#gremfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

for the oc codex prompt, number 3 for any oc of your choosing

3. a report written by your OC’s teacher or mentor

The girl is undeniably talented. She has an aptitude for magic and a clear hunger for knowledge. I daresay if she continues her current path, we may be looking at a future senior enchanter, or perhaps higher, though she will need to learn to suppress the temper that still sometimes flares to ensure diplomacy is maintained and keep trouble from the Circle.

Her behaviour as a child was worrying, as cold and distant as she was, but with time she has opened up to the more senior enchanters. In truth, her attention and questions can be quite flattering at times. 

She appears to primarily apply herself in her studies, prioritising knowledge from more accomplished peers over fraternisation with the other apprentices. I do wonder if this means the girl is protected from the more… unsavoury brand of dissatisfaction the younger mages can sometimes demonstrate. 

Davina Amell is one to watch, I believe. I have no doubt she will achieve memorable things in her lifetime.

—Excerpt from the journal of First Enchanter Irving

[oc codex prompts]

#thank youuuu this is like the first thing ive written + finished + posted in like. a year probably ;-; #thank you sm for sending it <3 #oc: davina #davina amell #amell #gremfic

[square-blunt]

The hardest part of this is leaving you

Hey so i don't know if y'all remember this fic bc i sure do and i wanted to magnify one part of that which was Scott's bit. It's flower husbands angst. And it emotionally scared me to write this. also yea that's a my chem lyric as the title once a killjoy always a killjoy sue me.

TW- MCD (major character death), sacrifice, Gore, (blood/bleeding out), Angst, 3rd life mentioned. WC: 1288 words Ao3: p a i n

The first rule of battle, at least as Jimmy was taught, was to never be caught off guard. But he thinks he can get away with it just this once. Cradling Joel's heavy head in one hand, holding tight into Lizzie's cold arm with his other, he grieves. His grief overrides his guard. He's even got the cod head off. He can't get more vulnerable than this. He's alone, without allies. Katherine was nowhere to be seen, Gem was on the other side, Scott- Scott was Scott. He wasn't on Jimmy's side, he was against Sausage.

That was different.

Jimmy couldn't trust Scott as an ally, only as an enemy to his enemy.

He couldn't put trust in him.

Everyone he put trust in is dead.

He doesn't even trust himself.

He's surrounded, body and soul, by people who could easily kill him. Those who wouldn't-

The whistle of an arrow cuts his mind's voice in two.

Jimmy turns away from the noise, looking down at Joel's face.

He smiles.

The arrow finds its target with that familiar, sickening crunch.

He knows the piercing sting of an arrow, enchanted, imbued, or not.

He knows the pain that accompanies the sound.

Why, then, did Jimmy not feel it?

He looks up, eyes catching on the arrow before the face of his savior. The arrow is lodged in the side of their neck, in the break of their armour. The white and gold collar peeking up is already stained with red, turning the fabric into a bright crimson.

There's the sound of a sword thumping against dirt and rock. Of armour clinking against itself. The Codfather is hyper aware of the wind, how it sounds, the smell it carries. The smell of blood. Jimmy stands up, much too quickly, his vision blurring, but he races forward anyways to catch the man that saved his life.

In his arms, he holds Scott.

Scott's breathing is rapid and irregular, Jimmy desperately looks on himself and on Scott for any potions that might help, but he freezes when he feels Jimmy's hand cover his own.

"Sc- Scott?" Jimmy whispers. There's no need, there's no one around them- alive to hear it, at least.

"D- don't-'' Scott murmurs out, taking in a deep breath that makes his face contort with pain.

"What- Scott- Why? You took that arrow for me- why?" Jimmy asks.

"You really don't remember then-" Scott says, voice fizzling out onto coughing. Jimmy shifts to help him become more comfortable. If Scott had nothing to help, or didn't want to be helped, then Jimmy wouldn't take anything away from him.

"Remember- I don't really- I thought you hated me-" Jimmy can't remember anything from before… this, waking up in the jungle, sore from sitting on the cobble throne, alone. Once he got set up, he felt a strong pull to Joel, who turned out to be one of his closest allies, but to Scott as well, but when Scott never showed that they were close friends, Jimmy just… let it go. Until now at least. Scott, hand shaking, reaches up to cup Jimmy's face. Jimmy helps him, pressing his face into Scott's palm- cold. His hand is so cold.

"You were my voice. It's funny, I- I got shot in the neck- you got shot in the head. I was your mind," Jimmy laughs lightly, sounds like him alright, "and you were my voice." Scott sounds so quiet, and far away, like it's taking any strength he has left to tell him this.

"I- wh- whatever happened, Scott, I'm so sorry I let you down now. You deserved so much better than what I could've given you and I'm so sorry- please- let me- there has to-" Jimmy says, gripping Scott's hand tighter. Jimmy doesn't remember what Scott's talking about, but he remembers feeling something. Almost as if this was a repeat of Scott's memories, but the roles being reversed. Jimmy wonders if he died in Scott's arms. That's what he asks. Scott can't help but smile.

"No, I couldn't get to you in time. But you looked so beautiful that day, and even still when I went back for you." Scott runs a weak thumb across Jimmy's cheek, bringing his attention to tears that had formed. "Don't cry, morning glory, I couldn't bear to see you die again."

"Again- Scott- I-" Jimmy parrots, before Scott cuts him off, Jimmy immediately lets him speak.

"You have nothing to be sorry-" Scott coughs again, blood staining his lips, Jimmy's eyes stinging. "-about. I thought if I avoided you, you'd be safe, but- I can't live without you, Jimmy. You still mean everything to me, hyacinth, and I- ugh-" Scott stops and huffs, Jimmy can tell he's still him. Under the shaky breaths, and the red, white and gold- he can see that it's still the snarky, sarcastic Scott he'd spent another life with. "It's cold. I don't remember it being this cold-" Jimmy immediately curls around Scott, trying to warm him up- keep his blood going, good god, trying to keep his blood going.

"Why did you do this? Why?" Jimmy whispers hoarsely.

"Because I loved you. I still do, Jimmy, My rose, I still- do…" 'Scott murmurs, voice fading out- no, no- Jimmy just- Scott's just told him this and he knows Scott is telling the truth- he knows- he also thinks some part of him… still-

"You loved me?" Jimmy says, kissing the inside of Scott's palm, a part of him still loves Scott, too.

"Jimmy? Jimmy, are you there? Are you- I- I can't-" Scott says, voice fragile, panicking.

"Scott, Scott, I'm here, Scott- Scott- I'm here, Scott please-" Jimmy says, cupping Scott's face with one hand, and holding Scott's to his with his other hand. He can feel his pulse under his fingertips, its beating, but getting weaker, he can't- Jimmy can't lose him- not after he just got him back- he can see flashes, flower forests, cows, starlit skies- nights awake, much longer than they should be, talking, and laughing. He can see a ring in his hands, Scott's surprised, but overjoyed face- and he remembers the way he felt when Scott said yes. He feels the warm ghost of a hand on his shoulder. He can't- Jimmy just got him back- "Scott- please? I remember now- I do- Scott, poppy, please- I- I remember- no- no, no, no- Scott don't- don't you dare- don't you dare- Scott please-" Jimmy can't feel Scott's pulse anymore. He lets Scott's hand slide from his to cradle both sides of Scott's face. He wipes the blood away from around the side of his mouth. Tears stinging his eyes again, his chest and throat growing tight- why, why did Scott do that? "You- why- why, why, why, why, why? Scott," Jimmy chokes back a sob, and lets his head hang, "I was supposed to be the one to die for you, not the other way around- why, stupid, beautiful, selfless, why? Daffodil, sunflower, starshine, why- I just got you back- please- it's it's not- i- it's not fair-" he sobs again, ugly and brutal, nothing like Scott, nothing like Scott, "I just- how- why are you being ripped away from me again- you- i- we- we could've left, we could've- you and me- we could've left and made something because we were alive again- I don't- I can't- Scott- I'm so sorry-" his body shakes, he can't take it- knowing their past together, and now have to face his future without him- it was-

Maybe he wouldn't have to live without him much longer.

There's a sword tip pointed at the back of his head.

And just inside his vision-

Gem.

#two posts ten minutes george pass me the bl- [gets shot] #not canon btw #flower husbands #empires jimmy #jimmy solidarity #soliderity gaming #empires scott #scott smajor #3rdlife #3lsmp #empires smp #wHERE IS THE SECOND SEASON OF 3RD LIFE GRIAN GIVE THE GAYS WHAT WE WANT /nm #gremfics #blood tw #mcd tw

[kirkwallgremlin]

Fenhawke good morning kiss from the prompt list?

thank you so much for the prompt, I'm sorry it took me several months to get to <3

Birdsong sounded outside, the noise slowly filling Fenris’ ears. It was morning - the light filtering in around the curtains left no doubt of that - but he rubbed his eyes, wondering if it was early enough that he could go back to sleep.

He was in Hawke’s room, Hawke’s bed, having fallen asleep there the night before, but… he was alone, no Hawke beside him.

As though summoned, Hawke burst through the door, Fenris wincing at the sudden additional light, curling up into the blankets.

“Good morning,” Hawke said cheerfully.

“I’m not finding the good in this particular morning,” Fenris muttered, flinging his arm over his eyes, hoping Hawke would recognise he was grumpy about the early hour and about being awake and not at him.

“You’ll be fine” Hawke told him, still sounding far more cheerful than anybody had a right to be at this hour. He sat on the edge of the bed, setting his basket down beside him, reaching inside. “I brought you something to eat.”

Fenris reluctantly emerged from the blankets, pushing himself to a sitting position as he reached for the offered chunk of bread. It was clearly freshly baked. Hawke must have dropped by that bakery they were both so fond of.

“I don’t know how you manage to be so cheerful in the mornings,” he muttered when he’d finished the slice, though the food helped him feel a little more awake.

“Easy to be cheerful when you know what you’re waking up to,” Hawke told him. Fenris raised an eyebrow at him.

“And that is…?”

Hawke just grinned at him, and Fenris felt his cheeks grow hot, that tiny flutter returning in his chest as he realised Hawke was talking about him, waking up to him.

“Always nice to wake up to a handsome elf in my bed,” he continued. “I’ll need to encourage you to do that more.”

“Encouraging,” Fenris said dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Is that what you call last night?”

“Well. It worked, didn’t it?” Hawke shrugged, winking at him. He shifted closer, pressing against Fenris’ side. Fenris lowered his head, resting it against Hawke’s shoulder with a deep breath, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of him. He’d missed being this close to Hawke in the years they were apart, and he was grateful they’d been able to start again.

“Yes,” he said. “I suppose it did.”

He felt Hawke’s hand against his cheek, tilting his face up, before his lips were against Fenris’. The kiss was gentle, comfortable and warm like the morning and the blankets still wrapped around him.

“I could probably be… encouraged to do this more often,” Fenris said quietly, the kiss broken but his forehead pressed against Hawke’s, sensing Hawke’s mouth curve into a smile before he kissed him again.

“I’d like that,” Hawke said. “Now, are you getting up, or do I need to stay and join you in bed?”

#if you enjoyed reading this I’d love if you wanted to reblog it too :) #thank you for the prompt <3 #and none of them would work when i tried so i gave up for a while 😫 #but anyway here u go and thank you for the prompt <3 #fenhawke #fenris x hawke #gremfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

if you wish, kiss prompt 67. When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More

Thank you anon, here is some Fenris x f!Hawke

It had been years since Hawke had last kissed Fenris, but his lips were as soft as she remembered, his muscles strong under her hands.

It had been years, but kissing Fenris was something she had never forgotten. Something she’d never been willing to forget, even when it hurt to think about. Fenris had left, and she’d thought she’d never get the opportunity to kiss him again.

If I could go back, I would stay, he’d said, and the tiny spark of hope that had burned in Hawke’s chest ever since that night flared.

And now here she was, only moments later, back in his arms the way she never thought she would be again, his mouth against hers. It was everything she’d hoped, everything and more. Just like she remembered from the first time, before they had spent the night together, before he remembered aspects of his forgotten past. Before it had all been too much and Fenris had left.

Hesitant, a small part of her still worried he would leave if she gave him the chance, Hawke pulled back, her arms wrapped around him. He needed to have that chance though, the chance to leave, before this went too far and either of them were hurt again.

“I’m sorry, are you sure you-” she started but Fenris didn’t let her finish, pulling him closer against her as he kissed her again, harder.

“I have never been more certain in my life,” he murmured against her lips after a moment. “I missed you. I missed this.”

“I missed you too,” Hawke whispered, and she had, even seeing him every day the way she had. It wasn’t the same, wasn’t what she had wanted.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” Fenris added, and Hawke squeaked as he lifted her, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. “I promise I will not hurt you again, Hawke.”

It had been years since Hawke had last kissed Fenris, since they had first spent the night together.

But now she had been given the chance again, Hawke hoped that she never had to wait to kiss him again.

#im mostly writing these as like..generic hawkes bc i cant be bothered working out my ocs specifically #+ fitting stuff in around ''their'' canon #fenhawke #fenris x hawke #i have edited this but i also did it in like...20 very distracted minutes right now at 1am so #hopefully i caught any major mistakes lmao #anywayyy i really should go to bed now oops #gremfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

“I almost lost you” kiss - carvistair !!

The boys for you 💕 760 words

Carver’s nails pressed into the flesh of his palm, a new set of crescent moons pressed into the skin. They joined the marks already there as he paced another lap around the temporary Warden camp.

He wondered if he’d worn a track into the ground yet, a record of the path his feet had taken as he was forced to wait and wait. They’d told him Alistair would be fine, that they just needed some time, some space, just to make sure they knew exactly what needed healing and how, but… he didn’t want to think about the possibility of them being wrong. He couldn’t think about that.

“Carver?”

The voice cut through his thoughts, stopping him before they could spoil anymore. He spun to face the healer, his finger picking anxiously at the side of his thumb.

“Is he…” Carver started, trailing off. He needed to know but what if the answer wasn’t what he wanted? What he needed?

“He’s fine,” the woman told him, a reassuring smile on her face, and Carver felt his shoulders slump in relief.

It had been one of the scariest moments of his life, turning after the fight to find Alistair, the way he always did, only to find him hurt. He hadn’t even realised it at first, Alistair still finding the time to make a joke before his leg buckled and Carver noticed the dented armour, the blood that hadn’t come from the Darkspawn now scattered on the ground around him.

“We’ve finished what he needs, for the time being at least,” she continued. “You can see him now.”

Carver was already halfway to the tent by the time she finished.

Inside, Alistair was pale, his expression clearly tired as he raised his head from the stretcher the healers had set up for him. Despite how weary he looked, he still grinned at Carver.

“I have to say, when I woke up this morning, this was not how I imagined spending my afternoon,” he said. “In fact, I can think of a whole list of things that would be more fun than–”

He didn’t get to finish before Carver’s lips were on his, Carver finally able to release some of the stress, the anxiety and emotion built up over the afternoon. He didn’t even realise his hands were on Alistair’s face until he lifted his head, needing to take a proper breath and his hands remained, cupping his cheeks.

Alistair coughed.

“Well, if I knew all I needed to do to get that kind of attention was get hurt, maybe I should have done that earlier,” he said.

“Shut up,” Carver said, leaning down to kiss him again. “Don’t you dare.”

Alistair’s hand rubbed reassuringly against Carver’s forearm.

“I thought I almost lost you,” Carver said when he lifted his head again. “I can’t… I couldn’t…”

He’d already lost so much, so many people he cared about. He couldn’t lose Alistair, not as well. Not now that he’d found him, that they’d found their place in the Wardens together.

“I’m fine,” Alistair told him. “Really. Promise.”

“You better be,” Carver muttered, unable to resist a tiny smile in response to Alistair’s cheeky grin before Alistair pulled him down again.

“Don’t worry, you can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m like a bad smell.”

“I wasn’t going to mention the smell,” Carver smiled, feeling a little better as Alistair swatted him on the arm. He was clearly feeling at least a little like himself.

“They said I need to rest for today. They’ll come back and see if they need to do anything else tomorrow,” Alistair told him. “The best medicine sometimes is time, and all that. There was a whole speech.”

Carver took his hand, still flooded with relief that Alistair was ok. He was ok.

Will you stay with me for a bit?” Alistair asked.

“Course I will,” Carver said, ignoring that he should probably check with the Warden in charge of the camp. He knew he’d do it anyway, even if the answer was no, so there really wasn’t much point in asking. “Let me know if there’s anything you need,” he added as he settled himself into a more comfortable position beside the man he loved.

“Will do,” Alistair said, though he almost interrupted himself with a yawn, the exertion from the day and the stress of the injury and healing clearly beginning to grow too much for him.

As Alistair drifted to sleep, his hand in Carver’s, Carver just thanked the Maker that he hadn’t lost somebody else he loved.

#carvistair #carver x Alistair #carver hawke #Alistair Theirin #can u believe I haven’t posted any writing for them since like.. September #one more of these prompts to go and the idea is there #I just can’t drag it out of my brain into writing 😩 #gremfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

Something I wrote a few months ago for @sunflowerdales featuring pre-Ostagar Carver and their OC/Carver's boyfriend Matthew Presley 💙

“Matthew help, I’m bored,” Carver complained, flopping down onto a chair. Across the room, Matty didn’t even look up from where he worked, kneading his dough. It was his day off from the family bakery but he’d ended up baking anyway, trying out an experiment with a new bread recipe. 

“You’re always bored,” Matty said. “And I’m busy right now, go annoy your brother or something.”

“He went out with Mother,” Carver pouted, blowing a curl of hair away from his face. “I think they were going to the markets or something else boring. And Bethany is busy too.”

Matty flipped the dough over, gently sprinkling more flour. 

“So what do you want me to do about it?”

“I need you to entertain me before I die of boredom,” Carver said with a huffy sigh. He shifted to flop even more dramatically over the table, stretching out across it as much as he could.

Matty just snorted. 

“Matty, I can feel the life seeping out of me,” Carver moaned. “Help. Quick, before it’s too late.” 

“I’ll make sure you have a nice grave,” Matty said, his hands still working, an easy movement refined with years of practice. “The best flowers money can buy. Maybe I’ll even try visit you once or twice a year.”

“What if I just went and died anyway,” Carver muttered, rolling his eyes at his boyfriend, his arms crossed dramatically. “Just to spite you. Then you’d be sorry.”

“Then maybe I’d get some peace and quiet for once,” Matty teased, transferring the dough from the table to the wooden bowl he had ready to go. “If you stop distracting me though, you’ll get to eat this when it’s done.”

“Maybe I’ll hold onto life a little longer then,” Carver said, sitting up straight from the table as he watched Matty cross the room with the bread dough. He placed it by the fire, covering the bowl with a clean cloth as he left it to rise, returning to where Carver had returned to his best impression of looking pathetic and bored in an attempt to prove how much he needed attention. 

Matthew cupped Carver’s face in his hand, leaning down to give him a gentle kiss, pulling back as Carver lifted his head to return it. Before he had a chance to react, Matty rubbed his hand over Carver’s face and Carver swatted him away, trying to wipe away the flour now smeared all over his face.

“I’m going to come back as a ghost and haunt you,” he said, grabbing Matty and pulling him onto his lap. Matty didn’t fight him, shifting slightly to straddle his boyfriend’s lap, Carver’s hands dropping to squeeze his ass. 

“At least you’ll have something to do then,” Matty pointed out, lowering his head to kiss him again.  “Are you still bored now?”

“Super bored,” Carver said, head tilting to the side as Matty pressed a kiss against his jaw. He pulled him slightly closer against him. “Quick, I still need your help.”

“Well, if you really need a distraction or something to do…” Matty trailed off, his mouth moving lower, against Carver’s neck, his hand creeping along Carver’s chest. Carver hummed in interest, his grip tightening where his hands rested on Matty, waiting to hear what the suggestion would be. 

“I do need somebody to clean up the kitchen,” Matty finished, pushing himself away from Carver with a grin.

Carver flopped back onto the table with a groan. 

“Nobody appreciates me,” he muttered, standing up to follow his boyfriend to the other side of the room.

Maybe if they cleaned up quickly, they’d be able to find something more fun to do.

#ty sasha for matty's existence i love him <3 #carver hawke #matthew presley #carver x oc #gremfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

2? <3

2. Kiss on the forehead

Thank you anon! ~800 words of Fenhawke here, involving card night at Fenris' place :)

“Well, I’m off,” Hawke declared loudly to the group, setting down his cards and beginning to gather up his things. “I have an early morning tomorrow, and you’ll send me bankrupt if I stay any longer.”

“I think your fortunes are probably safe from our nefarious clutches,” Fenris told him, his tone dry, pulling the pile of coin he’d already won from Hawke slightly closer across the table. “Even with the luck you’ve had tonight.”

Hawke just snorted and the corner of Fenris’ mouth twitched in amusement at his reaction.

“That’s what someone who wants to take all my money would say,” Hawke said, continuing to pack his things away. “I’ll head home and see you all again next time. Unless anybody else is coming with me?”

The urge to stand up, to leave with Hawke was there but Fenris pushed it aside. It was probably rude to leave a gathering at your own house to accompany somebody else. Even when the alternative was the admittedly very appealing option of quietly spending the night with Hawke and Hawke alone.

“The rest of us have more courage,” Donnic teased as the rest of the group laughed. Hawke just shook his head at them dismissively.

“You’re all so mean to me,” he said, clearly doing his best to look disheartened. His best wasn’t particularly successful. “I will see all of you later, and hopefully you’ll have more luck when I go than I’ve had tonight so far.”

A chorus of goodbyes rang out from the small group in the room as Hawke stepped forward. Fenris jumped as a hand touched his hair, brushing it gently aside. Hawke pressed a quick goodbye kiss against his forehead, avoiding the lyrium marks etched into his skin the way he always did.

“Win enough so you can take me out for a nice dinner,” he whispered, his voice still loud enough that the whole table would surely hear him, and then with one final wave, he slipped out the door.

Fenris turned back to look at the rest of the group, his cheeks feeling hot, not sure what reaction to expect. It was no secret that he and Hawke had resumed their relationship after the time they had spent apart, not something either of them had tried to hide, but they hadn’t exactly been physically affectionate. Not in public, anyway. Not in front of their friends.

His fellow players didn’t seem to know what reaction to have either. Isabela’s mouth hung open in what looked like a combination of surprise and delight while Varric and Donnic expressed their surprise mostly with raised eyebrows. Only Anders seemed relatively unaffected and Fenris wondered how much of that was him pretending not to care because he had bigger things to worry about.

Fenris cleared his throat, reaching for the pile of cards, hoping to move on quickly and with only minimal fuss.

“Looks like our Hawkey can’t keep his hands off you,” Isabela said, her tone even more delighted than her expression. “Don’t expect us to go easy on you just so you can treat your lover to that fancy dinner though. Not unless you’re willing to let me come too.”

“Isabela,” Anders chastised her softly.

“What! I won’t turn down the opportunity for free food,” Isabela said indignantly as Fenris shuffled the cards, hoping to move on quickly from Hawke’s public display of physical affection. He didn’t want his relationship to be the focus or to remain the centre of attention.

“I’m happy for you both,” Donnic said. “I’m glad you could work that out.”

Fenris distributed the cards to the remaining players, not answering.

“Although, I notice your paramour has disappeared and left you here with us,” Isabela added. “You aren’t tempted to disappear off into the night after him? Sweep him off his feet in a show of passion? Give him a kiss back? Maybe more than a kiss.”

The next card hit the table harder than Fenris meant to.

“I’ll bet double if we start right now,” he said loudly, pushing the piles of cards towards their new owners and placing a coin directly in the middle of the table.

“Alright, hint taken,” Donnic said, reaching for his cards. “We’ll move on.”

“We can get the details later,” Isabela whispered to Varric, a dramatic whisper clearly not even meant to be slightly hidden. “Or make some more exciting ones up if needed.”

Fenris just rolled his eyes, shaking his head as the others took their cards too, the game beginning again.

But once his friends were busy, focused once again on their luck and on outmaneuvering each other, Fenris found himself gently touching the place on his forehead where Hawke’s lips had been, trying to hide the tiny smile on his face.

#im trying to just write these quickly without getting stuck for weeks on them so!! fingers crossed!! #this is also super lazily edited oop #fenhawke #i just think......fenris deserves to be a little sappy and soft about hawke.... #gremfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

As Harmless as a Pup

A fic I wrote a few weeks ago based on this Act 1 interaction between Isabela and Carver <3

Carver: So, Isabela. You captained a ship? That's a lot of men to handle. For you to command. Isabela: Well aren't you just adorable fumbling for a topic. Carver: You say that like I'm harmless. Isabela: As harmless as a pup that will someday grow into its fangs and sink them deep. Carver: Sure, keep teasing. I'll show you how much of a pup I am. Isabela: I know. That's why I do it.

Ao3 link

“Doesn’t look like there’s a lot of room in there,” Hawke said, looking at the building that housed the office they were here for. It was definitely small, squashed in between two others, and the interior would undoubtedly be smaller. “We just need to ask a few questions, shouldn’t take long. Fenris, you come with me. Isabela, Carver… you two wait out here.”

With that, Hawke disappeared through the door, Fenris trailing behind. That left Carver alone with the pirate, something that didn’t often happen. And sure, they weren’t alone, the docks were still crawling with people, but… not people they knew. Nobody else to make the conversation flow, give them something to start with. No brother to take all the attention.

Carver cleared his throat, trying to think of a topic of conversation as Isabela made herself comfortable against a wall across the walkway from the office, gazing wistfully off toward the ships.

So, Isabela,” he said, not wanting to waste the opportunity while he had it. “You captained a ship? That's a lot of men to handle. For you to... command.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he was overthinking. He hadn’t really meant it to sound… well, suggestive. Although it wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought of it that way, at least a few times. Maybe more than a few. And wasn’t really what he’d meant, but now that the idea was in his head again…

Isabela giggled.

“Well aren't you just adorable fumbling for a topic,” she said, taking a step towards him. Carver resisted the urge to step back, to maintain the distance between them. Let her come close.

“You say that like I'm harmless,” he frowned, crossing his arms. And it was definitely just a coincidence that doing so also made his muscles flex.

“As harmless as a pup that will someday grow into its fangs and sink them deep,” Isabela said, taking another step closer, her hand placed flat on his chest, sliding up the outside of his shirt, all the way up to his neck. Despite his best intentions to stand still, trying to convince her he was unphased by her words, her actions, he tilted his head away, chin raised. His breath caught slightly as she curled her fingers back down his throat, nails scraping gently across his skin. He was confident that she wasn’t leaving a mark but it was definitely enough to feel.

“Sure, keep teasing,” he said, hoping it wasn’t obvious how dry his mouth had gone. He tried to push away the thoughts of those fingers, those nails, on other parts of his body. He swallowed deeply. “I'll show you how much of a pup I am.”

Isabela gave him a sly smile, moving her hand to brush something - possibly nothing - off his shoulder.

“I know,” she said, leaning toward him. Without even meaning to, Carver leaned closer to her as well, forcing himself to take a breath as he realised he was holding it. “That's why I do it.”

She stepped back again, just as Hawke exited the office, beckoning them over. Carver just watched as Isabela flounced her way back across to Hawke.

“Come on, Carver,” Hawke called impatiently. “If you get left behind, we’re not waiting for you.”

Carver coughed again, trying to clear his throat and remember how to make his legs move again. It wasn’t how he’d expected the interaction to go down but… well, he didn’t really mind. Really really didn’t mind.

As he started forward, Isabela spun back to face him, snapping her teeth towards him twice, following the movement with a wink.

Carver sighed.

He just wondered when he’d next get a moment alone with Isabela.

#originally posted this last week and then kinda spiralled and deleted it like.. half an hour later oops #fingers crossed for attempt 2 lmao #carver hawke #isabela dragon age #carvabela #gremfic #carver/isabela

[kirkwallgremlin]

What If?

The Hawke family has been forced to flee their home, overrun with Darkspawn. When Bethany is badly injured in an ogre attack on the road, her brothers do their best to look after her and keep their family moving to safety. Written for the (now very late) DAtober prompt "what if"

AO3 link, 1,371 words

They heard the ogre coming before they saw it, felt the ground shaking before the horns loomed through the fog. But even with the warning, the size of the thing was still a shock as the creature stormed into view.

It looked bigger than the ones Carver had seen at Ostagar, though maybe it just seemed that way as it rushed towards his family.

His sword was already drawn, prepared, warned by the approaching noise, but it made a line for the other side of the clearing. The wrong side.

The side where his mother and sister stood.

“Maker give me strength,” he heard Bethany say, his sister’s words clear despite how far away from him she felt and Carver twisted toward her in alarm as she swung her staff towards it. He barely managed one step towards them before the creature roared in anger, her fireball hitting it directly in the face.

He watched in horror as it grabbed his sister in its horrible claws with speed he wouldn’t have thought possible, speed that somehow seemed both too fast and too slow, lifting her high into the air. She didn’t stay there long, hitting the ground with one of the most sickening sounds Carver had ever heard in his life, a sound he knew would be burned into his brain forever.

“Bethany,” he yelled, every nerve in his body screaming at him to drop what he was doing, run to his sister’s side. But the ogre was still there, still a threat to Bethany, to the rest of his family, and he had a job to do, a family to protect.

The rest of the fight passed in a blur. Some part of him was aware of what he was doing as he fought, the blood splattering across his face. The pain from the only partially healed wound from Ostagar began to burn all over again as he pushed himself harder than he probably should have, but his only real focus, the only thing he could really think about, was the need to keep his family safe.

When the ogre’s body hit the ground, Carver paused only long enough to be confident it wasn’t going to come after him or his family again before scrambling to his sister’s side. He didn’t even care if it was dead, only that he had the time to reach his twin, praying harder than he’d ever prayed before that she was ok, that she would be ok.

His brother was already there, that familiar light already coating his hands, the healing spell weaving its way around Bethany’s limp body. Their mother sobbed beside them, begging Bethany to open her eyes up as she squeezed her daughter’s hand.

There was some hope, her shallow, ragged breaths better than none, but the breaths were strained and there was so much blood. The ogre was so big, had thrown her so far.

Silently, trying to swallow down the awful feeling stuck in his throat, Carver grabbed for the first aid kit. It wasn’t much, hastily thrown together in the chaos when the whole family had fled home, but he was desperate to do something, anything that might help his sister. He needed to do something that might help drown out the numbness trying to spread through him, the fear, the feeling that if he’d been quicker, got to that ogre first, maybe he could have stopped this.

That was his job.

It was the least he could do but he’d failed that again, failed yet again to save anybody. He’d failed at Ostagar, he’d failed his home and now maybe he’d failed his sister, his family.

He didn’t know how he’d live without her.

“Don’t leave me, Bethany,” he whispered, tears pricking in his eyes as he wiped some of the blood from her, trying desperately to work out the extent of her injuries, what might be the most useful for his brother to see.

He couldn’t lose anything else. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not ever.

“Get the healing potion,” Garrett said, the glow around his hands fading momentarily and Carver scrambled for the other bag, hoping his frantic searching wouldn’t break anything.

“I’m sorry, mistress, your daughter is gone,” the warrior woman, Aveline, said from behind them as Carver’s fingers finally closed around the bottle he needed.

“Shut up,” Carver snapped at her at the same time their mother wailed “I won’t let them, I won’t let these things take my daughter.” He didn’t wait for her reaction, turning back to his sister, digging the cork free.

“Come on, Bethy,” he whispered, pressing the bottle to her lips as carefully as possible, mindful not to let her choke on the green liquid. Beside him, he could sense Garrett’s movements, though what he was doing was beyond Carver. “I can’t do this without you.”

“That’s all I can do,” Garrett said after a moment, sitting back on his heels, concern still clear on his face.

“What do you mean, that’s all you can do?” Carver snapped. “Is she ok? You can’t just let her die.”

“I’m not a healer, Carver,” Garrett snapped right back at him. “I can heal but my abilities are limited, especially after...” He paused, glancing back the way they had come, where smoke still coloured the sky. “After… today. After everything.”

Carver’s shoulders dropped. He knew it was true. Garrett would do anything possible in his power to protect their sister, but she was still hurt and that desperate urge to do more was still there. What if they hadn’t done enough?

He’d do whatever it took, take on the whole Darkspawn army again, all by himself, travel to the end of the earth, rip open the sky itself if it would guarantee his sister would be ok or let him go back to just a moment before she rushed forward, as determined and stubborn and passionate as she always was.

He’d never wished more that he had magic of his own, like his twin, his brother, his father. Maybe then he’d be able to do more to help her.

“Can we move her?” he asked instead, and Garrett hesitated, worry written clear across his face.

“I think so,” he said. “But I can’t… I don’t know Carver. I healed what I can but I don’t know what I can’t see.”

Carver glanced back, the sun coloured red through the smoke of the destruction behind them, knowing the road behind them was littered with the darkspawn that wouldn’t stop coming.

“We can’t leave her here,” he said. “We have to keep moving. We have to get her somewhere safe, her and mother.”

Beside him, Garrett just nodded, silent, their mother still sobbing as the woman Aveline and her templar husband did their best to awkwardly comfort her. Carver moved to slip his arm under his sister, praying to the Maker the movement didn’t hurt her, but Garrett’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“I’ll take her,” he said quietly and Carver shook his head, defensive feelings flaring. Bethany was his twin. He could look after her. “There’s a reason you were the one at Ostagar,” Garrett pointed out. “There’ll be more of them. She needs you to be able to fight. We all need you.”

Carver hesitated for a moment but he sighed, knowing his brother was right. Gently, as gently as he possibly could, he moved his arms from his sister. He squeezed her hand, their fingers locked together.

“You’re not leaving me like this, Bethy,” he whispered. “I love you. You’ll be ok.”

“Love you too,” she mumbled, cradled in Garrett’s arms as Carver stood, stepping towards their mother, wrapping his arm reassuringly around her shoulders.

“We’ll all be ok,” Garrett said, though Carver could tell their eyes met that neither of them were completely convinced of that. “We just need to keep moving. We have to get to Kirkwall.”

“Follow up the rear,” Carver told Aveline, drawing his sword in preparation for more Darkspawn ahead as he led the way down the path.

And as they walked, his sister cradled in their brother’s arms, he prayed that he hadn’t let go of her hand for the last time.

#carver hawke #bethany hawke #mixed feelings abt this tbh! but its done so here! #finally showing up in the tags now i think though!! #sorry to anyone who watched me post and delete it 3 times <3 #and its late BUT its still october for another hour and a half so its not really late (: #gremfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

23. a hug that some might consider as ~too long~ , for Alistair x Warden? (or other pairing if you'd prefer)

Prompt #4 was "a hug after not seeing someone for a long time and I tried to answer both of these with the one fic, featuring Alistair and my beloved Frankie Brosca 💙 @mournholdmushroom

It had been a long trip, too long really, keeping Frankie from seeing the man she loved.

Visiting her family - those of them she wished to see, anyway - had been nice but Vigil’s Keep felt more like home than Orzammar ever had, and she had never been more glad to see the walls, the gates, the door that encircled her home.

She saw Alistair the instant the door opened, his face brightening as he spotted her. His long legs closed the distance between with much greater speed than her own as they hurried towards each other, his arms wrapping around her as he reached her.

Alistair had to bend to reach her properly, even with Frankie raised up on her toes, but with the pressure of his arms around her, her own around him, she felt like she was properly home.

“How was your family?” he asked, his voice in her ear.

“They’re good,” Frankie said, her face against his chest as she tried to press closer, as close as she possibly could. “Endrin is getting so big and grown up now. But I told them you're coming with me next time. I missed you too much to leave you for that long again.”

“I missed you too.” Alistair pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Please don’t leave me here alone again. People kept asking me to make decisions and expecting me to be responsible.”

“I’m sure you did fine,” Frankie said. “You managed to keep the place running, clearly.”

Alistair made a grumpy noise and Frankie laughed softly.

“Imagine if you’d ended up in charge of all of Ferelden,” she said, and this time Alistair’s noise was disgusted as well as just grumpy.

There was a cough beside them, the sound of a throat being cleared and Frankie turned her head.

“I apologise, Warden-Commander,” the senechal said. “I can see you’re, uh, busy, but now that you’re back, there are some matters that need your attention.”

“The quicker I help him, the quicker we can be alone,” she whispered as Alistair’s arms tightened around her. His reluctance as he slowly released her was clear.

“Fine,” he muttered, bending down once more as she raised herself up on her toes to kiss him.

“I’ll be quick,” she said as she followed Varel.

It had been a long trip, but as busy as life at Vigil’s Keep could be, she was glad to be home, where she could once again be in Alistair’s arms.

#thank you both <3 <3 #i feel like its been ages since i wrote about them 🥺 #dont ask me about a timeline for this pls i couldnt be bothered working that out #somewhere in the awakening timeline i guess #brosca #alistair x brosca #alistair x warden #fic: frankie #gremfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

Hi, Emily! If you're still looking for prompts, #16 kissing knuckles, or #5 giggly cuddles for the characters of your choice, or Carver x Alistair, if you'd prefer someone else choose. Enjoy!

Thank you 💜 I went with #16, kissing knuckles for Carver x Alistair, there are knuckle kisses but it ended up being less of a focus than I intended :')

Nights where the nightmares came were nothing new.

It kind of came with the territory of being a warden, though they didn’t tend to tell you that until it was too late to turn back. And when you’d experienced the things he and Carver had, the blights and battles and brushes with death, the bad dreams didn’t always come from the Darkspawn.

Even half asleep as he was, Alistair could tell that tonight was another one of those nights for Carver. It was clear in the sound of his breathing, the irregular rhythm, the way his body tensed as he curled back against Alistair.

“Carv,” he said, his voice soft as he tightened the arm currently flung over Carver’s side, his forehead pressed sleepily against Carver’s back. “It’s alright, you’re safe.”

Carver shuddered as he jerked awake, his breathing still unsteady, loud in the dark.

“Alistair?” he said, sounding uncertain.

“I’m here,” Alistair said, placing his hand on Carver’s chest, feeling the racing beat of Carver’s heart under his palm. Carver lifted his own hand, grasping Alistair’s, fingers intertwined with comfortable familiarity.

“Want to talk about it?” Alistair asked sleepily, forehead resting against Carver’s back as Carver shook his head. “Need to talk about it?” Alistair added. Wants and needs were not always the same, after all. But Carver shook his head again, his grip tightening, squeezing Alistair’s hand in his own.

“You being here is enough,” he said, his head tilting down to press his lips against Alistair’s knuckles. They lingered there for a moment, a simple touch, but the contact seemed to comfort Carver.

Pressed against him, Alistair could feel the tension in Carver’s body beginning to ease, only slightly but Alistair knew Carver well enough to tell by now.

“Do you need me?” Alistair asked, trying to keep his eyes open, arm still wrapped around Carver with a steady pressure. “I’m sleepy but I can wake up if you need me. Or try to anyway. It is late, after all. But I’m here if you need me for anything.”

“I’m ok,” Carver said, pressing his lips to Alistair’s hand once more, their fingers twining together. “I know you’re here. Makes everything feel a little better.”

“Love you, Carv,” Alistair whispered, trying to hold off the sleepy fog in his brain until he was sure Carver wouldn’t need him.

“Love you too,” Carver said. “You get some sleep.”

“If you need me just… poke me or something,” Alistair said, noting Carver’s almost laugh at his words. “I’ll wake up.”

“Will do,” he said, and as Alistair drifted to sleep, his last thought was that Carver was right.

Everything did feel better when they were together.

#it took me like an hour to write 3/4 of this and then the last 100 words was like. 3 weeks lol #i just checked its been almost exactly a month #i started this aug 19 :') #ANYWAY thank you for sending the prompt <3 #carver hawke #alistair theirin #carver x alistair #carvistair #gremfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

Here's some short silly, sleepy Carver/Alistair that my brain blurted out in an attempt to break through writers block <3 inspired by a tiktok i saw ages back that i now cannot find

The moon was high in the sky, silver light filtering through the open window. Alistair yawned, warm and comfortable, almost asleep with Carver’s head resting on his chest. One of Carver’s arms wrapped around him and the sound of his breath was slow and steady in Alistair’s ears, his own chest rising and falling to match.

He was tired but not quite ready to sleep, not yet, though his eyes didn’t want to stay open as his fingers toyed lazily with a curl of Carver’s hair.

“Alistair?” Carver murmured softly and Alistair made a sleepy noise in response.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said and Carver shifted slightly, shaking his head.

“Thinking,” he said.

“About what?”

“I was wondering,” Carver said, lifting his arm from across Alistair’s body as though making a half-hearted attempt to look at him. “Do you think it would be easier to fight one really big nug or a bunch of small ones working together?”

Alistair paused for a moment, forcing his eyes open to look at Carver.

“Why in Andraste’s name are you wondering that?” he asked and Carver gave a tiny shrug, his head still on Alistair’s chest. “It’s late, go to sleep,” Alistair added, stifling a yawn.

Carver didn’t answer, just wrapped his arm back around Alistair, pressing himself even closer, his body warm against Alistair’s side. They fell back into silence, Alistair’s eyes slowly drifting closed, blocking out the eerie shadows the moonlight cast.

But he found his brain was still too busy to sleep.

“How much damage do you think a single nug would do?” he asked, eyes opening again. Carver lifted his head, pushing himself away from Alistair to more of a sitting position.

“That’s where I’m stuck! I’d say not much but if they were determined, would numbers give them the advantage?”

“Look,” Alistair said, shifting so that he was sitting alongside Carver. “Exactly how determined are they in this situation? Because I’ve seen some angry nugs before but I’m not sure how much damage they’d do. And are they your standard nugs or are they specially trained for fighting? And if a single nug doesn’t do much damage, how much would a big one do, really?”

As Carver opened his mouth to answer, Alistair found himself caught up in exactly the same thoughts that had kept Carver’s brain busy, and though he knew he was tired, he really wasn’t that tired.

Sleep could wait. They had some important things to think about.

#carver hawke #alistair theirin #carver x alistair #carvistair #there was not a lot of thought put into this and even less thought put into editing tbh askfhkl but hey it exists now #gremfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

Giveaway fic #2

For @varric-tethras-editor, featuring her Silvhen Mahariel and Alistair 💚

The music rang through the tavern, lively and spirited, the mood higher than it had been in a long time. Alistair wasn’t used to being in such a public place, full of so many people, and although some part of him worried at being recognised, thrust into yet another dangerous situation, it was nice to have a night like this. A night where they could relax, let their guard down as much as possible, enjoy the progress they had made so far.

A night where they could pretend every day wasn’t putting them closer and closer to danger, towards the archdemon and its ever growing army.

Despite the number of people around them, Alistair was keenly aware that somebody - a few people, really, though one was on his mind more than others - was missing. The party had indulged for once, invested in a few rooms in the tavern, and while Zevran and Alistair had already made their way downstairs, they were the only members of the party who had.

“Relax, my friend,” Zevran said, as Alistair glanced once again at the stairs. “She will be here soon enough.”

Alistair coughed.

“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “I’m just… just wondering what’s keeping her. Them. All of them. As a common courtesy, you know, I...”

He trailed off as Zevran raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well it seems you won’t have to wait for all of them much longer, my friend,” he said and Alistair spun to face the staircase again, his eyes seeking out Silvhen. It seemed she was looking for him too, beaming at him with a wave across the room as their eyes made contact.

The elf looked beautiful, her smile lighting up her whole face, and Alistair felt his breath catch in his throat. He watched her cross the room towards him, people parting to let her through, trying to work out what he should say to her.

Despite his best intentions to tell her exactly how beautiful she looked, his brain hadn’t quite found the words by the time she reached him, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him on the cheek as a greeting.

“I’ve never seen you in a skirt before,” he blurted out instead, wishing he had found something more eloquent to say as she nodded, her fingers toying with the short strands of hair at the base of her neck.

“First time,” she said, twisting in a way that caused the fabric to swirl around her, Alistair’s eyes watching it move. “Leliana gave it to me. She tried to give me some of her shoes to go with it but they didn’t fit my feet.” She giggled. “I think she was disappointed.”

“You look…” he started, still lost for words as he tried to find the right ones to describe her. Everything he could think of didn’t feel like it did her the justice she deserved. In front of him, Silvhen slowed, her hands nervously smoothing down the fabric as she waited for him to finish.

“You look beautiful,” he said, accepting that maybe the words he wanted, the words he needed to be able to properly describe her, didn’t exist. Silvhen blushed regardless, even if he hadn’t found the words he hoped to find.

“Thank you,” she said, pausing as she looked at him. He opened his mouth again, still not feeling like simply beautiful was adequate, but no new words came.

“I’m not used to wearing it though,” Silvhen giggled. “It makes me feel strangely naked underneath! It’s like I’m not wearing pants!”

Alistair felt his cheeks grow hot at the idea, trying to keep that idea out of his head.

“I’ll get you a drink?” he said instead, attempting to clear his throat with a faint cough, and Silvhen nodded.

It was several drinks later that Alistair found himself sitting by himself by the wall of the tavern, alcohol fogging his thoughts as he watched Silvhen dance, Leliana by her side. Zevran sat across the room, an enraptured audience surrounding him as he regaled them with tales of his past. From what Alistair could hear, it sounded like the truth was stretched enough that it was almost true while keeping the truth of his identity, his history, a secret.

Silvhen slowed her movements ever so slightly as she realised Alistair was watching, a smile breaking out across her face, a face already so filled with joy and affection for the people around her.

It only made her more beautiful.

And despite everything - despite the Blight, the danger that filled their lives - all Alistair could think was how lucky he was that such a woman had come into his life, a woman so beautiful, so filled with joy, dancing with her borrowed skirt swirling around her.

#alistair theirin #alistair x mahariel #alistair x warden #this was a v. cute idea and i had fun writing it <3 #thank you for participating! #gremfic #giveawayfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

Giveaway fic #1

for @jewishtabris, featuring Arana Tabris, Zevran and their toddler Alma 💙

Zevran watched his opponent, stepping to the side as she stepped towards him. It wasn’t hard to avoid her - his daughter was, after all, only two years old. She giggled as she toddled towards him again, poking at him with the blunt knife she clutched in her hand.

He wondered if the kitchens knew they were missing one of their butter knives.

“You have wounded me, Alma,” he said as the knife made contact, clutching his hands dramatically against his stomach. “I am bested by your superior knowledge and skill.”

He stumbled back, dropping to the ground in an exaggerated movement. Still giggling, the toddler followed him back, brandishing her knife before her.

“Win!” she said, climbing atop Zevran’s chest, her tiny fingers grasping at his tunic as she pulled herself closer. He steadied her with his own hands as she beamed at him.

“You are a master already,” he told her, brushing a few strands of dark hair from the side of her face. “But, dear one, I fear you neglect one vital piece of information.”

She gazed at him, the meaning of his words beyond her but clearly still delighted by the time and attention with her father.

“You forget I can do this,” he continued, scooping her up in his arms. She squealed with laughter as he buried his face against her stomach, her fingers in his hair.

“Don’t take your loss too personally,” he told her, clutching his daughter safely in his arms as he stood again. “You were up against an expert former Antivan Crow. One of the best, so they say.”

“Win!” she said again, her knife still clutched in her hand, and Zevran shook his head.

“Well, I suppose I can’t argue with that logic,” he said, lifting Alma high up into the air as she giggled again.

“More!” she said. “Up! Up, Papi!”

“As you wish,” Zevran said, raising her once again before dipping her down low. The knife still clutched in her hand slipped, clattering to the ground and they both jumped.

“Knife,” Alma said, pointing frantically at the ground. “My knife.”

Behind them, somebody coughed and both Zevran and the toddler in his arms turned to look at the elf standing in the doorway. His partner didn’t look at all impressed, and Zevran could understand why. Her experiences with weapons at a young age - much like his own - had been significantly less safe or enjoyable than the game he and Alma had found.

“Mame!” Alma said, twisting in Zevran’s arms, her own arms outstretched, the knife apparently forgotten. He set her down to run across the room to her mother. He could reassure his partner of their daughter’s safety later.

“I missed you, my love,” Arana said, pressing a kiss against Alma’s cheek as she lifted her, the kiss followed by a second.

“We missed you too,” Zevran told her. “How was your trip?”

“Busy.” She smiled fondly at her family, though a hint of emotion, of worry and fear, still lingered. “I’m glad to be home.”

“And we are glad to have you,” he said, Alma’s tiny hand against his face as he kissed her mother on the cheek.

“Knife!” Alma said again, straining in Arana’s arms, the exciting new toy suddenly back in her memory. The woman’s arms tightened around her, seemingly hesitant to set her daughter down but Alma was persistent. She raced towards the metal object as soon as her feet touched the ground, demonstrating an impressive amount of speed for somebody so small as she scooped it up again.

Arana looked at Zevran.

“Why does our child have a knife?” she asked, her tone making it clear she wasn’t pleased at the development, and Zevran smiled sheepishly. He’d had the same question earlier.

“I believe it was a gift from Sigrun,” he said. “Apparently she tried to make her way into the armoury with a group of Wardens while Anders was watching her. They said she walked right in like she’d been there all her life.”

“I can imagine,” Arana said, her voice softening, watching the toddler confidently stomp her way around the room, brandishing the knife in question in front of her.

“I thought it safer to let her keep it than allow her to find an alternative, should she keep seeking,” Zevran said, taking her hand in his own, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles against her skin.

“I just worry about her,” Ariana told him softly, her concern still clear. “I don’t want her to have to fight.”

“I know,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “I do too. But she is safe, having fun. There is no danger.”

Arana sighed, not looking convinced.

“She will not have the childhood we did,” Zevran assured her. “We can ensure this remains a game, something fun for her.”

Across the room, Alma wobbled, landing on her bottom as she overbalanced. From the expression on her face, she wasn’t quite sure if she should be upset at the development but Zevran stepped across the room to her regardless.

“We can keep her safe,” he promised, looking back at his partner as he scooped their daughter back into his arms. “Now. Have you bathed? Unpacked? Had a moment to yourself after all your hard work?”

He kissed Arana farewell, promising to bring Alma back to her after dinner, as she left the two of them alone once more. Alma waved goodbye to her as she left, still in Zevran’s arms.

“Now, let’s get you some food,” he said, carrying Alma towards the same door her mother had just left through. “And yes, you will be eating your vegetables tonight.”

“Veggie-bles,” Alma frowned and Zevran sighed.

“Perhaps we can negotiate,” he conceded.

And though the vegetables may be negotiable, he knew that his child’s safety never would be.

#zevran arainai #tabris #zevran x warden #zevran x tabris #arana tabris #thank you again for participating #it was v. fun thinking about zevran as a dad <3 #gremfic #giveawayfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

DA-tober days 1-3: OCs or and Factions

I did OCs AND factions together so here's my non-protag OC and how she encountered the Grey Wardens she'd later join <3 This is set in Orlais, around the same time-ish as the battle of Ostagar, they are not aware of the Blight and the battle. Use your imagination and pretend they’re all talking in Orlesian :’) Note: Eila is a city elf who uses she/they pronouns which alternate during this fic :)

The stories, Eila had realised, often left out the tedious parts. They told you of the adventures, the heroics, but nobody ever talked about the sore feet, the days of walking without anybody to talk to, the frustration of backtracking when you realised you’d gone the wrong way.

Her idea had made so much sense when she had planned it. Leave home. Find fame and fortune. Finally gain enough influence that people might listen, make the effort to actually finally help their family, their people. But it had been over a month now, two weeks of walking, heading to bigger cities, hoping for the best without even a hint of progress or a proper path to guide her, and Eila was starting to wonder if she’d made a mistake. Maybe she should go home, try a different path to change.

She sighed, the breath shifting one of the pieces of loose hair that drifted across her face.

The idea of going home, admitting to their parents that maybe they’d had a point when she left… maybe she’d take the walking for another few weeks.

She had just started to wonder how much longer it could possibly be to the next town, until she could find something to break the tedium of walking and walking there was a strange noise up ahead, something they didn’t recognise. Something that set off the tiniest hint of alarm in their brain.

Eila drew their knife slowly, thumb tracing the smooth carved hilt, pushing away the pang of homesickness it brought. The dagger had been a gift from her parents a year ago, slipped into the belt her siblings had presented to her. But there was no time for homesickness now, not with the possibility of danger up ahead.

Slowly, they inched forward, pressing closer to the bushes that lined the path until a clearing opened up ahead, a wider space in the trees with the path cutting through it.

Two warriors stood there, clad in blue and silver armour, clearly representing some organisation although not one Eila was familiar with, and in front of them… Eila faltered, uncertain what she was looking at. A small group of horrible creatures, humanoid in shape but clearly not a human or elf, their faces grotesque as they leered at the men in front of them, lunging forward.

Though the creatures were intimidating, the men seemed to know what they were doing, dispatching the majority of them with almost startling ease, the creatures falling quickly to their sword and bow.

One - the only one remaining - seemed to recognise it was outnumbered and made a retreat, thankfully in the opposite direction to where Eila still hid.

“I’m on it,” the taller man said, another arrow drawn, placed ready into his bow as he followed the final enemy.

As his companion disappeared around the corner, the man still in the clearing bent down low over one of the bodies in front of him. Crouched like he was, back to the road with the clearing in front of him, he didn’t seem to see the new creature emerge, heading towards him, Eila watching with wide eyed alarm as she tried to weigh up her options in the split second they had.

There was no way they could make there in time, not before those awful claws landed. Her dagger could but then she’d be left without her main weapon, defenseless, and there was no guarantee she’d make contact. Panicked, she glanced around, spotting a reasonably sized rock nearby.

“Hey,” they yelled, scooping the rock from the ground. The creature hissed as it spun to face her, the rock bouncing off it’s shoulder as it lurched forward with greater speed than she’d expected. Part of her brain registered the man jerking around in response to her call and she had only a moment to wonder if she’d made a mistake, if she should have left the man with the big sword and armour who seemed to know what he was doing deal with it before the creature reached her.

Eila ducked under its reaching arm, slashing at it with their dagger. She missed, but so did it, as she swept low, forcing it to step back, setting it off balance, the creature roaring as she made contact with its arm, drawing a weapon they hadn’t realised it held.

Preparing for her next strike, she stepped back, eyes widening in alarm as she stumbled, landing on her back. The creature stepped forward, the new weapon raised and Eila scrambled back desperately, trying not to panic as the sword lowered.

With a clang, it bounced off another sword appearing above her, the armoured man reaching them just in time. The noise from the creature’s roar rang in Eila’s ears, a chilling sound she didn’t think they’d be likely to forget any time soon as its focus turned from her.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, loud but not loud enough to drown out the sound of the thing in front of her as the man parried it’s next strike.

Part of them wanted to just step back, let him handle it, but… she knew the guilt she would carry with her if something happened, if the man lost when she did. And if he did lose, then she’d still be alone with it and with that weight on her conscience.

Their dagger sank into its back, somehow feeling both more and less resistance than she’d expected. The creature faltered, Eila flinching at the blood that splattered as the man took advantage of its distraction, swinging through with his sword, separating its head from his body. Its body crumpled to the ground between them.

“You ok?” he asked, Eila slowly wiping a tiny splatter from their face, nodding. It didn’t feel like a lie but she hadn’t had time to properly process how true it was.

“Stefan,” he said, his hand outstretched in a friendly greeting. Eila took it cautiously, shaking his hand, her jaw set firmly, determined not to let it that she felt how shaken. She didn’t know this man and there was no way she would let him see a vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

“Eila,” she told him, wondering only a split second later if they should have given a false name. But then, if she was looking to make a name for herself and there was no way to do that without people knowing who you were.

“Eila,” he repeated. “You’re brave. Most people wouldn’t take on a darkspawn like that.”

“Is that what this ugly thing is,” she said, nose wrinkled in distaste as she looked at the body lying on the ground beside them. “I thought they were just a story.”

She’d heard of Darkspawn, everybody had. They played an important role in scaring children into behaving, along with all the other stories. But she’d expected them to stay there, stuck in the bedtime stories parents told to their children, not sprawled lifeless on the ground around her.

Stefan laughed.

“Unfortunately no, not a story. They keep us Wardens on our toes, though most people are unlikely to encounter them.” He frowned. “Been an awful lot of them making it out of the Deep Roads lately, though. More than usual”

“You’re a Warden?” Eila asked. “A Grey Warden?” She’d heard of them too, mostly rumours, the details of the secretive order varying, the Wardens changing from the bravest warriors to monsters barely better than the creatures they fought depending on who was telling the story. But they’d never met one before, or even seen one, at least not one they were aware of.

“In the flesh,” he said with a mock salute, turning away as they were interrupted by the return of his companion. “Give me a moment.”

Crossing the clearing, the pair of them spoke quickly, their voices too low to hear as Eila watched, trying to pretend she knew what to do with her hands as she tried to look confident and untroubled. Stefan gestured towards them and the Darkspawn corpse, his companion glancing over as he did.

She busied herself wiping the blood off her dagger, curiosity about their conversation eating away at her but determined not to let that show. Her nose wrinkled at the blood as she did so, so close to the blood she was familiar with and yet somehow different.

“So, Eila,” Stefan said, returning to her. “You have anywhere to be?”

Eila hesitated, weighing up her answer. The real answer was no. She was just working the where out as they went along. But telling a strange man that, one she’d only just met, in the middle of nowhere...

“It’s just that you did sorta save my life,” he continued. “I think I owe you a drink. There’s a tavern in the town up the road that does a decent feed and has ale that isn’t totally awful. You interested?”

“Does your friend mind?” she asked, worried she’d be imposing if she accepted but… imagine the stories they’d have to pass on if she had dinner with an actual Grey Warden. At the very least, her family wouldn’t be able to deny she’d done anything interesting if - when - she returned to them. Hopefully successful, with enough influence that people might actually listen to her, care what she said.

“That’s Max,” he said, nodding at the other Warden, busy checking the bodies of the Darkspawn around them. “It was his idea.”

“Well then, why not?” Eila said with a grin, sheathing her now mostly clean dagger. “Not like I have any better offers and I won’t say no to a free meal. Bet I can drink more than you, though.”

Stefan laughed.

“You’re on,” he said as EIla joined the two Grey Wardens, heading down the road, starting her journey down a path she never expected to end up on.

#datober #datober 2021 #this ended up so much longer than i intended omg especially when its for SUCH a niche audience (aka pretty much me) #there's not a single canon da character in it 🤡 #BUT i think abt eila a lot so its nice to have this written down even if it is v self indulgent :) #i hate writing any kind of action or fighting tho and it was interesting thinking abt eilas pronouns in here #bc i havent actually written them much and i had to work out what i wanted to do #def should edit this at least once more but fuck it im done #and ALSO im keeping stefan and max they're her friends now #gremfic

[kirkwallgremlin]

Memories of a Little Boy

1873 words, Carver & Malcolm Hawke featuring his relationship with Hawke and Bethany. Brothers can be a pain in the ass, especially when you're the one that always seems to get in trouble. Carver talks about the latest problem his brother is causing with their father.

[read on ao3]

“Go away,” Carver shouted, kicking the sticks he’d been building with aside in frustration as the entire thing crumbled to the ground again. Garrett just poked his tongue out. “This is why nobody likes mages.”

“Carver!” he heard their mother snap and he spun in alarm, not realising she had exited the house, let alone moved close enough to hear them.

Of course she’d heard him and not seen Garrett being a pest. It always happened like that.

“Apologise to your brother,” she told him, the look on her face telling him that he was in big trouble. But Carver stood silently looking at her, his fists balled defiantly by his sides. His lip wobbled but he clenched his jaw, determined not to let any of them see it.

Garrett should be apologising to him. He was the one using his stupid magic to make things impossible for Carver for absolutely no reason except to be the most annoying person in the world.

“He deserved it,” he said, watching his mother’s frown deepen. He knew he was in trouble, knew he’d only get in more trouble by refusing to apologise, but he couldn’t. Apologising was like admitting he was wrong and he wasn’t.

Tears burned in his eyes, threatening to fall and he tried to blink them away. The effort of holding them back made his throat hurt.

Garrett folded his arms, standing beside their mother. He poked his tongue out again and Carver stamped his foot, frustrated.

“You always take his side,” he yelled. “You like him better because he’s a mage. But I’d be happier if the Templars came and took him away.”

He knew he’d gone too far but he felt like sometimes it was true and the words were out there now. Determined not to let either of them see him cry, he turned and ran, heading away from the house, hoping he wouldn’t run into anybody else.

“Carver Aristide Hawke!” he heard their mother yell after him, the full name further compounding evidence that he was in Big Trouble. “You come back here right now.”

Maybe by the time he came back, she’d be less mad and he wouldn’t be in as much trouble.

Maybe he wouldn’t come back. That’d show them.

There was a rocky hill near the lake outside the village and Carver found himself there, tucked in behind a boulder where he could keep himself slightly hidden from the main road. He didn’t know how he felt, really. Angry yes, at Garrett, at their mother, at himself. Upset. Frustrated. He felt like he was shaking.

A tuft of grass grew nearby, almost out of arm’s reach and he scowled at it, imagining it was Garrett’s head. If he focused hard enough, maybe he’d be able to do something magic to it. Set it on fire. Freeze it. Shake it out of the ground or suck the life out of it like mages could apparently do.

Nothing happened.

Nothing ever happened when he tried. Not like the others. Not like Garrett or Bethany.

He ripped the grass out of the ground instead, flinging it away as hard as he could.

“Whoa there,” somebody said and Carver curled in on himself, legs tucked up against his chest. “Careful, Junior. You’ll take somebody’s head off.”

His father came into view beside the rock. He didn’t look angry but Carver didn’t want to take any chances. If he was here, then Mother must have told him that something had happened. He just hoped she hadn’t told him what Carver had said.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

The urge to cry was still there and Carver didn’t trust himself to answer. Instead he just shook his head. He really wasn’t sure if he was saying no, I don’t mind or no, you can’t, but his father sat beside him anyway.

“Want to talk about it?”

Carver just pulled out another tuft of grass, throwing that one away too. It didn’t go anywhere near as far as he hoped, the weight of the plant not enough to stop it from falling frustratingly short.

His father pressed something against his hand and he took it silently. A rock, one of the small fragments broken from the larger rocks around them.

“This one’s a bit heavier than grass. Might travel a little further,” he said as Carver wrapped his fingers around it. Carver glanced at him quickly, looking away when he thought their eyes might meet, pulling his limbs tighter around himself. “Just aim that way, away from the path. We don’t want to be responsible for any injuries.”

The edge of the rock was rough under Caver’s skin as he ran his thumb along the broken edge. He finally gave in, releasing himself slightly from the ball he’d curled into, pulling his arm back as he threw it as far he could, the distance much more satisfying than the grass had been. Before he even had time to lower his arm, another rock was being offered.

“Think you can make it all the way to the water?” his father challenged him, lifting his own rock. “I bet I can.”

None of their rocks made it even close to the water, but Carver didn’t really care. It felt good to throw them, like he was throwing parts of his anger and frustration away with every pebble.

“Hey Junior, this one looks like a heart,” his father said, holding the rock up to Carver. Carver did his best not to smile as he took it.

“Can I keep it?” he asked shyly and his father laughed, nodding as Carver slipped the rock into his pocket, flipping it between his fingers. It was the perfect size to hold.

“So Junior, ready to tell me what happened yet?”

“Garrett was using his magic on me,” Carver said, still fiddling with the rock in his pocket, trying to stop his mood from dipping too much again. “I was trying to build a wall so Bethany and I could be knights attacking a castle and he set one of my sticks on fire. And then he kept making the ground shake so they’d fall over. And he wouldn’t stop even though I kept telling him to.”

“Ah. We’ve been practicing that one,” his father said. “I wondered why he was so enthusiastic about practicing it. I’ll talk to him about that.”

“He always does things like that. But then I always get in trouble. Mother didn’t even want to hear what happened. She just yelled at me when he was the one who did something wrong.”

Carver’s lip wobbled as he gripped his new rock tightly. He ran his thumb over the smooth surface, rubbing circles against it.

“Must have been frustrating,” he said and Carver sniffed, trying to stop his nose from running like it was threatening to do. He nodded.

“I didn’t mean what I said though. About nobody liking mages or the templars taking him away. I’d miss him if that happened.”

“I know. And I’m sure Garrett does too. ” His father wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in for a sideways hug. “It’s easy to say things you don’t mean when you’re angry. But it’s important to be careful. You can’t always take things back once they’re said or done.”

“I know.” Carver looked down at the ground. He’d felt guilty about it ever since the words had left his mouth. “Why do you all get to be magic though? Why am I the only one who isn’t?”

When he and Bethany were younger, they’d pretend to be mages like their father, bravely casting their spells in the privacy of their own homes, with nobody around to wonder how the Hawke children knew so much about magic. Then Garrett had discovered his power and the twins had been fascinated, wondering what it was like, wondering if they would be magic too or if they’d be like their mother.

They shared so much that they always imagined they’d share their magic or lack thereof as well. But then Bethany had thrown somebody across a field trying to protect Carver and now he sometimes felt like he was losing her. Instead of the two of them playing together, she’d disappear with Garrett and their father to practice, doing Maker knows what, while he was left behind.

Now, instead of Carver and Bethany, a united force against the world, against Garrett, he was the one on the outside.

He’d tried so hard to make something magic happen, so that he could be like his sister, practicing with his father and his siblings, but no matter how hard he tried, how hard he’d practiced, nothing had ever happened. Bethany had told him how it felt, tried to teach him, but he was starting to lose hope.

“I don’t think anybody really knows how it works,” his father said. “It’s not always a blessing, Junior. It can be scary and dangerous and it’s forever. You’d always be looking over your shoulder, forever.”

Carver couldn’t help but think he didn’t care. He could face that danger with Bethany, both of them together. It wouldn’t matter, not if they were together. But instead, she was facing it alone.

“You have an important job too, Junior,” his father said. “There’s lots of ways to protect people without magic. Things you can learn to do when you don’t already have magic. Maybe we can practice those some more if you’d like to learn to fight.”

Carver looked at him, nodding with wide eyed enthusiasm. They’d done play fighting before but never proper teaching, and he liked the idea of that.

And what use would magic be against a sword? Maybe he’d finally get the upper hand on Garrett.

“Alright, tell you what, kiddo,” he said, ruffling Caver’s hair. “We head back and I’ll see what weapons I can find for you some time. You ready to go?”

“Can we start now?” asked Carver, still full of enthusiasm as he bounced to his feet. The rock in his pocket bounced against his leg as his father laughed.

“Maybe not today,” he said. “It’ll take time to find something and I’ll have a think about the best way we’re going to practice. I’m a little rusty with a sword, haven’t needed one much. But we’ll find something, won’t we, Carv?”

Carver nodded, a grin spreading across his face. Maybe he couldn’t do magic but he could protect his family in another way. Maybe he could be the best warrior in the Hawke family.

“You’ll still need to apologise to your brother and mother though.”

Carver frowned, his lower lip stuck out.

“Fine,” he said.

But even the idea of that, of admitting that he was wrong even though it was definitely Garrett’s fault, wasn’t enough to outshine his new excitement as he took his father’s hand and they headed home.

If being a mage was so dangerous, then maybe the reason he wasn’t one was because it was his job to keep his family safe instead.

Maybe he wasn’t ever meant to be Carver Hawke the mage.

Maybe he was meant to be Carver Hawke the warrior, protector of his family instead.

#i am once again emotional about #carver hawke #malcolm hawke #carver and malcolm #this idea barged its way into my head at 1:40pm on monday when i was driving to a work meeting #and it was written and finished less than 10 hours later lmao #gremfic