, i think he would be chuckles (aka humorous) - i think he'd be very charming and sarcastic, always scheming but rarely directly aggressive. and speaking of being indirect, he also gives me double-wielding rogue vibes all the way - a backstabber both literally and metaphorically.

in terms of the party, i reckon he'd have a pretty antagonistic relationship with all of them, to various degrees. don't get me wrong, this man can act extremely appealing to literally anyone he'd like to fuck, but the thing about the da2 party is i think each of them has been through so much shit that they are not naive enough to fall for any of it. i'm not sure if we know top's sexuality atm, but out of all da2 companions, the only person who could potentially fuck top would be isabela, and she would do it because she would know exactly who he is as a person and not because she is oblivious to it.

speaking of isabela, i stand by what i said in the tags - she would think he's occasionally funny and extremely alluring. but, as i said, at the end of the day she'd see right through him, so it would be a line between understanding his selfishness and his way of thinking and simultaneously keeping to herself because of the very same thing. anyone who befriended or romanced izzy knows that creating that deep connection with her implies loyalty to her and certain... if not sacrifices then difficult choices that make hawke's life harder because they are trying to help her. that's not something top would do in a million years. i am honestly a bit on the fence on whether she would even return with the relic at the end of act 2, but if she does, top would give her over to the arishok without blinking an eye.

it's kind of hard to make varric disapprove of any hawke, to be completely honest, and i think top would actually be pretty chill with him, because he's a funny guy. and he's helpful. but when push comes to shove, top would still be a dick, and the whole bartrand / red lirium situation would be dealt with in the worst way possible, which would strain their relationship quite a bit.

bethany is a sweet little girl and she loves her sibling dearly, to the point that i believe it's literally impossible to max out a rivalry with her in game no matter what you do. but since top seems like a very "ends justify the means" guy and his ends are very selfish, he'd do some things bethany wouldn't be a fan of. i don't think top would really care about the mage / templar conflict, but he would be choosing the routes that save his own skin first and foremost, which are rarely the pro-mage routes, and that would definitely sour his relationship with bethany.

merrill, i reckon, would have a very distant relationship with top and would probably just try to stay away from him as often as possible. aveline and sebastian (along with andraste on his crotch) would be very *clutches the pearls* about him and would dislike him severely. however, i don't think anyone would hate top as much as fenris and anders. his special brand of selfishness, over-confidence, and bravado is something both of them would hate in ways more similar than they could ever admit.

in general, i think top would always choose what's best for him. he wouldn't ask a lot of questions about who it would otherwise benefit or why, who it could hurt, etc. he would help, but only if you paid him. he would lie and he would cheat, if that served him better in the moment, and he would be honest and direct, if that was the choice that would lead to him coming out on top (pun intended). he wouldn't care about what's right or what's good, he would very much only care about himself.

this kind of makes it a bit harder to make out what his final decision in terms of the conflict would be, because - unless a hawke vehemently supports templars throughout the whole game, which top would not do, or a hawke is a mage, which top wouldn't be - there isn't really anything personal that one would gain in siding with either. at that point, it is simply a moral choice. with a very easy answer, obviously supporting mages is the only right choice, but it's easy for people who actually care about doing the right thing, which top obviously doesn't give a shit about. but at the end of the day, i think h would side with the mages, if not for any reason other than him enjoying chaos and having a deep-rooted value of freedom.

so yes, that's the general vibe i'm getting from Top Hawke jgkldfjgklfdjkgl. thank you so much for asking, this was fun!!

#archer responds #anon #only friends the series #ofts

[glitterdustcyclops]

Ten Fave Characters from Ten Fandoms

I started this post years ago and gave up halfway through, but I thought it would be interesting to revisit it. To see if my thoughts had changed since then, and to add in some new fandoms I've been into. The thing is, I've always struggled to pick my Single Favorite Character in any given media, because I am a total sucker for a good ensemble cast, and most of the time I'm more interested in the dynamics of the different relationships between characters than I am in the individual characters themselves. But you know, I do still have my blorbos, same as everyone else. So here are ten of them, from ten different fandoms, in no particular order (with a general warning that there will be spoilers):

1. Steven (Steven universe)

My son, my muffin, light of my life, best boy!! Honestly, how could I not put him first? Steven Universe is and always will be It™ for me, My Thing, and I could probably write essays for days (and in fact, I have) about the themes, characters, story arcs, design, music, everything to do with this fucking show. And while I love literally everyone in Beach City to bits, you know I gotta give a special shout out to our boy Steven. Watching him grow up over the years was a genuine delight, and the conclusion of his arc being a pretty obvious transgender acceptance allegory at the exact same time I was coming to accept my own trans identity was an extra special treat on top. It will never stop blowing my socks clean off just how revolutionary a character like Steven was at the time (and shamefully, continues to be), especially in media aimed at young kids. A boy hero whose strength and power comes from his empathy, from his kindness, from the women in his life. He is literally surrounded by a team of powerful alien warrior women, descended from the Princess of Alien Space Rock Royalty, and never once does the narrative even slightly question the fact that he idolizes the women in his life. Steven fights with a rose-colored shield and loves singing and laughing and his big sisters and love, and his whole arc was about learning how to take these feminine influences and come into his own power with them, to be the kind of hero he wanted to be. At the end of the day, no matter what else Steven was, he was above all himself. And he was loved for it, completely, unreservedly, without question. How fucking magical is that? (And thank god we finally got him some therapy, this poor lil muffin).

2. Donna Noble (Doctor Who)

Best companion 5ever, fite me. I love Donna for so many reasons, but most of all I love her relationship with Ten, which is easily one of my top five brotps of all time. She challenged him and snarked at him and dared him to be better, and he tried his hardest to do it, because he wanted to be worthy of her companionship. And they were just so good together!!! Ahhh!!!!! Donna Noble was introduced as a rather abrasive figure, loud and sarcastic without apology in a way female characters frequently aren’t allowed to be, especially in the dark times of the late 2000s. But she was also shown to be really deeply kind, overflowing with empathy for all of the people and creatures around her. And not only that, but she was quite literally the Most Important Woman in the Universe because of it. Your faves could simply never, I’m sorry. Ten + Donna will forever be my ultimate fav season, my fav companion, my favorite everything of Doctor Who forever and always. (Also David Tennant & Catherine Tate’s irl chemistry is the best, they are just so good whenever they’re together on screen.)

3. Iron Bull (Dragon Age Inquisition)

It is almost impossible for me to pick my favorite character from Dragon Age more than any other series because I really do love them all too much. I mean, Hawke, my disaster bisexual? Fenris, my moody little porcupine? Dorian? Sera? Leliana? VARRIC?!?! To me one of the defining features of Dragon Age are its excellent ensemble casts. The fascinating dynamics between all these messed up weirdos trying their best to save the world. But if I had to pick one guy, the one who definitely surprised me with how absolutely head-over-heels in love I fell with him, well then I have to give it up to the Big Man himself, our beloved Iron Bull. I remember when it was first announced we were getting a Qunari love interest, and not only was he a Big McLarge Huge Warrior Guy, he was pansexual. I was braced for a walking punchline, leering and making jokes and flirting with everyone in a really crass way (not that there’s anything wrong with that, just you know, it’s been done before). But what I got instead was a burnt-out professional liar with a determined love for softness, for pleasure. Bull is an incisively intelligent and brutally calculating man who is willing to turn his back on his country and everything he's ever known, to become an outcast, just to stick up for the people he loves the most. Dude's got layers. He loves dawnstone because it's pretty and pink, he totally gets off on fighting dragons, he calls Vivienne ma'am and plays mindchess with Solas in his spare time. And obviously, of course, him being a loving dom who gives you a place to be something other than the literal Herald of Andraste was just the icing and sprinkles on top of this already delicious slice of beefcake.

4. Izzy Hands (Our Flag Means Death)

Oh boy. Hoo boy. Okay. We're getting into it now. Sometimes you just see an absolute miserable little rat bastard of a man and go "yes, that one, that one's mine thank you." While I love Stede for Gender Reasons and I love Ed because he's literally perfect, and the tender sweetness of Jim + Olu melt my heart into a pool of butter, and everyone else in the cast is absolutely spectacular, down to the guest roles, there's just something about Izzy. It’s undeniable. We love a complicated character round these parts, naturally, but also, how could you not be obsessed with one so singularly pathetic and yearning and just absolutely begging to be stepped on as Izzy motherfucking Hands. Just. His whole deal?? Imagine being so fucking married to the fictionalized persona you helped create of the man you've decided to devote your entire life to. Imagine knowing that the crumbs of affection you accept from him are the most that you could ever hope to get, because you and he just aren't made for anything else, you are Hard Men and this is a Violent, Terrible world. Until, suddenly, in walks this fucking prissy little nonce with no skills and all of the privilege, who by all rights should have been shot dead the second he set foot in Nassau, and somehow this fucking idiot manages to utterly bewitch your husband god Captain?? Who, it turns out, actually did want all of that lovely sweet softness you told yourself was Forbidden, For Reasons, and he is actually perfectly capable of showing warmth and devotion and care for someone, just not You. No, instead you are fated to watch your Captain and This Fucking Idiot fall in love, right in front of your face, and the rest of his floating insane asylum treat you like you're the bad guy here. Like, bitch, I would probably want to stab someone about that too!! (And that's not even getting into the Toe Thing, which. Jesus Christ. The Toe Thing). Also, he has the privilege of being portrayed by Con O'Neil, who I have the most atrocious of crushes on, so really, how could I not pick him?

5. Flint (Black Sails)

Speaking of Messed Up Gay Pirates. I know we can all relate to someone being so fundamentally angry about homophobia that he decides to declare war on all of Britain about it, right? No, but for real, James Flint McGraw’s entire arc, from earnest do-good Homosexual with politically radical beliefs to vengeful ginger murder-pirate to tired old man who gets to retire to a lifetime of gentle lovemaking with his recently-unburied Husband was something I never expected, but was utterly delighted by nonetheless. There is just so much seething rage burning under the surface of this man, that constant war between his tenderness, his capacity for love and care that was so cruelly ripped from him by such a corrupt system, and then his yearning for violence and vengeance. And, on top of that, the ways he relates to the women of the show; his entire co-dependant Thing with Miranda, which is so queer it’s almost beyond definition in the best way, and his Tired Gay Dad routine with Eleanor, and to a lesser extent, Madi. Plus, he’s damaged and hot and so so sad about it, and he looks so criminally good covered in blood it should actually be a crime. To this day the entirety of the “in the dark there is discovery” monologue fully lives rent free in my head, not to mention “my truest love, know no shame.” Ultimate blorbo status for sure.

6. Joan Watson (Elementary)

Confession time: I was definitely one of those people who was initially dubious and upset that they were doing yet another modern Sherlock Holmes adaptation, and not only that, but they were making Watson a woman! “Oh this is obviously an egregious No Homo attempt, fuck this show,” I thought, and I was fully prepared to write off the whole enterprise. But then I found out they had cast Lucy Liu as Watson and I was conflicted because, seriously, Lucy Liu, how could you not totally love her? I decided to give the first episode a shot and was delighted to discover that Miss Joan totally captured my heart from the literal moment she appeared on screen. I’ve never been the biggest fan of the original Holmes stories so take all my opinions with a grain of salt here, but I love that Joan is played as Watson who is an actual equal to Sherlock. Their dynamic is an honest-to-god partnership, instead of the tired trope of the Brilliant Amazing Perfect Special Genius Boy and the long-suffering idiot who puts up with him. You can really see what Sherlock sees in Joan, all the things he values in her: her strength and quiet brilliance, her inquisitiveness and determination, and how she utterly refuses to put up with his bullshit from like, day one. This is a Watson with healthy boundaries, y’all. She’s just such a wonderful character in her own right. She’s more than Sherlock’s blogger, she has a life and dreams and goals of her own, and the show respects that. And not only that, but there is not even a hint of any tired romance tropes between the two of them. Their quiet queerplatonic domestic partnership evolves in such a really lovely way across the series, it is one of the core dynamics of the show, and it’s so good. And each episode is an excuse to look at Lucy Liu in gorgeous outfits for an hour at a time, which I will happily take where I can find it. Good show. Criminally underrated.

7. Aziraphale (Good Omens)

Alright, I’ve got another shameful confession for you. I’ve never actually managed to finish reading Good Omens. I know I know, nail me to the cross. There was just something about the writing style that I could never fully get into, but I got far enough to know that Crowley and Aziraphale were totes in love 5ever, and even though I wouldn’t have understood why at the time, I really Related to Aziraphale for Some Mysterious Reason. Smash cut to 2019 and the first season of the TV version premiers and I’m watching Michael Sheen do all That as Aziraphale and a lightbulb pops on over my head and I just go oh. Gender!! There’s a tumblr post I love that talks about how Aziraphale is soft and effeminate and good, and that is such an important part of his character. He on-purpose cultivates a deliberately gay image because he relates to gay culture, because he identifies with being a maligned outcast to society the same way homosexuals were for most of the time he’s been on Earth. Our Angel loves food and pleasure and soft warm things, and that never stops him from being a hero. In fact, it is because of his hedonism and softness that he defies Heaven and Hell to literally save the day. To quote from that post directly, “He’s soft and queer and vain and he loves food and these are good qualities! These things are his and he wears them openly and defiantly and they make him strong in a way heaven doesn’t comprehend!” God, just, *slaps Aziraphale’s belly* this bad boy can hold so much gender. I love him endlessly.

8. GLaDOS (Portal 2)

So rarely in media are women allowed to be unhinged murderous lunatics, but GLaDOS carries that heavy burden on her beautiful robot shoulders admirably. I think sometimes the fanon characterization of her focuses a little too heavily on either the tragedy of her, of Caroline being forced into this body against her will, or on the whole Evil Dommy Mommy Step on Me Cold Calculating Badass thing, which is unfortunate, because GlaDOS is also completely fucking bonkers in the best way. Not a goddamn hinge anywhere to be found on this bitch, and that’s what makes her so special. She’s silly! And weird! Her toxic yuri mother-daughter Thing with Chell is endlessly compelling, and every line out of her mouth is an ice-cold banger. Also, she gets the special honor of being one of the few characters I’ve cosplayed as, and she is certainly one of the funnest to portray. To this day I still have the entirety of her wake-up speech from Portal 2 memorized. “Okay look. We both said a lot of things you’re going to regret. But I believe we can put our differences behind us. For science. You monster.” She’s incredible.

9. Yuna (FFX, FFX-2)

My first blorbo! Yuna Finalfantasy will always have a special place in my heart, for reasons I’m not sure I can properly articulate. FFX is one of The Games of All Time for me, I literally used to listen to the soundtrack as a lullaby, and to this day my dad and I can quote the dialogue along with the cutscenes. And Yuna’s arc just absolutely destroys me if I think too hard about it. She is just so good, she is quiet and gentle and sweet and absolutely drowning under the crushing enormity of her legacy, her mission, the fate of the goddamn literal world. And then she meets her match in the Manic Pixie Dream (Heh) Boy who gets her to open up and live a little, who makes her laugh and smile, and she really values him for it, for the discovery and possibility he represents for her. And then, the ultimate tragedy of him being the one to sacrifice for her, that she may live? Ugh!! It’s raining. On my face. To this day the scene of her Sending after Kilika just guts me, and the way she grows and changes and comes into her own over the course of FFX-2 breaks me down to my atoms. Best girl, no question.

10. Astarion (Baldur’s Gate 3)

Alright. Okay. Yes. I know. I’m going to try and make this entry not just a rehash of my last post about Astarion or unhinged gay screaming for 500 words but like. Come on. Look at him. I never played Baldur’s Gate during early access,  but when I found out that one of your potential love interests was a queer pretty-boy vampire with a Tragic Backstory involving a twisted Master/slave dynamic I was...intrigued, to say the least. What I did not expect was all of the depth and complexity that went into writing him and portraying him. It helps that Neil Newbon has an absolutely delicious voice, yes, but there is so much more there besides the surface level of him. In fact, that is the entire point of his arc! Seeing beyond the very pretty seductive mask he presents to the world, to the gaping wounds and barely-concealed traumas and fear and insecurities behind it, and choosing to love him for it anyway. And by loving him, the real him, you make space for him to find himself, to rescue himself. A man who has spent 200 years buried under ground surviving horrific abuse and becoming cruel and petty to cope, finding the strength within himself to heal, to choose to live and to love, honestly. That is so fucking powerful, I will literally never get over it.

#shut up chocolate #my stuff #favorite characters #blorbo posting #steven universe #doctor who #dragon age #ofmd #black sails #elementary #good omens #portal #ffx #baldur's gate 3

[gayhawkelatehomicide]

Protagonist Masterpost

Here's the list of my playthroughs for reference if anyone's curious who tf I'm talking about in my pieces!

Wardens

Aridhel Mahariel - bow rogue, romanced Zevran, straightforward dalish who neither understands nor cares about shemlen (or durgenlen) politics, blood magic is probably fine as long as you use it responsibly, anxious and blunt, "let's focus on stopping the world-ending plague of darkspawn first, and worry about the rest of this bullshit later, hm?"

Saffron Cousland - sword and shield warrior, romanced Alistair, noble in every sense of the word but cheerful and friendly, Queen of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine (and Highever), killed Rendon Howe with her father's sword, fixated on duty, "because it's the right thing to do."

Theodore Amell - arcane warrior mage, romanced Morrigan, bastardization arc powered by Morrigan whispering bad ideas in his ear, loves his terrible witch girlfriend, blood magic is fine and the chantry is oppressive, ambitious, "I am no longer baby, now I want power."

Renan Tabris - dagger rogue, romanced Leliana, disaster bi, still grieving for her almost husband but would rather die than admit it, exactly zero patience for anyone's bullshit, raised Andrastian (derogatory), canonically kind of a bitch, loves her stupid new baby brother, harden everyone, distrustful, "like dogs, Shianni"

Valda Aeducan - two handed warrior, romanced Leliana, honorable and serious, trusts no one, girl raised in harsh political nonsense learns to trust her found family and forgive her bio family while unlearning bad lessons simulator, sneaky/quiet sense of humor, intense loyalty to her people, values tradition but values compassion more, genuinely regrets what happened with Trian, "For the honor of my house, though I have none myself any longer."

Hawkes

Iris Hawke - knife rogue, romanced Anders, diplomatic as a means to an end, loves mages so much, circle mage Bethany, will do anything to protect what's left of her family, noble impulses but awful sense of humor, fanatic, "why don't we try asking the Arishok nicely?"

Ian Hawke - elemental mage, romanced Fenris, sarcastic, sided with the templars because magic is an essential part of him but it's brought nothing but grief to him and his family, templar Carver, quip for every situation, never loses his positive outlook for long, self-loathing, "dad did WHAT for the Wardens? Why am I not surprised."

Kiera Hawke - two-handed warrior, romanced Isabella, sarcastic/aggressive, sad bastard warrior Hawke, everyone who gets close to her dies, Bethany dies, good attitude broken by the wear and tear of life, loves her buddies who are also terrible, angry and broken, "you tell me where Bartrand is, I'll help you wring his fucking neck"

Alice Hawke - knife rogue, romanced Merrill, circle mage Bethany, p much pure diplomatic bc she's genuinely that nice, mom friend central, no one is irredeemable, far too trusting, kind of a busybody, "clean your blades, watch your purse strings, don't be a dick."

Delilah Hawke - big damage mage, in love with Varric so no romance because Bioware are cowards, pure sarcasm, sends Carver to the wardens, adores her stupid chaotic bisexual family, beat down by this world but stubbornly clinging to joy, flat refuses to talk about her problems, uses her staff as a polearm, "Where would I be without my trusty dwarf?"

Inquisitors

Miriani Lavellan - assassin bow rogue, romanced Solas, confused hardass Dalish doing her very best to navigate suddenly being in charge of all of this stuff, cares so much about everyone all the time, terrified but resigned to her responsibilities, self-sacrificing, sense of humor buried under all that sincerity. "I am the Inquisitor, through no virtue of my own. Vir suledin nadas."

Asher Adaar - two-handed warrior, romanced nobody, blunt and direct Tal-Vashoth mercenary who gets persuaded that maybe she actually is the herald of andraste, but honestly just wants to handle the things with as little religious and/or political nonsense as possible, blunt and violent, "We save Thedas TWICE, my hand wants to kill me, we save the exalted council specifically, and this is what we get??"

Stephan Trevelyan - rift mage, romanced Cassandra, a good sweet Andrastian boy, true prophet who has a meltdown when he finds out about Solas, best friends with Dorian, keeps the inquisition and wants to really save the world, stubborn AF, "Faith is a choice. The Maker set these events in motion so long ago we can no longer see His hand in them."

Samahl Lavellan - tempest knife rogue, romanced Dorian, cheerful, sarcastic, and overwhelmed, insanely competent but good at hiding it, terrible little bastard, hates responsibilities, laughs in the face of danger (and Cassandra), keeps insisting he's not the Herald, kinda lazy, "I guess I'm learning now, aren't I, Mother?"

Riska Cadash - artificer knife rogue, romanced Sera, direct and sometimes brutal but ultimately caring, the WORST sense of humor, criminal upbringing noble fashion sense, besties with Dagna, vaguely andrastian and very confused, "What's the worst that could happen?"

Continuities

Aridhel, Ian, Miriani - Protector, Victim, Survivor

Saffron, Iris, Asher - Shield, Dagger, Sword

Theodore, Kiera, Stephan - Ambition, Sorrow, Faith

Renan, Alice, Samahl - Vengeance, Kindness, Laughter

Valda, Delilah, Riska - Exile, Prodigal, Pauper

Miscellaneous Inquisitors

Isene Lavellan - fire mage, romances Iron Bull, primarily jokes and asks questions, basically a horrible mix of Miriani and Samahl. Sweet and a bit of a brat but ultimately up to the challenge. A disaster at the winter palace. Her general response to her workload getting heavier is to adjust the straps that hold the world on her back and carry on with a smile. "Oh I would've made a shit Keeper, I like starting fights, lighting fires, and knowing stuff I'm not supposed to know way to much."

Harea Lavellan - knight enchanter and ice mage, romances Cullen, open minded and sweet, a bit naive but genuinely wants to make the world better, distressed by the mark and the everything but willing to bear it to keep others from suffering. Self sacrifice is a big theme here.

Rogelan Lavellan - sword and shield warrior, romances Josephine, kind of a hard-ass but willing to be romantic, would rather talk than fight but won't give up his ideals, careful and deliberate in everything he does but bold when he's made a decision. Understands shem bullshit better than most.

Helga Cadash - big hammer warrior, romances Blackwall, personality tbd

#dragon age #dai #da2 #dao #masterlist #reference materials #honestly this is for me as much as for any potential readers #might get updated because I have no self control #there will always be more playthroughs lmao

[dismalzelenka]

For DADW: "Either way you choose you cannot win" for Handers. "I choose to not understand these signs" for Nanders.

Played around with some more canon divergent Journeyverse AU 😌 first @dadrunkwriting prompt I've taken in probably three years and it goes absolutely nowhere and also the prompt has been VERY loosely interpreted but here we are 🥂 bottoms up kiddos

“Either way you choose, you cannot win,” Fenris hissed.

“We are far past the point of winning,” Anders shot back.

Hawke rubbed her eyes with her palms. She was mostly concerned about the fact that they were still in the Deep Roads, and she was being completely honest, she was only half paying attention to the argument unfolding in front of her. It happened enough; she already knew how this would play out. They'd yell it out and then reluctantly slink back and apologize and everyone else would breathe a sigh of relief for some fucking peace and quiet. It was positively formulaic at this point.

She was far too preoccupied with other matters today: namely, the Grey Warden archer carefully fixing the fletching on his arrows at the edge of camp.

His name was Nathaniel. He'd served with Anders in Amaranthine.

They'd been lovers.

Quite frankly that last part bothered her less than she'd have expected, but beneath the faint prickling of jealousy that wove its way beneath her skin whenever he and Anders locked gazes, there was far more fascination on her part than anything else. The secrets were what ate away at her more than anything else, but she'd grown up being taught the importance of keeping them enough to let well enough alone.

It helped that he was easy on the eyes.

“Is something the matter, my lady?” he said quietly.

“Just — Hawke,” she croaked. “I'm not a — it's just my — Hawke is fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I'm — going to go over there.” She pointed vaguely in the opposite direction and wandered that way immediately.

Alright, with a voice like that, she was pretty sure she couldn't blame Anders one bit, she decided with a huff. She kicked a stray piece of stone and watched it bounce down the edge of an overhang into the darkness below.

Sure hope that didn't awaken something.

“You alright, Sparkles?” Varric's voice floated over her as she scuffed her boot into the stone.

“I would be if you'd stop calling me Sparkles,” she shot back automatically.

He laughed, a hearty sound from the center of his chest. “Trust me, you'll like the alternatives I came up with even less.”

“Try me,” she muttered.

—

She'd been beginning to nod off against the rather large rock she'd slumped against when someone shook her awake by the shoulder. “Are you alright, love?”

Why did everyone keep asking her that?

“Just tired,” she mumbled automatically. Maybe if she convinced enough people, she'd start believing it herself.

“Have you even eaten yet?”

“Why, were you too busy picking fights to notice anything else around you?” Ouch. That wasn't fair, and she winced the second it came out of her mouth. She squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath. “Sorry. I'm — I didn't mean that. This place makes me jumpy. I don't know how he stands it.” She jerked her head at Nathaniel, casually reading something by the firelight. She was babbling and she knew it, but she was too wound up to make herself stop.

“Journey. Breathe.” Hands on her shoulders, gentle touches drawing her back to reality. “I'm fairly certain the Deep Roads could make an arse out of Andraste herself.”

“Are you so smitten, that I could insult you to your face and you would still compare me to Andraste?” she teased as she tipped her head back and finally met his eyes.

“Keep looking at me like that and I'd let you get away with a lot more than insults,” he breathed before planting a kiss on her forehead and pulling her to her feet. “And you haven't eaten, have you,” he said finally with a flat stare.

“Is that a statement or a question?”

“It's a very exasperated healer who doesn't wish to see the light of his life waste away into nothing before we see daylight again.”

“You're certainly one to talk,” she grumbled, but she let him lead her back to camp anyway with minimal complaint. “Light of your life, you say?” she prodded with a grin when he thrust a bowl of beans into her hands. “What colour?”

“Hmm.” He paused thoughtfully. “D’you know the moment you open your eyes in direct sunlight after a night of drinking so much you forget your own existence?” His grin broadened. “That colour.”

She smacked him on the chest in offense. “Prat,” she snorted.

She trailed off when she looked up and saw Nathaniel watching them with an odd expression on his face. Anders cupped her face between his hands. “I'm with you,” he said firmly. “Past be damned. This is just a favour for an old friend. Nothing more.”

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she just squeezed his hand and left it alone.

—

It was impossible to mark the passage of days in the Deep Roads; Hawke awoke from a markedly troubled sleep and helped tear down the camp in exhausted silence. The entire place reeked of death and rot tinged with the sickly sweet scent of something that wanted to be enticing but managed to land well on the other side of foul. It reminded her of her first trip into the Deep Roads, and of her less than glamorous voyage to Kirkwall before all of this ever began.

“Where did you learn how to fight?” Nathaniel asked curiously after a skirmish with darkspawn left her winded and depleted enough she managed to knock back an entire lyrium potion without gagging. Sweet, metallic, and unnaturally cold as it slipped down her throat like distilled sweat. The taste still made her shudder even as she stuffed the bottle back into her pack.

“My father taught me,” she said with a grimace. She spat the last of the taste onto the ground. “Ugh. Awful stuff.”

“Was your father also an apostate?”

“Of course not. The Circle gave him permission to traipse about the countryside with a wife and three children. Sometimes they sent Templars after him, but only as a friendly little game.”

“I'm choosing to interpret that as a joke that wasn't at my expense.”

“So you're an idiot and a poor comedian.”

He snorted. “And you're remarkably short tempered for a Champion.”

“You didn't think I killed the Arishok with my winning personality, did you? I'm sorry to say you're going to be awfully disappointed.”

“You're working so hard to win me over,” he said dryly. “And here I've been told I'm quite likeable beneath the scowl.”

“Is that so?” She squared her stance in front of him and planted her hands firmly on her hips with a smirk. “What happened to the last person who tried to win you over?”

His gaze flickered ahead of them to Anders as his expression darkened. “I watched him die,” he muttered. He took a deep breath. “We're falling behind. We shouldn't linger.”

#dadrunkwriting #f!handers #past nanders #eventual nahanders #this is probably my least developed AU of the three of them #weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

HELLO for DA Drunk Writing could I please have Hawke/Anders and "4. “I didn’t think doing this would get us killed”"? Thank you and good luck!!

Forgive the references, I really couldn’t help it! I watched this scene recently and it stuck with me, lol. 

For @dadrunkwriting

cw: blood, graphic violence

===

“’Let’s go to the coast,’ he says,” Anders mutters to himself. He whacks a bandit with his staff, sending the man reeling back in time to get peppered by a volley of crossbow bolts. It’s no small amount of satisfaction that glows in his belly. “’We’ll all get together, have a few laughs...’” 

“To be fair--” Hawke bursts into a flurry of movement to Anders’ left, his short sword dancing in the afternoon light. He gives a triumphant shout when the heavily armed woman goes down beneath his blades. Grinning, he looks across the battlefield to find Anders’ gaze. “I didn’t think this would get us killed.” 

“It’s the fucking Wounded Coast, Hawke,” Varric yells from his vantage point on the rocks above them. “Kinda comes with the territory, don’t you think?” 

“It’s like it brings us all together,” Hawke says wistfully, a smile twisting across his face. He digs an elbow into the face of the bandit who unsuccessfully tried to sneak up behind him. An easy flick of his wrist has his dagger plunging into this one’s ribs, and it doesn’t take a spirit healer to know when the man has died; his rattling groan cuts off, breathless, as he slumps to his knees before falling forward onto his face. 

“Next time you want a homecoming, you two,” Aveline shouts, her shield mowing through a cluster of heavily armed bandits like a plow, “let’s just have a bloody potluck or something!”

“Only if it means you’ll cook, Leen!”

“Not on your life, Garrett!” Anders barks, “I’ve had her cooking!” 

“Oh, shove off!”

Anders lobs a fireball into the enemies still trying to hold up under the brunt force of Aveline’s shield. She shoots a grateful glance his way, and he nods in acknowledgment before turning to find a rush of daggers barrelling his way. He switches his grip on his staff to toss it to his off-hand and reaches for the pommel at his hip with a Fade-cracked hand. The blade explodes into being just as the bandit and their daggers come into reach, and Justice brings the Fade-born blade up, into, and then through their stomach. They watch as the bandit drops their daggers to scramble at the rapidly spilling innards that drip from them. 

“Nifty trick, that,” comes a cooing voice from behind him. Anders sighs, a tired smile creeping across his face when Isabela presses against his back in a familiar stance. “I want one.” 

Anders snorts. “Learned it from the Inquisitor. Glad you decided to finally join us.” 

“It’s called fashionably late,” she laughs. Her daggers make a sick squelch as she stabs into a bandit. “Had to make a dramatic entrance, you know.” 

A flash of green shoots past Anders' head to wrap around a bandit. He watches with growing satisfaction as their legs flail and hands scrabble at the thorny vines. It takes less than a minute for the vines to squeeze them to death, and when the vines fall away he glances over his shoulder and meets Merrill’s bright, focused gaze. 

“She says it’s all the rage,” Merrill chirps, casting another spell that knocks out three bowmen that were raining arrows down from the cliff above them all. “But I don’t feel angry at all!”

“You know, I feel like we’re missing someone,” Hawke calls. A bandit goes down by his blades, his dagger and short sword both finding a home in their ribcage, and he wrenches them both free to meet his next attacker.

A blue and white blur whizzes through the battlefield. “Well, speak of the demon,” Anders laughs, and he traces the path of Fenris’ trajectory to find him elbow-deep in a ribcage.

“Funny you should say that,” comes his droll voice. The Fade pulls tight around him, and Anders feels more than sees Fenris phase into being beside Hawke, taking up a defensive stance at Hawke’s open flank. 

“The gang’s back together!” Hawke laughs. 

Bodies and gore soak the loose dirt and sand beneath their feet. Another wave of enemies find them, somehow serendipitously falling upon their party when they crawl out of a tunnel ahead. Hawke beats his way to Anders’ side and slots himself at his back when Isabela takes off to chase down someone who Anders only assumes has a heavily jingling coin purse. Or maybe they’re wearing something shiny. He snorts at the thought; she’s such a magpie, even more than Hawke himself. 

Hawke, who is yelling at him from over his shoulder. 

“--me!” 

Anders turns slightly, not taking his eyes off a mountain of a man clad in what looks like silverite armor. The bandit leader, he can only guess. Their gazes clash like swords, and Justice tightens their hand around the silverite pommel of their Fade-born blade. He levels his staff toward the mountain man and shoots a beam of concentrated fire. The man dodges, dropping to his knee and twisting to the side with a grace even Isabela would be envious of, were she looking. 

The bandit doesn’t have much time to savor the close call. Fenris’ blade opens that armor like a hot knife through butter. 

“What?” Anders shouts over his shoulder, fighting to be heard over the violent screaming that tears from the man’s throat. 

“I said--” Hawke laughs and slashes at a bandit that rushes them from the side, trying to catch them off-guard. “I said,” he says again, “marry me.” 

“Wha--right now?” 

“Yes!” 

“Don’t you think we’re kind of busy?” 

“Aren’t we always?” Hawke says. “I love you. I will always love you. I’ve made my choice. Will you marry me?”

The grin in his voice is infectious, and Anders can’t help but laugh himself, something bright and bubbling from his middle, something that even Justice’s serious demeanor can’t help but join in on. He finds Aveline up the battlefield, and with a booming voice, crackles out, “Captain! Marry us!”

“Little busy!” she yells back. Aveline barely spares them a glance. 

“Now, Leen!” Hawke shouts. “Might not get the chance later!” 

“Fine, then!” Her sword flashes in the light as she brings it down in a vicious overhand slice. “Dearly beloved, we’re gathered here to--will you stay dead? Why aren’t you staying dead?”

“Anders of Ferelden, do you take me as your husband?” Hawke has to shout it to be heard.  

Anders’ sword flares against the blade that bears down for his shoulder. “I do!” he yells. He brings his knee up hard into the bandit’s gut and breaks the bind of their swords, and follows it up with a slash of his own. The bandit falls to their knees with a wet gurgle. 

He turns to Hawke and cups his hand over the nape of his neck to nudge their foreheads together. They’re both covered in blood and it’s the lightest Anders has felt since stepping foot back in Kirkwall a week ago. “Do you take me as your husband, in sickness and in health--” He stabs his sword out to spear a man who rushes out at Hawke’s back. “Even when health seems bloody unlikely?”

“I do,” Hawke breathes. “Now, always, forever.” 

“You’re a fool,” Anders murmurs, though there’s no heat there, no guilt. They share a private, knowing smile. 

“Then I declare you-- Oh, for the love of-- Just stay fucking dead, will you?” 

“Just kiss already and put us all out of our misery,” Varric shouts, with Merrill and Isabela acting as his echoing chorus. 

“I love you,” Anders murmurs. He shifts his grip to wrap his arms loosely around Hawke’s neck, plastering himself in a hot line down his body. 

“I love you, too,” Hawke whispers. He grins and Anders surges up to kiss it from his mouth to scattered, joyful shouting from around them. 

#da drunk writing circle #handers #hawke #anders #dragon age 2 #da2 #soulrebel writes #fanfic #reblogs comments and likes are all welcome and appreciated! #cast-iron-heart

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/Rynne Hawke: Disappointment

A (VERY late) prompt fill for @talesfromthefade​​​, for @dadrunkwriting​​​ Friday! 

Set during the later end of Act II. It’s basically a drunken conversation featuring some cuteness, but even more angst, pining, and UST. 😭

~6100 words (SORRY, MY PROMPT FILLS ARE LONG). Read on AO3 instead.

************************

Fenris was sitting at the table in his mansion and struggling with a copy of Hard in Hightown when he heard a knock at the door.

It was more of a bang than a knock, really, and the sound instantly put him on alert. Before he could reach for his sword, though, he heard the laughter.

His shoulders relaxed. Hawke, he thought ruefully, and he went to open the door. 

Hawke tripped into his house with a giggle, followed closely by the scent of brandy. “Fenris!” she chirped. “I’m so glad you’re here, I was about to — hic — set up camp on your front step if you didn’t answer the door. Would you care for some wine?” She haphazardly waved a bottle of wine in his direction.

He hastily took the bottle before it could hit him in the face. “Er, thank you, but no. How much brandy have you had?”

She turned to him with wide eyes. “Brandy? Me? How did you know?”

“You smell like you were bathing in it,” he said dryly.

A beautiful grin lifted her lips. “Wouldn’t that be the dream? An entire — hic— bathtub filled with brandy, just for me. I could be persuaded to share with you, though.” She shot him a saucy wink, then began meandering toward the table. Her gait was loose and lazy with booze, yet somehow her hips were still moving with their customary alluring sway, and Fenris eyed her wistfully as he followed her to the table. 

She gasped and petted the pages of his open book. “Ooh, were you reading?” she asked brightly. 

He grunted and scratched the back of his head. “Trying to, in any case. It’s slow-going.” 

She looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “Can I help you? I can help, if you like.”

He eyed her with a touch of exasperation and placed the wine on the table. “You’re hardly in a position to be assisting with this at the moment.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “I’m not that plastered. I’m only a tiny bit plastered. Look, I can absolutely help you with this.” She peered at the page. “Now if only the letters would stop moving all over the place.”

Fenris huffed and pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down, Hawke. You look as though you’re about to fall over.” 

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. Then she promptly plopped down on the floor and started pulling off her boots. 

He shook his head, then sat in the chair he’d just pulled out. “What is the special occasion?”

She smiled blearily up at him. “Hm? Occasion?”

He gestured at her. “Is there a reason you’re this drunk?”

“Do I need a reason?” she said. “Maybe I’m just full of joie-de-vivre, as the Orlesians would say! But Orlesians would probably also spit on my taste in Rivaini brandy, so never mind that.”

Fenris frowned slightly. Her tone was as jocular as ever, but she wasn’t meeting his eye as she spoke. “Were you at the Hanged Man?” he asked.

“I was,” she said cheerfully. “Varric and Bels and I got into this fabulous darts tournament, and–”

She broke off suddenly and looked up at him in horror. “Oh fuck. Oh shit. Did you want to come? Oh Fenris, I’m sorry, I should have come to get you before going to the Hanged Man but I didn’t even think about it, I just went straight there, I’m sorry–”

He waved her off. “You went straight there from where?” he asked.

“From the Gallows,” she said, to his surprise. “I took Mother to visit Carver today, and–” She snorted. “Can I just say that it went swimmingly well? Swimmingly, splendidly well. It’s definitely something I’ll be doing again, perhaps in fifty years or so.” She broke off with a goofy giggle.

Ah, he thought. Now it made sense. Something unfortunate must have happened during her visit to the Gallows with her family. 

“Did it truly go well?” he said quietly.

She finally met his eye, and for a brief second, her smile slipped before returning to her face. “It did!” she said. “Mother was happy to see him, even though he could just visit the house when he gets his leave days. Can you pass me that wine?”

Fenris hesitated. It was probably a bad idea for Hawke to have anything more to drink. But she was a grown woman who was free to make her own (possibly poor) decisions, and who was he to tell her what to do?

He reached across the table and picked up the bottle of wine. Then he came to join her on the floor. By the time he was settled beside on the floor, she was beaming at him with so much uninhibited fondness that it made his stomach twist. 

He dropped her coppery gaze and pulled a small knife from his pocket, then pried the cork out of the bottle. But instead of offering it to her, he took three big gulps. 

She laughed. “Fenris, you boozehound! I thought you didn’t want any.”

I don’t, really, he thought. But if he didn’t drink any of it, Hawke would drink the whole bottle by herself.

“I changed my mind,” he said, and he offered her the wine. 

She beamed at him. “You beautiful thing, you. You’re joining in with me.” She took the bottle and took a long drink, then lowered it and gave him a quizzical look. “What were we talking about?”

“The Gallows,” he said. “Your mother.”

“Ah yes! Oh, Mother.” Rynne laughed and shook her head. “She said the funniest thing. There I was, talking to Carver and just, you know, needling him about the usual stuff. Asking about his love life, pointing out the irony of him becoming a Templar in the first place, the usual sort of thing. And my mother…” She snickered. “My mother jumps in and starts carrying on about how Carver was just trying to support the family while I went swanning off to the deep roads.” She snorted with laughter. “Can you believe that? ‘Swanning off to the deep roads’! Those are the words she used. As though—” She broke off with another giggle. “As though the deep roads are some fancy Orlesian spa that you and I and Varric and Anders just bloody decided to ‘go swanning off to’ for a few months.” She chuckled some more and lifted the bottle of wine to her lips, and Fenris watched with a pang as she took a few gulps. 

When she lowered the bottle, he gently took it from her hand. “Did you set her straight?” he asked. “Remind her of the reason why we were gone so long?” Namely, that Bartrand had locked them in the ancient thaig, resulting in the need to wander even deeper into the cursed bowels of the thaig before finding a way out?

“Oh Maker, no,” Hawke said. “I never told her why we were gone that long.”

He lowered the bottle and stared at her in surprise. “You didn’t? Why not?”

Hawke snorted. “Are you kidding? She’d have a fit if she knew. She’d fuss and carry on about how dangerous it was and how she never wanted me to go in the first place, even though we needed the fucking money to get the fucking Amell estate back.” She broke off and took a deep breath, then smiled at Fenris and pointed at the wine. “Can I have some of that?”

He quickly took another big drink before handing her the bottle. She took a sip, then broke off with a snort of laughter. “She thought all this time that I swanned off for months. Can you believe that? The deep roads weren’t exactly a cake walk. D’you remember those rock wraith things that were eating the lyrium down there?”

Fenris sneered. “Ah yes. And that hunger demon.” He shot her a reproving look. “I still think it was unwise for you to offer it sandwiches.”

“And I still think it was worth a shot,” she retorted. Then she sighed and offered him the bottle. “Ah well, what’s done is done. It’s just…” She huffed in amusement and shook her head. “She wanted the fucking Amell estate, so I got it back for her. Next time she wants something, maybe I should just become a Templar too.”

Her cheeky smile was still in place, but she was too drunk for the smile to fully hide her true feelings. Fenris eyed her sympathetically, but he didn’t know what to say. He had no experience with providing any kind of comfort. 

He took another sip of wine and wracked his brain for something to say. “I wasn’t aware that the Templars were accepting mages among their ranks,” he said finally. “Has Cullen found a soft spot for you that I didn’t know about?”

She grinned at him, and his heart fluttered; her smile was genuine and warm once more. “Oh Fenris, don’t be silly,” she said. “Cullen has had a soft spot for me all along. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”

“Hm,” he said. “I suppose all that scowling and telling you off could constitute a soft spot, according to some.”

“Exactly,” she giggled. She took another sip of wine, then gave him a pitiful look. “I know I’m barging in on you and all, but I wasn’t in the mood to go home just yet. Is it all right that I came here instead? Any safe port in a storm and all that.”

He frowned. Safe port in a storm? “Are you concerned that your mother will harm you when you return home?” he said quietly.

“No no, of course not!” she exclaimed. “It’s just a figure of speech.” She barked out a laugh. “My mother, harm anyone? Don’t be ridiculous. She couldn’t harm a wasp even if it was about to sting her.”

Fenris eyed her skeptically for a moment, then shrugged. “You can stay for a visit. I suppose it is only fair, since I…” He trailed off awkwardly. He was about to tell her that her house had become something of a safe space for him as well — a place where he felt at ease, almost at home, particularly when he and Hawke were lounging together in front of the fireplace in her study. But to admit such a thing would be veering far too close to telling her how much he still longed for her, and he didn’t dare let the conversation venture there.

It was surprising that he’d even said as much as he had, in fact. He usually did everything in his power to keep his tenderness for Hawke under wraps, for fear of letting her think there was a chance of them being together again. Why had he nearly said something now?

She offered him the bottle of wine; it was three-quarters empty. That explains it, he thought in resignation. With a small sigh, he took the bottle and drank from it once more.

Hawke stretched her legs out and leaned back on her palms. “So! What were you reading before I came bursting in to ruin your night?”

He lowered the bottle with a smirk. “You really couldn’t tell? You are that drunk?”

“I am quite spectacularly drunk, yes,” she agreed.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were only… what was it you said? ‘A tiny bit plastered’?”

She snorted. “What is this, an interrogation in Aveline’s office?” She poked his arm. “Come on then, tell me. What were you reading up there?”

“Hard in Hightown,” he said. “Varric gave it to me. I am only on page ten or so.”

Hawke chuckled. “Of course that’s what Varric gave you to practice with. Any excuse to get more readers.” She suddenly straightened up and gasped, and Fenris recoiled slightly in surprise; her face was bright with enthusiasm. 

“I just had the most fantastic idea!” she chirped. “You should write a book!”

He wrinkled his nose. “What would I write about? And besides, I can’t write.” He didn’t tell her that he’d been secretly writing terribly-spelled letters to her since the day he’d mastered the alphabet. That was one secret that even his half-drunken mouth would never spill.

She waved one hand dismissively. “You’ll be able to write in no time, you’re brilliant. And the book should be about your life, of course!”

He frowned. “My life? Why?”

“Because you’re strong and handsome and interesting. And you lived with the fog warriors!” she exclaimed. “You probably know more about them than anyone in the whole of Thedas!”

His frown deepened. “Reflecting on that time in my life is not exactly pleasant, Hawke. It did not end well, if you recall.”

She wilted. “No, I know, I just meant… oh fuck, I put my foot in it, didn’t I?” She nervously patted her cheeks. “Maker, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think about awful things. I was hoping to make you think of nice moments when you were with them since I know you liked living with them, but… ah, I’m an idiot. Don’t listen to me.” She reached for the bottle of wine. 

He allowed her to take the bottle. “It’s all right. I already knew you were an idiot.” 

She shot him a grateful smile. They passed the bottle back and forth for another minute, and when it was empty, Fenris placed it on the floor beside him. 

“You’re not wrong. I did enjoy living with the fog warriors,” he said. “It was… unusual to spend time around people who were not afraid of me. But I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised; the fog warriors were the most courageous people I ever knew.” He draped his arms loosely around his knees and glanced at Hawke. “Even their children had no fear of me.”

She nodded and didn’t speak. Her expression was a picture of attentive focus despite the boozy flush of her cheeks, and something about her attention prompted him to go on when he usually would not.

“I remember the first time I stepped into their… settlement, for lack of a better word,” he said. “I was weak after healing from my injuries. Every step I took required a great deal of effort. But as I walked through their settlement with one of their healers at my side, a child approached me. A boy, perhaps five or six.” He grimaced. “Or maybe seven; I’m not familiar enough with children to guess their ages.”

“Five, seven, it’s all the same,” Hawke said softly. “The little boy approached you. What happened then?”

Fenris tilted his head as he remembered the moment. “He was holding a ball that looked to be made of dried branches and twine. He stopped and stared at me, and I was certain he was going to run away. Or perhaps throw the ball at me in disgust. I’ve suffered worse from children in Minrathous. But…” He slowly rubbed a hand through his hair. “He asked in Seheronese if I would play with him. The healer translated for me, and I… I didn’t believe her, and I didn’t believe the boy. I thought they were taunting me. I…” He swallowed hard. “I went back to the tent and didn’t come out again for another day. But the same boy approached me again when I emerged. He continued to approach me until I agreed.” 

Hawke’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “You played with the fog warriors’s children?”

He shrugged. “I had little choice. They are very persistent.” He gave her a tiny smile. “All of their people are persistent. Stubborn and determined. Or… they were, at least, before I…” 

Blood. Screaming. Women and children fleeing, to no avail. The horrible images flashed through his mind, raw and undimmed by time, and Fenris dragged a hand through his hair as though that could pull the memories out. 

The only time he had ever seen fear in the fog warriors’ faces was when he had put it there.

“Hey,” Hawke said softly. “I’m glad you were happy while you lived with them. I know it ended badly—”

“I killed them all,” he snapped. “It ended badly because of me.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you feel responsible. But I’m still glad you were happy there for a time.”

He stared hard at her for a moment, but her expression was calm and steady — surprisingly steady for someone who was so drunk. 

He sighed and shifted his position on the floor. “I was happy with them; you’re right about that. The only time I could ever remember being happy, really. Before I came to Kirkwall, at least.”

Hawke perked up. “Before you came to Kirkwall? Does that mean you like living here more than being in Seheron?”

He huffed at her hopeful tone. “I don’t know that I would say that. But… this city has its charms. They may be few and far-between, but it does have them.”

“Like what?” she asked. 

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Such as… that apple pie at that one particular stand in Hightown.”

Hawke nodded. “Oh yes, that pie is fantastic. What else?”

“The music at the Hanged Man isn’t completely terrible,” he said.

“I do love the music there, it’s true,” Hawke said brightly. “Anything else?”

She looked so hopeful. Fenris gave her a chiding look. “Why do I get the sense that you’re fishing for compliments?”

Her beautiful amber eyes grew wide – suspiciously wide. “Me? I never! I never ever fish for compliments. Particularly not from broody handsome elves with the sexiest voices I’ve ever heard.”

He scoffed and rubbed his mouth. “Kaffas, Hawke. You will make me blush.”

“I’m not talking about you,” she said. “I’m talking about some other elf.” 

She clearly was not. Her smile was coy and warm, and it made his ears feel uncomfortably hot. “I see,” he said dryly. He absently rubbed the red scarf on his wrist and studied her from the corner of his eye. She was humming to herself now and gazing at her bare feet with the sort of vacant smile that made it clear how drunk she was.

Then he surprised himself by speaking again. “I suppose some of the people here are tolerable as well,” he said.

She perked up. “Oh really? Like who?”

Fenris shrugged and leaned back casually on one hand. “Sebastian is a fine man.”

Hawke snorted. “Perfect Sebastian. He doesn’t count. He makes everyone look bad. Who else?”

“Varric,” Fenris said. “He’s forgiven my gambling debts on more than one occasion.”

She let out a scintillating laugh. “Has he? Oh, Varric. He’s such a soft touch.”

Fenris smirked and gazed idly at her legs – lovely legs that were regrettably covered by trousers. Lovely legs with soft golden skin that was so smooth beneath his hands… 

Before Fenris could stop himself, his drunken mouth was opening once more. “You are good company, as well,” he said.

Her face lit up with a slow and breathtaking smile. “Am I, now?”

He shrugged and ignored his suddenly thrumming heart. “You can be. When you aren’t aggravating me.”

She raised one hand innocently. “Those were all failed attempts at flirting, I swear.”

He gave her a chiding look. “That’s hardly a comfort, Hawke.”

“It should be,” she said. “I’m usually a very good flirt.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said wryly.

Her smile widened. “Maybe I should try harder, then.”

Her cheeky voice was ripe with its usual humour, but there was something more to her tone now: something husky and heated that made Fenris’s clever retort fade away on his tongue. He studied her face carefully, and his heart jolted; only now was he realizing how close she was. She was sitting right next to him, and although they weren’t touching, they were so close that they might as well have been. Her knees were almost brushing against his thigh, and she was leaning in as though to take shelter against his chest, and he… kaffas, his shoulder was curled toward her as though he wanted her to take shelter against him. 

A rush of excitement filled his rib cage, followed by a surge of terror. I can’t, he thought. He couldn’t let her get any closer. Not because he didn’t want to; venhedis, there was nothing he wanted more. But the closer she got, the more she would see just how damaged he truly was, how unprepared he was for what she was trying to give, and he couldn’t… He couldn’t stand it. The thought of looking into her perfect amber eyes, of seeing their heat replaced with pity instead...  

She wet her lips, and Fenris was instantly distracted by her mouth: her lush raspberry-red mouth that he vividly remembered kissing, even though it had been almost a year. 

Then Hawke nibbled her lower lip, and Fenris could feel his own lips parting as though by instinct — as though the movement of her lips was a siren call, a lure drawing his own lips to react, to lean closer to her, to breathe in the wine-scented warmth of her breath…

He inhaled slowly, and his heart thudded in his ears. She smelled exactly as he remembered, of sandalwood and sweetness and a hint of sweat from dancing at the Hanged Man, and overlaid on it all was the scent of the wine she’d drunk — that they’d been drinking together. 

Then Hawke’s hand rose slowly toward his face.

His breath stuttered, but his heart burst into a galloping race. Her fingers were reaching for him, reaching for his cheek, reaching so slowly that he knew she was giving him time to stop her. But he was frozen on the floor with Hawke sitting so close to him, so damned close that he could smell her intoxicating scent, and her fingers were drawing nearer still… 

She stroked his cheek gently: so incredibly gently, with just the tips of her fingers. And with that one simple touch, the buzz of longing in his gut hit a fever pitch.

Fenris closed his eyes and turned his face toward her fingers, and her thumb brushed over his lower lip. He exhaled shakily, and he was distantly aware that his breath sounded far too much like a groan. 

“Fenris,” Hawke breathed. 

Fenris. That was all she said: just his name in her husky voice. But it was almost enough for him to come undone. His name in her voice, carried through the air on a breath of desire: fasta vass, it was too good, too evocative, too strong of a reminder of the past — of the mistake he’d callously made by going to her in a moment of anger-fuelled impulsiveness. 

A mistake he was primed to repeat right now, in a moment of impulsiveness that was fuelled by alcohol instead.

He reached up and grabbed her wrist. “I can’t,” he rasped. 

Her eyebrows tilted in a way that made his chest ache, but he forced himself to stay still, to not move, to not bridge the mere inches that separated his lips from hers. He held her wrist in a steady grip and stared steadily into her glittering amber eyes, and he forced himself to remember – to remember the way those same amber eyes had filled with tears when he’d walked away from her before. 

The memories of their night together still tortured him, along with all the attendant reasons why he couldn't let this same mistake happen again. He was an empty shell whose history had been carved away and replaced with anger and hate, and nothing about that had changed in the year or so since he and Hawke had tumbled together into her bed. He was still the same broken man, the same ex-slave with a mind as scarred as his body, and in the time that had passed since that one glorious night in Hawke’s arms, Fenris had failed to make any changes in his life. 

He hadn’t tried to find his sister. He hadn’t done anything other than take on jobs as an errand boy and follow Hawke and her friends around in their ill-advised adventures. He still sat alone in his mansion at night fuming about Danarius and Hadriana and all their misbegotten ilk. He was still just as blank and ruined as he’d always been, and he couldn’t… he didn’t dare inflict that on Hawke, not again, not even if he was drawn toward her in a way that he’d never been drawn to anyone else before. 

They sat frozen on the floor for an interminable minute, Hawke’s fingers a hairsbreadth from his cheek and her wrist entrapped by his intractable grip. Fenris stared into her eyes and ignored the plumpness of her lower lip, and he prayed for the strength to move away from her now – right now, right this second now, now before his frenzied thoughts led him away from the reasons he shouldn’t touch her and brought him back to all the selfish reasons that he should. 

And oh, the reasons he should, the reasons he wanted to fall into the crystal clear pools of her eyes and take what her slightly-parted lips were offering: those reasons were… fasta vass, they were far too close to the front of his mind. The pleasure of her body stretching beneath his own, of her needy gasps filling his ears, of her comforting hands cradling his face as she told him that there was nothing ruined about him–

“I can’t,” he snapped. He pulled her hand away from his face and turned away from her, dragging shaking fingers through his hair as he did. 

For a brief, terrible moment, Hawke was silent. Then she laughed.

“Of course!” she said brightly. “Of course, I didn’t mean to – I was just, um – I’m terribly drunk, you know, and it’s – I should go home. I’m just about ready to fall asleep right here on your floor, which probably means I should go crawling into my bed before I end up like another one of those corpses in your corners here.” She snickered and pushed herself to her feet, and Fenris watched painfully as she stumbled toward the door.

She wasn’t wearing her boots, though. Fenris hastily pushed himself upright and ignored his own slightly spinning head. “Hawke, wait,” he said. “Your boots–” 

She cut him off with a haphazard wave. “It’s okay, please, don’t say anything, it’s like it never happened.” She reached for the doorknob. 

Fenris darted forward and planted one hand on the door. “You need to put on your boots,” he said. “You can’t go out without boots.”

“Why not? You do it all the time,” she said belligerently. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows, but before he could reply, she sighed and sank down to the floor. “Ah, you’re right. My feet are terribly tender and delicate. Where are my bloody boots?”

Fenris silently brought her boots and socks, then waited with an ugly mixture of fondness and misery as she clumsily pulled them on. When she was finally shod once more, she stood up and did a dramatic curtsy. 

“On that sparkling note, Rynne Hawke takes her leave,” she announced. She giggled and opened the door, then promptly tripped on the front step. 

Fenris snatched her arm and her waist before she could hit the ground. “Fasta vass,” he complained. 

She didn’t reply; she was far too busy laughing. Fenris sighed heavily, then stepped out of his mansion and pulled the door closed behind him. “Come on, Hawke,” he said wearily, and he looped his arm around her waist to guide her home.

She hiccuped and squeezed his arm. “Did you see I—” She broke off with a giggle. “I didn’t even make it one step out the door! Oh Fenris, aren’t you pleased I came to your house tonight to entertain you?”

“Not particularly,” he muttered, but not for the reasons she thought. He hadn’t had his hands on her this much since the night they’d spent together, and her drunken state wasn’t making the curve of her waist any less appealing. And his drunken state wasn’t making it easy to maintain the barriers he’d been building to keep her at bay. 

She squeezed his arm again. “I know, I’m horrible, I’m a nuisance. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll — hic — bring you some of that apple pie that you like first thing in the morning, bright and early. You’ll be woken by the smell of fresh-baked— eek!” She tripped over a paving stone with a squeal, and Fenris scowled as he pulled her upright. 

“Quiet,” he hissed. “If you cause a disturbance, I will be the one who’s blamed.” He scooped her up into his arms and continued in the direction of her mansion at a faster pace.

She gripped the collar of his tunic and beamed at him. “You hero. You chivalrous thing. You’re making a drunken girl’s dream come true.”

“Perhaps you can return the favour and keep your voice down,” he scolded softly. He was already on Hightown’s radar as ‘that elf of Hawke’s who squats in the derelict Vint mansion’, and he didn’t want anyone to find a reason to complain to Aveline again about his presence. 

“All right, all right, I’m being quiet now,” she stage-whispered. Then, to his surprise, she actually fell silent. 

He carried her in silence for a couple of minutes. She eventually rested her head against his shoulder, and he guiltily savoured the scent of her chestnut hair. But she still didn’t speak, and eventually Fenris wondered if she’d fallen asleep. 

He glanced down at her, and his heart lurched; her eyes were closed, but her face was tinted with melancholy, and there were tears trickling down her cheeks. 

He hastily looked up at the path ahead, but his entire rib cage was aching now, as though his heart was swelling and pushing against the walls of his chest. He ought to say something – something to soothe her, like the way she was always trying to soothe him when he was angry. But he was the cause of her distress, so what was there to say? 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and didn’t speak, and they made the rest of the trip to the Amell state in silence. 

As they approached the door, Hawke finally spoke. “Don’t knock. I don’t want to wake her.”

Fenris nodded. “Where are your keys?”

“In my pouch belt,” she said. “You can put me down now. I promise I won’t disgrace myself by falling onto my own front step.” 

Her tone was cheeky and warm, and for some reason, this made his chest hurt even more. He shook his head slightly. “I’ll bring you safely inside.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “All right. I won’t complain about being carried by Thedas’s most handsome elf.” 

He scoffed softly, then waited as she pulled out her keys and unlocked the door. But as they were moving toward the stairs, Leandra’s bedroom door opened. 

Leandra stepped out with a scowl. “Rynne, I’ve been beside myself—” She stopped short at the sight of Fenris and clutched the neckline of her dressing gown. 

“Surprise!” Rynne exclaimed, and she patted Fenris’s chest. “Two for the price of one!” 

Fenris cleared his throat. “Hawke, keep your voice down,” he mumbled.

She pulled a little face. “Right, right, people sleeping and all that,” she whispered. Then she blew a kiss to Leandra. “Hello, Mother! Go on back to bed, all right?” 

Leandra stared at them for a moment longer, then lifted her chin and went back into her bedroom. As soon as the door was shut behind her, Hawke burst into giggles.

“Maker’s balls,” she whispered. “She’s going to be furious in the morning when you’re not here. I might not be able to bring you apple pie after all. I’ll be too busy nursing the new asshole she’s going to tear me in the morning.”

Fenris grimaced at the vivid image, then headed for the stairs. When they were in Hawke’s bedroom, he set her down on the bed. 

Hawke snickered to herself as she pulled off her boots. She clumsily shucked her vest, then started pulling her shirt over her head, and Fenris hastily turned away. 

He awkwardly tugged his ear. “I’ll, er. I’ll just…” He trailed off and started shifting toward the door.

“She’s disappointed,” Hawke said.

He glanced cautiously at her. She was tucked in bed and covered up to her chest, and her lips were curled in a sad sort of smile. 

Fenris took a cautious step closer to the bed. “She will get over it soon enough.”

“No, I mean she’s disappointed that I’m not Bethany.” Hawke’s smile widened. “Honestly, so am I sometimes. She had the most perfect milkmaid skin. I bet you would have loved her too.”

His heart twisted painfully. Whatever Bethany’s virtues were, there was no doubt in his mind that she would never have found her way past his armour and burrowed beneath his tainted skin the way that Hawke had. 

But he couldn’t tell that to Hawke. Such words meant nothing if he was incapable of backing them up with the devotion that she deserved. 

He swallowed hard. “Get some sleep,” he said softly. “I will see you in the morning.” He slowly made his way to the door. 

“Fenris?”

He glanced at her. “Yes?”

“Do you want to know what I like best about living in Kirkwall?”

“Half-off Tuesdays at the Hanged Man?” he suggested weakly. 

She let out a bark of laughter. “Aw, half-off Tuesdays. That’s almost my favourite thing.”

He leaned against the door jamb. “I give up, then. What do you like best?”

“Running around this fucking place with you,” she replied. 

In the dim lantern light of her bedroom, her smile was sweet and free of guile, and Fenris felt his throat growing thick once more. He felt the same way, of course; Kirkwall would have no value if not for her. She was the reason he had decided to stay, even after the exquisite disaster of their night together. Even knowing he was no good for her, he was incapable of leaving her side. 

He gazed at her for a moment and drank in the perfect softness of her smile. It is the same for me, he thought. You are the only reason I’ve remained in this Maker-forbidden city. The confession crept close to the edge of his tongue, ready to spill into the soft and intimate atmosphere of her bedroom. 

But the walk from his house to hers had cleared the booze-induced boldness from his mind, and he was no longer at the mercy of his selfish heart. 

He bowed his head politely. “Get some sleep,” he said.

Her smile widened, and she snuggled down into her blankets and reached for the bedside lamp. “Goodnight, Fenris,” she said softly. 

“Goodnight, Hawke,” he murmured. A moment later, her bedside lamp went out.

Fenris quietly closed her bedroom door, then padded silently downstairs. Orana was awake and waiting nervously by the door to lock it behind him, and he murmured an apology to her as he left. Then he was slipping stealthily through Hightown back to his empty mansion. 

Once he was in the mansion once more, he sat at the table and stared at Hard in Hightown, but the words were meaningless on the page, unseen by his unfocused eyes.

Hawke thought she was a disappointment, but nothing was farther from the truth. Nothing about her was a disappointment — not her incessant jokes or her drunken visits to his home, not the fact that she was a mage, and the memories of her naked body bending beneath his hands… venhedis, nothing about those memories were a disappointment either. 

It didn’t bear thinking about, though. Hawke might not be a disappointment, but Fenris certainly was, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. 

With that heavy thought, he closed his copy of Hard in HIghtown and went to bed.

#fenris #fenris fic #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenrynne #fhawris #pikapeppa writes

[goth-surana]

Hope and Hopelessness Chapter 5

Chapter 5 of 7

Main pairing: Anders/Male Hawke

Main tags: Angst with a happy ending, tranquil!Anders, cure for tranquility

Summary: After some time on the run with Hawke, Anders is caught and made tranquil. Hawke cannot bring himself to kill him, instead chasing a distant hope that there may be a cure.

Read on AO3 or below the cut

Hawke could barely sleep that night, and he was in the best bed he had slept in in a year. He was too on edge, both from being in what he considered enemy territory and from the anticipation of the next day. The inquisitor may have given them her protection, but this decision was not supported by all. Anything could still happen, especially with Cullen hanging around. Hawke still couldn’t believe Varric had neglected to mention his presence here. This inquisition may have allied with the rebel mages, but any place with an army led by Cullen wasn’t safe for any mage.

How did the inquisitor not know that? Did she just not know about what an awful man he was? Sure, maybe he changed, but Hawke could barely imagine how a man with opinions like his could have.

Anders slept soundly in the same large bed next to Hawke, not nervous at all about the next day. Because he was still incapable of being nervous. Hawke was nervous. This had to work. Hawke was so close to breaking, this hope was all that held him together.

Finally, after fits of rest here and there, the sun rose over the mountains.

Anders woke up quickly, got dressed efficiently. Hawke missed his frantic scrambling when he realized he slept in too late, even if he didn’t miss Anders beating himself up about it.

Oh Maker, he even missed that. Anything to show Anders was Anders.

In the afternoon, the Hero of Fereldan arrived. Hawke was keeping to himself in the corners of rooms with Anders, staying away from the inquisition’s inner circle.

The doors to the war room flung open and in walked Surana, confident as ever. The whole room looked up in awe, all recognizing her.

Well, everyone stared in awe except for Leliana. Instead the woman rushed forward and wrapped her arms around the smaller elf, a hug which she returned in equal measure.

Surana was still not dressed in Warden’s regalia, likely trying to keep a low profile.

Surana muttered something to Leliana before turning to address the room.

“All right, get your staring out of the way,” she grinned. “Yes, it’s me, Hero of Fereldan, slayer of the archdemon. Blah blah and all that. I’m sure you’re all quite impressive yourselves.”

The room murmured nervously, and Cassandra scowled. Cullen was looking quite purposefully away from Surana.

Surana noticed.

“Ser Cullen!” She exclaimed, walking right over to the mortified man. “Good to see you again, although I’m surprised you haven’t combusted around all those mages out there.”

“Erm,” Cullen responded sheepishly, “a lot has changed since we last met, Re- uh, Warden Commander. I am no longer the man I was.”

“I sure hope not,” Regan replied good-naturedly, patting him aggressively on the shoulder. “Although I heard you did try to annul another Circle after Kinloch. Good thing there’s no more Circles, or I’d really be worried.”

She spoke easily, but venom underlined her words. So they had a history too, it seemed.

“I realize our meeting again is… complicated,” Cullen said. “But I do hope we can be acquainted better than last we met.”

Surana dropped her smile. “Fine, I can be civil. I agree that people can change. I’m here to help Anders anyway.”

Surana turned to the rest of the group. “So where are we doing this?”

“The cells,” Casandra said. Hawke turned to her immediately.

“To protect against the danger of suddenly returning magic,” she told Hawke firmly. “We do not know what kind of destruction he might unleash. Cullen will also be present in order to nullify any magic that gets out of hand.”

“You’re bringing him back with a bloody Templar hovering over him?” Hawke tried not to yell.

“Hawke, it makes sense,” Anders said quietly from beside him. “The inquisitor explained that I will likely be quite emotional. I will be a danger to everybody.”

Hawke shook his head. “Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he muttered.

Adaar looked apologetically at them both. She had probably fought this. Surana just looked disgusted.

“Fine,” the elf said. “Let’s go then. Shouldn’t draw this out anymore than it needs to be.”

The small group made their way to the dungeons. Cassandra tried to convince Adaar not to accompany them, but she insisted. “Under my protection means I’m making sure they come to no harm,” she said. Looks like she didn’t trust this woman.

Surana kept a purposeful distance from Cullen, and gave Leliana’s hand a squeeze before she left.

It got worse before it got better. After some amount of argument it was decided that Anders would be handcuffed and chained to one of the walls. Cassandra and Cullen would not budge in their insistence, and finally Adaar relented. Hawke glowered at her, but felt no real animosity. He was just tired, tired and unwilling to treat his love like a wild animal.

In the center of the room was a bowl of shining lyrium, and Surana knelt beside it.

“One of you will have to catch me,” she told the room. “Once I put my hand in, my body will collapse. This may take some time, but I will get a spirit’s help. I am not sure if my own spirit will wish to stray this close to the waking world. She is… willful,” Surana said with some small amount of amusement, “so I may have to elicit the help of another.”

Surana grimaced, plunged her hand into the bowl of lyrium, and fell to the side.

Multiple people lunged forward to catch her falling body, but Cullen got there first. He seemed to have moved on instinct, looking almost surprised as he held the limp elf in his arms. Surana looked strangely fragile in this state, her small stature more apparent.

Cullen kept holding on, but had the look of a man about to be burned. The rest of the room waited in silence.

Minutes passed, but it felt so much longer. Hawke just kept looking at Anders, sitting quietly and waiting for his entire world to be shaken. Hawke’s chest felt tight, his head light. This was it. It would happen soon. Surana would return with a spirit and… and Anders would return to him.

Surana stirred, opened her eyes, then took a sharp intake of breath as she scrambled away from Cullen like a scared cat. There was a wild look in her eyes, but one that faded quickly into anger.

“Was he really the only one who could have caught me?” She asked haughtily, but Hawke could tell it was a haughtiness meant to cover up another emotion. Genuine panic.

Surana shook herself out of it, took a steadying breath, and looked at Hawke.

“I… I found him,” she said. Hawke’s heart nearly stopped.

“Anders? In the fade?”

“No,” she said. Her eyes welled up with tears as she spoke. “Justice. He’s… he’s been keeping an eye on me, it seems.”

“Justice is alive?” Hawke asked, shocked. He had assumed the spirit had been burnt out somehow when Anders was made tranquil.

“He’s home again,” Surana continued. “And… he’s going to return Anders to us. He also wanted to say he was sorry to both of you.”

Hawke didn’t know how to feel. Justice, sorry? That was not an emotion he associated with the spirit.

“Just…” Hawke managed to say through the lump in his throat, “just… get on with it. Bring him back.”

Surana nodded solemnly and turned back to Anders. She knelt down in front of him.

“I’m sorry I failed you before,” she told him quietly, tearfully. “But I can help you now.”

Surana’s hand glowed with what Hawke now recognized as spirit magic, and she brought her hand to the brand on Anders’ head.

The light focused on her arm, wound around them both, and for a split second Hawke swore he saw a ghostly gauntlet joining Surana in her touch.

Anders shuddered, and Hawke saw the one moment of true life in his eyes before he let out an agonized scream.

Magic burst forth from Anders, knocking Hawke and everyone else in the room to the ground.

Hawke fought against the continuing onslaught and crawled forward, determined to reach the man he loved. But before he could, all magic in the room abruptly was cut off, another palpable force replacing it in the air.

Anders collapsed face first to the ground before Hawke could reach him. Hawke pulled Anders back up, seeing a trail of blood gushing from his nose. Hawke turned furious eyes on Cullen, the source of the divine smite.

Anders curled in on himself, clearly in pain.

“Anders, Anders,” Hawke muttered, patting his face and trying to gently turn his cheek to face him. He needed to see those eyes again, to see eyes full of life.

Anders yelped and shook free of his grasp, stumbling on his knees off balance and falling again to the floor. He looked up, saw Cullen, and screamed again.

“Shh Shh,” Hawke practically begged, hovering over Anders but not sure if he could touch. “It’s okay, love it’s okay…”

Anders was shaking violently, his breathing becoming ragged. Then he seized up, clearly trying to draw in air but failing. Hawke watched helplessly, felt tears of helplessness well up in his eyes.

“Love, it’s okay, it’s okay-“

Then Hawke felt another wave of magic wash over them both, and Anders went limp. His eyes fluttered shut, and he fell asleep.

Hawke was about to get angry again, but then noticed that once he was asleep, his breathing evened out. Hawke looked up to see Surana, having just cast the spell.

“He shouldn’t wake up with us looming over him,” she said in a somewhat rough voice. “The spell had to be powerful to work, it will probably last a few hours at least.”

The room was silent.

“If he hadn’t been handcuffed,” Surana told the room angrily as she approached with soft footsteps, “he wouldn’t have broken his damn nose.”

She knelt again, and waved her hand gently above Anders’ blood-covered face as she healed him.

“Fucking barbarians,” she muttered so low that only Hawke heard. He was inclined to agree. If they hadn’t woken him in a damn cell, he might not have been so afraid-

Hawke felt his heart seize. He had looked afraid. For the first time in a year, Hawke had seen emotion on his lover’s face. Abandoning all dignity, Hawke let out a sob and hid his face in his hands. It had worked.

It had worked. Anders was back. Afraid, hurt, but… but himself. Hawke kept crying, hearing the other talk around him but paying them no attention. He couldn’t get ahold of himself, emotions he hadn’t let himself feel in a year washing over him. It was one thing to hope, it was another thing to know there was a cure, but it was entirely something else to see the cure work.

When Hawke finally looked up, there was one fewer person in the room. Cullen, thank the Maker, had left.

“He still needs to be restrained,” Cassandra said with a frown.

“Why?” Hawke demanded, incredulous. “He’s fucking asleep-“

“He will wake again, and will likely react the same. We can get him a cot to lie on, we can unbind his hands, but he will stay chained to the wall.”

Hawke practically snarled, his eyes still red from crying.

“I can handle him when he wakes up. What he needs is some fucking compassion.”

Cassandra glared at him in response. “Cullen will also be on standby in case anything goes wrong. I wouldn’t want to waste the commander’s time, but we have no other inner circle members with Templar training.”

“Give me the keys,” Adaar told Cassandra. “I will release him as soon as it is clear he is not a danger, which should be soon. I can stay with Cullen, just call us when he wakes up.”

“I’m not letting Cullen anywhere near him,” Hawke said, standing tall. “He’s had enough Templars.”

“Please,” Adaar said, looking at Hawke with imploring eyes. Then she turned to Casandra and Cullen. “I will talk to them. You two head back up stairs, return to your work. The Warden Commander said you wouldn’t be needed for at least a few hours.”

Cullen retreated quickly, almost nervously. Cassandra stayed a moment, but eventually left.

Adaar let out a sigh. “I’m sorry about that.” She sounded genuinely sorry, but Hawke wasn’t inclined to be sympathetic.

“I meant what I said,” he warned her.

“I know. I will be waiting with Cullen the whole time and we will only intervene if we hear destruction. Please, Hawke. I’m not happy about the treatment of him either, but I need to keep some peace within my inner circle. And you can have the key. I trust you to know when Anders is stable.”

Hawke listened with suspicion, but was somewhat satisfied with her suggestion. He was well aware that they were in hostile territory, that it was a blessing to have Adaar on their side at all.

“Fine. But I’m not leaving his side, not for anything until he wakes up. I know I agreed to talk to your people about Corypheus, but that can wait until I know Anders is well.”

“Of course,” Adaar replied. “And Warden, I’m afraid they will want to talk with you as well. The Wardens have been displaying strange behavior as of late…and now that you’re here I’m afraid they insist on talking with you.”

Surana rolled her eyes, but nodded. “I know. I knew this would happen if I came out of hiding…”

“I will do whatever I can to make your stay here more comfortable,” Adaar insisted, “just know that there are a lot of tensions I must handle right now. Like I said before, I need to maintain some semblance of order. I will do my best to negotiate on your behalf.”

Against his better judgement, Hawke believed her. There was something painfully earnest in her eyes.

Adaar personally brought in a set of cots, which of course she carried herself. Damn Qunari.

Hawke lifted Anders onto the cot closest to the wall and Adaar unlocked the cuffs behind his back. Of course one cuff had to stay, but this was better.

Adaar left them then, and Hawke sat with his back against the wall and sighed. Surana also stayed, sitting a few feet away.

When Adaar’s footsteps faded, Surana burst into tears.

Hawke was taken aback, and asked what was wrong out of sheer habit. It really wasn’t his business.

“I’m sorry,” Surana gasped, “I just… I shouldn’t bother you with this, I should go to Leliana… but I don’t want to fucking look at him, and if I leave he’ll be there…”

Hawke could hazard a guess who this “him” was.

“Cullen,” Hawke said solemnly.

Surana nodded. “I… I hate that man,” she said in a low voice. “I hate that he’s here, I hate that he still makes me feel…”

“Afraid?” Hawke asked, remembering her reaction earlier.

“…yeah,” Surana said with a strained voice. “I know it’s unbecoming of me, and normally I can hold my own but when I woke up he was touching me, holding me like I was his to hold…”

“Did he-“ Hawke asked, alarmed. He knew Cullen was a monster, but surely-

“No,” said Surana. “He never touched me. Not like that. But… but he wanted to.”

“That’s not much better, Surana,” Hawke said. “If he tried to assault you, then-“

“It’s not like that either,” she said quickly. “I don’t think he would have done it… not without my consent. Back when I was an apprentice, I tried not to think about the mages who were the subject of a Templar’s… attention. I always told myself it would never be me, I was too annoying and loud and… well, it was all very silly. It’s not any of their faults they’re preyed upon.”

Surana was silent for a moment. Hawke waited for her to continue. Listening to her story was better than the silence, and it sounded like she needed desperately for someone to know.

“When I returned to Kinloch Hold during the fifth blight, I found out that the whole time, he had… lusted after me. The whole time a Templar had been fantasizing about me. The whole time, if Cullen had been a worse person…”

Her voice grew quiet. “… I could have been raped. He could have gotten away with it, if he wanted. I wasn’t so invincible after all, my delusion was shattered.”

Hawke’s dull heart still felt for Surana. He knew too well how much a Templar could get away with. He heard from Anders about how all mages knew deep down that they were at the Templars’ mercy in every way.

“So….” Surana continued after taking a deep breath. “It was just bad, waking up with him touching me. Knowing he had touched me when I was unconscious. And that on top of seeing Justice again, coming here… it’s all just a lot.”

“So you’re hiding out down here for a bit to collect yourself.”

“Yep. Very brave, I know.”

“It’s not shameful,” Hawke said seriously. “I used to hide away in my room when things got bad in Kirkwall. Everyone saw the Champion, but only Anders saw me. Sometimes you just need to hide in order to go on to fight. It’s all about pacing yourself.”

Surana nodded, wiping her eyes. “I’m glad Anders has you. We don’t know each other well, but I just poured my fucking heart out to you and you just… listened. You’re a good man.”

Hawke smiled, slightly. Just knowing his Anders was waiting for him made him begin to feel like himself again. He was dependable and a good listener, he was empathetic and kind to his friends. Maybe he didn’t know Surana, but she was a friend to Anders and she needed a friend right now.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Hawke ventured, “I think Cullen shit his trousers when he first saw you.”

Surana laughed. “Yeah. I just gotta remember, I’m no longer trapped with him, he’s trapped with me. I’m the fucking Warden Commander.”

It broke Hawke’s heart a little to see a mage need to remind themselves they had power. He knew too well what was going on in Surana’s head, as he had seen Anders battle those very demons. Fear and helplessness. The feeling that suddenly everything would be taken from you when you could do nothing about it.

“Damn right,” Hawke agreed. “When Anders is better, before you leave again you’ll have to tell me stories from Amaranthine. The embarrassing ones Anders won’t tell,” Hawke finished with a conspiratorial nod.

Surana grinned. “I’ll tell you one now. It starts with a cave expedition, and ends with a very unclothed Anders…”

#handers #m!handers #anders/male hawke #anders/hawke

[vaguely-concerned]

some thoughts I've been having about what I (to my delight) have seen dubbed the Three Great Big Liars of DA:I, but mostly building up to some analysis of what iron bull's got going on that way because it fascinates me:

solas I don't think is actually naturally a liar at all. he lies out of tactical necessity the vast majority of the time and seems relieved to be able to spill his guts to the extent he deems safe and do some friendly elvhensplaining to you at the end of trespasser. in (what he would consider lol) an ideal world, he would just tell you shit straight out, not least of all because in his heart of hearts he's a terrible little know-it-all (affectionate).

varric's lies are the lies of a storyteller: he lies for fun, profit and a sense of meaning, and instinctively. to create meaning where there might not be any, to entertain, to reflect or deflect, for his own comfort and convenience, because the world is unbearable without a kinder lie to see it through, as an act of love. (look at how, in the legacy dlc for DA2, the version of leandra that tells hawke all the stuff they probably really really need to hear... is the one varric has made up for them if leandra is dead by that point in the story. all of DA2 is a love letter, but that one especially gets to me. varric loves hawke so much.) he tells the sorts of lies that sometimes tell the truth better than the truth ever could, and sometimes are the self-serving cowardice of not being able to accept the world -- and the people in it, himself included -- as they actually are. I think varric is always aware that he's lying, though. he's a craftsman first and foremost lol

iron bull is a lie. or maybe a series of lies overlapping and interlocking to create each other like an escher drawing. or rather, he has been forced to take on and internalize many different and contradictory fundamental truths and to know exactly when and how and to/with who to perform each one. hissrad is real, and iron bull is real, and both of them are fucked because of it. the KING of compartmentalization and cognitive dissonance. his is more the lie of dissociation, which he uses both as a professional skill and for psychological survival.

(yeah as far as I'm concerned bull still has the Big Time PTSD, and not just from seheron. both solas and cole pick up on this in their banter with him -- cole especially is very good at noticing the ways iron bull has to frame the world in deliberate ways to keep doing what he does: "nothing on this side has a family", "you make them come to you so it's their fault; you don't want to kill, you want to protect". but in these ideas you see that the truth is also kept alive in those lies: 'everyone has a family, but these people can't, because then I can't do my job' (which, within the qun, directly equates to 'then I can't exist', which is so fucked uuuuuupppp. bull wanted the reeducators to 'fix him' because his mind stopped him from knowing what's actually wrong so he wouldn't have all meaning and connection in life taken from him -- not just with the world around him but within himself.). if cole tells bull krem's last thoughts, it's the one time what cole does just breaks something in someone in a permanent way, because bull is a pretty fragile psychological eco system beneath it all. it's why cole observing "there was no pain" after bull turns on you in trespasser is so eerie and so sad. he's beyond pain at that point. something broke in him for good this time.)

in some ways it serves him very well and is honestly pretty adaptive; look at his relationship to cole, for example. in any other circumstance cole would be what he'd consider a demon, which scare the crap out of him -- except that he loves cole. ergo cole can't be a demon, he's just some weird squirrely kid to take care of haha. you can see why he's kept that mechanism around, for all that it takes a heavy toll in the long run.

frequently I think bull must not even know when he's lying, or maybe he's aware on some level that he's always lying, because everything he does or says, any feeling he can have, belies some of the contradictory realities he has been forced to hold as truth over the years. he's had to set up a much more uh flexible approach to reality to be able to stay somewhat functioning. so it's simultaneously true that duty to the qun trumps all in a bottom line sort of way, and that he feels more loyalty to (and meaning in!) the chargers than to the qun now, and these things cannot actually coexist but they do and he has to find some way to live like that. and then if he becomes tal-vashoth... he has to deal with all the tal-vashoth he killed thinking it was necessary, and that maybe not all of them were. oh boy

and you have to help him make the choice to save the chargers, even though that's clearly what a large part of him screams to do. because the thing is... his weird indecisiveness and helplessness in that quest comes from him being in full survival mechanism mode, because something in his trauma brain is recognizing that bitch, he's going to have to find a way to still live no matter what the outcome here is, he can't be going putting all his eggs in one reality basket lmao. it's not just a video game thing, he needs someone else to make the choice for him, to settle once and for all who he is, because necessity and trauma have made it much more adaptive for him to keep that an open question... but damn, you really can't live your whole life like that, it's going to kill you one way or the other. like no fucking WONDER his biggest fear is madness, he's been balancing on that knife edge for what seems like basically his whole adult life at least. and also no wonder he's afraid of demons, he must feel on some level it's quite crowded in here as it is

I think what really opened my eyes to his character was listening to all of his banter and realizing just how much he adjusts himself to fit with the person he's talking to. he can almost seem like a different person from conversation partner to conversation partner. varric does a similar thing in that he makes a deliberate point to try to find some sort of common ground and something to connect over with every companion (except cassandra because they've got book-stabby history lol), but he doesn't actually like... change himself or lose himself in the process the same way. probably partially down to different motivations/reasons for that social chameleoning too: bull is specifically trained to get things out of people as a job, varric just likes people and also likes being liked. bull is so finely tuned to giving people exactly what they need or want from him as professional spy thing, you can almost feel him having to... dissolve a little, set parts of himself aside and pull others out, to be able to do it. it's so interesting and sometimes so subtle too.

TL;DR: the trauma and the qun came together to do such a number on this man and I'm glad he's out of there now and living his best dragon-slaying life

(vivienne is also a liar but like in the realpolitik way, which I think is more about power structures and keeping yourself safe and on top in a hostile system than anything inherent in her. That's Just Politics Baby haha)

and they all catch on to blackwall being deeply sus immediately, because blackwall has elements of all three of their motivations but like... faintly incompetently hahaha sorry blackwall

#cassandra -- my beloved cassandra -- does not pick up on SHIT because for all her faults she's the most honest person in the world lol #bull was not actually one of my faves on my first few playthroughs but he's snuck up on me with time. he's got So Much Going On #hey. hey brain. why the FUCK can't you get fits like this for creative writing more often I would get so much DONE oh my god #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solas #iron bull #varric tethras #well this has been percolating around in my head for years and it's reached pressure cooker levels feels good to let some of it out lol #the waking up at 4 am and having nothing better to do than writing this was not ideal but hey it was something lol

[tsuraiwrites]

Fic: An Immodest Proposal

@kyogre-blue​ oh no, you left it up to my discretion and my brain decided to go even further off-script – I hope you like it!

for this prompt meme

With Kirkwall’s new Viscount under pressure from the nobles and Guilds to get hitched, Hawke decides to propose fake marriage. Varric recognizes a trope when he sees it.

Hawke’s words take a moment to seep through Varric’s focus on the letter to Brulan Sasca, only halfway through writing another rejection of the guildsman’s daughter’s hand. This is the third damn time he’s had to turn Sasca down, and there are already grumblings in the Guild about Varric needing an heir...

Varric’s quill skids across the parchment as Hawke’s question finally sinks in. He stares at the line of ink for a long moment before looking up at Hawke where the human sits across the desk. 

“Come again?” he asks, not quite believing his ears.

Hawke has never been able to fool Varric – the man’s abysmal attempts at bluffing always failed him, even during Wicked Grace –  but in the aftermath of Adamant and Weisshaupt and Kirkwall putting the Viscount’s crown on Varric’s head, something has changed.

“I said,” and Hawke’s face doesn’t change from its unreadable blankness, but the air around him feels strangely brittle, “that you should marry me. It’ll get Bran and the Merchant’s Guild off your ass–”.

“Hawke–”

“–and I’m famous enough they can’t complain about my status–”

“Hawke, that’s not–” 

“–if you’re worried about it not being Chantry-sanctioned, you know the Inquisitor would officiate–”

“Garrett,” Varric says, and the minute widening of his eyes and the way Hawke swallows in response to the name thankfully shatters that blankness. Varric’s gut clenches when Hawke doesn’t look away. “That isn’t what you said.”

Hawke hesitates, sighs as he sinks further into the cushy chair meant for visiting dignitaries.

“Will you marry me, Varric?” A pause, before he tries to tease: “It worked in your books.” 

At long last, Varric sets down the quill that’s been slowly dripping ink on the ruined letter, rubbing his temples to stave off the oncoming headache. He can still feel divots in his skin from the damn iron crown he has to wear all day.

“This isn’t one of my novels – and you’re thinking of Isabela’s friend fictions,” he corrects.

“C’mon, you can’t tell me you didn’t mention a marriage of convenience at least once in Swords and Shields?”

“Okay, in the second– that’s not the point, Hawke.” 

In the face of his frown, Hawke sighs, running a hand through his hair without meeting Varric’s eyes. 

“Look, I heard about Bianca–” and he looks up just in time to catch the wince Varric can’t hide. “Yeah, so I know why you don’t want to marry anyone. I figured, this way it’d be someone you can stand,” Hawke says, mouth pulling into his trademark smile, as if it’s really that easy.

Varric slides his hands under the desk, the better to hide his clenching fists. He’s not in the mood to explain about him and Bianca, not after what happened in Valammar, even if he’s sure Hawke’s heard more than enough from the Inquisition’s side. 

“And what’s in it for you?” Varric grinds out, trying to get them off the topic of Bianca, watching as Hawke’s smile goes tight at the corners of his eyes. Hawke cups his hands together, exaggeratedly pleading.

“Why, my own handsome dwarf to take care of me in my retirement, of course!” 

It could be the truth – Hawke never lost his noble status, despite defending the mage who blew the Chantry to the Void, but he no longer has the deep pockets that came from years establishing himself as a nobleman mercenary in Kirkwall. It makes perfect sense in the context of Hawke looking for somewhere safe to roost after so long on the run. It would also solve many of the problems Varric’s been running into with the Guilds. 

It could be the truth, but it’s not. Varric looks back down at the stack of letters he still has to reply to and finds he doesn’t have the energy to beat around the bush.

“I appreciate the offer, Hawke, but I’ll have to pass.” He gestures at the letter on his desk that he’ll have to rewrite with a sigh. “I’m not really into the whole marriage thing without feelings involved.”

He grabs a fresh sheet of parchment to start anew, sure that’ll be the end of it when Hawke interjects:

“And if there were feelings involved?” 

Varric freezes, glad he hasn’t picked up the quill again yet. When he slowly looks up to meet them, Hawke’s eyes are blank. Suddenly, Varric hates that lack of expression almost as much as he hates red lyrium. 

But Hawke said...

“If there were feelings involved,” he starts, trying desperately to quash the hot hope blooming in his chest, “I’d ask why now.” Why now, and not anytime in the previous decade. 

“Well, you’ve never bitched so much about marriage before–” Hawke starts but throws up his hands with another strained grin when Varric frowns at him. “And you had Bianca, anyway.”

“You didn't know about her until last year.” At that, the grin drops, his mien flashing between embarrassment and discomfort as, for the first time in literal years, Varric watches red seep into Hawke’s cheeks.

“Then it was because you’re not into humans, or men. Because you’re the only one that hasn’t left, and I wasn’t going to fuck that up.” It’s stated like a fact, an inevitable truth of the universe.

Varric doesn’t know where to start with that – all of it is wrong. But he can’t say that, not without being a gigantic hypocrite. 

“I’m an idiot,” he sighs, and stands up from his desk. It’s only because he’s keeping a close eye that he sees Hawke’s aborted twitch. “Half the crew was in love with you, you know,” he says conversationally, making his way around the desk. “We had a bet going on who would actually get your attention.” 

Varric watches the we land, now close enough to watch Hawke’s eyes go wide and dark as he takes in the information. Hawke opens his mouth, closes it, then licks his lips as his gaze flickers over Varric’s face. 

Still, the man hesitates. 

“And.. who did you bet on?” 

“Not myself.” Varric laughs under his breath, and takes a step into Hawke’s space. Sitting down, he’s only a head taller than Varric – easy enough to reach up, to cup a hand to the side of Hawke’s face and drag a thumb along his cheekbone. Hawke turns his head into it, and Varric feels more than sees the testing glance of lips against his wrist. “I owe Rivaini twenty sovereigns,” Varric grumbles, and when he slides his hand behind Hawke’s head and pulls him down, he comes willingly, their lips meeting in a dry press. Hawke pulls back a bare inch to adjust the angle, then they’re kissing again, one of Hawke’s arm’s sliding around his waist, making Varric’s heart speed in his chest. 

Hawke sucks in a breath when they pull apart, their eyes meeting. 

They both break into laughter.

“I can’t believe you proposed to me instead of confessing.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t bet on yourself.” Hawke sounds incredulous. “You’re an author, aren’t you supposed to be more observant? How did Isabela know when you didn’t?” 

“To be fair, she put money down on everyone but Donnic.”

“Everyone but– even Aveline?” 

By the time Varric stops laughing at the face Hawke made, Hawke is looking at him more solemnly, mouth red and wet, crooked in a smile Varric can’t quite take his eyes off. The hug that Hawke pulls him into is unexpected, but he sinks into the tight embrace with the weight of years finally sloughing off his shoulders. 

“I love you, you know,” Hawke murmurs in his ear. Varric sucks in a sharp breath, his heart clenching hard. He tightens his grip around Hawke’s shoulders.

This… this is good. Varric, for once in his life, gets to have what he wants. He turns his face into the crook of Hawke’s neck and presses his mouth just where skin meets the edge of Hawke’s beard.

“Yeah, I love you, too.”

#fic #dragon age #hawke/varric tethras #kyogre-blue #prompt meme #dialogue is my bane and this has so much of it #not beta read

[dgcatanisiri]

I’ve said a few times, I’d sooner have had Felix as a companion over Dorian, on the basis of how Felix has a better claim to being capable of becoming “the Redeemer” of Tevinter society - he is already an outsider to Tevinter culture, considering that he’s the son of a Magister who has minimal magical gifts - Worlds of Thedas says that his grandfather tried to assassinate him for this. Meaning this is someone who has always been on the outside of the dominant culture of Tevinter society. 

Now, if you’ve been on my blog for any length of time, you have probably seen me talk about the difference of queer focus versus queer relevance. Long version is here, short version is that queer focus orients the story on the struggles of being queer, while queer relevance orients the story on something that is relatable across the board, but ends up having resonance for the queer people. 

My go-to example is something like Cullen’s addiction - addiction is something that hits anyone, queer or not. But because of the culture of queer spaces, where our safe spaces are bars and clubs, places where developing these habits is significantly easier, the story of breaking the addiction has queer relevance. 

Or some time ago, I looked at how Cole is pulled between being more spirit-like or being more human-like, and felt that it kinda read like a trans metaphor, of Solas pushing him to be like he had always been, the way that Solas was more comfortable with him, even if Cole had changed from that, or Varric encouraging Cole to explore the person he was becoming, even if that meant he could never go back to who he was before. 

Or, going away from Dragon Age, the Star Trek Deep Space Nine episode Rejoined featured a romance between two women. Now, these women both also carried the memories and personalities of two people who were married. Because Star Trek. In their society, the Reassociation is taboo (so it gets the capital letter treatment), because their people encourage each new life to separate itself and be distinct from the prior lives - Reassociation is so taboo to their people, they are threatened with expulsion from their society if they go ahead and take up the relationship again. It’s not taboo because of it being two women, but the metaphor is obvious because of how it IS, and yet the story doesn’t linger on that fact, all the concern is wrapped up in the natural reactions of the characters involved, how it impacts the characters in universe, letting the audience connect the dots and apply their own awareness.

So, going back to Dragon Age and Felix in particular... There’s that same relevance in him, because he can’t be what his culture says he should be. He has the same position as Dorian in Tevinter society, but for different reasons - he’s the son of a Magister, but he has barely any magic. So that kills almost any chance for him to provide that contribution to the distillation of “the perfect mage.” 

And yet... Since here we have the loving father proceed to accept him regardless, it demands a different story, while still allowing that perspective - Felix can talk about how Tevinter society said that Alexius should have disowned him and had another heir, but Alexius didn’t, choosing to love and accept his son as he is rather than try to force him to be what he is not or abandon him for being what he is. Now it’s not a queer focus, centered on the pain of a queer person, it’s a story where the queer character (since I’m saying swap Dorian for Felix, I’d want Felix as a gay romance) was accepted. 

Considering how awkwardly shoved in the homophobia of Dorian’s story is when we’re three games into the franchise and only being introduced here - because Fenris, the escaped Tevinter slave, SURELY should have mentioned that the nobility of Tevinter don’t approve when male Hawke (new nobility in Kirkwall) romances him, or brought it up against Anders, who romanticizes the fuck out of Tevinter. The few other instances of homophobia in the games could be passed off more as formed from out-of-universe reasons, that the writers still live in a homophobic society, and so are still using that lens - that’s certainly how I was looking at them until Dorian’s story came along. 

Like I saw it the same as all the sexism in the games - they pay a lot of lip service to Thedas being without it, that women are accepted in the armies and leadership, that their Jesus-figure is a woman (and more Joan of Arc-y, but she’s not the center of the IRL religion...), the priesthood is all about women, barring men from higher positions... And yet there’s still a LOT of patriarchal structure, the focus on kings and bloodlines through the son, and, y’know, wouldn’t a society that both worships a woman AND prizes dogs NOT use ‘bitch’ as a gendered slur? You can’t get away from the biases of the society you the writer are writing these things in. You can try, but things slip through the cracks. And that’s legit how I saw any nugget of homophobia in the game as well, as a societal bias of the writers.

Dorian’s story made that impossible. It said that there was genuine homophobia in this society. And it said that this place that I’d seen homosexuality as being a difference that made no difference was no longer that safe space. And I don’t know about anyone else, but I find offering places of safety and acceptance for queer people more important than reemphasizing how damaging homophobia/queerphobia is.

Because I need queer narratives that AREN’T focused on queer pain. Because I can get that anywhere else, I need my power fantasies far, FAR more. Give me queer people who are unquestionably accepted. I’ll take the metaphors, the stories that have the obvious subtext, BUT are grounded within their universe.

So instead of this being an anvil of “my family can’t accept my queerness!” it’s just part of Felix’s character. Because we have Alexius as the character willing to let the world burn to save his son. Hell, I think it would have been GREAT to get Felix’s response to Alexius’s judgment at Skyhold instead of Dorian - it’s not just the mentor figure who has fallen from grace, it’s the father who would have killed everyone for the chance to save you. How do you respond to that?

Felix was better poised to be “the Redeemer” than Dorian was. And he had a queer relevant story without it being queer focus, Make Felix our companion (meaning that we’d probably need a new mage companion for the sake of balance and all, which means probably also changing up at least one other character’s class and story, but since they’re not going to remake the game, this is all academic anyway, so the character element is all that I’m looking at here), have Dorian as like a brother or still the mentee figure, maybe graft the sickness over to him instead of Felix (or build a questline around helping Felix recover). 

And then Felix can speak of Tevinter with the luster worn off, because he’s spent his life seeing the faults of the society, the rot at its core, rather than just having had his eyes opened because Tevinter’s ills have finally reached him - they were always impacting him. He had family members try to kill him because he couldn’t be what they wanted. He’s only able to enjoy what he does because his father refuses to shut him out, something that surely has closed doors for Alexius, maybe even drew him to the Venatori before the sickness.

Felix is a better candidate to be “the Redeemer.” He’s experienced Tevinter’s ills more blatantly and more frequently than Dorian has. Felix should have been the companion over Dorian.

#dg plays dragon age #another angry queer rant #dorian critical

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you so much @zuendwinkel​ for donating! I am SO GLAD to add this lovely Hawke x Fenris to the collection, writing them was a joy! I’m also SO EXCITED to share the artwork you created that goes along with it! Thank you so much for blessing us with something so soft, beautiful, and detailed!! 

I’m not longer accepting RAINN Commissions but you can see the ones that are already finished in this series on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Title: A Flock of Trouble Pairing: Male Hawke x Fenris Rating: T Content Warnings: Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age II, Fluff and Angst, Reunions

Read on AO3

Broody,

Listen. We got into a bit of a situation in the Western Approach. Fell tits over ass right into the Fade. I wish I was shitting you. Do you remember those giant spiders outside Kirkwall? They’ve got nothing on fade demon spiders. I have had enough of the whole thing for the rest of my life. Hawke took off with the Wardens to tell Weisshaupt that their whole fighting force is at risk of being controlled like finger puppets by an ancient magister. I got the worse job of telling you where the fuck he was going (Remember, don’t murder the messenger. Who else would get you that wine you like from Tevinter?)

He said not to follow him. Doesn’t want your Broody arse that close to Tevinter, I expect. I’m fully aware you’ll be going anyway. Take the note attached to my solicitor and get some coin to tide you over. Don’t get captured by slavers. Try to lie low.

When you see Hawke - ask him what happened in the Fade. Somebody needs to kick some sense into his ass. You’re the best person for it.

Sincerely, Varric Tethras

P.S. I’m adding the money Hawke lost to me to your gambling debts. Wicked Grace soon?

Weisshaupt appeared as foreboding and desolate as Fenris had expected. 

Sun-bleached stone soared into a clear, burning sky. Walls meant for defense rather than appeal ringed a fortress that looked as if it could withstand an archdemon itself. If Fenris remembered correctly, it had survived at least two. Perhaps three. 

Of course, if Garrett Hawke were there currently, it may soon fall into the blighted land surrounding it. That did seem to be the man’s luck.  And if Garrett Hawke wasn’t there, Fenris would hunt him down, if only to give the man the tongue lashing he richly deserved. 

In truth, Fenris felt uneasy. The Tevinter border at his back reminded him of the last time he’d been so far north. He’d been running then, as fast as he could go, a desperate chase that led to Kirkwall, an empty box, an abandoned mansion and…

And Garrett Hawke. 

Fenris remembered clearly everything that happened after he met Garrett. He had spent hours examining the path he took with a cynic’s wary gaze, looking for the moment it had all changed, the second he stopped running and made a choice. 

A choice that led him here, to the edge of the world, chasing instead of being chased. 

“What business do you have here?” A rough voice barked. It belonged to a woman, old for a Warden, her long brown hair braided neatly down her back. Her hand rested easily on the hilt of the sword on her hip with a warrior’s preparedness. But her stance was casual. Eyes alert and pleasant. There was no whiff of danger here, not for him at any rate. It did not quite reassure him, but there was no reason to reach for the blade on his back. Yet.

“I am here for the Champion of Kirkwall.” He informed the guard politely, wrapping the reins around his fist while he smoothly dismounted. 

The woman rocked back on her heels, a started, humorless laugh slipping from her lips. “The Champion of Kirkwall?” 

Fenris’s heart sunk, but he kept his face impassive. He could not help the way his gauntlets tightened on the leather bridle. “He is not here.” 

“Oh no! The blighted fool is still here. Are you here to take him back to wherever he came from? Cause I’d be grateful, Serah. May even slip some coin in your pocket.” 

Something broke inside him, a fever finally easing. Fenris had been traveling for longer than he wished to recount, and had not allowed himself to consider the end of the journey or who he wished to find there. 

“Where may I find him?” 

The woman opened her mouth to reply, but whatever response she meant to give was cut off by an unholy clatter and what sounded like a small explosion. Her expression darkened and she jerked her thumb to a thin trail of smoke rising above the walls. 

“Wherever there’s trouble, typically.” She sighed. 

Fenris knew Garrett far too well to disagree with that statement. 

The smoke smelled of herbs Fenris recognized, elfroot chief among them, and it was billowing from within a stable of all things. Soldiers, Fenris assumed they were Grey Wardens, stood with various expressions of shock, dismay, and annoyance. 

The nobles in Kirkwall wore the same looks the day Garrett knocked over six of the merchant’s stalls in Hightown. He’d been chasing a dog, who was chasing a street urchin, who was trying to catch a nug with a kitten in it’s mouth. 

Maker only knew how Garrett had gotten roped into the whole thing. 

Fenris simply remembered the chaos unspooling below him from his perch on the steps and that bubble of emotion that rose up in his chest while he chuckled ruefully and Isabela cheered. He hadn’t known what to call that feeling, not then, not watching Garrett retrieve the kitten and present it to the street urchin while the rich nobility stared in bewilderment. 

But when he saw Garrett in the stable doors, waving his arms like a windmill to disperse the smoke, Fenris felt it again. This time he knew its name.  

Joy. 

Knots loosened in his chest. Only to be replaced by a sharp spike of annoyance more than a match for the cloud of irritation hovering around Garrett. 

Except, of course, Garrett was impervious to the mood. He cast his dark eyes around the courtyard, flitting right over Fenris in his search for something. Then, a half second later, sliding back to where he stood. 

“Fen!” Garrett shouted, a joyful grin splitting his face. “You’re here!” 

Garrett bounded away from the smoking door, arms swinging. He wasn’t in armor, wasn’t armed, and a part of that struck a chord that made Fenris both wary and wistful. When was the last time Garrett had abandoned his armor around strangers? 

Garrett stumbled to a stop in front of him, arms out, waiting while his eyes dragged themselves over every inch of Fenris’s lyrium lined face. 

“You’re really here.” Garrett whispered. 

Almost as if he thought he’d never see him again. 

“Yes.” Fenris snapped instead, jerking his chin at the ancient fortress. “I have, once again, followed you to the edge of civilization.” 

At least Garrett had the good grace to look contrite. “I mean. They do have that wine here you like.” 

“It is more easily obtainable this close to Tevinter.” 

Garrett winced. “I told Varric to tell you-” 

“It was too much trouble to write to me with your own hand?” 

That made his lover recoil. Garrett did not grab for him, although he lifted his arm, fingers outstretched in silent plea. “Fen that… that wasn’t it at all. There was an army of demons. Giant spider. Marching across the blighted desert. Griffon eggs…” 

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris repeated, incredulous. 

Garrett’s whole face brightened. “Griffon eggs! I swear on the Maker’s hairy asscheeks, Fen, you won’t believe-” 

Fenris swallowed his anger and shook his head. In one movement, he turned on his heel and stomped away from the human with his beaming smile, warm eyes, and new wrinkles from sorrow on his forehead. 

It was always safest to walk away when he did not know whether to slap Garrett or kiss him, after all. 

Garrett found Fenris on the battlements while the sun was dipping below the western horizon. He stood, awkward and yet endearing, cradling a large white object gently in his arms. On second look, it was indeed the largest egg Fenris had ever seen. 

“I should have written.” Garrett murmured. “I… wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

Fenris did not pull his eyes from the pink and orange sky. “That is hardly unusual.” 

Garrett chuckled to himself, shifting his weight from side to side. “Fair. But… it was bad, Fen.” 

He knew it must have been. Varric would not have mentioned it otherwise. “Do you wish to tell me about it?”

“Yes.” Garrett sighed, placing the egg tenderly on top of a crate. He rested one large hand over it before casting a baleful look at Fenris. “But not tonight. Tonight I’m just… I’m just fucking thrilled to see you. Even if you’re fuming.” 

“I am not fuming.” Fenris stated on instinct. 

Garrett grinned. “Ah. Is this brooding then?” 

Fenris’s lips twitched. “I do not brood.” 

“Not even a little bit.” Garrett stepped closer, holding his arms out with a shy, uncertain tip of his lips. “I missed you.” 

Fenris pushed himself away from the warm stone. For a breathless second, the two men looked at each other. Garrett’s eyes shimmered with emotion, an expression torn between longing and hope. 

Fenris stepped into the man’s embrace and allowed himself to be tugged towards his broad chest. His sword rough fingers yanked on Hawke’s hair immediately, scowling into the grinning face. 

“You are a fool, and I am a worse one for loving you.” 

Garrett laughed, ducking down to press an eager kiss to Fenris’s lips. Fenris closed his eyes, drifting on the sparking heat between them, the way the world settled back into place. Garrett smelled of home, of warm hay, leather, salt and sun. 

They broke the kiss, but clung to each other as Garrett pressed his forehead to Fenris’s. 

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris finally asked.

Garrett smiled. “My newest adventure, Fenris. Much better than the last one, I assure you.” 

Fenris simply sighed and melted into his lover’s embrace under the burning sun. As with most of Garrett’s adventures, it would be nothing but trouble.

Fenris found he did not mind much at all.

#manka's friend fiction #charity fundraiser #fenris #hawke/fenris #dragon age hawke #dragonage #dragon age #male hawke #fenhawke

[broodsys]

time to dump the barely-edited adaar journal entries i was writing on yall. good old da:i fic.

---

Josephine has been pushing me to keep records for a while, but with my own fancy room, it's harder to make up excuses to put it off. She keeps talking about how history will see this Inquisition, and how important it would be to future peoples to have a record written by the Inquisitor herself. Well, here it is.

She asked me to not swear too much in it, either. Dreadful fucking sorry Josie, but the world's going to learn that I'm a foul-mouthed Tal-Vashoth mage instead of a living saint.

-

Things have been so busy lately that I haven't had time for much more than passing out in my bed.

Let's recap for the, what, future generations who are supposed to read this? The Inquisition arrived at Skyhold some time ago, and fortifications have been going up almost as fast as new faces are pouring in. Sometimes I don't know if I'm going to laugh or cry when I think about my old life - being a mercenary isn't exactly easy street, but I'd give anything to not have the weight of the world on my shoulders. Inquisitor... I'm getting used to hearing it, but not used to feeling it. 

We were lucky that Solas - a free elven mage who kept yours truly alive when I first got the Anchor - knew about this place. After the defeat at Haven, the deaths, even as we traveled through the thick snow I could see little but the fire, the twisted form of Corypheus himself. I certainly couldn't see a way to keep going, much less to win. But too many had died, too many had suffered and were afraid, that I couldn't stop leading them, not knowing to what.

I never knew I'd be leading them to something as magnificent as this. Something so defensible. So many people poured their heart and soul - and many, their lives - to fortifying and defending Haven. It seems impossible that they could be even more driven, more proud, but they are. And so am I.

Corypheus has made it personal - for us all.

-

I went to see Leliana today. Apparently for the first time. I hadn't realized it until now, but I've been avoiding her ever since I first woke up in Haven. Cassandra was being a lot more threatening, a lot angrier than Leliana, but I fought alongside Cassandra after that. I began to trust her, then. But a spymaster? Someone who seemed so cold, so incredibly cutthroat? I wanted nothing to do with her. 

But today when I visited, I saw past her duties. I even saw past her brutality and her self-sacrifice in the twisted future. I saw a woman who had shouldered an enormous amount of responsibility and had hardened to not break beneath it. But there's so much more to her than her cunning; her faith, her warmth, the way she smiles when handling the birds... she made me so nervous until I saw that she was just as real as anyone else. Just as much a normal person under all the immense burdens. She can laugh, love, cry, fight like anyone. 

I suppose people see me as I saw her. Strange thing to realize. 

-

I really thought that things might calm down after the Breach was sealed. But it's been mission after mission, each seemingly more urgent than the last. The world is coming apart at the seams and I'm the only one who can fix it? I don't think I'm divinely sent, I don't even believe in the Maker or the Chantry, religiously or as an institution, but I can't help but feel a certain kinship with Andraste. Perhaps it's because people have compared us, but I can imagine how terrible her burden, how enormous her responsibility, how heavy the awareness of such was.

If only I could imagine her success. Or mine. 

-

Remember when I was just a grungy merc? When I drank with my kith and made enemies tremble with a little fire on my fingertips? Good times.

-

Shit, things are a mess. Cassandra still hasn't spoken to Varric, and Varric's uncharacteristically quiet. Withdrawn, even. You'd think having Hawke around would be a comfort, but I suppose he didn't want to meet his friend again under these circumstances. After I interrupted the fight between him and Cassandra, what struck me most was the final thing he said: you people have done enough to him. I see the man now, listen to him speak of his life in Kirkwall, his friends scattered, and I think Varric is right. And I wonder if that's my fate, too.

I should be so lucky. If I can live long enough to have regrets, I'll be more surprised than anyone.

-

I wonder what the long-term effects of the Anchor will be. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever have my hand back, as it was, as its supposed to be. 

Maybe what it is can be what it's supposed to be. Someday. Maybe I'll learn to accept who - and what - I am.

Someday.

-

Iron Bull is... interesting. He's so strong, obviously, and the Chargers are an impressive company. But he's the first Qunari I've met. 

Most people look at me and see a Qunari. I did, too, in a way - I didn't and don't follow the Qun, but at the time I thought Qunari was the race and the philosophy. But according to Bull, we don't really have a name for the race anymore. 

I thought I was a Qunari who didn't follow the Qun. But am I truly Tal-Vashoth? Bull says that means "deserter"; am I to be defined, my race, my culture, by the absence of my allegiance to the Qun? Is that what I am?

It is the truth. Or at least, a truth. But I admit, a part of me hates that even in my opposition to it, the Qun has framed not only who, but what I am. 

-

Sera called me weird today. She meant it kindly, I think, but she's not wrong. Varric laughed when I said I was just a regular person, Cassandra truly believes I'm sent by her god, and Leliana has been lecturing - I mean, instructing me about my impact and it's potential. Some of what Blackwall says sounds damn near worshipful. Strangers bow to me where before they gasped at the "oxman" (why just man, anyway? I hate it, but why not at least oxwoman? Bastards.)

Sera has come to mean a lot to me. At first it helped to have someone who treated me normally - or, at least a little more normally than the rest. But I'm beginning to see who she really is, and I like what I see. She's inspirational in the most unusual ways, but it works so well because she understands people. I guess I don't, not really. I understand my old merc life, I used to understand my magical limits, and I understood my family and friends. But my friends were the kind you made when you're both up to your ass in demons.

But I do understand theory. I've worked with theory my whole life - magical theory, social, political... even personal theory. Who am I? What am I?

-

When the specialists were brought in, it felt so obvious - I needed to learn more about the Rifts. I wanted to understand them, not continue to flail around a piece of magic I don't understand in the least. But it made Sera afraid. And I can see that others are uncomfortable. The Rifts scare people, that makes sense, but I didn't think my trying to understand them would make me seem scary. Well, scarier. A Tal-Vashoth merc is pretty scary, especially when she's a damned good mage, too.

I didn't expect Cole's reaction, either. He's difficult to anticipate at the best of times, but the last thing I expected to follow my new study of the Rifts was becoming "familiar" to Cole. It's a little concerning, but I don't mind the connection to him. 

#i dont think ill be coming back to this anytime soon if at all so #might as well loose it upon the world

[crackinglamb]

001 for dragon age?

Did you really want an essay?  Cuz you’re gonna get one.  I’ll stick with DA:I, since that’s the only one I’ve actually played.  I have passing familiarity with the other two games, but not enough for details.  And as always, it got really long while I was writing it out, so under a cut it goes.

Favorite character: Probably obvious.  But it’s Solas.  Love him or hate him, no one can deny that he’s a complex, intricately written character with lots of facets we have yet to see all of.  Plus, he has a delicious voice and I’ll own that kink, no one can shame me.

Least Favorite character: *sigh*  Vivienne.  I wanted to like her, I really did.  She’s a powerful, ambitious woman in her own right, a successful mage, an adept at the Game.  She has strong motivations of her own, even if they’re written with a bit of a cliche.  But that’s also part of her problem.  She’s willfully blind to the suffering of her peers.  She’s bought into the propaganda of the Circle and the Chantry.  She’s like a political centrist and I find that distasteful.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Solas/Lavellan; Dorian/Iron Bull; Varric/Hawke; Krem/Maryden; and finally a headcannon one: Solas/Ghilan’nain.  There are a wealth of layers to a relationship between them, and a bucketful of explanatory suppositions for why he is the way he is now.

Character I find most attractive: Do we really need to revisit the voice kink?  Are you gonna make me spell it out?  *snort*  Of course it’s that damned Egg.  No, I don’t sound too happy about it, do I?

Character I would marry: None of them.  They are, every single one of them, a hot mess disaster that I would never tie my life to, even if marriage wasn’t a convenient religious construct.

Character I would be best friends with: Varric Tethras.  That dwarf is bloody loyal to a fault and he deserves nice things and people who care about him just as much as he cares about everyone else.

 A random thought: How did I get here?  I wasn’t supposed to be here.  I just wanted to write the aforementioned happy ever after for Varric.  How did this happen?

An unpopular opinion: *nervous laugh*  My bestie is gonna kill me, but...Cullen isn’t as changed as people tend to think he is.  The overall arc of his ‘redemption’ falls flat imo.  I mean, all we really get from him is recognition that he has an addiction, has seen some shit and his attempts to deal with those.  He falls under ‘forgiveness doesn’t equal another chance’.  For a man who has been through as much as he has, his worldview is still pretty narrow.  Having been on the receiving end of someone like that irl, it simply doesn’t appeal in my fiction.

My Canon OTP: Hah!  Solas/Lavellan.  And not just because I’m writing about it to the exclusion of everything else right now.  I think it’s also the most in-depth view of Solas as a character.  His romance gets the most information about him by sheer numbers.

My Non-canon OTP: Varric/Hawke.  Hands down.  You cannot tell me that a man like Varric, over protective and loyal, would not lay down his life for Hawke and tap that ass while he was at it.

Most Badass Character: Leliana.  That woman is terrifying and yet all I want to do is give her a hug and a mug of hot cocoa.  She has the strengths of her convictions, the agility of her mind, she will fuck you up before you know what hit you and yet...she’s vulnerable under the surface.  But she doesn’t allow that vulnerability to break her.  Aside from a single instance, she never even lets anyone see it.  She’s remade herself over and over.  She probably could use a nap and a snuggle from her nugs.

Most Epic Villain: IMHO, DA:I doesn’t have a strong villain.  It has a series of boss fights.  The story isn’t finished, and the game is basically a placeholder in a franchise.  It’s too soon to know whether or not Solas counts (I don’t think he does, though, and if he does, I will be extremely disappointed in the writing team).

Pairing I am not a fan of: Cassandra/Varric.  I’ve yet to see it portrayed with proper application of enemies to lovers.  The start of their relationship is frankly abusive.  She holds him prisoner and repeatedly threatens his life in close quarters and she never makes amends for it in canon.  Bad tempers that lead to interpersonal violence are not cute or romantic.  I love Cass, I sincerely do.  But I do not ever see that ship as doing anything more than sinking to the bottom of the Waking Sea.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Bianca Davri.  There was so much hype.  So much.  And she was astoundingly underwhelming when we met her.  Love is truly blind, because given the portrayal we got, I have no idea what the ever loving fuck Varric sees in her.

Favourite Friendship: Solas and Iron Bull.  Now, this is assuming one saves the Chargers and Bull becomes Tal-Vashoth.  They go from butting heads on every single blessed thing to playing mental chess to pass the time and prove several points to themselves and to us, the players.  They learn so much from each other.  I get the warm fuzzies.  Runner up to this is Solas and Dorian.  Two men who are frighteningly similar but can’t see it.  Or won’t admit it, anyway.  And again, they learn so much from each other.

Character I most identify with: Okay, it might be a cheap cop out, but the Inquisitor.  I too am not getting paid enough to deal with the shit life throws at me while simultaneously being responsible for the well being of both myself and a person dependent on me.  Granted, my little person isn’t all of Thedas, but I wouldn’t say that makes it any less important.  And I too am canonically disabled by the end.  It’s rough being a spoonie.

Character I wish I could be: Ack, I don’t think I’d want to be any of them.  They all need therapy.  Possible exception is Cole.  I like to help, just as much as I like to be left to my own devices if no one needs me.  Speaking in riddles?  Unleashing a torrent of compassionate wrath and disappearing before anyone makes me bleed?  Having a deeper connection to the world around me?  Sure, I can get behind those.  I’m a Gemini.

Thanks for the ask.  You know I love it when you make me think.

#ask #fandom ask #dragon age