#kallian did a thing

[kalstuff]

when no one's looking i like to think he becomes a cat daddy

#trigun #trigun stampede #wolfwood #nicholas d wolfwood #kuroneko #tristamp #i know itìs rather ooc i just thought it'd be fun to draw him like this lol #kallian did a thing

[breninarthur]

rain - thalia trevelyan & kallian tabris

thalia gets lost in the rain, kallian finds her. a platonic kiss for @nirikeehan & oc kiss week 🥰 i hope i did your girl justice!

rated g, no warnings. 967 words. divider credit.

The Hero of Ferelden sat on a stool not too far from the bed, her elbow propped up casually on the dresser next to her, and sitting in a manner Thalia knew her teachers would call “unladylike” until they were blue in the face.

She was everything Thalia could have imagined and more.

“Thank you so much for rescuing me, Warden-Commander Tabris,” she stammered, aiming for a calm air of quiet respect that she was most certainly not achieving.

The Hero had found her in the torrential rain, soaked to the bone and utterly lost. Thalia had been all but carried to a small, modest cottage; had clean clothes and woolly blankets thrown at her; and a warming bowl of stew plonked into her hands with barely a word said. It wasn’t until she’d said that the Inquisition would be grateful for the help that the Warden had said who she was, a little surprised herself that the wet cat she'd rescued had been Inquisitor Trevelyan.

That was when Thalia had frozen, mentally stumbling over the information over and over in her head.

“Oh don’t worry about it.” The Hero waved her hand, oblivious. “What were you doing out here on your own, anyway?”

Ah. The crux of the matter. Thalia felt some warmth return to her cheeks.

“I… got separated from my party,” she answered cautiously, quickly running through what next she could say. Leliana’s warnings about what type of person the Hero was were difficult to heed when the real thing was right in front of her. “We were looking for you.”

Warden-Commander Tabris stared, her face easily betraying all the emotions those words brought up for her. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise at first. Then, her jaw clenched, her brow furrowed, and she frowned. Thalia’s heart hammered against her chest as hard as the rain outside, and she thought that perhaps she should have listened to Leliana after all.

“Didn’t you get my letter? That schematic I sent you?”

The Hero of Ferelden was annoyed.

“Y-yes, and we are incredibly grateful, it’s just that—”

“I don’t know anything about Corypheus. I cannot help you.”

Thalia had annoyed the Hero of Ferelden.

“Of course, Warden-Commander, I… apologise, I merely wished to—”

“You don’t think I’ve given enough?” The Hero of Ferelden snapped.

“Yes! You have! I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know what I’m doing,” Thalia blurted out, her eyes quickly stinging, her bottom lip trembling. Before she knew it, the tears were spilling over, and she was cursing her lack of composure and blaming the rain that had nearly given her pneumonia.

Warden-Commander Tabris straightened in her seat, the anger draining from her face and instantly being replaced with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, but it only served to make Thalia feel worse somehow as she openly sobbed. She wiped her eyes and cheeks as best she could, trying to breathe slowly and calm herself, but it just wouldn’t work.

“I'm sorry, Warden-Commander,” she sniffled.

Silently, the Hero rose and sat next to her, the old bed creaking loudly. 

“My name’s Kallian. And you don’t have to apologise.” 

Thalia’s eyes widened as Kallian put an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

“I’m just old and bitter,” the Warden muttered. “It’s taken longer than I expected to find what I’m looking for and I took it out on you. Forgive me, Inquisitor.”

“My name is Thalia,” she smiled wetly, turning to face Kalllian. “And please, you saved the world. You’re a Grey Warden, the Grey Warden… I think you’ve earned the right to be…”

“Selfish? Rude? A prick?”

Thalia laughed, the tension in her shoulders fading away as Kallian grinned at her.

“Besides,” she continued. “You’re saving the world too, aren’t you? That’s what I heard, anyway. I think you’re doing just fine.”

“I have so many people behind me. Really, I’m just a figurehead,” Thalia insisted, shaking her head self-deprecatingly.

“What, and you think I took down hordes of darkspawn and the Archdemon itself all on my own?” Kallian asked, raising an eyebrow. “I had the King, an Antivan Crow, a witch, an ancient golem, your Spymaster, the Arishok, a Senior Enchanter, a dwarven warrior, and the best war hound in all of Ferelden at my side pretty much every step of the way. And that’s not to mention the armies of mages, and dwarves, the Denerim fighting for their lives… honestly, it would take hours to list everyone who helped me. And I couldn’t have done it without them, not a chance.”

“...Did you say the Arishok?”

“Yeah, but my point is… I am not the singular Hero. I never was. And I’ll let you in on a secret, Thalia.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I had no idea what I was doing either.”

It drew another little laugh from Thalia, and she felt warm from more than just the fire in the corner of the room.

“C’mere,” Kallian chuckled, pulling her into a firm hug. “You’re doing great.”

Thalia relaxed into it, lifting her arms to return the embrace. For someone so strong and large in reputation, Kallian was small, and it felt more like hugging a big sister than a living legend.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her hands tightening a little as she was filled with emotion again. But it was different this time, and she let herself close her eyes and just be held.

“Right!” Kallian interrupted the moment, roughly planting a kiss on the side of her head before pulling away. “Rest up. I’ll take you back to your camp in the morning, and I’ll keep an eye out for anything that could help you.”

“Thank you, Warden— Kallian,” she smiled.

It was good to know that the Hero lived up to her name.

#ockiss24 #dragon age #inquisitor trevelyan #warden tabris #dragon age inquisition #I POSTED THIS ON MY PHONE sorry if there are weird mistakes ill fix it tomorrow #also I'm probably gonna write more for this i had to cut a lot so i could post today! #my writing #dao #dai #thalia trevelyan #kallian tabris

[ronqueesha]

I can't find the post where I was asked which Chaos God my various OCs would fall victim to, so I decided to rewrite my thoughts.

I actually can't see Jane Shepard falling to chaos. What I find more interesting and compelling is if we look toward Age of Sigmar and the Stormcast Eternals. I can easily see Jane becoming one of them. Instead of Cerberus bringing her back after her death on Alchera, the god Sigmar inducts this most courageous and heroic warrior into his ranks of nigh-immortal warriors.

Kallian Tabris has enough rage in her heart to easily be swayed by Khorne. Her desire to see the humans who killed her mother brought to justice would be the stepping stone toward his corruption. Khorne isn't just about wanton slaughter and bloodshed, he also stands for honorable combat and even justice in his own violent way. She would try to use Khorne's power for good at first, to bring bloody retribution to those who deserve it. But that's an inevitable path to damnation.

Tzeentch would absolutely love Sarit Ramesh. At her core, she will always be the sickly little girl who grew up in the slums of Neon, whose lungs were permanently damaged by the city's industrial runoff, and whose body will always be frail and weak. She wants to fix these problems by improving herself through technology. Seeking change and growth by replacing her own body parts. She is also much too smart for her own good, and is willing to throw laws and morality out the window if it means she won't live another day in pain. The changer of ways can latch onto these plots and schemes, and turn her into a very capable servant.

You'd think that Iona would be the perfect servant of Slaanesh, since that chaos god is often stereotyped as the god of sex, debauchery and perversion. Maybe her Saints Row counterpart would be swayed by the dark prince, but Pathfinder Iona is actually much more vulnerable to Nurgle. Her entire slutty, outgoing persona is a shield to protect herself from the deep existential dread of her near-immortal half undead existence. Iona does not want to live for a thousand years, but she will. So she deals with the pain by self-medicating via sex and drugs. However, that core of hopelessness and inevitable decay is precisely where Nurgle lives. And he would love to corrupt her.

A Nurgle worshiping Iona would not become a bloated, festering, rotting sack of meat like most of his servants, however. Iona would keep her looks, and she would retain her hyper sexual lifestyle for the same reason she adopted it in the first place. It's just that everyone she sleeps with would find themselves deeply infected with the plague god's newest and most deadly sexually-transmitted gifts. Spread from Iona's most intimate encounters, infecting the world with the same despair she has been consumed by.

The OC I could actually see falling to Slaanesh is Zoe Iwasaki. While she does have a kinky side, it's not what the dark prince would actually latch onto. Like I said before, Slaanesh is often stereotyped for their sexual nature, but that's not actually what they embody. Slaanesh is actually the god of excess, passion, obsession, decadence and pain. Zoe has a pit deep in her soul that she thinks will only be filled with money and power. She is angry at the world for the things her father and other people did to her, and she wants to get revenge but not through bloodshed or even legal justice. She wants to prove everyone wrong by making herself wealthier, more powerful, and a legendary icon of Night City that will be remembered forever. She pushes herself to extremes to see this done, and she manipulates, deceives and hurts others just like she was hurt in pursuit of this goal. (poor Judy) This pursuit of an impossible goal is what drives many people toward Slaanesh, and Zoe would be a perfect victim.

#jane shepard #kallian tabris #iona #sarit ramesh #zoe iwasaki

[heniareth]

For @snarky-bee for OC kiss week

(Set in a verse in which Kallian is herself and Astala is her Companion AU self, that is, the Warden's sister. Enjoy! ^^)

The room was dark and smelled musty. The windows were nailed shut. This had probably been somebody's home before the Vints had taken it over.

Astala leaned her head against the bars of her cage and mechanically massaged her bruised ribs. Those bastards who called themselves healers had taken none too kindly to her escape attempt. Who knew magic could bruise as much as a club? And it hadn't even hit her. It had just sort of flared up and all her muscles had locked up and she hadn't been able to breathe. It'd been scary. It was good, she supposed, that it was her and not Kallian.

Oh, Kallian. If only she could've done something to keep from that Grey Warden.

"Don't go," she'd told her when Kallian had told her where she was going. "Please, let me-"

"What?" Kallian had asked. Astala remembered the harshness in her voice like they'd just spoken yesterday. She hadn't meant it, Astala knew that. "Do what? The guards already know my face. And you've heard them, I have to leave Denerim."

"But not with that shem!" Astala had shouted. Kallian, still in her blood-drenched wedding dress and the stolen armor, had looked over both her shoulders before stepping in close. "Listen," she had whisper-hissed. "I want this. I want out of here, I don't want to get married. I'm leaving." Astala had felt the blood drain from her face. "Kallian-" "It's no goodbye," Kallian had insisted. She was trying to keep her expression neutral, Astala could tell, but the air around her had been vibrating with excitement. "You'll see me again, just you wait. I just have to talk to Shianni real quick." "She's inside," Astala had answered tonelessly. Kallian had left her standing outside the house in her hurry. A few moments later, she had stepped out again, pushed out by an equally excited Shianni, wearing old gear that Astala swore she had still been able to see blood stains on. Kallian had waved, and then hurried towards the shem waiting for her. A glare was the only thing Astala had been able to give him for taking Kallian away. And then they'd been gone.

That had been a good year ago.

Sweet Andraste. A year already. Astala looked at the ceiling and swallowed down a ball of bitterness.

They all disappeared, didn't they? First Adaia. Then Kallian; they had received news of the defeat at Ostagar a month and a half after that disaster of a wedding, and Astala desperately wished she had insisted on giving Kallian a proper goodbye. Then, the purge had come. Astala and Shianni had done their best to look after their family. But the plague and these Vints had followed, and taken first Valora, then Cyrion, and now Astala. Worst of all? She'd landed herself in here while trying to get her family out. She'd never had Kallian's ability for stealth and thievery.

They made a pretty trio, and all good things come in pairs of three. Adaia, in her blood-soaked shroud. Kallian, in the wedding dress smeared with blood. And she, Astala, in nothing but her shift and the few drops of blood she got when the magic made her muscles clamp up and her teeth bite down on her lip.

Lady Andraste, she was so tired. She shivered, pulled her knees up to her chest, and hugged her arms around herself.

Steps. Several people, out in the hallway. Astala stayed where she was. She probably should be standing up, to face her destiny with her chin raised and her back straight. But she didn't find it in her to pull herself up. So she stayed where she was. Would they be sold together? Would she end up somewhere close to everybody else? They'd sell Cyrion and Valora for housework, which they did best, but she'd shown the Vints that she was well able to fight, and strong. Field work, perhaps. Or maybe even an arena? People died there, she'd heard. People died there quickly.

It was too soon. She thought they would've taken longer to get her.

Voices, clanking of weapons and armor, the door swung open. Astala's fingers found the bars behind her, wrapped around them, not yet, please-

"Astala?"

Kallian.

Astala whipped her head around, and there she was: blonde hair, slight frame, alive, alive! Astala scrambled to her feet, sent the bars of her cage rattling when she hit against them.

"Kallian!!" she gasped. "Get me out. Get me out of here!"

Thieves' tools jangled, the door to her cage swung open, Astala clambered out, out! Next thing she knew, she had her arms slung around Kallian and Kallian was hugging her back fiercely. She had grown a bit. She had put on muscle. She smelled a bit strange, something acrid and far too sweet under the smell of dust and sweat and iron, but Astala shoved that thought aside. Everything would be alright now.

"You're alive," she muttered into the hug. "We thought you'd died!"

She felt and heard Kallian laugh triumphantly, and wanted to bottle the moment in.

"Takes a bit more to kill me than some darkspawn," Kallian answered. "Are you alright? What did they do to you?"

"I'm fine now," Astala said. And she was. "I'm fine. They just locked me up. But-"

Suddenly, everything came rushing back.

"Kallian, they've taken him. They've taken Pa, out and to the back! There's another warehouse behind this one. They take them there, and then down to the docks and onto a ship, I saw it when I snuck in. You might just catch them. Kallian, they're Vints. Blood mages!"

Kallian's expression hardened. "I know. Don't worry, we got this."

She turned around to her companions. Only now did Astala take the time to actually look at them and at Kallian herself. They were armed, and their armor looked expensive and well-cared for. Kallian held herself... differently. Yes, this was the girl who had broken her mirror and stolen strawberry-rhubarb cake for her, but she was also so much more now. Where had those scars come from? Where the quiet self-confidence and liquid grace in her movements, the way she got all of her companions up to speed and took the lead among this bunch of shemlen and one- Ah. The way the other elf was speaking to her and trailing after her was interesting. Astala smiled to herself and decided to ask all of the questions once they were out of this slaver den and safe.

"What's with that smile?" Kallian asked.

"Nothing," Astala said and shrugged, not bothering to tone her smile down.

"You smell like money now, is all."

"Ugh! Stop it."

Astala laughed as Kallian swatted her arm. Kallian grinned back.

Then, her expression sobered. "We'll get Pa out, alright? You stay here."

"Alright," Astala said. "Promise me you'll stay safe, yeah?"

Kallian lifted an eyebrow. "No 'please let me keep you safe' this time?"

"I think you're doing a pretty good job," Astala said lightheartedly. "And, to be honest... I don't think I can keep up with you anymore."

Something fluttered over Kallian's expression. Then, she pointed to her right.

"We came that way, and you should find nothing but dead shemlen there. Take the back door."

"I'll wait for you at home," Astala said. Then she pulled Kallian in and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Stay safe, please," she said again. "Ma would be so proud of you."

Kallian didn't look at her for a moment, and Astala let her.

"No goodbyes?" Kallian finally said.

Astala smiled. "No goodbyes."

With a last squeeze to Kallian's shoulder—what bit of shoulder she could get past the armor—Astala left the room and turned to the right. Kallian and her companions turned to the left. Astala listened until the clanking of their armor had faded away, and then for some more time.

Silence.

Astala took a deep breath, and ran. She skidded down the hallway, jumped over a few shemlen corpses, and burst into a wide open hall. The back door was right there. Astala ran, through the door, down the street, and halfway to home until she slowed down and took a big lungful of fresh air.

She was free.

And Kallian was alive.

#i was snooping through your longfic the other day and i got an idea #so i wrote it #i hope you like it #and red sunrise is really really cool #i am scratching a bit at the walls to find some time to read it #anyways enjoy!!

[sulky-valkyrie]

writing prompt: A plaque denoting the Hero of Ferelden’s birthplace

Happy Friday! for @dadrunkwriting

Anora wouldn’t shut up.  Wouldn't stop blathering on about Alistair this, Alistair that, like she hadn't been ready to throw him to the wolves just weeks ago.

Tabris sat straight-backed in her chair, dry-eyed and stone-faced.  These shem wouldn't see her cry.

When she finally wound down, the grand cleric nodded at two servants.  Elves, Ris noted bitterly.

"We send you to the Maker's side."  At her words, the pyre was lit.  They had to treat bodies with something to make them so . . .combustible.  Alistair's body caught instantly, and the smoke stung her eyes.

The rest of the mourners started filing out of the courtyard, but she stayed put, hoping the attendants would leave too, just so she could have a moment alone with him once more.

"Warden Tabris."  The queen was approaching.

She didn't move to stand.  Didn’t even flick an ear.  

Anora smiled thinly.  "I know you and my husband's brother were . . .close."

Fuck you.  Ris just nodded.  She might have power now, but it wouldn't last, even if she had put this bitch on the throne.  "And?"

"Is there anything he'd want?"

To be alive.  She shook her head.  "Nothing you can give."  It wasn't a politically savvy answer and she didn't care.

Anora sniffed delicately.  "I know what it's like to -"

"Go away, your majesty."  She pointedly turned back to the pyre.  Alistair was already ash and she'd never been able to say goodbye.

She didn't go away, but she did finally stop talking.  Ris ignored her as she watched the ash blow away.  Her eyes burned with tears, but she wouldn't cry.  Not in front of her of all people.

Only when the fire died down and the last few attendants started to sweep up what was left of him did she stand, still not acknowledging Anora.  The bitch followed her as she walked out.  "Warden, would you walk with me?"

She bit back the Do I have a choice? and just nodded again.

Ris followed her through the winding corridors of the palace.  Anora collected a few more guards as they continued out the front gates.  They headed toward the alienage.  Years of practice kept her face neutral, but nothing about this felt right.  What is she playing at?

The vhenadahl looked the same: sickly, but trying.  Just like the alienage itself.  Shianni was talking with Alarith nearby, and headed toward her as they approached.

"Your majesty," she said, nodding respectfully, before falling in next to Ris.  "I told them not to," she muttered, so softly only an elf could hear it.

Before Ris could ask what Shianni meant, Anora clapped her hands.  There was a sudden cacophony of trumpets, and only Shianni's hand on her elbow stopped Ris from drawing her blades and falling into a defensive crouch.

"We've gathered here to honor one of our own: an elf from Denerim, who saved us all!  The greatest elf since Garahel"  Anora'a voice was resplendent and insincere.  A politician's voice.  "She saved us from certain doom, stopped the Blight in barely a year!  How should we thank her?"

Leave me alone, Ris wanted to scream.  Wanted to, but didn't.  Not when confronted by all that fucking hope on the faces of the gathered onlookers.  This was what heroes did, she supposed.  Fought and died by inches, giving others a chance to keep going.  She didn't even recoil when Anora grabbed her hand and hoisted it to the sky.  "Behold, our Hero of Fereldan!"

The crowd cheered.

She held her tongue and smiled.  Anora nodded at her, like she could see through it, like she knew Ris was fantasizing about cutting her throat.  "We'll build you a statue later, but this is all we can do for the moment."  She let go of Ris' hand and pointed at the vhenadahl.

Ris followed her gesture with her eyes, despair turning into horror.

It was a gold plaque.  Nailed to the tree.

Birthplace of Kallian Tabris, Hero of Ferelden, 9:10.

They'd poisoned the only thing that mattered in the alienage to honor her.  Her gaze swung to Shianni, begging her mutely to tell her this wasn’t happening.  Her cousin only shrugged, then low under her breath, mumbled, "Fucking shem."

Fucking shem indeed.  To the void with appearances.  Ris fled.

#da drunk writing circle #angst #cw grief #queen anora #shianni tabris #warden tabris #alistair x warden #shianni #ris #prompt fills

[faux-fires]

(Not a) Drabble-a-day#7

DING DING i made it a whole week! I don’t want a medal but I would like a pony

because i have decided to just go all-in on being shameless and self-indulgent today’s drabble features my boy leo hawke. all you need to know is he’s a red!hawke and i love him, he’s terrible at using words and he calls his dog fang like a fucking edgelord.

anyway here’s wonderwall (not a drabble) day#7, prompt “fear”. it’s over 3k words long. this is just who i am now, mom!

The thing about Leo Hawke was, he was violent. He was surly. He was as blunt as a rock through a window. He punched a rock monster possessed by a demon in the - face? - in the Deep Roads and it certainly was the most Hawke thing Anders had ever seen.

Anders didn't mind. He'd never claimed to be perfect. But Anders wasn't sure he could agree with their other friends that he was particularly angry.

Oh, it looked like it, hanging out in the Hanged Man's common room, watching the bar fight go on around you because someone had tried to touch Isabela - Isabela! As though she couldn't handle herself! - and Hawke had bounced their face off the bar. It probably felt like it when you were pinned under those ferocious golden eyes, Hawke looming over you, all muscles and grim purpose. Or if you cracked a joke about the wrong topic (Fereldans, the war, darkspawn, sisters). And Maker knew Carver certainly was wrathful, even if, compared to his brother, it felt something like being menaced by a lapdog.

But Anders knew rage. Leaving aside his own... indiscretions, the faint echo of meat under his fingers and Rolan screaming in terror, he'd once watched Command Tabris scale an ogre using her two swords as climbing spikes and then sink her teeth into its throat, a vision both incredible and incredibly disturbing.

Hawke didn't have that. Anders would be the first to acknowledge - privately - that he spent too much of his time watching Hawke, but he just didn't see rage where Hawke's other friends apparently did. He was curt. He was honest. He wasn't very good at talking, and when he decided violence was the answer it was performed with breathtaking efficiency... but he wasn't angry like Kallian was angry.

Varric squinted at him every time he said this, usually after their weekly round of Wicked Grace. "Blondie," he'd say, eyes twinkling over the top of his huge cigar, "Hawke's fond of you. Have you considered you might be biased?" And every time Anders would flush, because Hawke was gorgeous, with broad shoulders and those incredible golden eyes, cool and bright like a wolf. And he was nice to Merrill, who was cute enough, he supposed, if you were into elves.

He hadn't come to Kirkwall looking for wolf's eyes and a furrowed brow. He told himself that sometimes of a night, when the tension in his belly got too much, became an ache, a burn, and he had to roll over in his lonely little cot and surreptitiously try to take himself in hand. He'd come to help at the Gallows - Karl at first and now that that was impossible their kin in all but blood. He'd taken a spirit into himself and it hadn't been enough but it couldn't be for nothing, either. And Hawke liked Merrill, probably. Hell, maybe Isabela, who was a catch and had actually made him smile at least once, something Anders hadn't yet managed. Or possibly even Fenris; Anders spitefully told himself he could think of no other reason to keep the elf around.

But he couldn't ignore the way Hawke came to the clinic when he had downtime. He'd slip in silently, usually in the late afternoon, his slobbering mabari at his heels; and he'd pass away the hours sitting quietly at the back, winding rolls of bandages or stirring the thin soup Anders always had bubbling away in the corner or scrubbing cots or even stitching sheets with absolutely no change of expression, and when Anders asked why would just shrug and say, "No jobs going on. Don't want to be stuck at home. Gamlen's a cunt," before clamming back up.

Anders didn't push him on it. Maybe he should, but why break his own heart? Leo never said anything, and Anders never caught him looking, so maybe he just liked being around other Fereldans. Maker knew his clinic was full of them. And it was nice to have company that didn't want him to examine its disfiguring genital herpes. Someone who was helpful, who could be counted on to hold down a patient for a complicated procedure, or bounce out one determined to cause mayhem, or even shadow Anders when he had to make deliveries despite Kirkwall seeming to consist of 10% genuine citizens and 90% armed thugs engaged in vicious turf wars.

Like now. He hated deliveries to Hightown; the thugs and the guards were all one and the same, both equally likely to eject him forcefully from the area, but Hawke was friendly with the guard-captain (somehow) and so he was allowed to pass with little more than a dirty look. The moonlight sent long fingers along the polished marble tiles of the market; the air was perfumed with jasmine and the smell of the flowers on the vines delicately scaling the sides of the manor houses.

The mabari - Fang, if he recalled correctly - was trotting at his left without a care in the world, its tongue lolling gormlessly from its huge jaws; Hawke was on his right, one thumb hooked in the leather strap holding his staff-spear to his back. Anders had asked him to accompany him with a long, rambling and awkward speech about feeling more secure with company, and his only comment had been, "Fine," and now Anders was trying not to wonder if maybe he talked more for Merrill, because if he started down that path he knew the bitterness would spiral, but maybe Hawke didn't know how bad an idea the blood magic was, and maybe Anders owed it to him to explain? They passed a pair of patrolling guardsmen, who nodded at them, but Anders barely noticed. Hawke had to know Merrill was bad news, but would interfering really pass the act of a good friend? What if -

Hawke's hand abruptly seized his elbow, and Anders glanced up at him sharply, startled out of his spiral. Leo's mouth was tight, his eyes glinting warily in the grey light. He was looking back the way they'd come, and now Anders could hear it, the footsteps of the guards - but Aveline knew Hawke, he came in and out of her office -

Belatedly he recalled the gang of pretenders in guard uniforms said to haunt Hightown at night and groaned inwardly. Of course. He turned his own head to the side, trying to gauge distance, but he could see only shadow. Fang had stopped his gormless gawping and was keeping closer to their side, his hackles up, his great head swiveling backward every few seconds. A quick glance around revealed they were coming up to the northern quarter, not too far from Fenris' squat, or the De Launcets; the street had widened to a thoroughfare surrounded by delicately piping columns and overhanging roofs, and just as Anders noticed this, more shapes stepped out ahead of them, slipping from behind the columns like shadows.

"Andraste's knickerweasels," he grumbled, drawing to a stop. Leo hesitated besides him, his face expressionless but his eyes darting from intruder to intruder, wary; Fang was snarling now, a low, rumbling noise, hackles firmly up. He had planted himself between Anders and the nearest shadow and was facing it head-on, a solid mass of muscle and fur. Anders sighed, shoved his package of cock ointment into Hawke's hands, and pushed past him; it was hard, Hawke's body rigid and unmoving. "We don't have anything worth stealing," he said. "I'm the Darktown healer, perhaps you've heard of me? All I've got is three copper. You can have them if you like."

The shapes came closer and became men and women, armoured head to toe in silver and orange. All of them were wearing helmets. None of them seemed to be in a hurry to step up and really take charge of this robbery, so Anders unhooked his coin purse, jangled it sarcastically so they could hear how pitifully quiet the noise was, and tossed it onto the fancy marble tiles ahead of them. The nearest figure bent, picked it up, and balanced it on his palm before pocketing it. After a moment of hesitation, Hawke unhooked his and threw it in the same direction. It sounded weightier, but not by much.

"Can we go?" Anders asked, as a different figure picked up Hawke's purse. "We've given you everything we have, unless you want my special salve for crotch-rot."

The figures glanced at each other, then the one that had grabbed Hawke's purse, evidently choosing to fill the slot of leader, said, "No."

Anders turned to face them fully. "Why not?"

"Liar." She drew her sword slowly from her scabbard and pointed it carefully at Hawke. "We know you, Dog Lord. We heard you struck it big in the Deep Roads."

Hawke narrowed his eyes, and Anders said, "And you think he's, what, carrying a wheelbarrow of loot in his pockets?" He laughed, although it sounded thin even to his own ears. "Even if he did, it takes time to convert ancient dwarf treasures to actual, real money. And he'd be a fool to carry it around with him. We've given you what we have; let us go."

"No," she said again, simply. "Captain Qerth says we don't get to eat unless we bring home something worth a damn." She nodded over their shoulder, at one of her fellows. "Separate them. Then we'll find out if they're being truthful."

Anders sighed irritably as someone grabbed his wrist from behind and yanked him back a few steps from Hawke. "Fuck you," Hawke snapped, and then reared back as someone tried to grab him from behind, "Get your fucking hands off me! Leave him alone! Don't fucking touch him!" Fang barked and darted forward, snapping futilely at the legs of his would-be muggers, and they moved in an awkward circle.

"I'd let us go," Anders said, and spun in his assailant's grip; he channeled a pulse of ice magic through that skin contact.

The man holding his wrist dropped it in a heartbeat, his eyes widening through his visor slit. "Robe!" The effect was instantaneous; the pair that had been trying to grapple Hawke immediately backed away, drawing their swords, as did the others hanging back. Fang slunk closer to his master, still snarling, and Anders shook his wrist disdainfully.

"I'm not powerless," he told the leader, and deliberately called the ice back to his hand, holding it up to his eye level so they could all see the blue glow. "You don't want this. We've given you what we've got. Let us go on our way."

She seemed frozen for a second, her eyes flicking between him and Hawke, her sword still outdrawn and Hawke's coin purse still clutched in her free hand. Anders lifted his hand higher, and watched the way her gaze followed it before flicking - up - and behind -

He turned, so the arrow took him in the belly, instead of the spine. The impact was honestly more startling than anything else; one moment he was standing there, holding aloft his icy hand, and the next - sitting on the floor, feeling like he'd been butted in the abdomen by a determined goat, except there was a feathered shaft in front of him, comically out of place, and when he touched it, there was something wet and red at the base. Hawke screamed wordlessly beside him, a rough, violent noise that seemed utterly out of place in the stillness. He glanced up at the roof that had been behind them, saw the figure crouching low there, the bow in its grasp. "Oh," he said, brow wrinkling as it calmly and unhurriedly drew another arrow from the quiver on its back, "But I'm a healer," and then the world bucked.

At first he thought he was passing out. But no, when the ground finished rippling he was still there, sitting in the middle of a swanky part of Hightown with an arrow sticking out of his gut like phallic symbolism, which was good, because he'd been shot by quite a lot of arrows in the Wardens and he'd hate to think he was starting to lose his tolerance. It was starting to hurt, though, so he leaned forward, placing his palms on the ground and pushing himself back up to his feet with only a little bit of wobbling, and turned around. Fang was barking and cavorting on the spot, spittle flying absolutely everywhere. The gang of thieves - all of them, archer included - were...

... lying in a heap against the far wall, groaning and twitching. Every now and then one of them would make a small, pitiful movement, like they were trying to escape, but it was like there was some invisible force pinning them there, preventing them from leaving, and Anders didn't think that was just a simile because he could see the Fade surging around Hawke, who was standing there, both feet firmly planted on the ground, hands outstretched, teeth gritted.

Anders had heard about force magic before. He'd known, abstractly, that it was a specialty in the Gallows, and that Hawke's father had been a Gallows mage. He'd never seen a mage use it before, not like this. One of the gang, flailing desperately to escape the confines of the force of the spell, managed to get her arm free, but Hawke's eyes narrowed and he pushed his hand out and Anders could tell by the way the Fade heaved around him what was going to happen even before her arm shattered, crushed by the sheer weight of the magic Hawke was using, and it was terrifying and terrible and an awful thing to do but it was also -

Magnificent.

Anders swallowed. The arrow in his gut was starting to hurt more and more; he looked down and realised his hands were shaking. He stepped closer, touched Hawke's shoulder, and he meant to say, let's get out of here, but when Hawke's gaze snapped to him he found he couldn't speak in the face of Hawke's expression, the bared teeth, the unholy light in those wonderful wolf's eyes, and it wouldn't have mattered even if he had because Hawke's eyes swept down his body to the arrow and his face hardened into something fierce and cold right before Anders, and the Fade was shivering around him again, responding to Hawke's wild and untrained talents, and then the air smelled like ozone and Anders realised Hawke was summoning lightning, and not a small amount of it either.

The wind picked up. The cloud appeared before them, waist high, and Anders could feel a buzzing in the back of his teeth. He'd never been a very good primal mage; fire and ice had generally worked better for him before Justice, before he could tear his way out of problems, and he'd seen Hawke cast the occasional bolt but it had nothing on this, this cloud that grew and grew under Hawke's direction while the would-be thieves groaned and shuddered on the floor, voices rising as they realised something was happening. He could smell the acrid scent of their animal fear, and part of him thought, they deserve this, they tried to hurt us, they shot me, show them why mages are feared -

But he wasn't that far gone. He put his right hand on Hawke's wrist and said, "Let's go, Hawke."

And Leo looked at him, and Anders could see it now, the expression that the others believed was rage. His teeth were bared; his nostrils flared. His eyes were so wide he could see their whites. He was breathing heavily, like a horse after a long gallop, and his muscles were shaking under Anders' hand, and Anders knew that face, because he'd seen it so many times himself. He'd pulled it so many times himself. Leo snarled, "Don't touch me," and there were sparks crackling between his teeth; the thunderstorm he was bringing into the world had grown large enough to spit tongues of lightning across the tiles. The muggers were wearing such wonderfully conductive full plate.

Anders swallowed, but he didn't look away. Instead he said, "I need help to get the arrow out," and tightened his grip on Hawke's arm, and dragged his hand down - with difficulty, Hawke's muscles were locked, his arm rigid with tension - to press Hawke's hand against the arrow-shaft thrusting through his stomach. Hawke blanched. His eyes flicked back to the muggers and then at Anders. His pupils were so small. Anders lifted his left hand from where it had been hovering over the arrow and slid it over Hawke's wrist to join his right, pushing his thumbs into Hawke's pulse point, and he had no idea what his face looked like but he stared Hawke deep in his beautiful, panicked eyes and said, "Please, Leo," and watched the way Hawke's face collapsed.

The thunderstorm winked out of existence. Whatever pressure had been holding those pretend guardsmen dissipated like it had never been there. Leo shakily looped his free arm around Anders' shoulders; Anders let himself lean forward, forehead pressing against his broad chest, hands still wrapped around his wrist, and murmured, "Make sure they go."

Hawke's eyes flicked back to their assailants as if he'd just remembered they existed. "Fuck off,", he snarled, and Anders kept his face pressed against Leo's chest until the last of the footsteps vanished. Hawke was shivering lightly, and Anders knew, now, that it wasn't anger. It had never been anger. "Anders," Leo said, "What do - what can I do? What do you need?" His voice was anguished, and Anders' heart ached for this man, this frightened, fierce man. All this time they'd thought of Hawke as iron, but he was a man, a mage man, in Kirkwall, and Anders knew better than anyone how lonely and terrifying that could be.

"I'm going to break the arrow and pull it out," he said, "... Just keep me upright while I heal myself."

Hawke's arms tightened around him, but it honestly wasn't that complicated. Anders had been a Grey Warden, and he was possessed; one arrow was nothing. He'd been stabbed through the chest with a whole sword and ripped Rolan into pieces right after. The bottom half of the shaft clattered to the ground a moment later, followed by the arrowhead once he'd gotten an arm around his back to pull it the rest of the way through. His fingers were slick with blood by the time he healed his kidney and what felt like his intestine, but he stuck a hand inside his coat and wiped it off against his chest rather than on Hawke. Hawke, who was shaking minutely, and Anders felt such a wave of sympathy and affection it left him quite breathless.

He hesitantly curled an arm around them and set his palm on the small of Leo's back, in something like an embrace, and Hawke made the smallest of noises and clung to him even tighter, and Anders didn't know what to do or say. In the clinic when he thought about Leo he'd thought about his huge biceps or his cool gold eyes; he'd pictured Hawke laying into his enemies, ripping apart silverite. He hadn't pictured that heartbreakingly familiar expression, or counted on that intense surge of compassion within himself. He pressed his face into Leo's chest, feeling the lightning-reverberations of his heart and against his cheekbone, and said, so softly he barely heard himself, "I'm alright, Leo. I'm fine. It's alright."

Leo drew in a shuddering breath. "I should have... I should have killed them all. Fuckers could be squealing to the guard about us."

"Maybe," said Anders. He reached up and placed his hands flat on Leo's stomach, felt the tension there. "I doubt it. They'd have to explain why they were wearing fake uniforms first. We'll move soon," he promised. "But until then... I'm fine. You're fine. Breathe with me," and he let his chest rise and fall a few times, exaggerated, the way he'd watched Oghren bring Kallian back to herself after she went too deep into her rages. He felt Hawke's chest hitch, but after a moment he began to move, copying Anders, and eventually his heartbeat began to gentle.

For a moment they stood there, together on that Hightown street under the soft light of an indifferent moon, curled into each other in something that was so close to an embrace it could have featured in one of Anders' nightly fantasies. Anders knew it never would. He felt like he understood Hawke more now than at any point since they'd met, like tonight he'd been handed a compass and a map and knew how to find his way around Hawke's inhospitable landscape, and it felt - special. Important. He felt another pulse of warmth for the man whom he'd once witnessed punch a rock monster possessed by a demon in the face, a kind of boundless affection for this wonderful, scarred human being, who stirred soup in his clinic and always kept Anders where he could see him.

Leo sniffed and let him go too soon, but he didn't shrug Anders' hands off his chest. He looked remorseful in the face of Anders' sympathy, and Anders couldn't keep from lightly rubbing his thumbs back and forth along the leather of his jerkin even as Hawke avoided eye contact, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Leo flushed - difficult to see in this grey light, but Anders knew him.

"We can go back to Lowtown, if you like. I'm sure your mother would be pleased to see you," he said, and when Leo glanced at him self-consciously said, "Or we can go to Darktown if you want. There's room in the clinic. Anything you want.

"Darktown," said Leo immediately, "I like your clinic. It's yours."

"Oh," said Anders, dumbly, and then smiled as the words sunk in. It occurred to him with a pang that now he'd had this taste of Hawke - this well-guarded sweetness, this uncertainty, this glimpse of the man he was past all the snapping and snarling and surliness - it was going to be harder to face his lonely little cot tonight, but it was only a little pang. He hadn't expected anything else, after all. That he had this much was a gift. Leo must have seen something on his face, because he hunched his shoulders, mumbled something else.

"What was that?"

"I, uh. I dropped your cock-rot cream," said Hawke, guiltily. "When the bastards jumped me." Defensive. "I think they took it with them when they ran off. Sorry." Sheepish.

"Huh," Anders said. His mouth twitched, despite himself; he covered his mouth with his hand. Leo's eyes flicked to his and hung there, as though surprised at what they found, and Anders grinned wider. "Sorry," he said, "Just picturing their faces when they limp back to base and - hah - show their boss their prize. I drew diagrams for the user. They were - detailed," and he was chuckling despite himself, and Leo's eyes widened with comprehension, and then - and then the corner of his mouth twisted slowly upward.

He was smiling.

It was hesitant and shy and it was the first time Anders had seen Hawke smile for him, and Anders realised, like a sledgehammer to the gut, that he wanted to see it again. He wanted to hear Hawke laugh. He wanted to see him happy, and it was like the world dropped out under his feet but also like everything made total sense. He stooped forward instead and buried his face in Hawke's chest, because Maker, they hadn't known each other for very long, and he didn't think he could control his face, because he loved Leo Hawke.

Fuck.

Leo didn't ask him any questions; he slipped his arms around Anders' shoulders and held on with arms that were no longer shaking, and Anders closed his eyes tight and thought, one day. But not this day.

Hawke didn't need a lover, not right now. He was a mage alone in Kirkwall, and Anders knew all about that fear and that sadness and that aching kind of loneliness only apostasy could bring. He needed a friend, and Anders didn't mind being his, and if nothing ever came from it he would be glad enough for that. After all, he was the only one of Hawke's friends who had recognized the rage for what it really was. Take that, Merrill, he thought.

He'd never claimed to be perfect.

if you want more leo you can find him starring in fluffy romcom Bound (feat: severed heads) and swinging post-series Through a Forest Wilderness (feat: romantic war crimes) on ao3.

#reikah writes recklessly #drabble a day #anders #handers #leo hawke #some writers: anders isn't actually jealous and is capable of having positive relationships with hawke's other LIs! #me: anders is a petty bitch at every conceivable moment im love him

[nirikeehan]

NIRI!!! I am curious about all of your WIPs actually but if I must narrow it down..... pls tell me about It's Always Sunny at Skyhold (is samson frank or dennis) AND OFC thalia & kallian: full moon 👀👀👀

Hi aster thank you!!

Ask me wip questions here!

I will answer these chronologically bc it makes more sense to do so:

Thalia & Kallian - Full moon

This is meant to be the introduction chapter to the Curse of Strahd crossover. Thalia visits Kallian at Vigil’s Keep, fangirls over the Grey Warden commander, talks a bit about Blackwall and his deal. Then Kallian reveals she received a mysterious letter from someone calling himself the Burgomaster of Barovia and calling out the tyranny of a vampire lord who rules over those lands. This sparks interest in both of them, they do a little investigating in the library at the keep. They find evidence an ancient land called Barovia, which no one in modern times has heard of, may exist in this one remote region of Nevarra. So of course they decide to convene a retinue and go check it out. 😎 what could go wrong?!?

I can’t remember where the full moon comes in. I think it’s just there for the atmosphere LOL. It was based on a dadwc prompt.

It’s Always Sunny at Skyhold

(Samson is definitely Frank LMAO)

So I plan to call the romp in Barovia It's Never Sunny in Barovia. So this bit I half-jokingly named "It's Always Sunny at Skyhold" because I was envisioning a sequel (yes, I love jumping the gun) where Thalia takes her new bestie she met in Barovia, Metrion, and employs him as a spy at Skyhold. This scene is poor Cullen trying to grasp why his girlfriend would do such a thing and what shenanigans she got up to in his absence.

It's like 90% more written than the previous scene, so here's a snippet:

Thalia leans forward, squinting at the report to rival her own. Even upside down, she recognizes the penmanship. “What did Pravin have to say about him that I didn’t?”  Cullen looks stricken. He rocks back on his heels, crossing arms over his breastplate the way he does when he doesn’t want to deliver bad news. “You were, um, significantly kinder in your assessment of his character than your cousin was.”  “Kinder how?” Metrion and Pravin have never gotten along — despite having, it seems to Thalia, extremely similar experience and skillsets. Pravin never saw it that way, however, in a manner Thalia finds quite classist.  “Your account uses words like ‘actor’ and ‘diplomatic’ to categorize him,” Cullen says carefully. “Pravin’s descriptions, on the other hand, are more colorful.” “In what way?” Thalia asks, already wincing.  “Er, let’s see. ‘Con man, swindler. Ne’er-do-well, wastrel, fraudster, mountebank… Trickster, charlatan, knave, drunkard—’” “Drunkard!” Thalia huffs. “That’s the pot meeting the kettle, coming from Pravin.” “He includes several anecdotes where the two of you— ‘Thalia and Metrion, if that is indeed his name,’ ah,” Cullen says, flipping the parchment, “robbed local establishments through deception and guile. ‘Gleefully’ is the word he used.” Cullen clears his throat and meets Thalia’s eyes, troubled. “Seeming to imply you enjoyed it?” 

#wip game #writing nonsense #curse of strahd au #it's never sunny in barovia

[snarky-bee]

Red Sunrise: Chapter 22 - The First Test

*** Zev smiled and breathed deeply. “Ahh,” he sighed dramatically. “They say you can never go home again, but for ten silvers an hour you can get pretty close,” Zevran said cheerily. “Home? This the kinda place Crows hang out in back in Antiva City?” Kallian asked. She couldn’t help feeling a bit of pity. This wasn’t a home; it was a dirty—it was a brothel. Zevran shrugged, “I grew up in a place such as this. It has certain charms.” Kallian didn’t typically go inside brothels. The whole thing made her nervous. Her brow crumpled in pity, unsure what to even say to that. “That’s too bad,” she settled on, before turning away. “We’ll be right back,” she waved off the others, and gestured for Alistair to follow along. She found her way to the back of the main room where hallways stretched in both directions and a wooden sign pointed to the room numbers. “What if Zevran is right?” Alistair said, for the first time apprehensive. “Could it be a trap? Why meet here of all places?” “I did worry the same, which is why I shall be joining you,” Zevran said from behind them. “Teyrn Loghain isn’t even here,” Kallian said, rolling her eyes. They were being way too cautious. “Why else would it be a hidden message? They probably don’t want to get caught either.” The room was at the very end of the hall. A large window would have shed some light into the dark corners if not for more of the same thick curtains hiding the fading daylight from the patrons. Kallian rapped the door with her knuckles three times then waited. Footsteps approached and there was a shuffling sound against the door. “Password?” “Uh… the griffons will rise again?” The door creaked open and a shrouded figure beckoned them inside. The door shut behind them and he lowered his hood, a glint in his eyes as he smiled.  “Welcome, welcome. Supporters of the cause are you?” His voice dripped with honey. *** Continue reading on AO3: Chapter 1 || Chapter 22

#red sunrise #kallian tabris #zevran arainai #zevran x tabris #fanfic #dragon age #dragon age origins #snarky writing

[commanderkallian]

i dont even remember how long ago people were posting these but i finally finished kallians sheet! i love my stabby elf daughter c’:

her tattoos are under the cut and ill reblog with template & picrew sources!

the left are her tattoos in origins, she snuck out of the alienage after curfew when she was 15 to get them and theyre based off her fuzzy childhood memories of her moms vallaslin. after golems/before witch hunt, she takes a break from being warden-commander (she tells nathaniel hes in charge and she dips--) and spends some time in lanaya’s clan (formerly zathrian’s), just learning about her mothers culture and taking it in as her own. after abt a year and a half, she gets the simple mythal vallaslin on just her left cheek! then she goes looking for morrigan and never gets a peaceful moment to rest again rip

#*taps the sign* please ask me about my warden i have So Many Feelings abt her #dragon age #dragon age origins #warden tabris #female tabris #god i feel like a sellout tagging so many things hgh starting a new blog is so Weird #kallian; #oh the icons for ppl who want quick ref #dual wield rogue / city elf / romanced alistair #saved the circle / cured the werewolves / broke the anvil and crowned bhelen / executed loghain and anora rules alone / did the dark ritual

[merrilldidnothingwrong]

Came up with parts of a concept last night.

Leliana being Divine could be even more controversial if she was picked by Lavellan, and is romancing an elf HoF. The amount of changes she would bring could very well lead to her being branded a heretic.

Now, I do think Leliana would deal with them quickly one way or another. But in the event that she can't, the Chantry's fractured state would worsen. Leading to a potential civil war across multiple countries. And this is something I want to explore.

The two major factions would be the doctrine loyalists and the Inquisition.

The loyalists' first act of rebellion after Leliana declared all races equal under Chantry law months after her corrination, was to start attacking burning alienages all across Thedas simultaneously, starting in Orlais. With the Templars and Chevaliers being their main army.

The Inquisition is based on my Lavellan world state. She made an alliance with Fiona's mages, so that made her an enemy in the eyes of the Templars. She did everything in her power to better the elves, something she worked with Leliana on. She also drank from the well, as she is her clan's First.

A big difference is that she is the one Flemeth gives the Mythal shard to. Saying it will help her sustain the Mark, and help her lead to the elves salvation.

Obviously this means Solas' plans are effectively unattainable now. He still reveals he is Fen'Harel and what his plan was. She is understandably upset with him, with things becoming very uneasy between them.

A vast majority of elves ally themselves with the Inquisition. Elana sent word to Clan Lavellan to rally as many other clans as they could. While Leliana had Briala and Kallian Tabris rally the city elves.

I do plan on Elana taking the Veil down, though she leaves the modern world intact as she could.

This is all I have so far.

oh this, this i i love. it should have been canon. anxious to hear more!

#elf rights

[artificervaldi]

Melia chases after another her, and gains her first Pokemon.

New AU I'm working on with @bionisinterior! First fic, to start off have some Antiqua siblings catching some Pokemon siblings! Available under the cut as well!

Melia knew what a doppelganger was, from the books Mother would read to her. She knew that they were dangerous, but here she was, running down the street after a girl who looked just like her. If it was her doppelganger, that meant she would die. Even at the age of eight, she knew that was a fact.

But she didn’t stop, even when the other her phased through a wall or when Kallian yelled at her to wait. She didn’t stop when she ran through the same wall and found a paradise for Pokemon.

She finds her breath taken away as she runs through the area, right to the other her, swinging happily. The other her smiles and waves and she approaches. She reaches out to touch her hand and--

“Melia!” Kallian has caught up, and he’s pulling her back a bit. “What are you doing?”

“My doppelganger,” Melia points at her. “Am I going to die, brother?”

Kallian pales a bit, as if realizing something. “Melia, we shouldn’t be here. Let’s go--”

The wind picks up and Melia screams, clinging to his leg. He puts a hand over her head and stays stock still. She keeps her eyes closed, even as she hears something making angry noises at them. She was so scared…

She peeks with one eye and the other Melia is standing between the two of them and a Latios. Kallian looks scared, his mouth opening and closing as other Melia and Latios seem to have a conversation of some sort… And then it hits her.

“Oh,” she gasps. “Brother, the other me is a Latias!”

“You’re right,” Kallian swallows hard, holding his hands up. “We mean no harm, please, allow us to go.”

Latias changes forms and turns, making a sound that makes Melia think she’s very sad to hear that… She must be lonely! Just like Melia sometimes was! She couldn’t just leave like that!

“Kallian, Kallian, I want to play with Latias!”

“We can’t stay, Melia,” Kallian shoots back, a small frown on his face. “We aren’t supposed to be here--”

“It should be fine, Kallian,” Father’s voice makes Melia perk up, not expecting to see him there. “Melia is in line for both family traditions, so she should be allowed to know, don’t you think?”

“Father…”

“Both?” Melia looks up at Kallian, curious. “The family tradition is running the local gym! What is the other one, brother?”

“Caring for the city,” Kallian replies, looking at the Pokemon. “Caring for Latios and Latias.”

“Oh!” She hops a bit, realization hitting her. “If Kallian is running the gym, that means I’ll have to care for the city!”

“If you want the gym when you’re older, I’ll step down and do it, but yes, more or less that’s how it will work,” Kallian smiles at her. “What a smart girl you are.”

Melia smiles, proud of herself. “Then I should play with Latias, I need to know how to take care of her, brother.”

“Melia…”

“Please!”

Kallian looks at Father and there’s a moment of silence, before Father nods. Kallian then looks at her and gives her a nod and she gets excited. That means she can play with Latias! She runs past the Pokemon to the swing and hops on, Latias joining behind her.

She giggles and they start going, and she almost feels like she’s flying! Latios seems interested, too, and she thinks she even sees him licking Kallian. That makes her giggle, that much is for certain.

Soon, she is flying, when Latias decides to pick her up and toss her onto her back. It’s a fun feeling, and Kallian is next to her, on top of Latios, soon enough. He looks worried, reaching out for her… but she just giggles as the Pokemon decide to swap who’s on their back.

She’s in the air for a few moments and Kallian is yelling bloody murder, but it goes okay! She clings to Latios with a smile and watches as Kallian nearly falls off as Latias does a few twirls and spins in the air.

“Hold on, silly!” She calls to him, a smile on her face. “If you don’t you might fall off!”

“O-of course…! You just hold on, too!” He calls back, clinging to Latias for dear life.

She nods and nuzzles against Latios, having fun for a few hours more. Soon, the sun is setting and Father is making it clear it’s time to go. She doesn’t like that, but… she has to be good, so she lets Latios set her on the ground.

“Let’s go,” Kallian takes her hand, smiling at her. “Did you have fun?”

“I want to play more,” she admits, looking at her feet. “But yes, I did.”

“We can come tomorrow--” Kallian yells when Latios and Latias both push into him, as if trying to follow after.

Melia giggles. “Do you want to come home with us?”

Kallian frowns. “Melia, they can’t.”

“Why not?” Melia pouts at him. “Our family takes care of them, right? We can take care of them at home, too!”

“That’s not how it works,” Kallian says gently, looking to Father for backup.

“It isn’t,” Sorean hums, before pulling something from his side. Two Pokeballs, both seemingly empty. “But for the two of you? Perhaps there’s another way.”

Things click for Melia and she gasps, running up to him and taking a Pokeball. Kallian is a bit slower, but he takes one as well.

She throws and… aha! Latias is caught! Kallian follows suit and catches Latios. With their new Pokemon in tow, she smiles up at him. She’s so excited, and the smile Kallian gives her makes her think he’s also excited.

“Hmmm,” he holds out the Pokeball to her. “Here, how about you take this?”

“Huh? But he’s yours!”

“I think you deserve him more than I do,” he replies.

Melia thinks for a moment and takes it, but shoves Latias’s ball into his hand at the same time. “Then we’ll trade! I’ll take Latios and you can take Latias. It will be like having two big brothers for me!”

“And I suppose two little sisters for me,” Kallian blinks a few times, before hooking the ball onto his belt. “Alright, if it makes you happy, I’ll take care of Latias in your stead.”

She giggles, hands clasped behind her back. “Thank you, brother!”

#xenoblade #xenoblade chronicles #melia antiqua #kallian antiqua #pokemon au

[kalstuff]

=(Φ🔻Φ)=

original:

#vashwood #tristamp #trigun #trigun stampede #kallian did a thing #vash the stampede #wolfwood

[breninarthur]

happy dadwc friday! sending you “letters between two of your OC’s companions about them” for Kallian 👀

hi, thank you!! ^^ @dadrunkwriting

rated t. 517 words. alistair writes to zevran before he and kallian set off to tevinter. this is... some vague idea i have for the future, and it becomes less dysfunctional, i swear 😂

◌ ◌ ◌

Zevran,

It was surprisingly difficult to find some vellum and ink without somebody insisting on scribing for me, so even though I'm sure you'll be annoyed this isn't in some hard-to-crack code... appreciate that I'm being as sneaky as I can be.

Kallian is on her way to meet with you. I pray that Isabela reaches you with this letter before then. I also pray that she doesn't read this herself, and would like to remind her that I am in contact with her friend the Champion, who would... be disappointed, I'm sure. I suppose I can't think of a good threat, but Isabela, I will pay you if you stop reading right now.

Look after her. Kallian. Not in a fight, Maker knows it'll be the other way around there. But all this sneaking and spying and hiding you're going to do... you're the expert. So I'll be holding you accountable for anything that goes wrong, and praying that I won't need to. Just... get her out of there, will you? And be careful yourself. Tevinter isn't kind to elves, and I think Ferelden would resent me going to war.

I've thought a lot about whether I should be writing this letter. I think she might actually murder me if she knew. But I'm not entirely going behind her back? I floated the idea past her. She... I don't know, she's too focused on me. She thinks I don't mean it, but I do.

You know what, just show her this letter when the time arrives. Kall, please don't hate me.

This is all over the place.

Right. Here goes.

Right now.

I am running out of space.

Maybe I want to.

Anyway.

I truly hate to tell you this, but I trust you'll do right by her, if not me.

We cannot spend as much time together as we wish to, not now, not yet. Each time she visits the Palace feels more and more fleeting, and I fear it is my fault. It's... difficult to fit everything in. Weeks worth of a relationship; months; a year; all in one day, or a week if we're incredibly lucky. It's hard.

You two have always been close. There was a time, back then, when I thought she would choose you. When she didn't... forgive me, Zev, but I always knew that hurt you. The way you looked at her never changed. The way she looked at you did change... but I don't know. She still looks at other people differently.

Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. That certainly wouldn't be anything new.

All I wanted to say was... you have my blessing. When I see her again, we won't speak of it. If you're there too, well... let's cross that bridge when we come to it.

Kallian, I love you. Sorry if this made things awkward between you. Just imagine how awkward it would be if I was there too! Ha ha!

Take care of each other. I want to see no new scars when you return, on either of you.

With love,

Alistair

#dadwc #my writing #alistair theirin #zevran arainai #warden tabris #kallian tabris #aliwarden #zevwarden #kallian x alistair #kallian x zevran #dragon age

[ronqueesha]

Profile - Kallian Tabris

It's been a while since I did one of these. And I've been having a lot of fun adapting my beloved Dragon Age OC into wow, so this felt like a thing to do.

The Basics –––

Full Name: Kallian Tabris Age: Chronologically 37, physically 31. (19 when the Illidari were formed, 6 years frozen in the wardens' prison) Gender: Female (She/Her) Race: Sin'dorei, partially demonic Alignment: Chaotic Neutral In-game Names: Kallibris (WrA)

Physical Appearance –––

Hair: Very dark brown/black Eyes: Born with vibrant blue/grey eyes. All that remains now are empty sockets that glow with unsettling fel energy. Height: 4'9", 1.4m Build: Wiry, thin, almost emaciated Common Accessories: Her warglaives, smaller blades hidden in her clothing, a tiny book with small pressed flowers in the pages Voice Claim: Cree Summer

Personal –––

Birthplace: Silvermoon City Residence: None Profession: None Hobbies: Still figuring that out, now that the legion is no longer a threat. In rare times when alone, she finds flowers she finds to be pretty and presses them into her book. Languages: Thalassian, Common, Demonic, Orcish. (but only the basics. She will not have an extended conversation in the latter language) Religion: None. Not anymore. Fears: Losing control, drowning, her own mortality

Relationships –––

Spouse: None Children: None Parents: Cyrion Tabris (father, deceased), Adaia Tabris (mother, deceased) Siblings: None Pets: None

Traits –––

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

RP Hooks –––

Former Servant Girl - Kallian's family have served the Sunstrider royal household for generations. Although they were commoners with no noble blood, they had always lived among the wealthiest and most elite of High Elf society. Kallian's old life was one of luxury and hard work combined, ensuring the estates, clothes and households lived up to the luxury expected of the nobility. A Very Angry Elf - Kallian suffered from intermittent explosive disorder before becoming a demon hunter, which made her life difficult enough. During the scourge invasion of Silvermoon, she watched helplessly as the undead hordes tore her family apart, only to immediately raise their corpses so they could attack Kallian. She had to destroy their shambling remains multiple times as they continually rose again, more disfigured and desecrated than before. Until all that remained were piles of meat and Kallian's broken, vengeful psyche. A Life Returned - The Illidari were formed to fight a very specific enemy. That enemy is no longer a major threat, and demon hunters all across Azeroth have had to find new purpose. With the Legion and the undead Scourge kept at bay, Kallian has found that her rage and singleminded fury have begun to dim, and she's found time to engage in hobbies and activities that once only existed as faint memories.

#warcraft #kallian tabris #this kallian has no leliana :(

[tabriscadash]

thinking about redemption, revenge, and reparative justice (a la this post)...

I think that there is something to be said for the arc I wound up building for Kallian for the unlearning of violence and revenge. That’s not to say that either of these things are inherently bad (Marian’s is more learning to use these things for better/meaningful causes: self-care as opposed to self-harm, for example) ... but for Kallian, it does not ultimately always bring her peace. Vaughn was not undeserving of his fate -- but Kallian was undeserving of that trauma, and killing Vaughn was, ultimately, more traumatising than not. (Not her fault; but the systems).

Revenge -- and punitive justice, as a whole -- is built into Ferelden’s structure, and it makes sense, but I feel that it ultimately does more harm than good (Archon Hessarian’s wife in the Gauntlet said: “I am justice. I am vengeance. Blood can only be repaid in blood”. Blood must have blood is an inherently destructive ethos.)

Plus... killing Loghain would not bring Kallian the peace she needs - killing Vaughn did not - there would simply be the killing, yet more violence after violence, and then the silence that would follow...

and in the end - Loghain never gives her a sufficient apology, for his own reasons (and because the game refuses to expand upon the dialogue in any meaningful way and it KILLS me) - but giving Kallian the opportunity to build, as opposed to simply destroy, means a lot to & for her.

#loghain mac tir #kallian tabris

[sulky-valkyrie]

hi auntie val! i give you a prompt you can make angsty or sweet

“did i do good?” for tabris and timur!

Hullooo favorite fishie!

The last hurlock fell beneath Timur's mace with a disgusting squelchy crunch. He grimaced and wished for the thousandth time he had a proper sword, but pauper Grey Warden recruits had to make do with whatever they could get their hands on. Maybe one if these creatures might have something more serviceable? Or at least less messy. Kallian had somehow procurred blades of her own back at camp, but, being the bitch of a sister she always was, refused to tell him where.

Timur started nudging the corpses with a boot, hoping a better weapon would turn up. Kallian hissed somewhere behind him, and he spun around, ready for another fight, but it was only Alistair, bandaging a shallow cut on her arm.

"Stop wiggling and this would be tied already," he muttered, blushing furiously.

"Fuck you, I'd be done already if you weren't helping," she spat.

Making friends as always. Timur wasn't sure how to deal with the way Alistair looked at her, or if Kallian had even noticed. It wasn't at all like how Vaughan or his cronies had, but it reminded him of it all the same. To be a noticed elf in Denerim was never good, and Alistair couldn’t seem to stop noticing her. All of her, not just her backside either. In fact, he stared at her hands most often, presumably because looking at her face would be too obvious. He was practically mesmerized, and more than once, Timur had seen him reach to touch her arm, almost wonderingly, then stop himself. A good thing too, because killing him would cause far more problems than it might solve. He hoped with the Wardens it would be different, but it worried him all the same. Especially with an entire army of shem surrounding them. Helping hide bodies for his sister had not been a favored pastime and he preferred not to repeat it.

"You plannin' on using that, mate?"

Timur blinked in surprise. Daveth was crouched in front of him, pulling a rusty sword out of the dead hurlock's hand. "I - maybe?" He wiggled his mace in exasperation. "Anything is probably better than this."

"Right, right." Daveth bobbed his head in agreement. "Your sister - she's your sister, right? - she found some nice weapons, you ask her? Also, she seeing anyone? I'd ask myself but I like my balls still attached."

He snorted. "Yes, yes, and no." He took the offered sword and swung it a few times. The balance wasn’t bad, and even though it looked like garbage, it wasn't pitted or chipped. "But I don't recommend, uh, pursuing that. You're from Denerim, right?"

"I'm from everywhere," Daveth snickered.

Timur cocked his head toward Kallian. "She's why they tell humans not to go to the alienage at night." He paused. "Well, the men."

"Seems to like that one okay." Daveth said as he pointed. Sure enough, Kallian was actually laughing, a sound Timur hadn't heard since the morning of the wedding, and punching Alistair in the arm. Before Timur could figure out what to do about that, the only actual Grey Warden among them tilted his head like a dog scenting the air.

"More coming," he said brusquely. Once darkspawn were involved, it was the only time Alistair actually seemed serious or capable. He slung his shield off his back and motioned them to follow.

Timur fell in next to Kallian behind Alistair as Jory moved up beside him. Daveth pulled out a bow and brought up the rear, muttering what sounded like part of Chant of Light.

When they crested the hill, Alistair and Jory charged forward. Alistiar's shield smashed into genlock's face as Jory took another one's head clean off. Timur hesitated, telling himself that he was just surveying the battlefield, but when Kallian surged past him, he was dragged along on her wake.

They'd always fought together well, no doubt due to learning from their mother together, and while fighting darkspawn was more difficult than fighting humans, their teamwork was just as effective. If she feinted left, he followed through in the same direction, and if he went high, she went low. They never needed to talk about it either. They were a single force, a single mind, and it had given them the upper hand in most all of their scraps in the alienage.

Most of the time, he amended to himself. A snarl of pain and anger disrupted his thoughts. An arrow was in Kallian's arm, and she was pissed.

Oh, shit. Timur lunged forward, pushing the hurlock in front of him out of the way and taking a glancing blow on the shoulder, then grabbed her injured elbow with a muttered, "Sorry." She almost bit him as he dragged her backwards, so he pinched her ear like their mother used to. That did it, and the momentary distraction was enough to stave off one of her . . . well, their mother called them fits. She'd been getting better at controlling them, hadn't had one in months, maybe years, but Timur had seen the inside of the arl's estate. That dam had broken, and things were happening faster than she could rebuild it.

She nodded her gratitude as the rage faded from her face, then took up a position behind the other warriors instead of running headlong into the darkspawn like she'd been intending. Daveth took down the hurlock who shot her with an arrow of his own, and Alistair did something that made the genlock with a staff fall to its knees.

They rushed forward as a group and overwhelmed the rest of them in short order. Timur focused on keeping Kallian's injured side covered, hacking at anything that came close, until suddenly, he swung at thin air. He looked around, worried that the fight had moved on without him, but no: there simply weren't any left.

Kallian broke the arrow off with a hiss and threw it at the darkspawn corpse at her feet, and was about to force the head through herself before Daveth offered to help. She looked like she was about to spit at him, but practicality won out over pride, so she grimaced and offered her arm to him. Timur watched him work it out carefully, listening to the sounds of Jory and Alistair searching the corpses for anything useful. He should be helping, but he needed to be sure Kallian was okay first.

"That was well done," Alistair said quietly behind him.

He spun around. "I did good?"

Alistair nodded toward Kallian. "Stopping her. That mage would've - anyway, well done. The treaties should be just ahead." He pointed at a chest nestled by a vine-covered broken down wall. "In fact, that should be them. Could you check? I'll keep an eye on your sister."

Timur frowned, but didn't argue. If nothing else, Alistair would keep Daveth from doing something that might get someone gutted. He picked his way across the ruins, but as he neared it, it was obvious the chest was as damaged as the fortress surrounding it. Maybe it was buried underneath?

Twenty minutes of investigation later, he gave up, hauled himself back to his feet, and stretched his back with a sigh. Alistair and Kallian were sitting together as he bandaged her again, and Daveth was still breathing, so there really wasn't a rush to report back that his search had been fruitless. It's almost peaceful out here if you ignore all the darkspawn.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?"

#dragon age #fanfic writing #prompt fills #warden tabris #also warden tabris #TWO OF THEM #alistair #grey wardens #ostagar #yes I really ended it like this #ris