#ch: bethany hawke

[nightwardenminthara]

i think after seeing karl’s final moments… in the silence of lowtown back alleys as they walk home, grant would have a rare candid, vulnerable moment just declaring “if that ever happens to me, you have to kill me” to carver

and I think carver would agree and I think there would be no conviction behind it

#you ever think about how Bethany will fight Hawke to the death #to protect the circle #but carver is so centered around hawke he will fight by him even when he utterly disapproves #ch: grant hawke #to protect the circle mages**

[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 52: The Road to Crestwood

Summary: Rose and her companions journey the rest of the way to Crestwood. On the way they encounter evidence of widespread lawlessness and Rose gets to know the man behind the Champion better.

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke. Excerpt Below:

Cassandra and I gamely take the room with one double bed at the inn, knowing that neither of us snore. Sera had offered to share with Vivienne which prompted a clipped little exchange that entertained anyone near. “And be forced to bask in whatever that odor of yours is? I don’t think so,” says the enchantress. “I was joking you prissy bint. You’d snuff me with a pillow probably.” “On that we can both agree.” Truthfully, I’m grateful for the privacy of solid walls for a change as Cassandra and I haven’t been able to discuss the latest installment of Swords and Shields she loaned me and I have so many questions. Our room is cramped, lit by oil lamps on either side of the bed. We crawl under the quilt, threadbare at the edges of the patchwork and then draw up the fur over our feet. I hand her her well-worn copy, my smirk unmanageable. “The plot certainly thickened in this one,” I remark. “If by ‘plot thickened’ you mean they finally—“ she starts. “—did the deed?” I finish. “Yes,” she says, flushing. “I had been waiting for that for years!” “Well, I’m glad I’ve been able to binge it all in one go!” “What I never understood about this issue…That part when the guardsman—“ Cassandra clears her throat. “When the knight-captain and the guardsman—“ She can’t bring herself to say it. “When he uses his tongue on her?” I finish, having fewer scruples than Cassandra on such matters. “I just find it unlikely that she would react in that way!” “It does seem a bit far fetched.” “You have seen the mouths on some of these men!” “I know!” “It is probably overstated. For dramatic effect.” “It’s Varric. Almost certainly.”

Read the rest here Start from the beginning

And since this chapter features a whole bunch of my custom Hawke I'll throw some of my DA2 screencaps of him for good measure 😏 My husband calls him "fuckboy Hawke" LMAO. Give him longer hair tied in a tiny baby ponytail and that's the current look in my fic.

Bethany and Carver both survive in this worldstate

DAFF Tag list

@warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren | @breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @ir0n-angel | @inquisimer | @crackinglamb | @nirikeehan | @oxygenforthewicked | @mogwaei | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @melisusthewee | @blarrghe | @agentkatie

#in the shattering of things #rose trevelyan #cullen x trevelyan #cullenmance #hawke x trevelyan #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #blue-purple hawke #Crestwood #multiship fic #Cassandra & Inquisitor #Slow burn #But fast burn too #The plot thickens #Cassandra Pentaghast #Swords and Shields #Prank war with Varric

[aworldofyou]

      I always had this internal theory in terms of Marian Hawke that rather than being just one of the three personalities, that she is meant to be all three at once. There is not one person after all, who is only one role of a personality all hours of the day. Whether its diplomatic, humorous, or aggressive, but a mix of all. She shows her family one side, the humorous, one making everyone smile when they struggle, gentle when loved ones actually need it in dire times, and aggressive when that line is crossed.

      This is always somewhat how I’ve played Marian with that psychological heavy focus on humorous because that is canon - but also balancing the other two in when the human mind reacts as such.

#[ marian hawke / ch. study ] your father was the same way; taming the shadows with questionable wit. #[ marian hawke ] what earth shattering matter requires my attention this time? #[ also its interesting to note how gentle she is with Bethany but only gets angry at Carver when he crosses lines that shouldn't be crossed #[ like when he questioned her dedication to Bethany and what she gave to protect her ]

[grace-nakimura]

“Now, a chuilein, what’s the first thing you do when you dance?” Mages and former Templars alike- both men, women, and neither too!- become butter when Uncle Sebastian speaks, but to Lilibet, he’s just Uncle Sebastian. The same one that, even before he officially became Uncle Sebastian and married Aunt Bethany, baptised her in the name of the Maker, taught her Ceildh, and recently helped her become more comfortable ahorse Neighsayer, mama’s mount. They titter and whisper and giggle, but Lilibet purses her lips together and does the best curtsy she could muster. 

Well, it isn’t the best, but Josephie- oh, Lady Montilyet- is working on it, so is Madam Vivienne because appearance is everything, darling; age does not exempt you from the prying eyes of the Orlesian Court. Lilibet knows they said other things, but she was too busy fighting the seamstresses over her stupid uniform. Why can’t I wear a dress? She had asked, not for the first time and certainly not the last, but Lady Montilyet ignored her expertly and continued to speak about posture.

“Well done!” Uncle Sebastian, in turn, bows after her, while Madam Vivianne counts the steps they’ve been rehearsing for what seems like five thousand-and-twenty-years. He straightens, then offers a hand to her, taking care to bend his body just a tad because while she’s all legs for her age, he’s still a great deal taller. He’s more relaxed, too, Lilibet notices; papa isn’t here- far away with mama and baby Karl, who isn’t exactly a baby anymore, and baby Hannah, the new baby she doesn’t remember asking for last Satinalia .- so he’s happier. Papa and Uncle Sebastian don’t like each other: they say they don’t in front of her, but she isn’t baby Karl or baby Hannah. She knows things. “May I have this dance?”

Forgoing protocol, knows she’ll pay for it later, Lilibet throws herself in her beloved Uncle’s- loves him more than Uncle Fenris and Uncle Carver and especially Uncle Ugly!- arms, enjoying how he chuckles and spins her around just like he used to when he and mama were still friends and she still had a big home in Kirkwall. 

#myocs #myfic #da #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #KIDQUISITOR AU #child inquisitor #fhanders mention #sebastian x bethany #well mentioned i guess #ch: elizabeth hawke #i love sebastain #sebastian positive #fight me he'd be the Best with kids #sebastian vael

[aria-i-adagio]

Ch. 60: Wherein we finally get around to picking Hawke up and starting to put him back together.

Read on AO3

Excerpt

---

Anders’s eyelids feel heavy, just like they do when he’s been awake for days on end and faces, scents, and sounds are starting to spiral around him, each sense getting confused with the other.  It’s a fight to open them, but he manages.  “Because there is more to be done.”  He lifts one hand and extends it to Justice.  “No going back, right?”

“No.”

When he locks hands with Justice, the Fade falls apart around them before reorganizing itself in response to someone else’s whim.  Mists of an indeterminate color surround a bubble that feels ancient, as if in this section of the usually timeless Fade the idea of old has meaning.  Objects are scattered about as anchors for the senses but without any sense of up or down.  A bear fur - piled high with pillows - is spread across nothing.  No walls exist, only the vaguest memories of the concept on which to hang various musical instruments at awkward angles.  Some of the instruments are recognizable as the ancestors of ones with which Anders is familiar, others are far too ancient to be anything other than foreign.  Above his head, fire burns upside down, suspended from a stone pit.  A woman with long, red hair stands before it.  Or rather, from Anders’ perspective, she hangs by her bare feet from nothing at all as she stares into the flames.

“Ah, we speak again, my son,” the woman says, and with the words, Anders is beside her.

Other than her hair, she does not, in fact, resemble his mother.  And even that is a dubious comparison.  Fine red-gold locks surround her face like a nimbus cloud at sunset - both reflecting the firelight and luminescing from within.  Tendrils float away from the mass - more brushstrokes than strands.  They dissolve into nothing as they move farther for her - an approximation of the waking world, like everything else in the Fade.  “You were in my dream.  You said there was more I had to do.  That I had to pass through the fire.”

Did he?  He remembers spinning into blue flames as Justice took control of him.  How they hissed and cracked and burned - truly burned - before his consciousness started to crumble into fragments of awareness: red lyrium cutting through the skin of Bethany’s face, the despair in Adrian’s eyes, a dragon’s piercing screech.

“I did.”  The woman places both hands on his face, cupping his jaw.  “And here you are.”

“Andraste’s knick-”

“Ah, ah, ah.”  She waves her finger in front of his face, but smiles indulgently and taps the end of his nose.

“Who are you?”

---

Read on AO3.

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #anders #hawke #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquistion #da2

[spacebatisluvd]

Summary: Things do not go as expected when Hordak and Entrapta arrive in Salineas.

Content warning: Chronic pain, ableism, speciesism, Mermista being unpleasant (and responsible for most of the aforementioned ableism and speciesism), internalized ableism. Bear with me, folks. Things will get better.

-

The second leg of their journey was decidedly less comfortable than their time on the ship. “Sorry. Bethany’s not really designed for long journeys,” Entrapta said as they cleared another copse of trees. “I’ve been intending to install better shocks but—" Bethany tumbled down a steep hillside, her loping run intermixed with sliding somersaults. The harness barely held him in place, and absolutely nothing absorbed the shock of impact as Bethany barreled through the forest. “—You know how it is.”

He nodded, trying not to let his claws puncture the seat leather. “How much further?” he asked. His voice was firm, almost harsh.

“Not far!” she said. Which was what she’d been saying for most of the journey. He eyed Bethany’s path and braced himself as they approached yet another forested hillside.

Even with his armor, the jostling was aggravating his defect. Pain radiated down his arms and across his back, spreading all the way from his forearms to the base of his spine. He grit his jaw and flexed his hands, trying to focus on his breathing. Just a little longer, he lied to himself, grip tightening as Bethany leapt forward. Her landing rocked the cockpit, throwing him first into the harness and then back against the inadequately padded seat. “Doing okay back there?” Entrapta asked, glancing at him.

“I am fine.” And he was. He was fine—or he would be, when Bethany finally stopped and he could take a sedative and sleep through the pain.

“Oh—look! I think that’s the festival.”

He looked past the sea of trees, focusing on the glimpse of colorful tents just barely visible now that they’d topped a small rise. “So it would seem.” A bubble of nervousness swelled in his chest. How had she persuaded him to willingly surround himself with his former enemies for absolutely no purpose whatsoever?

He glanced at Entrapta as she urged Bethany forward. “This is going to be so much fun!” she said, fingers tapping excitedly on the controls. Perhaps not entirely without purpose. These were Entrapta’s friends. He would need to make peace with them for her sake. Tolerant coexistence should be attainable—his interactions with Sea Hawk had proven that, at least.

They plunged back into the forest, and the tents disappeared, but Bethany had her bearings and ran on, dodging trees and boulders as they went. Hordak braced himself again, grateful that he was not lying to himself this time as he mentally chanted that it was only a little further. Finally—finally—they reached the edge of Plumeria, and Bethany lowered her bulky body, cockpit sliding open so he and Entrapta could disembark. She jumped out with ease, and before he could attempt the same, her hair pressed the button on his vambraces to activate the cuffs. He paused, about to protest that he needed his hands to get down, when he found himself bodily lifted from the cockpit by a rope of hair and set on the ground. He huffed, looking at Entrapta. “That was unnecessary.”

“But fun!” she teased, looping her arm through his. The mech disgorged their trunks, and Entrapta waved at her. “Bye, Bethany!” she exclaimed as the mech ran off to explore. She leaned close and ‘whispered’, “She’ll be back in a few days.”

For once, he wasn’t listening. His gaze was fixed behind her, on the people that had gathered there. Fauns, he thought they called themselves. He stiffened his spine, despite the shock of pain that ran like a bolt down his back. They were staring at them—at him—and Hordak’s hearts began beating harder and faster. They were deep in enemy territory, with no guards, and only a shaky justification for his presence. He glanced at Entrapta, trying to gauge her feelings on the situation, but it was clear she hadn’t noticed.

She grinned at him and walked around the crowd, talking excitedly about her friends and the festival as her hair casually dragged the trunks behind them. The fauns lingered, watching them with eerie, goat-like eyes. Hordak toyed with the button to release his bonds, uncomfortable with their scrutiny and ready for a fight. All the while, his body screamed that he needed rest, but he pushed that aside, relying on his exoskeleton to keep him upright.

They left the fauns behind without incident, but he remained watchful as Entrapta led him toward a collection of yurts, the outer hides dyed in fanciful colors. A fire pit rested in the center of the circled of huts, and though the fire was not currently lit, the princesses and their partners were gathered there.

Naturally, Sea Hawk saw them first. He leapt from his place beside Mermista and waved exuberantly. “You came!” he exclaimed, running for them.

Hordak did not want to be hugged, especially not right now, but as he opened his mouth to say as much, a rope of hair caught Sea Hawk around the middle, holding him at a safe distance. “Hi!” Entrapta greeted him. “Is everyone else already here?”

“Yes—I was hoping you’d both get here before the festivities began.” He tugged at the rope of hair. “Er. Do you mind releasing me?”

“Oh, right! Sorry. I’m just not really ready for a hug right now....”

Sea Hawk blinked, then flinched. “Aw, yes. I was perhaps a touch over-enthusiastic—but I respect your boundaries. I’ll stay here. Unless...” He eyed Hordak.

“No. I do not want a hug.”

Sea Hawk did not seem put out. “When you change your mind, I will be—"

“What is he doing here?” Mermista demanded, pointing at Hordak as she stormed over. “I didn’t say he could come.”

“Well, technically, he’s not here of his own volition.” Entrapta stepped up beside Mermista, while Sea Hawk sidled over to Hordak, grinning. He kept true to his word and didn’t try to hug him, so Hordak offered a nod of acknowledgement. “See?” Entrapta’s hair tugged on Hordak’s wrist, pulling his hands up to showcase the bonds. “I kidnapped him!”

Sea Hawk grinned at this, elbowing Hordak to stage-whisper, “It was my idea.”

“I am aware.”

Mermista groaned, one hand covering her face. Their shenanigans had attracted some attention now, and the others hovered close by. The archer’s eyes widened. “You...kidnapped...?”

Catra bent in two, cackling. “You actually—!” She slung an arm over the young queen, still snickering. “Can you believe—?”

Bow glanced at her, then sidled up to Hordak’s other side, saying, “You are okay, right? She didn’t really kidnap you, did she? You want to be here? You’re not being forced, are you?” Hordak stared at him, ears back, as the archer anxiously looked him over.

Hordak was about to ask him why he cared, when Mermista threw her hands up in the air and said, “No. Uh-uh. This is not happening. It’s not cute or fun or funny. I’m done. You—" She pointed at Entrapta. “—are sending him back to Salineas, And you!” She glared at Sea Hawk. “Stop encouraging this! Stop trying to make friends with the guy who tried to conquer the world and hand us all over to a megalomaniacal dictator!”

Entrapta retreated a bit. “I thought.... I mean. He was invited.” She looked to Scorpia for help. “And-and Sea Hawk said he’d see us here. I thought there was an implication of tacit approval—“

Mermista stepped close to Entrapta, looming over her. One hand was balled into a fist at her side. The other was raised, finger extended and leveled at Entrapta’s face. Hordak’s ears drew back. “Don’t you get it?” Mermista asked, “Don’t you see what he did? He doesn’t get to just pretend like nothing happened and everything is fine! He’s lucky he’s not rotting in a prison cell.”

“Oh.” Entrapta threaded her fingers through her hair, searching their surroundings for a safe place to look. “I...I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

“Hmph. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one—"

“Enough,” Hordak snapped, stepping between them and using his body to shield Entrapta. “You will not speak to her like that.”

Mermista glared up at him. “Oh, yeah. I’m definitely going to take manners lessons from someone like you.” His ears flattened, and he bared his teeth, unable to articulate why she was so clearly in the wrong. “Look, I don’t care what Geek Princess does. She can stay here or she can go back to Dryl. It’s whatever. But you’re not leaving Salineas until you fix what you broke!”

A rope of hair caught his elbow. “Hordak, why don’t we go?” Entrapta had pulled in on herself, huddling against his side. He looked from her to Mermista, glowering and wishing he could find the right words to make her see just what she was doing to Entrapta.

She tugged on his arm, and he allowed her to pull him away. Sea Hawk darted forward, looking distressed. “My love, surely you don’t—!”

“Can it. He doesn’t get to go on vacation or make friends. Not while Salineas is still in ruins.”

Sea Hawk fell silent, looking from Hordak and Entrapta to Mermista. “But....”

Catra checked Mermista’s shoulder as she passed. “Whoops,” she said, smirking. “‘Scuse me.” Hands behind her head, in a pseudo-relaxed position, she walked up to Entrapta and Hordak. “So? Room for me in your ‘bot? Or do I need to find my own way to Salineas?”

Though Hordak was having trouble tearing his gaze from Mermista, he spared her a glance. “What?”

“Can I go with you to Salineas or do I need to find my own way there?” she asked, slowing her words down as if re-stating something that should have been obvious.

“Catra?” the She-Ra asked, “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, Adora. Can’t go on vacation or make friends until we fix what we broke. See you in...?” She glanced at Hordak. “How long is this gonna take?”

“My work in Salineas is nearly done, but general reconstruction will not be finished for several years. Longer, if one considers the ecological damage—"

“Sure, right, whatever. See you in a few years, then!” She waved at Adora and started walking vaguely in the direction Entrapta and Hordak had come from.

Hordak cocked his head. “I do not know what game you are playing—"

Scorpia was suddenly at his elbow as well, her smile big and broad. “Uh. I know you don’t like hugs, so—" She touched her elbow to his, still smiling. “It will be an honor to serve with you again, sir.” She joined Catra, who glanced her way and offered an arm, which Scorpia took with glee.

Hordak, growing annoyed, looked at Entrapta. “What are they doing?”

Entrapta just shrugged. “No idea, but here comes Adora.”

The She-Ra paused in front of Mermista to say, “I mean...I did spend most of my life in the Horde. On-track to become an officer, too.”

Mermista stared at all of them, floundering. “But. You were a kid. It doesn’t count.”

The She-Ra shrugged. “It’s hard to tell what ‘counts’ anymore. I mean, how do you ever really know when you’ve done enough to fix things?”

With that, she walked past and paused in front of Hordak, offering an abbreviated—and what he would characterize as ‘overly familiar’—salute. “Reporting for duty, sir.”

He cocked his head, ears folded back. “I am not your commanding officer. You are not a soldier. What is—?” He sighed, taking a moment to compose himself. “Sea Hawk. You have never been in the Horde. What are you doing?”

Sea Hawk, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Adora and mimicking her salute, grinned. “Ah, but I was a no good, underhanded, scheming pirate.”

“I would find it difficult to believe if you claimed to be ‘good’ at piracy.”

“Thank you, my friend! My honest heart prevented me from taking things too far, but—" He dropped the salute to dramatically throw his hand over his eyes. Adora giggled, while Hordak tried to cross his arms, only to be brought up short by the cuffs. He sighed instead. “—I too have a sordid past!“ He inhaled deeply, and began to sing. “~As a child—~”

Hordak’s eyes went wide and panicked. He looked to Adora, who seemed just as frantic. Thankfully, the archer appeared behind Sea Hawk and threw an arm over his shoulders. “Hey, uh, why don’t we save the song for another time, okay?”

“But it’s thematically appropriate!”

“Enough of this farce!” Hordak snapped, “I do not understand what is happening!” He pointed at Catra. “You! You started this. Explain. Before I lose my patience.”

Unintimidated, Catra crossed her arms and leaned her weight on one leg. “Isn’t it obvious? You didn’t exactly conquer half of Etheria by yourself.”

Entrapta perked up. “Ooh! I see! It does seem unfair that the treaty places the bulk of the rebuilding efforts on you and you alone.”

His ears drew down. “Those were the terms I agreed to. I do not object to rebuilding what I helped destroy.” If pressed, he’d admit he found the process cathartic.

Scorpia raised a claw. “Yeah, but...it’s not fair that we’re allowed to hang out together and have fun if you’re not.”

“Exactly,” Adora said, smiling. “So, if you’re not allowed to take a break until reconstruction’s finished, then I guess we can’t take a break either.”

He cocked his head, still trying to process what was happening. Mermista was not having the same difficulties. “Ugh. You have got to be kidding. You’re seriously on his side?”

“They are not on my ‘side’,” Hordak objected, “This is absurd! I don’t even know what they aim to accomplish with this display.”

The princess from Plumeria stepped forward. “Maybe we can find a compromise?”

Catra snorted. “What? You want to put him in a guest prison during the festival?”

“I mean, that’s not a terrible idea…is it?” the young queen asked, looking from the She-Ra and the archer to Mermista.

“Yeah, actually. It is,” Catra said, arms crossed.

“Perhaps, it would be for the best,” the princess from Plumeria said, hands folded neatly in front of her. “His presence might make some people…uncomfortable. If he were to remain in a yurt during the day, Entrapta would still be able to take meals with him. Oh! And it would give him a chance to reflect on the vastness and severity of his crimes!”

“He knows!” Catra snapped. “He already apologized during treaty negotiations! The first four pages of the fucking thing are nothing but him apologizing for—”

“That kind of language isn’t very productive,” Perfuma said. “Perhaps we should form a drum circle and work out our negative feelings before proceeding?”

Mermista threw her hands up. “This is stupid! We’re not forming a drum circle—and he’s not staying.” Catra started to object again, but Mermista pointed at her and snapped, “Look, he’s not the same as you or Scorpia—and we all know Adora’s time in the Horde doesn’t even count. He’s just—he’s different. He’s not even Etherian!”

A strange silence fell over the group. Hordak looked to Entrapta for guidance, but she’d pulled her welding mask down, and her hair was frizzing. “Yeah. He’s different,” she said, voice echoing behind the mask. The hair on the back of his neck lifted, and he reached for her, sensing something was wrong.

“Starlight?”

She caught his hand with her hair, grip tight. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

“Wait—" the archer said, darting forward, but Entrapta was already walking away. Caught by her hair, Hordak followed along, bemused. “Entrapta,” he said, walking beside her. “You don’t have to go.”

She stopped to stare at him, mask down. “If he’s not welcome here, then I’m not welcome here either.”

Hordak’s ears pulled down. He stepped close to her but didn’t touch, leaning down to say softly, “You do not need to abandon your friends for my sake. You could stay, and I will return to Salineas.”

“No.”

He paused, glancing at the archer, who seemed just as lost. “No? Do you...have another suggestion?”

“If you go, I go.”

He frowned, ears down. “I would not ask that of you.”

A droplet of water condensed on the lower edge of her mask. She shook her head and the droplet disappeared. Was she...? “I know you wouldn’t.” She inhaled deeply, her breathing unsteady. “I told you, Hordak. You’re my best friend. If they can’t accept you, then they can’t accept me.”

The archer looked thunderstruck. “Wait. He’s your best friend?”

She nodded firmly. “I’ve compiled the data. My feelings aren’t clouding my judgement. He’s treated me better and been kinder to me than any Etherian ever has.” She started forward again, leaving both Hordak and the archer behind.

“That can’t be right,” the archer said, while Hordak said, “Entrapta. That cannot be true.” They looked at each other, but Entrapta’s grip on Hordak’s hands soon tugged him forward.

She walked up to the princess of Plumeria and asked, “Which one is ours?”

“Um.” She tapped her fingers together. “We actually had separate yurts for you two....”

“We can share.”

Hordak flushed. “Entrapta, is that...appropriate?”

She turned to him, mask still down. “Oh. Would you be rather be alone?”

“I.” His ears flexed. “You are...upset. I will remain with you if it would be a comfort.”

“Great!” She turned back to the other princess, who mutely pointed to a yurt decorated in various shades of purple. “Thanks!” Entrapta tugged him along, and he followed obediently.

The archer trailed alongside her. “Entrapta, you don’t really mean...? We were nicer to you than—?” He looked at Hordak and fell silent.

She paused in the doorway. “Do you want me to send you the data?”

Hordak sighed. “I am sure that is unnecessary.”

Bow looked between them. “Um. Right. I’ll, uh, figure it out myself.”

“Good!”

With that, Entrapta tugged Hordak inside and shut the door, one rope of hair deactivating his cuffs. He only had a moment to brace himself before she flung herself at him, and he found himself with an armful of Entrapta. She buried her face in his chest and huddled close. He grunted as he caught her up, pain radiating up his arms—though he would not let her see him wince. Not here. Not now.

He threaded his claws through her hair. “Starlight?”

She gripped him tighter, shaking her head. Her hands grabbed the front of his dress, and ropes of hair wound around his arms, guiding them to wrap around her in a hug. He—gently—squeezed in assurance. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have insisted we come here,” she said, voice muffled. “I thought...I thought this would be fun. I thought it would be a good opportunity for everyone to get to know you better. But I misread the situation. Again. I really thought....” She sniffled and her body heaved. “I’m so stupid.”

He stiffened. “You are not stupid. You are the furthest thing from stupid.”

She looked up at him, face still hidden behind her welding mask. “Then why does this keep happening? I should have known that this would happen. I should have been able to tell. I wouldn’t have brought you here if….” She took a shuddering breath. “Why am I so bad this? It comes so easily to everyone else. What’s wrong with me?”

Hordak exhaled slowly, trying very hard not to get angry with the teenagers outside—getting angry would not help Entrapta. He pulled one hand free of her hair to cup the side of her mask. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

“The evidence says otherwise.”

“You are only looking at a narrow subset of data. You must look at the whole picture.” He disentangled himself from her, but only to hold out a hand and say, “Come.” She placed her gloved hand in his, and he paused, remembering how she’d taken care of him when he’d been having one of his bad days. “Bed?” he asked, “Or chair?”

She pointed mutely to the bed, and he guided her over, sitting her on the edge. Though it caused a spike of pain along his spine, he knelt and removed her shoes. In only her socks, she pulled her feet up onto the bed, and he looked around, spotting a blanket folded neatly on a trunk at the foot of the bed. He picked it up and draped it over her. After a moment of consideration, he pulled off his own boots, though he left the compression socks on. A rope of hair pulled him up onto the bed, and he went without protest, folding his arms around her and holding her from behind. “Are you comfortable?” he asked.

She nodded, leaning back against him. “Physically, yes.”

“Good. Now, let’s review the data.” He ran his claws through her hair, gently scritching her scalp. She made a soft little sound, low in her throat, and leaned in to the touch. “You have gone into hostile territory, multiple times, to rescue a friend. You have risked your life, your safety, and even your free will and sense of self in order to save them.”

“Yeah, but...who wouldn’t?”

He chuckled. “Starlight, you underestimate exactly how incredible you are.” He trailed his hand to the nape of her neck, and her head bowed forward, allowing him to run the blunt side of his claws over the unbroken, unmarked skin. “Even in small matters, you amaze me. All the little things you do for me. And for Kadroh. You are kind to us in ways we have never experienced. You treat us as people, as individuals.”

“Because you are!” she said, turning. She pushed her mask up, brows furrowed and mouth turned down.

He pressed a thumb to her cheek, wiping away the tear-tracks. “Not everyone sees that. You see things differently.” Her gaze skittered from his, but he continued. “I know that can be...challenging. Perhaps you...miss certain things. Things that others might find obvious. However, that does not mean there is something wrong with you, and it certainly doesn’t make you stupid.” He huffed a little, still appalled that she would call herself that. “Others miss what it obvious to you. Without you, I would no longer exist as an individual. Nor would Kadroh.”

“We don’t know that for sure—"

“I do.” He huffed, pushing her hair out of her face. “It seems to me that you are working very hard to understand your friends, but they aren’t putting forth much effort toward understanding you. Which is unfortunate; they are missing out on something quite extraordinary.”

She blinked. “What’s that? What are they missing?”

He smiled softly. “You, Starlight. You are extraordinary. If they can’t see that, then they are to be pitied.”

She cuddled against him, resting her head on his chest. Her hand sought his, and she laced their fingers together. For a while, they were quiet, then, softly, she said, “I know that I’m different. I’ve known that since I was a kid.” She squeezed his hand. “With everyone else, I’ve always felt like I had to change in order to be friends with them. And, when I couldn’t do that—and I never could; no matter how I tried I could never be normal—then I at least had to be useful. You’re the only one that ever seemed to like me for me.”

He shut his eyes and tried to push away his rising anger. “They are fools,” he growled.

“Then why do I want them to like me so badly?”

He didn’t have an answer for her. He just held her tight and hoped that would be enough. For now, at least.

-

I'm honestly braced for pitchforks after this chapter.

All your comments are greatly appreciated. I may not reply (for a variety of reasons) but please know that I treasure any feedback I get. Thank you! (And, uh, please be nice.)

#entrapta #hordak #entrapdak #intimacy log #spop fanfic #catra #adora #sea hawk #mermista #perfuma #scorpia #my work #ableism #speciesism

[5lazarus]

Anders in Autumn, Ch. 11

inspired by @cozy-autumn-prompts, number 11, hay ride. it was really that prompt that prompted the whole plot. I can extrapolate wildly! Check it out on AO3 here!

The elf has the blade of her staff right at Varric’s throat. Varric, of course, has his finger on Bianca’s trigger. Merrill looks absolutely despairing. Lavellan is staring at her, not the dwarf, and she does not look pleased. Her lip curls into a sneer, and the temperature rises uncomfortably hot for such a cool evening. Anders shifts. She must be a fire mage. “Varric,” Fenris warns, “put your crossbow down.” “Her first,” Varric says, not moving an inch. Merrill begins backing towards the door. “You good, Daisy?” “Oh, Merrill is always fine,” Lavellan sneers. “Clan Sabrae’s runaway First always comes away her hands clean, doesn’t she? Tell me, child, does the alienage hahren know you consort with the likes of him?” She jerks her chin at Varric. “She let you do the burial. You’ve dishonored the dead.” “I didn’t tell anyone anything,” Merrill protests. “Stop patronizing me! I’m barely younger than you, Imladris Ashallin. You have no right--” “I have every right,” Imladris snaps, “Marethari is dead because of you! And you’ve wiggled your way into the Kirkwall alienage. You should face the consequences of your disgrace.”

Anders raises his hands. He is beginning to sense he is losing track of the plot. First Fenris in his bed, well, sitting on his bed, then the grief and mess of Kirkwall and surviving, and he’s killed a guard, at least he did it with a sword, and now even more mess: it has been a long fucking night. Before he can open his mouth, though, Varric snorts. “Don’t you elves ever play nice?” he says. “I’m not here for your man. Not yet, anyway. The Merchants’ Guild doesn’t know his name. Yet. Put your weapon down.” The Dalish woman twists the grip of her staff, and Anders has had enough. He steps in. “This is a clinic,” he snaps. Justice is pushing behind his eyes, and lending his voice a reverberation. “No fighting. Both of you, calm down. I’m not having more bloodshed today, I’ve had enough.” Varric sighs. “Bad choice in friends, Blondie.” He lowers Bianca and steps back. Lavellan shifts her stance, but Anders can feel her twisting at the ambient magic in the room. Merrill is staring at from the other end of the room. His patients are beginning to stir. It isn’t right, they’ve been through enough, and he’s not having whatever Merrill’s made wreck through his shop. “I don’t even know who these people are,” Anders lies. He knows that they are agitators from Clan Lavellan from Wycombe, that they are Fenris’ friends, that, for the moment, they are his too--comrades, more than Varric is. “You know more than me.” Maybe Varric will volunteer information. He is feeling very clever. Varric eyes him: less clever than he thinks. He tries to deflect, a classic strategy he would employ in the Circle. It was always fun to mess with the aequitarians and the traditionalists; maybe that was why they all hated him. “Maybe Merrill can help.” “Yes,” Fenris says darkly. “Perhaps she can shed some light on the matter.” He is angry, vibrating with tension, and Anders leans into his heat. The elf has not reached for his sword once. “I didn’t sell you out,” Merrill snaps. “I never did. Just because I don’t want to get involved in your--machineering, doesn’t make me a traitor. I serve the People in my own way. And Marethari’s death was not my fault. The demon had taken her. It didn’t take me.” Anders is irritated. Merrill had woken the demon from the Sundermount, she had brokered the deal, and she had exposed her entire clan to its influence, and everyone knew the elves were more susceptible to the temptations of the Fade--though that is what the Circle taught, and really the elvhen mages passed the Harrowing as often as the human mages, so perhaps that wasn’t fair, even though they didn’t have the training to understand demons as Andraste taught, breaking down into the seven sins, but then again Audacity was beyond that, and old, old as Arlathan itself, and--he blinked. Justice said, pay attention. Dirthara ma, lethallin, suledin. Fenris let loose a huff of air through his nose, like an angry horse. “We don’t have time for this. Varric, why are you here? What did you say about the Guild?” Varric said, “When this is all over, you and I need to have a long talk about how you treat your friends. Especially when your friends disagree. If Hawke can deal with you and Blondie and Sebastian and Merrill and Aveline--really, take a page from Hawke’s book. They manage to get everyone to get along. You can try, you know. Communicate. Talk to me, Broody. And not just at poker night.” Fenris says, “Varric--don’t prevaricate. You came here for a reason. What is it?” Motion distracts Anders from their conversation. The Lavellan woman is inching closer to her husband. She wakes him gently, and there is a softness in her gaze that wrenches at his heart. He tastes envy, metallic on his tongue, as the man wakes up and reaches a weak hand to stroke her face. She clutches it to her, and he thinks, no one’s ever looked at me like that. Anders looks at Fenris and bites his lip nervously. There is nothing to expect. It would be wrong to expect anything, in times like these. “You four killed a guard,” Varric says. “And, listen. I don’t care about the guards. I’m happy to keep them off my back. And half the time they’re more trouble than they’re worth. But you chose exactly the worst time to kill one, and the Merchants’ Guild is talking about justice for the family.” Anders snorts. “Well, she was supporting a family.” “Supporting them by extorting local residents and beating strikers to death, but okay,” Anders says. Varric glares at him. “Moving on, the Merchants’ Guild promised justice to the family. Easiest and least controversial way to kill the agitators. No one likes a guard-killer, makes you all look bad.” “Except, of course, it’s okay when the guards are letting the magistrate’s son kill little kids,” Anders says, “or kill mages rather than send them to the templars. Or sell people to the Blind Men. Guard-killers, that’s what makes us look bad. Right.” Varric says, “I’m trying to give you a warning, alright? Get out of town. Ran into Daisy on my way here--apparently she’s heard similar. Someone in the alienage sold the Lavellans out, said they were here. So you guys need to get out of town for awhile. Especially you, Blondie. Smart that you killed her with a sword, but there’s only so many blond Fereldens running around Darktown. I’ve arranged you a way out.” Anders said wildly, “What about my patients? What about the strikers?” He saw Lavellan looking at them, supporting her man as he tried to climb out of bed. He was nowhere near well enough to be on his feet yet, not with the bash he got to the head. Anders hurried over and took his other arm, and settled him in a chair. What had Fenris said his name was? Mahanon. Perhaps it was better he didn’t remember. He stared at Varric. “What about them? I won’t abandon my patient, Varric. That’s got to be a ticket out for three.” “Four,” Fenris said. Varric raised an eyebrow. “I’m coming with you.” Anders blushes slightly. He wants him to come, of course he does, because Fenris is reliable in a fight. He knows these two elves. He knows the Free Marches better than him, too, since he had spent a few years in hiding before settling in Kirkwall. He doesn’t want to leave his clinic, though. He doesn’t want to abandon the Mage Underground, his friends locked in the Gallows. Meredith is planning something evil, she always is, and justice must return to Kirkwall, he cannot flee-- Lavellan says, “Stop.” She looks at the dwarf. “What will happen to the dockworkers?” Varric passes a hand through his hair. “The less I talk to you, the better,” he says. “I don’t want to remember you. I don’t want to know you. And you don’t want to know--well, we’ll reach some sort of settlement. Those ships need to move. And dead workers can’t load ships.” “How long do I need to be gone?” Anders says, heart sinking. This is where he belongs. This is where the work must be done. Bethany is expecting him to shepherd two apprentices through the sewers and hand them off to Samson, who will escort them to Rivain. Samson liked mages, and used to pass along messages for Karl before his friend was tranquilized, and would do anything for enough lyrium. “Give me a month to clean things up,” Varric says. “But you need to be gone before dawn.” He gestures to the door. “A farmer’s taking hay as far as the Sundermount. From there, you’re on your own. But you better act fast--before someone robs him of his horse.” Anders gestures at Merrill to follow him as he hurries into his bedroom, packing quickly. He stashes his few favorite things--the shawl Mahariel made him, his journal, his cracked phylactery, and that small embroidered pillow his mother sewed him, a lifetime ago. Hurriedly he informs her rapidfire about Messere Pounce-the-Second’s peculiar diet, what Bethany needs for the drop, and how to handle Samson when he’s in withdrawal. “You’re involved now,” he says. “Congratulations. No more excuses for complacency apparently, according to Lavellan.” “Imladris Ashallin is just like you,” Merrill says angrily. “Both of you expect everyone to throw away all their life’s work and dreams and passion for some abstract dream of justice. Just because you can do it doesn’t mean I can. Or that I want to. I serve the People in my own way--mages too, you know. Not everyone can do what you do.” “But you’ll do it,” Anders presses. “For Bethany, if not for me. Meredith’ll have them made Tranquil--and they’re children, Merrill. Do you want more blood on your hands? You’re complicit in this, we all are. We apostates have an obligation to those who are stuck in the Circle. What do you think they’d do to you, if they caught you? Wouldn’t you want someone on the outside, working to get you out?” Merrill makes a face. “I’ll do it for Messere Pounce,” she says. “Don’t tell Hawke. Please. They don’t--I don’t know what they’d do, if they knew how bad things were in the Gallows.” Anders grabs his bag. “Just remember--two scoops of the pumpkin, and make sure he doesn’t get into the cheese, it makes him sick. And he’s allergic to sardines!” Outside, in the cold predawn light,  is a horse and cart. The cart is loaded with bales of hay. He looks at it distastefully. He can already feel himself itching. They make a space for the four of them to curl up together, and then cover them again with hay. When he moves to sneeze, Fenris pinches his nose and he chokes on a giggle. Imladris has Mahanon’s head resting in her arms, and she scratches a cooling sigil into the wooden floor of the cart. It only makes it marginally better as the driver sets off. They jostle uncomfortably against each other as they drive into the sunset. It is not the most uncomfortable way Anders has escaped a city, but it is definitely the itchiest. He tries to say something to Fenris, an apology or a jeer, but Fenris just leaves his hand resting at his jaw and presses against him. That too is uncomfortable. The cart rattles on a particularly rough part of cobblestone, and Fenris snakes a hand around his waist to keep himself from being thrown against the cart. Anders leans against him with bated breath. It is suffocating in the cart, and he is afraid. Mahanon’s breathing is not as even as it should be. Fenris has also obviously eaten something garlicky the night before. He tries not to think too much about proximity. Instead, he worries about Merrill, and the mages, and his cat. He decides he will think about his cat, because that’s better than thinking about the alternative. An eternity passes as Anders listens to the rattle and jostle of cart over cobble transition to the paved road leading towards Ostwick. Then they are all nearly thrown out as it takes a sharp left and begins to escalate: the driver must be taking them in the Sundermount. He focuses on his breathing, on the mana thrumming in the people around him and the landscape unfolding him, and sinks into the wonder of it. The Dalish mage is all tightly controlled heat, like a planned burn on a field. She reminds him of a story Mahariel told him, about the Burning Man she met in the Fade at Kinloch Hold. Her husband, Mahanon, is less vibrant of course--he isn’t a mage--but all living things except dwarves exude some mana. When he closes his eyes he can see Fenris tattooed to the back of him. Danarius’s magic moves around his body, in those lyrium brands. Horrible, horrible, he thinks: Danarius should’ve died worse, we let Fenris go too easy on him. Finally the cart stops. They all tense. Fenris’ hand moves from his waist to his short sword, and Anders concentrates to bring  a quick mana blast. If he hits whoever’s inspecting them hard enough they’ll be stunned enough for the rest to run for it. Then a Ferelden-accented voice says, “Easy, mages. Just give me a bit to unload this. You’re in friendly hands now.” They push the bales off and blink into a beautifully clear autumn morning. Anders recognizes the small homestead they are parked at--friends of Hawke through Athenril. He breathes in that wonderfully sharp, woodsy air as they lurch out of the cart. He turns to help Imladris get Mahanon out, but Fenris is already half-carrying him. Anders hurries over, hands glowing. Mahanon gives him a weak smile and pushes him away. “Well,” the Ferelden smuggler says, “that’s you sorted. Dwarf says I don’t get paid ‘til you come home safe, so--farm’s yours for the month. But you’ll work for your keep. I need extra if there are templars involved.” The farmhouse is cute and clean, surprisingly prosperous for a Ferelden’s homestead--but of course Varric is paying him to hide whomever. He wonders if this is where Varrics disappear sometimes. Isabela has a theory Varric has a lover, probably named Bianca, and Merrill thinks it’s forbidden love, that she is a human noble or an Orlesian bard or something exciting. Anders really does not care. They settle Mahanon into a bed, and Anders changes his bandages. The cuts have scabbed over, but his ribs are still purpled and he cannot move particularly well. He leaves his patient to the tender care of his wife, and then collapses into the plush armchair by the fireplace. Fenris follows, and Anders reaches for him, exhausted. Fenris takes his hand and squeezes it. He meets their gaze and Anders sees an naked vulnerability there as exhaustion forces him to drop his usual guarded expression. For once Anders holds his tongue. Anders squeezes his hand back, and Fenris pulls away, and as he falls asleep he feels a blanket being draped around him. When he wakes up he finds his shawl tucked around him and his boots off: Fenris, and what has he done to deserve this sort of tenderness?

#co-zautumn #anders in autumn #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dragon age 2 #da2 #fenders #anders #fenris #merrill #varric #lavellan #mahanon lavellan #imladris ashallin lavellan #fanfic #anders/fenris #fenris/anders #5lazarus #hes5thlazarus

[lvllns]

confectioners sugar (1/?)

welcome to the neighborhood | fenris x penelope hawke. modern au. 2.4k words.

additional notes: both hawke and fenris are demi, just throwing that out there right now. background relationships will be added to the tags as they become relevant. this is kind of a messy first chapter but it’s gotta start somewhere, yeah?

[read on ao3]

Meeting Fenris for the first time goes like this: Penelope isn’t paying attention to her surroundings and she opens a door right into his face.

It isn’t her fault, not entirely. Her phone is going off in her back pocket, a near constant stream of dings, and she is going to murder everyone when she sees them tomorrow night. The constant notifications paired with the fact that she’s juggling a ridiculous number of bags that are mostly filled with canned pumpkin means Penelope is only half paying attention when she kicks the door to her apartment complex open.

There’s a muffled oof and she squeaks. Looks up and finds herself face-to-face with an elf who is gingerly touching his nose.

“Oh fuck,” she says. “Sorry, are you alright?”

He blinks at her and his eyes are very green. Muted green. Green like pines in the winter, when everything is a little bit foggy and desaturated and soft.

“I, yes, I am alright,” he wiggles his nose, eyes crossing as he looks down before he clears his throat and meets her gaze. “Are you alright?”

She was not expecting that voice from him. It’s deep, a little rough around the edges, and it seems to rumble from his chest when he speaks.

Penelope’s phone dings again. “Fine, fine, I’m just planning on how to best murder my friends,” she grins wide and his eyes drop to her mouth. More likely her teeth. The canines a little too sharp to be human, not sharp enough to be elven. Her smile dims a little and she shakes her head.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” he takes a step back, holds the door so she can move by him and actually get into the building. “But the elevator is broken.”

“Of course it is,” she sets the bags down on the ground. Pinches the bridge of her nose and groans. “It was working when I left, damn it.”

He moves and she looks over. Watches as he kicks a leg up on the wall, folds his arms over his chest and cocks his head. He’s not much taller than she is, an inch or two maybe. Strands of chalk-white hair poke out from underneath a beanie, which sits above his ears. His skin is dark, freckles dust his cheeks like stars, and there are silvery lines on his chin that drip down his neck.

He rolls his shoulders. “What floor do you live on?”

“Six,” she groans, head tipping forward.

Hawke’s phone dings again.

He chuckles, a soft thing that hardly breaks the silence.

“Hand me a bag or two,” he reaches out a hand, palm down. There are bright lines along the back of it, twisting around tendons.

“I — What?”

He huffs a breath through his nose. “I will carry some of those ridiculous bags full of canned pumpkin, if you’d like the help.”

“Oh, I, are you sure?” He nods, one corner of his mouth lifts. “It’s just, I kind of kicked a door open into your face…”

He shrugs broad shoulders. “No harm done,” he pauses. Seems to consider something and his gaze cuts away from her to the wall at her back. “Ah, unless...I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Penelope folds her fingers up. Clenches her hands into fists until her nails prick at her palms. “You don’t, it’s fine, I just,” now it’s her turn to shrug. “Don’t want to impose, I guess.”

One dark brow quirks. “I did offer.”

“That you did,” she laughs. “Alright,” picks up a couple bags and offers them to him. His fingers touch hers, just for a moment, barely long enough to register that he is exceptionally cold, and then the sensation is gone. A gust of breath on the wind. She smiles. “I’m Hawke, by the way.”

He hums and places himself half a step behind her as they head up the stairs. “An interesting name,” he smiles, a small thing, and Penelope finds herself matching it. “I am Fenris.”

“Well Fenris, it’s lovely to meet you even if it’s because I almost broke your nose.”

He snorts. “You do kick hard Hawke.”

Penelope laughs and winks at him. “When did you move in?”

“Three days ago.”

They pass two more flights bouncing between casual conversation and companionable silence. It’s easier, carrying only two bags full of ingredients, and neither of them falter. Her phone dings four times in rapid succession and she snorts. Fenris glances at her, eyes curious. Penelope remembers she has a free hand now and reaches back to slip her phone from the pocket of her jeans.

“Group chat, although the last dozen texts seem to all be from Isabela,” she mutters and clicks her phone onto silent before tucking it away again.

“I assume that has something to do with all the pumpkin you bought?”

“Peripherally, kind of,” Hawke shrugs. “It’s...my brother is a firefighter and he finally has time off, him and his,” she cuts herself off. Looks at Fenris and then turns her eyes forward. “Him and his partner,” she watches out of the corner of her eye but Fenris just nods. A little bit of tension slithers from between her shoulder blades. “Anyway, they both love my pumpkin pie bars and so I’m going to make them a few huge trays to bring them tomorrow,” he hums. “It all connects because my brother, Carver, said he was looking forward to tomorrow night and now I guess Isabela has taken it upon herself to blow up the group chat.”

“Does she do that frequently?”

“Yes,” Hawke groans and shakes her head.

“And you do not have it set to do not disturb because…?”

Penelope gasps in mock offense. Stops walking so she can place a hand over her heart. “Fenris, are you sassing me?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I would never.”

They stand there, looking at each other for another minute before Hawke breaks into giggles. Fenris chuckles, the sound warm and welcome in the otherwise frigid stairwell.

“Come on, we still have three flights of stairs left,” she says, her voice thick with mirth.

He sighs and looks up. “I would hate to have you kick a door open into my nose after you climb all these stairs.”

Penelope laughs again, louder this time, and decides that she rather likes Fenris.

—

They reach the sixth floor and Fenris holds the door open for her. The hallway is only slightly warmer than the stairwell and he is glad for the beanie on his head. This Maker forsaken Marcher state is a far cry from the warmth of Tevinter and he doubts he will ever grow accustomed to it. Hawke, however, is in jeans, boots, and a light sweater like she was born for this weather.

She is...something. Fenris thinks that striking is the best word. Her face is all high cheekbones and a sharp jaw and a nose that has a bump in the middle of the bridge like it can’t quite decide if it wants to be elven or not. Her eyes are large and grey, almost silver, but there’s something under them, hidden behind layers, and he knows enough about loss and guilt to recognize it. Freckles cover the entirety of exposed skin, neck included. The rest of her is hidden by clothes but he thinks there is a solid, easy strength cloaked under the layers if the impact of the door to his face is anything to go by.

They get a few steps down the hall when Hawke freezes.

Fenris narrowly avoids crashing into her back by catching himself with a hand on her shoulder. He removes it as soon as he stops stumbling forward. “Hawke?”

“How are you with dogs?” She asks, head tilting.

He scratches at his jaw and shrugs. “I do not mind them, though I am more of a cat person.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Me too,” a nod and then she is walking again. He follows. “I only ask because Theodore may still be here, I don’t know if Carver has picked him up yet.”

“Theodore is your brother’s dog?”

She flashes him a grin over her shoulder, those shining eyes of hers glittering. “Theodore is my brother’s purebred mabari,” Fenris cocks his head. “I watch him when Carver’s at the station and then he picks him up when he’s got days off. Sometimes Bethany will watch him if she’s out of school.”

They stop walking right outside her door and she sets her bags down to rummage around for her keys. The door clicks, unlocks, and there’s no noise. Everything remains silent until he chuckles.

“I assume the lack of noise and drool means Theodore is gone?”

“Yeah, we’d both be knocked down already otherwise.”

Fenris follows her into the small apartment and he is immediately overwhelmed with the smell of lavender and sugar.

There are bookshelves tucked away up against the walls and they’re overflowing with books and trinkets. Mostly crystals, from what Fenris can see, but a few glass birds catch his eye. Plants sit tidily along windowsills and on the coffee table and on an end table. Fenris realizes, rather suddenly, that it feels like a home. His own apartment is bare, both from not having unpacked entirely yet and just not having a lot to his name, but Hawke’s...it’s warm and inviting. His nerves settle a little, a soft sigh chases tension from his shoulders as he follows behind her.

Her kitchen is small, like his own, and when they lay out all the bags on the counter, there’s almost no space left. She pulls her hoodie off and throws it over the back of a chair. His eyes catch on her arms and the freckles that cover them almost completely. They’re strong arms, muscle under skin and fat, and they confirm the easy strength. Fenris wonders if she lifts or if it’s something else entirely. Archery or just genetics maybe.

“There are cookies in those jars,” she points and he jerks his eyes from her biceps to the counter. “Biggest one is chocolate chip because all my friends are godless heathens,” Fenris laughs. Hawke smiles wide enough to show her teeth. “Medium jar is, uh, double chocolate chunk. However, it may be empty since Carver was already here. Smallest jar is shortbread.”

Fenris heads straight for the littlest jar.

“Finally, someone with good fucking taste!” Hawke says as she begins removing cans of pumpkin from bags.

“You don’t care for chocolate?” He pops a cookie in his mouth, holds it between his teeth, and steps in to help.

“Dark chocolate is okay in moderation but that’s it,” she says. “Shortbread is the best, not as sweet.”

He nods and sets cans of pumpkin on the counter until all the bags are empty. He finds they settle into an easy enough rhythm, they bump on occasion but the contact does not dig thorns into his hands or spine. Something about Hawke settles whatever anxiety he had about offering to help her. There is a wariness in his bones that will most likely always stick with him, but it fades to a manageable level as he watches her move around her kitchen.

“Well,” she places her hands on her hips. Looks from the bowls to Fenris. “You’re welcome to stay but if I’m keeping you from anything…”

He shakes his head. “You are not, I had just arrived back when you kicked the door at me.”

Hawke groans and tips her head back to stare at the ceiling. “I’m never going to live that down.”

“You are not.”

“Maker’s balls,” she chuckles. “Right, if you’re gonna stay, hand me that measuring cup?”

Fenris obliges.

And promptly loses track of time.

Hawke puts on some classical music, something he can’t put a name to, and they talk. About simple things. He learns that she also has a sister, Bethany, who is Carver’s twin. That they’re from Ferelden and they’ve only been in Kirkwall for five years. She mentions a mother and an uncle and grandparents but no father. Fenris changes the subject when he hears her voice go a little bit distant.

He tells her that he is here for work. Which isn’t entirely a lie. It’s just that he can work from anywhere, Kirkwall just happens to be where he’s stopped for the time being. Somehow they end up on the subject of languages and when Hawke finds out he’s fluent in six, she goes bug eyed and makes him promise to teach her how to swear in at least four of them.

They start talking about books and authors and Genitivi’s works until there are three trays of pumpkin pie bars on the counter and Hawke is making yet another. Fenris can feel his energy flagging. This has been more socializing than he’s done in quite some time and, while the company is more than good, it’s beginning to chip away at him.

“This has been enjoyable, but I believe I will take my leave Hawke,” he says and he offers her a smile when she looks up at him from the dough she’s mixing.

“It was wonderful meeting you, even if it did take me kicking a door into your face,” she grins and he chuckles. “I — Fenris, if you aren’t busy tomorrow, drop by The Hanged Man. We’ll all be there around eight.”

He frowns, brows pulling together. “I would not want to impose on —“

She flicks flour at him, a spray of powder off her fingertips that makes him dance away. “You wouldn’t be. We’re all gathering to eat and play cards and probably listen to Varric whine about the next bit of the campaign, but look,” she turns to face him, gaze going serious. “It’s all friends and I’m inviting you because, well, I’d say we’re friends now.”

She makes it sound so simple and maybe it is but Fenris has only had two years to shake off a past that clings to him like spiderwebs between branches.

“You hardly know me,” is what he says instead of the acceptance of her offer that scrapes at the back of his tongue.

“That’s rather the point of inviting you to game night. To get to know you more,” her face falls a little. “I really don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you to do anything but, the invitation stands.”

If he had any doubts that she was not genuine in her desire to simply befriend him for the sake of friendship, they vanish as she speaks. So simple, so easy. No chilled creek of water under inches of frozen ice. No, nothing sinister or double edged at all.

“I will consider it,” he smiles, a little wider this time, and says his goodbyes and leaves Hawke’s apartment feeling lighter than he has in months.

#dragon age #fenhawke #fenris x hawke #fenris x f!hawke #what the FUCK are the tags #caiti.txt #writing tag #work: confectioners sugar #au: thedas but make it modern #welcome to the modern au where i write fenris as soft as fucking possible enjoy your stay

[amarmeme]

2019 in review

I didn’t publish as much as I would have liked in 2019, but it felt like I wrote a considerable amount. Looking back, I realized that I’m terrible at promoting my own work on Tumblr, and rely on exchanges to publish at all!  I focus a lot on rare pairs, which is probably why I don’t find much success here.  /shrug

New works published in 2019 

In the pursuit of knowledge -- Abelas/Lavellan | 6368 words For the Black Emporium exchange, i.e., the only reason I get anything completed

Take me to the place where I belong -- Bethany Hawke/Isabela | 1618 words -Secret Tomes of Thedas exchange, sadly my only f/f 

Worth It -- Harry Carlyle/Sara Ryder | 9655 words  For Spectre Requisitions  & @alyssalenko  The Underground -- Reyes/Sara Ryder | 2907 words For Leather and Lace month :) 

Continued works updated in 2019 

Finished All the Divine’s Men (Cullen/Cassandra) 

Posted CH 7 A Trick of the Rain (Lavellan/Michel de Chevin)

Posted CH 19 The Shelved Works of Varric Tethras (Varric/Cassandra)

Despite failing to win at NaNoWriMo, I drafted about 27K during November and carried on some momentum in December. I’m proud of the effort, and am so glad I made work toward my goals to be a more consistent writer. To that end though, I’m unsure how much of my limited time I will devote to fanworks going forward this year. I really want to push myself to write my own full-length novel, something I have ignored since starting to write fanfic. I’m a bit torn, because I do want to complete everything I have in progress, but the passion isn’t there. 

To end on a better note, 2019 was a good year for progress, even if it wasn’t always visible to the community. Participation in exchanges keeps me around, and I thank all the creators and mods for keeping them alive. 

#my writing #2019 retrospective #I am unsure what to do going forward for these stories I love #but I don't think they are really dead yet #just more backburner #unfortunately

[gremlinquisitor]

Recreate His Worldly Glory: Ch 3

Chapter 3: Arrival Summary:  Those who followed Sebastian to Starkhaven spend the night at an inn. For Hawke, the loss of momentum means letting what happened in Kirkwall catch up to her. Word Count: ~8000 this chapter, total so far ~20700

Read it here on AO3

Read it from the start on AO3

After the explosion of the Chantry and the deaths of Anders, Meredith, and Orsino, staying in Kirkwall is no longer an option. Sebastian brings Hawke and the others to Starkhaven with plans to take back his family’s throne and offer his friends as safe a haven as he can create. Starkhaven, however, proves to have secrets and challenges of its own. Sebastian is confronted with uncovered remnants of his past that will change his life forever, threatening to disrupt the new and fragile chaste relationship he has with Padi Hawke. Starkhaven offers Sebastian a future he never imagined for himself, but he must decide where his priorities lie and who he wants to share that future with.

Starts at the end of Dragon Age 2 and goes through into Dragon Age: Inquisition. This fic is complete and will update once a week, hopefully on Thursdays as my schedule allows. (A day early today because I have many last-minute things to do for a trip tomorrow!)

Characters: Sebastian Vael,  Padi Hawke,  Bethany Hawke, Varric Tethras, Fenris (Dragon Age), Aveline Vallen, Isabela (Dragon Age), Merrill (Dragon Age), Hawke's Mabari (Dragon Age), Seneschal Granger (Dragon Age), Many OCs

Additional Tags: Past Anders/Female Hawke (Dragon Age), Background Alistair (Dragon Age), Background Bethany/Alistair, Post-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Fertility Issues, Religious Discussion, Grief/Mourning, References to canon deaths, Anders (Dragon Age) is Dead, Circle Mage Bethany Hawke, Celibacy, Chaste Sebastian Vael, No Sex, Intimacy Without Sex

tag list: @cullenlovesmen @barbex @hollyand-writes @aban-asaara @lucyrne @highromances @luciferesque (lmk if you’d like to be added or taken off!)

#sebastian vael #sebastian x f!hawke #sebastian x hawke #sebhawke #dragon age 2 #dragon age ii fic #dragon age 2 fic #my fic #recreate his worldly glory

[veorlian]

It Takes Two

Partially inspired by this post. Full link on ao3.

“Andraste’s pressed silk knickers, Garrett, you’re not fighting the Arishok.”

“Aww c’mon Marian, look at me; I’m shredded.”

“He’s easily 300 pounds. What’s your plan, running around the room until he gets tired?”

“…maybe.”

The Tale of the Champion varies widely. Sometimes the hero is a mage, other times a warrior or a rogue. Sometimes they are diplomatic and kind, others snarky or scathing. But there is always only one hero, one Hawke. As it happens, this is wrong.

Or, the one where Garrett and Marian are twins and chaos ensues.

There is a common cliché, with twins, that they have some unspoken telepathic connection with one another, or that they have some spooky, unnatural vibe. Garrett and Marian Hawke, so far as they were aware, didn’t have that. But boy did they sure like pretending they did to fuck with the locals in Lothering, and later Kirkwall. Merrill was convinced they could read each other’s mind for a full six months before they took pity on her and told her the truth.

They’d always been together. Garrett couldn’t remember a time where he didn’t have Marian hot on his heels, fresh from sowing chaos in the Hawke household, both cackling as their father raced after them. Talking with Marian was as easy as breathing, and being a sarcastic little shit with Marian was easier still. Whereas Carver and Bethany were a study in opposites, Garrett and Marian were two halves of a whole idiot. When they moved through the alleys of Lowtown and the hills of the Wounded Coast, they always did so together, regardless of who they brought with them.

“Another one for the dwarf! How many have you got, Hawke?” Varric yelled over the sounds of battle.

“21 for me,” Garrett shouted back.

“Shit, I only have 17,” shouted Marian.

“What can I say, I have a gift.”

“You can cast fireball, that’s cheating!”

“Sorry sister, alas, not everyone can be as dashing and talented as I.”

“I don’t think dashing and talented are the right words for someone who slipped and fell on their ass trying to reach spindleweed earlier,” Marian said, mowing through a horde of enemies with her comically large greatsword.

“Cheap words from the woman who burped in front of the viscount the other day,” said Garrett, smashing a group of mercenaries into the ground with a wave of force magic.

“That’s a low blow, Garrett.”

“You’re too short for a high one.”

“I’m only two inches shorter you jackass.”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you from all the way up here.”

They ended up back-to-back. They fought together like a well-oiled machine, and any enemies that got too close to the other were always blown back or sliced cleanly in half..

“Oi, Anders!” Marian said on one occasion. They were fighting their way through Hightown, because for whatever inexplicable reason criminals saw a heavily armoured group of adventurers and decided that they would make a great target.

“Yes?” Anders replied.

“Do you want to get a drink with my brother later?”

“…are you…are you asking out Anders for me?” Garrett asked.

“No, I’m asking for Carver,” she said sarcastically. “Of course I’m asking for you.”

“Can a man not quietly pine for someone in peace around here?” Garrett complained, neatly ducking out of the way of an incoming sword and slashing at his attacker with the end of his staff.

“Go pine somewhere else, the hormones are making my hair stand on end.”

“Your hair does that anyways.”

“We have the same hair.”

“Yeah, but I make it work. You look like a wet mabari.”

“You smell like a wet mabari.”

“I’d like to get a drink,” Anders interrupted. Garrett paused mid-way through his comeback.

“Oh, well, um alright then,” he said, suddenly unsure, the tips of his ears turning red. “8 o’clock at The Hanged Man tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Anders, throwing up a barrier around Marian as she charged into a cluster of nearby enemies with reckless abandon.

.

It was different, after the Deep Roads. Bethany and Carver left with the Grey Wardens, and Leandra made it clear in no uncertain terms that she held her eldest children responsible for the loss. When Garrett and Marian laughed together, it was subdued, and their rapier-sharp wit became more defensive, a mask that they held up to protect themselves and one another. Still, they had each other, and they had their friends, and occasionally that same spark of humour shone through.

“Well, one of us is going to have to change,” said Garrett. Their casual clothes for home had been ordered from the same tailor, and as it turned out he only worked in one design.

“Regrettably, brother dear, it looks far better on me,” Marian replied.

“I’m so sorry to hear that your eyesight is going, sister, because anyone with two working eyes can see that I look phenomenal.”

“Shall we put it to a vote?”

“Race you to The Hanged Man?”

“Eat my dust.”

It was, as always, a tie. Anders had voted for Garrett, Varric had voted for Marian, and Fenris and Isabela had voted for both. Merrill refused to take part because she didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Aveline had rolled her eyes and left.

“Betrayed again,” said Marian dramatically, holding a hand against her forehead as though she were going to faint away. “Varric is my only true friend.”

“Damn straight,” said the dwarf, laughing.

“Run away with me, Varric, we don’t need these heartless people,” she said, still mock-swooning, only half joking.

“And have to live outside? You’re on your own, Hawke.”

“Et tu, Varric?” she asked. “I am met with betrayal on every side.”

“I’ll go with you, Marian!” Merrill piped up. Marian smiled and patted her on the hand.

“Varric, you’ve been replaced as my best friend,” she announced.

“You wound me, Hawke, my heart will never recover,” Varric chuckled.

“You should’ve thought of that before you chose insulation over me,” Marian replied. They’d laughed, and drank far more than was good for them, and as always Marian had struggled to convince herself that she loved Varric as a strictly platonic friend.

“You should tell him how you feel,” Garrett said once they were home.

“Oh because you’re a perfect model of expressing your love to someone?” Marian replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oi, it’s not my fault you beat me to it.”

“After years of pining after each other.”

“Pot, meet kettle. I’m sure you’ve met each other.”

“Anyways, he said he’s been spoken for,” Marian said.

“Then he’s a fool,” Garrett replied. Marian snorted.

“Pot, kettle, I assume you’ve met?” she said. Garrett looked indignant and they argued back and forth until both fell asleep in the front foyer with Turkey curled up next to them.

.

“There is an argument to be made for applying it more widely,” Cullen said of the Rite of Tranquility.

“Ah. I see,” said Marian, eyes dark.

“You see my point?”

“No,” said Marian. “I see my fist knocking out some of your teeth.”

“Come now, sister,” said Garrett, jaw tight. “I think he’d look much more fetching with a black eye.”

“Are you threatening a templar?” Cullen asked angrily.

“You catch on quick,” the twins said in unison. Varric and Aveline had to physically drag them away from the knight-commander, and they were placed in an involuntary lockdown until they’d calmed down. It was several weeks before they were allowed to return to the Gallows, and even then only under strict supervision.

.

It was different, after they lost Leandra. They were quiet for a long time, sitting together.

“Was this…our fault?” Garrett asked.

“No,” said Marian, struggling to convince herself as well as her brother. “We couldn’t have known.”

“I’d say she wouldn’t want us to blame ourselves, but I don’t suppose you’d believe me,” he said. Marian laughed quietly, hollowly.

“No, I suspect she’s telling father that if Carver and Bethany were still around, rather than Grey Wardens, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Some time later, when the tears were spent, the others showed up at their door, bringing their overwhelming love with them. It was the same as always, but different. The others started staying over more regularly, filling the unbearably quiet house with noise. Varric got them another dog, insisting that Turkey was looking lonely. Anders got them several cats, insisting that Darktown was too dangerous for them. They threw themselves into battle, growing more reckless with every fight, to the point where they rotated through Anders’s clinic on an almost daily basis, sporting bruises, lacerations, and the occasional broken bone. They didn’t talk to anyone about Leandra, except for each other.

.

“Andraste’s pressed silk knickers, Garrett, you’re not fighting the Arishok.”

“Aww c’mon Marian, look at me; I’m shredded.”

“He’s easily 300 pounds. What’s your plan, running around the room until he gets tired?”

“…maybe.”

“I’m the eldest, I get to fight him.”

“I’m the tallest, that ought to count for something.”

“Sure, it means you’ll tower over the others as you cheer for me from the sidelines.”

“Mariaaaaaan.”

“It’s a good start, but you’ll want a bit more enthusiasm for the cheers.”

“Just be careful, yeah?”

“When am I not careful?”

“Do you want an alphabetical list or a chronological one?”

.

And so there they were, the Champions of Kirkwall, bedecked in their new armour, joking again that one of them was going to have to change. There they were, running around the city with their friends in tow. There they were, siding with the mages without a second thought. Marian joked about getting ‘fuck the templars’ tattooed on her ass, but was informed that the message might be misconstrued.

Varric wrote his book, and only mentioned Marian, omitting any suggestion that she had a twin. He explained that having two heroes was too clunky from a narrative standpoint, people would get them confused, and so on. Garrett joked that his heart might never recover from the betrayal.

.

After the chantry was destroyed, there were choices that had to be made. For the first time, the twins had to separate. Much of the world believed that there was only one Champion, and Marian insisted that she didn’t want to put Garrett and Anders at risk. Garrett had gone with Anders, and Marian had set out on her own. Their goodbyes were short, as they always were. There was no doubt for either of them that they’d see each other again.

Varric lied through his teeth to Seeker Cassandra, describing the life of Marian Hawke, the sole Champion of Kirkwall. She took him to the conclave, and to the events that followed. Marian heard that the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been destroyed, and a part of her broke. She met up with Garrett and Anders on the road, and her brother hugged her tighter than he ever had before. When she eventually got a letter from Varric, she showed up at Skyhold ready to kick his ass for not writing sooner.

.

“Inquisitor, meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall,” said Varric. Marian snorted.

“I don’t use that title much anymore. Too stuffy, makes me sound like a prat,” she said.

.

It was Marian in the fade, Marian who offered to die to cover their escape.

“I won’t let you,” Varric told her vehemently.

“You can’t stop me,” she replied. “I love you. And tell Garrett I’m sorry.”

“Tell him yourself,” he said, voice raw.

And then Inquisitor Lavellan, eyes red, asked Stroud to stay. He agreed, and Varric physically dragged Hawke back to the real world.

.

That night, sitting in his tent, she and Varric talked for a very long time, and he told her the story of how Bianca got her name. Once he’d finished, they were both quiet.

“I do love you,” said Hawke, "in a cheesy, mushy kind of way.”

“Andraste’s ass, Hawke, how long have you been sitting on this?” he asked.

“Hmmm, since about five minutes after I met you, by my last estimate.”

“Shit, really?”

“It’s the chest hair, women just can’t resist it,” she said dryly. Despite himself, Varric laughed.

“Well shit, Hawke, you’ve got me beat there.”

“Oh?”

“It took me ten minutes.”

“Ah, well, I see that our reputations for being dumbasses remain intact, then.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” he said, laughing. Marian grinned and kissed him. And, amazingly, he kissed her back.

The next day she left for Weisshaupt, and was delighted to find that Anders and Garrett were already there. The I-told-you-so that she received from Garrett was so loud that it bounced off the walls of the fortress, and his vitriolic shouts that greeted her recounting of the fade were even louder.

.

Years later, the viscount of Kirkwall heard a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said, and was immediately knocked over as two very enthusiastic Hawkes launched themselves at him.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he complained.

“You’ve been saying that since we met you,” said Marian.

“You must be ancient by now,” Garrett agreed.

“Is that any way to talk to the leader of Kirkwall?”

The twins looked at one another and shrugged.

“It’s never stopped us before,” they said in one voice.

.

They say that there was only one Champion, but that’s not true. There were two.

#dragon age 2 #da2 #purple hawke #hawke twins au #garrett hawke #marian hawke #anders #varric tethras #handers #varric x hawke #if you squint #is this self indulgent? yeah #do i care? nah #give me a happy ending bioware u cowards #hawke

[theluckywizard]

First Lines!

rules:  share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!

This is so neat! Thank you for the tag, @nirikeehan

If interested in joining in: @crackinglamb, @warpedlegacy, @agentkatie, @skyeventide and @effelants

I am not sure I notice a pattern-- I think it depends heavily on the type of piece that it is and who is in it. Hawke pieces especially often begin with a bit of dialog or a thought because he's such a comedian. I try to use the first sentence to set an immediate tone for the narrator or the principal character(s). Even a description of the setting would say something about the narrator.

A Racket on the Battlements (Rose x Cullen, Bull x Dorian), M

The alpine sun bears down on us with a certain hardheadedness, attempting to warm us to spite the bitterness of the winds that whip across Skyhold’s battlements.

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 36 (Rose x Cullen, Rose x Hawke), E

The first thing I notice is the persistent shriek of the red lyrium across my thoughts.

Contact (Bethany Hawke & Garrett Hawke), G

Our cottage in Lothering is always lovely.

The Commander, the Tevinter, and a Bottle of Lightning (Cullen & Dorian, Cullen x Rose), T

“Come,” says Dorian, flicking his fingers in an impatient gesture at Cullen who is still flanked on every side by waiting staff scouts.

Good Old Garbolg (Rose x Hawke), M

“So you’re telling me that you have a bottle of mystery booze that Bull found in a plague-infested putrescent swamp called Garbolg’s Backcountry Reserve, and we haven’t tried it yet?” Hawke asks, holding the door open for me.

The Boy Who Talked too Much (Alistair x Elissa), E

Alistair wasn’t rightly sure how the arrangement came to be.

The Assassin's Masque (or High Falutin Hawke and his Foxy Boss Try Subterfuge at Halamshiral) (Rose x Hawke), M

“I’ve heard they let these olives ferment in the gut of an august ram before harvesting for fancy canapes,” says Hawke from behind his mask, sidling up next to me.

The Coldest and Warmest Dawn (Cullen x Rose, Cullen & Dorian, Vivienne, Alexius), T

The stream of blinding, amplified magic that engulfs Rose is the width of an old oak tree that channels through her marked hand above her, tethered to the Breach in a cataclysmic show.

The Protestations of the Commander's Bed (Cullen x Rose), E

“You go on, I’ll be up in a moment,” Cullen says, his finger brushing my wrist as I drift in the direction of the ladder.

Pull Me From the Dark (Hawke x Rose), M

Hawke combs through the catalog of feelings he’s archived, trying to understand it.

An Unexpected Visitor (Hawke x Rose), E

I look up from the stack of letters I’m working my way through when the bell tinkles above me.

Bumbling Hearts (Cullen x Rose), T

There’s firelight flickering in the southern gatehouse tower.

#theluckywizard #dragon age fan fic #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x trevelyan #alistair x cousland #hawke x inquisitor #hawquisitor #hawke x trevelyan #first lines

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube

[aworldofyou]

I adore the fact that in each dragon age game you can receive an Andrastian blessing from a Mother 😭

#[ and yes Marian is Andrastian if Leandra and Bethany are any examples to go by thank you ] #[ marian hawke / ch. study ] your father was the same way; taming the shadows with questionable wit. #[ leliana / ch. study ] one small life in exchange for a second chance at history? i always loved a bargain. #[ marian hawke ] what earth shattering matter requires my attention this time? #[ leliana ] i've found peace in knowing the maker and nothing will change that. #[ cassandra pentaghast / ch. study ] i want trust in the chantry; and that trust is respected. i want to respect tradition; not fear change #[ cassandra pentaghast ] one day they may write about me as a traitor; a madwoman; a fool; and they may be right.

[grace-nakimura]

In early Cloudreach of 9:08 Dragon, a pair of fraternal twins were born: Malcolm Geralt and Michelle Alexandra, the later who would become the Champion of Kirkwall. Little did Leandra and Malcolm know that their first set of twins would light the world on fire.

#myedits #daedit #daedits #custom hawke #ch: michelle hawke #fhanders #handers #fhandersedit #handersedit #otp: want a sandwich? #blood cw #babies cw #hawke twins au ftw #also: both are purple hawkes #carver became a templar and bethany a circle mage #i will do one for geralt later #this took me two days to do

[aria-i-adagio]

30 Day DA OC Challenge, Day 27: Demons

What type of demon is your OC most vulnerable to? How would it attack/manipulate them? What type of demon is your OC most likely to attract the attention of? Which type of demon are they least vulnerable to?

Younger Adrian was most vulnerable to pride demons.

After the end of DA2, Adrian is especially vulnerable to despair demons. Everything he’s ever done has blown up in his face. He and Anders are fugitives. Bethany is somewhere with the Wardens. Ferelden is once again in open conflict. He can’t see a good way forward beyond hiding and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

And then a Breach appears in the Sky, and Anders starts hearing the music, and...

Excerpt below with extra Anders and Dorian for funsies

from Where the Elfroot Grows

The Rift flares again, spawning more wraiths and demons in black rags.  They careen through the air at speeds that render them almost impossible to target.  Anders tries to follow them with his staff, sending bolt after bolt of lightning toward the creatures.

I know these.

These are the product of justice denied.

Right now they just need to die!

Two of the flying demons hover close together for a moment, close enough that a chain of lightning would be able to pass effectively between them.  Anders casts the spell, dropping one to the ground as lightning ricochets from the other and strikes it a second time.  The other demon shrieks and spins, deliquescing into a cloud of smoke only to reappear across the clearing, directly in front of Hawke.

The demon extends its skeletal arms and emits an ear-piercing scream.   Hawke's arms drop to his sides, one blade falls from his grip, and he freezes, transfixed by the demon before him.  Its hood falls back and a skeletal face - front teeth fused into a beak - emerges, misshapen jaw snapping powerfully.  Anders pushes past Justice’s impersonal resolve, ignoring the closer target of the frozen terror because nothing - nothing - is more important than Adrian.  He screams Hawke's name and sends bolt after bolt of lightning at the demon.  It shrieks and draws its arm back, flinging its hand, its claws over Hawke's face and chest, ripping into skin and leather both, and yet, Hawke still doesn't move.  Wraiths begin to close in, drawn to an easy target, one that is just waiting for them to come.

“Adrian!”  Anders summons a barrier to cover him and steps forward before he can think too much, casting haphazard flames into the wraiths.  The demon spreads its arms, and he can see it summoning magic for another attack.  He leaps forward, swinging the bladed end of his staff in an arc that collides with the demon and knocks it away just before he crashes into Adrian, toppling both of them to the ground.  Anders crouches over Adrian, fingers scrambling through the mud of the field for his staff.  He raises his head as his hand closes around it, eyes searching for remaining threats, praying that he’s not too spent to deal with them.

The demon rises in front of him, black rags billowing around it framing a horrible rictus grin.  Anders draws in a breath, hoping to pull some magic into him along with the strangely frigid air.  Iron Bull's axe shears along the demon’s vertical axis cutting it into uncannily even halves.  Beyond his massive shoulders, Anders sees Trevelyan standing with his left hand outstretched toward the Rift, pulling energy from it.  A concussive wave rattles the ground as the Rift collapses.  Rhys steps back, clutching his left arm to his chest.  His legs give out, and he drops - hard - knees slamming into the ground and curls around himself.

Anders releases the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.  Beneath him, Adrian groans, head lolling to the side.  Anders drops his staff and takes Hawke’s shoulders, pulling him upright, running his hands over his arms, and searching for any wounds.  Blood runs down his face from nicks and scratches, but they aren't deep enough to be a significant concern.  Even as drained as he is, Anders heals them with a single pass of his hands.  He’s bruised from head to toe, but it looks like his leather armor took the majority of the damage.  “What happened, ‘Dri?  You just froze.  I've never seen you -”

“It was... Whispering to me.”

“Whispering?”

“A despair demon.”  Dorian crouches down next to them and offers Hawke a canteen of water.  “Clever bastards.  They do their best to get in your head.  Make it seem like there's no point left in fighting.”

Anders runs his hand over Hawke’s back and neck and pulls him close as he finishes drinking.  Adrian curls against his chest still breathing raggedly.  “I thought those were just a kind of sloth demon.”  Karl had classed them as such, in the work he wrote on different types of spirits - the one Anders had read version after version of - until they were both proud to hand the manuscript over to the Enchanters.  Like sloth, despair distracts you from your goals, your larger mission.  But despair offers no indulgent slumber, just manic, frantic motion interspersed with paralysis.  “You don’t find them very often.”

“Yes, well -”  Dorian pushes his sweat-soaked hair off his forehead and looks from Hawke to Rhys and then back again.  “Despair is good at hiding in plain sight.”

from (serendipitously), Ch. 27

#30daydachallenge #dragon age fanfiction #hawke #anders #dorian pavus #handers #adrian hawke

[spacebatisluvd]

Summary: Neither Sea Hawk nor Entrapta know how kidnapping works.

Content warning: Sea Hawk (being a complete drama king), Mermista (being rather aggressive), and some light-hearted ‘bondage’ that is not at all sexual.

-

Hordak walked around the base of the structure, studying the completed building. “Which team was responsible for this?” he asked the supervisor trailing behind him.

“Team Four.”

He nodded. “This is excellent work. They should be commended for their efforts.”

The woman froze. “I...what?”

Hordak glanced at her before resuming his inspection. “They have performed well. That should be acknowledged.” He paused, realizing he could be overstepping. “I know I do not have any authority here. Consider it a suggestion.”

“I...I’ll make a note of that,” she said, sounding unsure of herself.

He nodded, finished with his inspection. “What’s the next—?”

”Hey!”

They both turned, watching Mermista stalk toward them. The woman behind him paled immediately and bowed low. “Princess, it is an—“

Mermista ignored her, jabbing a finger at Hordak. “Where is he?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sea Hawk—where. is. he?”

Hordak‘s ears folded back. “I was not aware I was meant to be watching him.”

“Funny.”

He crossed his arms. “That was not—“

Mermista stepped close, and in the distance, the ocean crashed. “Don’t play games with me; just tell me what you did and maybe I’ll go easy on you.”

He cocked his head. “I am not ‘playing games’. You are unable to find him?”

She looked him over. “You really don’t...?” Turning away, she swore under her breath and stormed off. 

“Princess?”

“Forget it,” she snapped, never breaking stride. 

Frowning, he turned toward the other woman. “We will continue this later.”

He started to follow Mermista, but the woman said, “Sir?” He turned, and she stepped toward him, eyeing Mermista with caution. “Be careful. The Princess doesn’t like you very much.”

He huffed. “I am aware.” Her gaze darted from him to Mermista, and he sighed. “Your concern is noted. Carry on without me. I will return later.” She said nothing, and he turned away, catching up to Mermista by walking briskly. “The two of you were meant to leave for Plumeria today.” He and Entrapta were not the only ones Perfuma had invited to her Kingdom. “He seemed excited. I do not think he would wander off.”

She glared at him, trying to walk faster, but his long stride made it easy to keep up. Seeing that this tactic wasn’t working, she tried another. “Why do you care?”

“I do not. Where have you looked for him?”  

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

”I did not offer it. Does he have anyone that would want to harm—?“ He huffed, realizing that was a stupid question. “Who has the most cause to harm him?”

“Shut up! Just—shut up!” She rounded on him, hands balled into fists at her sides. Abruptly, she forced herself out of her pugilistic stance, crossing her arms and looking away. “Whatever. He’s Sea Hawk. He’s probably just...setting a ship on fire or something.”

Hordak’s ears folded back. “Why would he do that?”

She threw up her hands and groaned aloud. “I don’t know—because he’s Sea Hawk. Stop pretending you care! I’m not going to fall for it!”

He cocked his head, ears still back. “What?”

“Drop the act—I know you’re just using him.”

Hordak huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sea Hawk is entirely useless.”

“So you expect me to believe you actually like spending time with him?” Water began to leech from the ground, forming small pools around him. He watched the puddles form, then shifted to regard her more warily. “Maybe you can fool Entrapta, but—“

“What?!”

“I said—maybe you can trick Entrapta into thinking you’re her ‘friend’, but you can’t trick me. And I won’t let you hurt her or Sea Hawk, got it?”

He could hear his hearts hammering in his ears, the sound distractingly loud. Everything seemed to slow down. His hands curled, and his breathing felt tight. The nerves along his scalp prickled, and he couldn’t find the words to deny her—he was just too angry to speak.

For once, he was glad to be weaponless; at the moment, he wouldn’t trust himself with one.

Misunderstanding the source of his anger, Mermista sneered. “Oh, yeah. I know exactly what you’re doing. Geek Princess knows tech, but she doesn’t know people. Someone like you was bound to take advantage of that sooner or later. Is that how you got her to switch sides? Playing with her feelings? Making her think you care about her? People like you don’t care about anyone. You only care about yourself, and how to use other people for your own ends.”

“You know nothing,” he finally managed to snap. His claws bit into his palms, and he flexed his fingers open to keep from hurting himself. A not insignificant part of him longed to feel the chill of water wrapping around his torso; it would be a good excuse to fight back, to lash out. He held himself in check, though, remembering the treaty—remembering too that Entrapta would be disappointed in him if he hurt one of her supposed ‘friends’.

“I know you’ve got some kind of plan in mind, and—“

Both of them jumped when Mermista’s communicator started to go off. She did something strange with her hand—first pointing to her face, index and middle fingers spread, then pointing to him. His ears pulled back in annoyance and confusion. Glaring, she pulled up her communicator and turned her back on him in obvious dismissal. He growled softly, even as he resisted the urge to show her why that was a bad idea. Determined to ignore her, he started to walk away, until he heard—“Hi, Mermista! You remember when I asked if I could borrow Hordak for a few days so I could take him to the Flower Festival, right?”

“Entrapta?” he asked, ears pricked.

Mermista glared at him, but answered Entrapta, “Yeah? What of it?”

“I’m no longer asking!” Hordak’s ears twitched. He walked up behind Mermista; his height made it easy for him to peer over her head. Seeing him, Entrapta beamed. “Hi, Hordak! I’m kidnapping you.”

“What?” he and Mermista asked at the same time. They glared at each other. Ears back, Hordak cleared his throat and focused on the communicator. “Entrapta, I....” He huffed. “You cannot kidnap me. That would break the peace treaty and could have serious ramifications for your nation’s alliance with Salineas. They’re an important trade partner. You cannot risk such a thing for what amounts to a short vacation.”

“Oh. Well. That’s gonna make this really awkward....”

As if on queue, Sea Hawk appeared on the screen. He raised a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Oh, woe! Woe is me! I have been captured!” He bent backwards, supported only by a rope of Entrapta’s hair. “Please, my love—you must concede to her demands! Who knows what this villain is capable of...even if she isn’t dressed like one.”

“I think overalls are really an all-purpose outfit.”

He just sighed heavily. “Woe! Woe is me—kidnapped by a villain with no sense of style, which is honestly worse than the kidnapping itself.”

”They can be evil overalls,” she offered helpfully. 

Mermista groaned. “Sea Hawk, I’ve been looking for you all morning. Where are you?”

Hordak cocked his head. “Entrapta, I do not understand.”  

“Oh, it’s really very simple. When Mermista said you couldn’t come to Plumeria with me, Sea Hawk called, and—“

Sea Hawk jumped into action, grabbing hold of the communicator. “She is devious! She lured me into her web, like some sort of devilish spider! I was captured! Caught! Please, my love, you must meet her demands—or else!”

“Oh—right,” Entrapta said. “Absolutely. That is exactly what happened.” She winked, and Hordak pressed his fingertips to his forehead, sighing.

Mermista groaned. “Ugh. You cannot be serious. Please tell me you’re not doing this.”

“I’m afraid this is a matter of deadly seriousness, my love! You must meet us at the docks in half an hour—“

“Oh, make it one hour. So Hordak has time to pack.”

“Right! Of course.” He cleared his throat. “You must meet us at the docks in one hour; who knows what terrors she has in store for me!”

Entrapta waved. “Bye! Remember to pack comfortable clothes.”

He cocked his head, ears back, even as he waved hesitantly. The communicator shut off, and Mermista groaned aloud, the sound long and drawn out. She spun to glare at him. “What did you do?” she snapped.

“I had no part in this farce!”

“Obviously! This has ‘Sea Hawk’ written all over it, but he’s only doing it because he likes you, and I don’t get it! You’re—ugh!” She gestured to him and sneered.

“Entrapta will not harm him.”

“I know that!”

“You misunderstand—I mean that Entrapta will not harm him if you don’t bring me to her.”

“Yeah, and if I don’t, now suddenly I’m the bad guy for ruining his fun.”

His ears folded back, and he cocked his head. “Sea Hawk is very...fond of you. Yet you do not seem particularly fond of him.”

She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Her hands clenched closed, then she exhaled slowly and flexed her them open again. “Shut up. What do you know about relationships?”

“I don’t pretend to know anything. It was just an observation.”

“Yeah, well, go observe something else.”

“Happily.”

He rejoined the builders and resumed his work. Mermista could sort out Sea Hawk, and he was confident that Entrapta would seek him out when everything was settled. They could not go to Plumeria together, but she’d said she was amenable to staying with him in Salineas for a while.

A little over an hour later, though, he was drawn from his current project by the sound of shouting. He immediately ran toward the screaming, expecting to find a half-collapsed building or the results of an errant explosion. He did not expect to find Entrapta’s mech from Beast Island running rampant through the construction site, while workers scattered before her like seals before an orca. “What is that?” one of the crew asked, defensively raising a metal pipe despite her shaking hands.

“Stand down,” he said, “That is Bethany, one of Entrapta’s companions. She is not here to harm anyone. Just keep out of her way; I imagine she’s looking for me.”

He started toward her, and one of the workers grabbed his arm—dropping it immediately when he glared at him. “You’re sure it’s safe?”

Hordak’s ears twitched. “I did not say that she was safe.” Bethany could sometimes become overexcited, and she often forgot her own strength. “Remain here, and you will be fine. It’s me she wants.”

He walked away from the group, directing others to keep clear as he approached. As soon as Bethany noticed him, she sprinted in his direction, powerful front legs kicking up dust and dirt. He stood still, watching as she corrected her trajectory by leaping overhead when she realized she was going too fast to stop without colliding with him. He turned to face her as she landed, dust hazing the air. She walked toward him at a more sedate pace and knelt as the dust settled, tilting her head so he could reach up to scratch her ‘ear’. Her engine rumbled as he did, and her  ‘mouth’ fell open, but Entrapta was not inside. His ears folded back. “Bethany, where is Entrap—ta?!”

She snapped him up, enclosing him in her cramped cockpit. He blinked, reorienting himself and twisting into an acceptable position. Comfort would not be possible in such a confined space. He toggled her controls, but her autopilot was engaged and the controls were locked. He could unlock them, if he wanted. Bethany’s design was rather primitive in some ways, and many of her controls could be hacked relatively easily. However, he saw no reason to offend her when he suspected he knew where she was taking him. He settled in to wait out the bumpy trip, not especially surprised when they reached the docks.

Entrapta was waiting for them, a trunk by her side. Bethany came to a sudden stop, jostling him, but she gently lowered her head so he could climb out of the cockpit with some measure of ease. Before his feet even touched the ground, Entrapta’s hair caught him up and pulled him close. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and her legs wrapped around his hips. Her hair wrapped around everything else. He curled around her just as tightly, burying his face in the side of her neck and holding her close. “Hello, Starlight,” he murmured, her hair coiling around his fingers. “I’ve missed you.”

She nodded and hugged him tighter, sighing in contentment. “I missed you too! It hasn’t even been that long, but...” She pulled back just enough to look at him. “I didn’t know I could miss someone the way I missed you.” She laid a hand on his cheek, and he leaned into her palm, shutting his eyes to savor the touch. Her other hand slid between them, resting on his sternum. “You’re purring.”

His eyes opened, but he didn’t pull away. “It is not a purr. I do not....” He trailed off with a huff. Entrapta was smiling at him; he would not argue if she wanted to call it a purr.

“So, are you ready to go?”

“Go?”

“To Plumeria.”

His ears folded back. “Mermista agreed to that?”

“Well...” she drew out the word. “Not exactly. She came to pick up Sea Hawk and said that I could find you myself. We didn’t really discuss Plumeria, but I’m sure it’s okay. Sea Hawk waved as they left and very clearly said he’d see us there. So it’s probably fine.”

Hordak shook his head uncertainly. “I do not think that qualifies as an agreement.”

“Do you want to go?”

“It does not matter what I want—“

“It does, though.” He looked away, but a lock of hair curled around his cheek, urging him to turn back to her. “It matters to me. So—do you want to go?”

He shut his eyes and took a breath as he considered his reply. Finally, he looked at her and said, “I want to spend time with you; the location does not matter.”

Her smile was brilliant. “Excellent!” Her hair peeled away from him, and she used it to balance as she too pulled away. “May I have your hands?”

Curious, he held out his hands, and she installed a chip on each gauntlet. “What are you—?” She pressed a button, and a tether of purple light appeared between the two chips as his forearms pulled together. His ears folded back, and he tried to pull his hands apart. There were a few inches of give, but the tether held. He suspected he could break the bond if he absolutely needed to, but he was also able to reach the button Entrapta had pressed with ease. He touched it, and the tether disappeared. She turned it back on. “I do not understand what you’re doing,” he said.

“I’m kidnapping you!”

He cocked his head. “That is not an explanation.”

She hooked a rope of hair through the crook of his elbow and began guiding him toward the only steel vessel docked amidst the multitude of wooden ships. Another rope of hair grabbed the trunk, and he realized abrupty that it was his trunk, not hers. “Well, the way I figure, if I kidnap you, you’re not breaking the treaty.”

“But you would be. I do not want you to suffer—politically or personally—for my sake.”

“Actually, I signed the treaty as a member of the Princess Alliance; I didn’t make any promises about rebuilding. In fact, from a certain standpoint, you could read the clauses I agreed to—about pardoning the Etherian Horde for their acts during wartime and not penalizing Prime’s Clones for their actions while under his control—as applying to you. Excluding you from the festival, when all the other Princesses and their partners are allowed to go, is just singling you out for special punishment. Which you don’t deserve and is explicitly forbidden by the treaty.”

“I am free and permitted to remain at your side. I fail to see how I’m being punished for anything. They could be much harsher—“

She turned and used the tether to pull him close, kissing him with unexpected ferocity. He shut his eyes and leaned in, savoring the sensation of her lips against his. She pulled back slowly to look at him. “No, they can’t. Not while I’m here.” Her gaze, too, was fierce. And protective. “My nation has many trade partners, and the tech we produce is very valuable. No one is going to break a trade agreement over this. As for personal consequences....” She pressed her forehead to his, eyes shut, and feathered her thumb along the skin just behind his ear. “You are my best, most constant friend. You’re my lab partner. If they have a problem with that, then they’re not really my friends.” He sighed audibly, tension he wasn’t aware of bleeding out of his shoulders. She pulled back and grinned at him. “Now—to Plumeria!”

He still had his reservations about the whole thing, but he couldn’t find it in himself to deny her. A soft smile tugged at his mouth. “Lead the way, Starlight.”

She smiled and kissed him again, soft and gentle this time.

-

A/N: As always, your comments are deeply appreciated. I’m so happy everyone is enjoying this story. Thank you all so much for your kind words and support!

#intimacy log #hordak #entrapta #sea hawk #mermista