#the old men are also nugs
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Gods are asleep post where chivalry went to die snippet chapter 7 finally dropping this month so help me god
From the city drenched in everlasting blue, red remained the only color burned in the old knight’s mind.
Red was the color of the sliced vegetables slipped into his bowl. Red was the color of the firelight, keeping him company with its ever-changing shapes. Red was the color of dawn breaking through the windows, heralding a slow end to a frozen winter.
Red was the color of the Vulture.
And red was the color of Tomo.
#if you like tragic old man yaoi this is the fic for you#the old men are also nugs#BUGS#though tbh you know hegemol is not opposed to that good zaza#very extremely comfort on the hurt/comfort scale rn but i promise it will be picking up#i have Big Plans#please read every time i get a new comment or interaction it makes my brain go wowee !#if youve ever commented on my fic i am kissing you on the mouth rn#thank u
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Leave the light on
Summary: Sleeping with the lights out seemed like a thing all the people do. So you told him how you struggled with it, after you almost fell asleep at a stake out he made sure you would feel safe from now on.
Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (unnamed reader, you)
Wordcount: 1.4k
Warnings: Fear of darkness, Reader has a light panic attack
A/N: Thanks to the anon the other day I had this plot bunny. Also the Spanish in this is thanks to the google translator so if it’s wrong I'd be thankful if anyone points it out to me
Masterlist
Taglist in reblog
“Where is Murphy?” Were the first words you heard when Javi got into your car.
“Hello to you too.” You smiled.
“Sorry. Hola mi pequeña.” He smiled back.
“Stop calling me that.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “I’m not that small.”
“Yes you are.” He grinned.You couldn’t see his eyes.
“New sunglasses?” You asked. He nodded.
“Steve had to stay home. Something with Olivia. So you have to spend your night with me.” You winked. He chuckled.
“Again? Seriously.” He playfully groaned, though the smile on his face never left.
“Yeah I know. Worst company ever.” You joked before you started the engine and drove with him away.
One of Escobar’s associates was supposed to have some kind of meeting in the restaurant across from the hotel you and Javi were now staying in. You were supposed to watch them. Back up was on call if needed but it was supposed to be an easy job.
“You sure this is just a hotel?” You asked when you came back from the reception where you got something to drink.
“Yeah. Why?” Javi turned around from the window where he was sitting. He had taken off his sunglasses and his blue shirt, leaving him in only his white undershirt. Of course you were attracted to him. You had eyes and Javier Peña was a handsome man. But he not only had a reputation, but was a colleague.
“Because there are prostitutes downstairs and they’re renting out rooms by the hour. You should have seen the managers face when I told him, we’re staying the whole night.” You shook your head. Handing Javi one of the beers you saw his eyes wander up your body. Crossing your arms in front of your chest you looked at him with an eyebrow raised. Waiting.
“You’re too pretty to be a prostitute pequeña.”
“What makes you think that I am the prostitute in this scenario, Peña?” You challenged, ignoring the fact that he called you pretty.
He laughed. “True. Sorry.” He cheered his beer towards you.
Sometime during your stake out Javi went out to get some food and brought you not only the most delicious Arepas you had ever had but ice cream for dessert. How did he know your favorite ice cream flavour?
Both eating your food in silence you watched how men arrived at the restaurant across the street.
“They’re here.” Javi whispered. Nodding you took your camera out to get some pictures.
“How do we know about this again?” You asked.
“Murph got a call earlier today and thought we should check it out. Apparently he was right.” You looked at him, as he ran a finger over his lip, looking across the street. Shaking your head to get your thoughts straight you looked back, taking various pictures of the men meeting. You had never seen their faces before. It was moments like these where your fight against this whole system seemed hopeless. Everytime you thought you knew of the people involved, new people showed up. It wasn’t helpful that the police in this town were more than suspicious about everything any american offered to help.
“Who the fuck are these people?” You whispered.
“No fucking idea.” He groaned. You would later, much later find out that one of the men was indeed the mexican they called the godfather.
It was close to 4 am when Javi nugged your side.
“Go to bed. I’ll keep watch.” He said quietly. You were about to protest when a big jawn interrupted you, making Javi chuckle.
“Aren’t you tired?” You asked.
“No. Now come on.” He nodded towards the bed, making you sigh.
“Okay.” You took the blanket he had lay across your shoulders with you as you went to bed.
“I’m gonna wake you up in the morning. I don’t think anythings gonna go down over there tonight.”
“But we have some more faces to add to the list of never ending drug carrusel.” You sighed, laying down.
“Yeah. It fucking sucks. But we can’t do anything about it right now, so sleep.” He got up from his seat at the window to switch the lights off.
Closing your eyes before you heard him switch them off you tried to remain calm. He didn’t know about your silly fear of the dark. Maybe you could trick yourself into thinking it wasn’t dark by keeping your eyes closed. Your conscience had other plans. You felt your heartbeat getting faster, your breathing too.
This couldn’t be happening. Not with Javi in the room.
“You okay over there?” You heard him ask. You shook your head, unable to answer, not opening your eyes as you tried to calm down. You didn’t notice how Javi got up from his seat in front of the window and walked over to you. You jumped when you felt his hands on your arm.
“Hey....” He was close. Slowly you opened your eyes, thankful that he must have turned the light on, his face illuminated by the lamp on the bed side table, concern in his eyes.
“Breathe with me okay?” He whispered. You nodded, looking into his eyes as he breathed with you. Closing your eyes you breathed in deep before you opened them again. Concerned he looked down at you.
“You okay?” He asked quietly. ‘I am now’ you wanted to say, instead you nodded.
“Okay.” He squeezed your arm. “I’ll be just over there, okay?” He gestured to the chair in front of the window. You nodded again and watched as he got up to his feet and reached for the light switch.
“No. Leave them on.” You said. Javi stopped and turned to look down at you.
“I’m… I’ll always keep them on when I sleep.” You whispered. Nodding he sucked his bottom lip in before he turned and went back to his spot at the window.
You thought he would ask some questions but he didn’t.
“I’ve been scared of darkness since my father used to lock me up in the dark basement to punish me when I was little.” You said after a while into the quiet. You heard Javi breathe out, before he turned his head towards you.
“He did it for years and now I can’t sleep when it’s dark. Silly.. I know.” You closed your eyes.
“It’s not silly. It’s a trauma. And you’re incredibly strong for dealing with it the way you do.” He said quietly. Shuddering you breathed out, opening your eyes and nodded at him with a little smile.
“Now sleep. You’re safe here.” He said quietly. You didn’t hear the “with me” he added whispering.
You didn’t know when you fell asleep. And you didn’t know that Javi watched over you until he was sure that you were indeed, asleep. Everytime he thought he knew everything about you he learned something new. When this was all over, he hoped you would say yes if he asked you out.
When you woke up in the morning you saw Javi sitting, leaned against the wall next to the window, his eyes closed. He must have fallen asleep himself. Smiling a little you watched him sleep. He looked so relaxed and you wondered, what it would feel like to run your fingertips over his nose. Under different circumstances you would have asked him out a long time ago. But you couldn’t risk losing your focus on the end goal. Catching Escobar. But maybe one day…
“Are you watching me sleep?” His eyes fluttered open, looking in your direction. You shook your head.
“You wanna get out of here, get breakfast and drop the pictures off at the station, before I drop you off at home?” You asked him.
“But you have to help me up. I’m too old for sleeping on the floor.” He groaned. Chuckling you got out of bed, stretching your muscles before you walked over to him. He smiled when you reached out your hands to him. His fingers wrapped around yours and you helped him up, losing the balance but never falling, because he kept holding on to you. You were close to him when you found your balance, inhaling his scent. Closing your eyes for just a little moment to dream about what maybe could have been you smiled.
“Coffee 's on me Peña.” You said, looking up at him.
“This time.” He winked, squeezing your hand once before he let go.
#fanfic#fanfiction#Javier Peña#Pedro pascal#Javier pena x reader#Javier pena x ofc#Javier pena x you#Javier pena fanfiction
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The live
A/N: Hii this is my first fic so please be nice! Also sorry if its short!
Reader X Tom Holland
FT: some of the Avengers cast.
Warnings: this is a tickle fic (no its not sexual), bad grammar.
Prompt: You just finished shooting a scene on set with your friends, and you found Tom in your trailer, you decided to go live.
Word count: 1,305
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You had finally wrapped up a pretty long scene with Robert Downey Jr and Chris Evans. aka Iron man and Captain America.
You had been working on the set with the Avengers for a little over 9 months now, so you havent been in any of the movies yet. Tho you have become really close with all the cast members.
You had an especially good bond with Tom Holland.
“Hey, Y/N!” Chris called out to you, “wanna come get a coffee with us?”
“No, im good! Thanks! I have tea in my trailer, ill just go there and relax.” You replied with a kind smile.
“Suit yourself! Were going out, we’ll be gone for a while!” Robert tried to change your mind.
“Im good! You can go!” You assured him.
“Kk.” He said trying to copy your language.
“Hey! I dont talk like that!” You fake whined.
“Mhm, okayy! Can we just go now? I want coffee!” Chris was already out the door.
“Coming!” Robert scoffed, and went with Chris.
You started heading for your trailer, you opened the door and saw Tom sitting on the couch.
“Y/N! Finally!” he whined.
“Oh! Tom! Hi, sorry had to retake the scene too many times.” You flopped on the couch next to him.
“Are they annoying you? Cuz that wouldn’t be suprising, they sometimes drive me crazy! But theyre fun to work with!” Tom said with a chuckle.
“No, no! Its fine, just wanted some tea.” You said as you stood up to go warm up some water.
“Hey! I already made tea!” he showed you the two cups of tea that were sitting on the counter.
“Thanks!” You flopped down on the couch and took the mug in hand.
“So... i’m bored! Wanna go live?” Tom said already opening instagram on his phone.
“Sure! I mean we got nothing else to do!” You said as you scooted a little closer to Tom.
“Alright! Let’s not make it too long tho, I wanna rest a little after this.” Tom said starting the live.
You nodded.
“Hey guys! We have a small break from shooting! So me and Y/N decided to go live!” Tom said nugging you.
“Hey! Don’t spill my tea!” You exclaimed, slapping his shoulder with one hand.
“Haha! Sorry!” He chuckled. He picked up his cup of tea and took a sip.
“Oh! Right! You don’t know who Y/N is yet! Maybe some of you do, that check the cast member list.” He talked to the camera while you took another sip. “Shes playing the role of the new character “Z” in the movie, shes a bit younger then me! So i finally have a friend here, unlike those old men and women.” He giggled, of course he was joking. He loved his other cast members.
“Rude! I like them more than you!” You said sarcastically and laughed at the face that Tom made.
His mouth was wide open and eyes big, he was just looking at you with disbelief. “Z! You can’t say that!!” He turned to you and fake whined.
“Did you just call be by my hero name? Hah! Okay, Spider-man!” You teased him.
The live was filled with the laughing emojis, they seemed to love you already!
“Don’t talk to me like that! I’m the mighty Spider-man!” He called out with pride.
You chuckled. “Okay, Spider-Boy!” you laughed.
He fake gasped while putting his hand to his chest. “How dare you! I could beat you in any battle!” Tom said getting into his Spider-Man character.
“Hah! Yeah right!” You scoffed and he looked at you with a glint of playfulness in his eyes.
“Watch me!” He exclaimed and tackled you to the couch.
He seemed to act if there were no people watching you do this.
“Hey! Tom! I-AGH!” You let out a squeak.
Tom looked at you. “... you ticklish?” He had a small smirk on his face.
“well.. I.. No?” You said with a stutter.
“So.. you wouldn’t mind if i.. DID THIS!” As he said that, he dug into your sides with both hands.
“AGH! TOM! NO! Stahahahap! Nohohooo!” You arched your back while trying to pry his hands off of your sides.
“Ha! You lied! It isnt wise to lie to Spider-Man! TAKE THIS!” He said as he dug into yout stomach.
“AAAAAGH! TOM! TOOOM! Ahahah! noOOo!” You cried out.
“Who is Tom? I’m Peter!” Tom said with a smrik that you could not see.
“OKOK! PETER! STAHAHAP! Nahahaaa!” You laughed your head off, and his teasing didn’t help very much.
“Hey, what’s so funny? Did I miss a joke? Tell meee!” Tom said as he dug deeper into your belly.
“NAHAHAHA! STAHAP! IM GONNA DIHIHIHIE!” You fell into histerics.
“Hey! You didn’t answer my question! Why are you laughing?? Z? Hello?” He teased you, he knew exactly what he was doing.
“PEHEHETER! YOUHAHAHA! YOU’RE TIHIHICKLING MEHEHEEE!” You screamed hoping he would stop, but you also didn’t.
“Ooooh! So that’s why you are laughing, huh? Didn’t take you for the type to be ticklish, Z!” Tom teased as the live was filled with laughing emojis and comments about your cute laugh.
“TOHOHO- I MEAN PEHETER! STAHAP! IHI CAHAHAN’T TAKE IHIT!” You were being pushed to your limit and Tom felt that, he started slowing down but not stopping completely.
Someone entered the live.. it was Robert Downey Jr.
Tom looked over at the live while he was still attacking your ribs, and saw Robert’s comment.
Robert wrote: “Hey, Y/N! You should’ve come with us! Regret it yet? Anyways.. were coming to save you.”
Tom read the comment and let go, “No, wait! You what? Robert!” he scrolled through the lives comments.
You were finally free and you could finally breathe. “Ehehh.. huff..”.
The comments were filled with “OOO!”, “You better run, Spider-man! Iron man is gonna get ya!”, and “OOOOH!”’s.
You sat up and looked over to Tom, when u saw his face in the camera you couldnt help but laugh. “Haha! what happened now??” You saw the You better run comment and realized.
“Hey, no! Y/N help me! He’s gonna actually kill me!” Tom looked over to you.
“Well.. i sujest-” KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
“Come in!” You said with a laugh, Tom looked at you like you had just stabbed him.
“Heyyy! Y/N, you alive?” Robert and Chris entered your trailer.
“Yeheah! I couldn’t say the same for Tom tho!” You said while turning to Tom who just looked confused and scared at the same time.
Tom was still live, you grabbed the phone from the table and turned the camera, you knew what was going to happen.
“Hey... uhm- I have to go..” Tom said while slowly standing up.
“no can’t do, sorry kid.” Robert said as he grabbed Tom and tackled him to the ground.
“HEY HEY HEY! NOO! Rohobert!! Plehease don’t!” Tom said trying to fight back.
Chris just sat next to you and enjoyed the scene that was about to play out.
“Kid, i’m not even touching you yet!” Robert laughed.
“Whyhy are you talking like Stahark?” Tom said giggling.
“what do you mean? Peter? Are you alright?” Robert said in a sarcastic tone.
“Noho doHONHAHAHAA! ROHOBEHEHERTTT! NAHAHAHA!” Tom broke out in laughter for his fans to see.
Robert dug into his belly, that was one of his worst spots.
“Who’s Robert? I’m Iron Man!” Robert laughed to himself as he quoted the same thing Tom said to you.
Rest of the 10 minutes were filled with Spider-Man’s laughter, as Iron Man wrecked him. Captain America and Z watched the scene with amusement.
After sometime had passed and it was time to go to lseep, you opened Instagram and saw that a lot of people had tagged you and Tom in videos of you getting tickled.
You smiled and went to sleep.
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I hope you enjoyed the fic! I tried really hard to not make any mistakes, but theres probably a shit ton LMAO- That was it for now! I’ll be writing new fics as often as i can! Hope you liked it!
#!ticklish reader#tom holland tickle#marvel tickle fic#tickle fic#marvel tickle#!ticklish Tom Holland#tickle#tickle community#movie tickle#spiderman tickle#mcu tickle#marvel cinematic universe tickle
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Blame for Bethany
Title: Blame for Bethany
Fiction Type: Fanfiction
Fandom: Dragon Age 2
Warnings: Minor swearing, mention of death
Prompt: “I’m not saying I told you so...”
“I’m not saying I told you so...”
“That’s funny, because it sounds like you are.” I smirked. The clink of tankards surrounded us. There was a low hum of voices, and the smell of nug shit. It was home sweet home—at least for him. Face turned only half to the fireplace, he looked older.
I frowned. How old was Varric? Admittedly, I didn’t know much about dwarf aging. I’d always assumed they aged as quickly as humans or elves, but...
“Get it off your chest.” He sipped his drink, eyes sparkling.
“Another day.” I sank into a chair.
He shook his head. “It’s bad to pent shit up, Hawke. I knew a fella in the carta who got by weeping into his pillow every night. It had a nickname and everything. Of course, when the other carta men in his squad found out, they filled his back with knives.”
“Thanks, Varric.” I waved the waitress for a drink. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”
“That’s my specialty. But seriously, what’s eating you?”
“It’s just a conclusion I’ve had. We’ve survived the Deep Roads. I’ve made enough money that I barely have to work. And Mother seems happy. I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t.”
The dwarf raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”
“I think...I have to talk to her about this.”
“I’m going to say it again. If it’s bad, dump it on me. Your mother’s been through enough crap.”
“And deprive you of the chance of another ‘I told you so’ speech?”
Varric sighed. His chair creaked as he leaned back. “We’re not talking about an ogre this time, Hawke. We’re talking about your mother. Maybe give her some time before you hit her with something heavy.”
“I’ve given her time!” I laughed. “Varric, I’ve had this thought since I started work with Athenril. I’ve been carrying it around for two years now.”
“Do you need a shrink? I can recommend a good one I know. He works in Darktown.”
“He’s not a healer, is he?”
Varric grinned. “No, but I know a healer there who I’ve also recommended to see the guy. To be fair, he did attend one session.”
“But?”
“But it’s probably better if you don’t mention you’re a mage.” Varric’s face darkened. “Since that lovely therapy session, Briggs has a paranoia of being lit on fire. That tends to happen when you try to do therapy on a Fade spirit.”
“Maker.” I shook my head. “I think I’ll pass, Varric, but...thanks for the tip. Why Darktown?”
“If you talk to a therapist in Hightown, they might gossip. Any therapist there will likely be a noble looking for extra cash or a fun time, and well, you know your neighbours better than anyone. All they care about are scandals and social clout. If it got out that Marion Hawke was having mommy issues, it would be the talk of Hightown for at least a month.”
“I don’t have mommy issues.” I rolled my eyes. “But I see your point.”
“I’m not saying you do. It’s what they would say.” He winked. “Trust me, Hawke. I have a good read on people.”
“And a vivid imagination.”
“Exactly! If I say something is going to go wrong, it will likely go even worse!”
“And here I am, taking advice from the guy who loosed Anders on a therapist. Do wonders never cease?”
Varric chuckled. “I know you don’t listen. Hell, do any of you? But be gentle with her, Hawke. She’s had a hard time.”
I was halfway to Lowtown before I remembered my new home. I kicked a stone, and turned around. Would I ever get used to this? Even after three weeks, it felt strange to walk into Hightown and think I belonged there. In my rough leather jacket and scuffed boots, I felt as much like a ruffian as I’d always been. When I drew the key from my pocket, I had the unnerving feeling I’d stolen it from someone—or, as was more often the case, killed someone for it.
Smells of flowers and greenery washed over me. Mom had filled the manor with potted plants. Three shattered pots in the corner gave evidence that Sandal had managed to destroy half of them just as fast. The dreamy eyed dwarf looked out over the balcony; was he planning to swing from the chandelier again?
I dropped my satchel at the foot of my bed. When I emerged from my room, I was clean and dressed in finery. I drifted down the stairs, frowning.
“Is there anything I can get for you, my lady?” Bodahn bowed. “Name it, and I’ll be happy to oblige.”
“Just a bottle of wine, Bodahn, and a glass.”
“Right away, my lady.”
“It’s Marion.” I sighed as he ambled off. “There’s no need to be so formal.”
Mother sat by the fire, embroidery in her lap. Her wrists flashed with silver, and her hair was pulled into an intricate braid. To look at her, one wouldn’t have known at first glance that she had spent twenty years tilling earth or bathing a Mabari coated daily in mud. Still, I could see it—in the wrinkles around her eyes, and the whitening of her hair, I saw a harder life. Most of the nobles who were Mother’s age looked ten years younger.
“Mother.”
“Hello, dear.” She gazed into the flames. “Have you heard from your brother?”
“Mages and templars aren’t friends as a general rule.”
“He’s your brother.” She grimaced. “It’s just as well. He needed space. It could be a lucrative career for him.”
“Hunting people like me? That’s a ‘lucrative career’?”
“I’m sorry, Marion.” She glanced up, and smiled. “I’m just trying to make the best of things. He’s been discontent for a long time. If this brings him happiness, I’ll be grateful to the Order for that much.”
I pulled up a second chair. Bodahn left the wine on a small round table of polished wood. I filled my glass. The liquid was a deep red.
I studied the flames, seeing shapes, seeing houses, blackening ruins crumpling as darkspawn swarmed over them. Did Mother see the same thing, or was the fire a mere comfort?
“He might have joined the Order in Fereldan too.” I picked up a poker, and jabbed the logs. “After being kicked out of the army, that is.”
Mother chuckled. “I suppose it would have been a matter of time. Carver always did find trouble. I hope he’s settled down now.”
I frowned. “It would have been natural if...”
Mother glanced at me. “If what?”
If you had been strong enough to do what you should have.
I stood up, setting my glass down. My heart thrummed. I bit my lip.
Be gentle, Hawke. Varric’s voice was low and smooth in my head.
I wheeled to face her. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”
“I’m sorry I said that, darling. I never meant it. Not really.”
“Even after you apologized the first time, I still believed it was. I played it over in my head. If I had gotten to the ogre sooner, I could have knocked it down. If I’d thought to throw fire, I could have distracted it. But I wasn’t the only one there. If it was my fault, it was Carver’s fault, Aveline’s. We were surrounded. Everyone was just trying to survive.” I shuddered. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”
Mother reached for me.
“It was yours.”
Mother flinched as if I’d electrocuted her. Then she bowed her head. “You wish it had been me instead of her. If the ogre had grabbed me instead...”
“I don’t wish that.” I sat down. “But I was angry at you. When we were at Gamlen’s, what did you do? You stared into the fire and you didn’t move. You didn’t even take in washing to help us pay the rent. You didn’t try to sell fruit. You didn’t offer to stitch up clothes for a couple of coppers. You didn’t do anything! You left it to Carver and I. You’ve left it to us since Dad died.”
Mother’s eyes watered. She closed them. “After she died...after your father...each time, it was like another part of me, somewhere in my chest, had just been ripped away. I couldn’t even think. I was sad and angry, and I couldn’t see anything else. Then, when Carver left, I thought I was having a heart attack.”
“But he didn’t leave, not truly.”
“I realized that.” She took a breath. “When I realized he was just going to be on his own, with a job he might enjoy, I even felt a little better. I know you tried with him...but he needed to find his own way.”
“I didn’t want you to take Bethany’s place, Mother.” I took her hand. “I was angry because you could have prevented it.”
She met my gaze.
“I never wanted to go to the Circle. I liked the feel of grass under my feet. I savoured looking up, and seeing the sky. I even enjoyed the constant reek of filthy Mabari.”
She chuckled.
“But sometimes I wondered about the Circle. I thought of all the books there I could be reading. And I thought of Bethany, on those winter days when we had less to eat, being able to have her fill. They get three meals a day at the Circle. There was one winter where I even considered sending her off myself. It was a chance at a richer life for her.”
“But not you?”
“Not as long as you needed looking after.” I shook my head. “It’s just...if you had sent us, she would still be alive right now. She was capable. She would have survived the Harrowing. She might have even attained a position, become a senior enchanter. She might have written books, had friends...been safe.”
Mom slumped over. “I’ve made so many mistakes.”
“We could have stayed together. If you had been well, if Carver was there, I might have gone with her. And if Carver had joined the Order, he would have been able to send decent money your way. He would have kept us together with letters and stories. When he wasn’t watching over his sisters, he could have visited you, seen you were alright.”
“And all three of you could have been safe.”
“I shouldn’t have said this to you. Keeping us free wasn’t the wrong decision. Not really. You couldn’t have known the Blight was coming. If it hadn’t, all of us would still be in Lothering now. Poorer, but alive.”
“I’ve thought too much of myself.”
“Mother.”
“No, I have. You’ve played it through your head, too. You’ve watched Bethany die over and over. When you look into the flames, do you see it like I do? The homes falling, burning, being swarmed?”
“It’s all I see.”
“I wish I could look after you now.”
“But you don’t have to anymore. We’re set for life.”
“There must be some way I could be useful.” Mother pursed her lips. Her eyes glinted. “I have old friends from my childhood here. Many of them have their own children. Perhaps I could set up a meeting with some of them? I know Sir Laurence is very handsome.”
I laughed. “No, Mother. Thank you. I’m sort of already...seeing someone.”
“A noble?” Her voice was critical.
“Not at all. I have too much of my mother in me.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“He understands, Mother. If I married a noble, how could I be happy? I’d have to hide all the time. I’m so tired of hiding.”
“Is he...like your father?”
I nodded. “Like mother, like daughter.”
Her lips thinned into a severe line. She opened her mouth, and then she shook her head. She chuckled. “Well, it’s just as well I’m not like my mother. You can rest assured I won’t disown you. But be careful, darling. If you’re talking about who I think...well, he can be a bit wild.”
“You’re just upset he trailed that weird mud over the floor from Darktown.”
“Whatever it was, it had red stains!” Mother shuddered. “But it’s just as well. If you’re happy, I won’t get in the way.”
I stood up: I pulled her into a hug, folding her in. I was a head taller than she was. I stroked her hair. “I don’t mind looking after you, Mother. It gives me something to do.”
“Is Anders interested in children?”
Maker, I’ve said too much.
I blushed. “I...don’t know.”
“Well, grandchildren would give me something to do.” Mother drew away, beaming. “I could teach them how to curtsy, dance, sew, cook, sing!”
“After you were done teaching them not to light the house on fire.” I grimaced. “With their genes, it’s certain they’d all be mages. You could handle several apostate toddlers?”
“I handled two, didn’t I?” Mom puffed herself up. “I’ll figure it out.”
I bet.
“I love you, Mother.”
“I love you, Marion.” She pulled me in for another hug and stroked my hair.
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Cloudy Days - JJ Maybank x Male OC
Chapter 2.3 – Redfield
Soon after, the friends were in the twinkie, on the way to Redfield lighthouse. Everything seemed to have returned to normal, but Parker could still see the shadow that lingered over JJ’s eyes clear as day.
He wasn’t paying any attention to how John B tried to explain to his friends how the lighthouse was the right answer, and just studied the Maybank boy’s face.
“Bro, you know how I process my sad feels?” JJ suddenly asked into the room. “Dank nugs and the stickiest of ickies, that’s how I do it.”
Even though what JJ had just said was slightly gross, the others didn’t seem to pay his words any mind. Merely Parker raised a brow, and JJ just shrugged in response. They were in the back together with Pope, who was leaned forward between the two front seats to talk to Kiara and JB. JJ sat right behind him, while Parker was sprawled over the bench on the passenger side.
He raised his foot to nudge him in the side, but JJ slapped it away with a scowl. Parker took it as a challenge, and tried to nudge him again, but he just grabbed him by the ankle and held him still mid-air. Parker tried to wriggle his foot free, and almost would have been successful, but then JJ pressed it down on his thigh and got a secure hold on it like that.
Parker grinned at him, knowing the confident look in his eyes would confuse JJ.
“If it helps you believe, John B.” Kiara tried to reassure John B about the lighthouse in a soft voice.
“Look, I- I don’t need a therapy session, okay?” John B defended. “I’m not trippin’ out.”
“It’s okay to trip, bro, but-“ JJ tried to calm him, but was cut off.
“Look, my dad’s missing, okay? Missing. You don’t know what it’s like to have the person closest to you vanish and then have no idea what happened.” John B said, and Parker looked out the window. Not, he did not know how it was if they were missing. Only if they died in front of your eyes. JJ squeezed his ankle and shot him a questioning look. He didn’t answer.
Pope and JJ suggested that Big John might have been kidnapped. Maybe he was in Vietnam, getting interrogated by the KGB, or even in Atlantis. Parker didn’t really pay attention to the conversation anymore. All he could see was the smile on his mother’s face when she closed her eyes for the last time, finally succumbing to her illness, and the blood dyeing Billy’s t-shirt dark red.
After what seemed like an endless ride, they arrived at the lighthouse, which, according to John B, was Big John’s favourite place.
The friends got out of the van, but Parker decided stay inside another few seconds, trying to regain his calm.
He jumped out just in time to hear Pope talking about variables and JJ yelling at him to shut up. It made Parker think about how his friend Alice had always suffered through the maths lessons at school as if she were being tortured. Nobody understood maths less than Alice, Parker was sure of it.
“Listen to me for a second, just listen!” John B interrupted JJ and looked at Parker. “Parker and Pope are gonna stay on lookout with JJ, alright? If we get split up, we meet back at JJ’s house.” He decided, and Kiara agreed.
Parker raised his brows at the retreating figures of his friends.
“Yeah, I’mma work on my merit scholarship essay, and I can’t be involved in a felony.” Pope ranted, snatched the ball JJ was playing with and kicked it around himself. He didn’t pay any mind to the incredulous look the Maybank boy shot him but was out of earshot soon enough.
Parker watched JJ a worriedly.
“How’re ya doin’?”
“Great, thanks.”
“Try again, I don’t believe you.”
“Why wouldn’t you believe me?” JJ snapped and glared at him. The second he saw the look in Parker’s eyes he knew that he had just given himself away.
“Because you just killed the rooster John B said you loved. Have you ever killed anything before?”
JJ scoffed. “Of course I have, don’t be stupid.”
“Insects don’t count.”
“Well, if you’re already all about going Dr. Phil on me, why don’t we ask you a few things too, then, huh? What was that, back at the Château? Since you arrived here you have been a literal wreck, and now you’re suddenly all gangster and bossy? You have too many loose ends, man!” JJ probably hadn’t even realized that he had backed Parker up against a tree until he hit it with his back. He didn’t back down, though.
“That’s how you wanna play this?” Parker laughed, realizing that JJ wouldn’t give him anything for free. “A truth for a truth, then. The first time I ever shot at someone with a gun, was to protect my friends. He would have hurt them, and I couldn’t let that happen, no matter how frightened I was. Same thing happened back at the Château. You guys were in danger, and I had to get my shit together and protect you.” He said with a dangerous smile. “That’s how things work where I come from. The law of the jungle allows no weakness.”
But JJ didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. “We were in danger also when the cops almost found us in the motel room. We were in danger when those guys shot at us or when they wrecked Ms. Lana’s hut. Where were your balls of steel then, huh?”
“Something happened, before I came here. Something bad, that really shook me. I’m still not over it, so don’t get surprised when I suddenly relapse. But today was a closer call than those before, and the situation reminded me specifically of back then, so I managed.”
“What happened?”
“Nuh-uh. That’s not how a truth for a truth works. It’s your turn, now. How are you?”
JJ started backing off, but Parker was faster. He grabbed him by the collar and spun them around, so that now JJ was pressed up against the tree. He struggled to get free at first, but then gave up and stared right into Parker’s eyes, challenging him. When he realized that Parker wouldn’t even accept the challenge, he sighed and averted his eyes again.
“I can’t really understand that I killed the rooster yet, I guess. It doesn’t feel like sadness, or remorse, it just feels bad, and I hate it. That was a living being – an animal that was dear to me. How can I not feel sorry for killing it?” He said quietly, and Parker could hear the pain in his words. He softened his grip on JJ’s shoulders.
“The sorry will come later.” He explained softly. “But if that’s what you’re worried about, I can reassure you. This bad feeling that you’ve got? The one that seems to be eating away at your insides and making you sick to the stomach? That’s what you got for taking a life. It’s gonna feel bad for a while, and at some point remorse will crush you. Maybe you’re lucky and it won’t be that bad because it was just an animal, but it will still hurt. And then you have to feel the pain. It’s like in that John Green novel: pain demands to be felt. That’s the only way you can get over it.”
JJ nodded, deep in thought. Parker’s words seemed to soothe his raging mind a little, but he was still perturbed, so he added: “And if you ever need someone to talk to during that time, or someone to sit beside you while you work things out by yourself, I will be there for you.”
Again, JJ nodded, then his eyes widened as if suddenly realizing something. He looked back into Parker’s face and grabbed his wrists in an iron hold, securing them mercilessly ion his shoulders. “’Maybe you’re lucky and it won’t be that bad because it was just an animal’” He repeated Parker’s words and suddenly he knew that he had made a mistake. “What have you killed, Parker?”
As JJ had expected, Parker tried to rip free, but he wouldn’t let him. He stared at him urgently, waiting for an answer.
The sound of approaching sirens saved Parker from having to answer and they sprinted towards the twinkie. Pope jumped in the driver’s seat, and off they went towards JJ’s house.
They hung out there a while, waiting, but when neither John B nor Kiara showed up Parker decided to drive the twinkie back to the Château. He had ignored any try from JJ’s side to pry any information out of him, not just yet ready to tell him about the men he’d killed to save himself or his friends.
When he parked the car, he was met by John B cleaning up his home and throwing pizza cartons away.
“Hey man, what happened? Weren’t we supposed to meet up at JJ’s?” He greeted, and immediately felt the sour mood his cousin sported.
“You want the long version or short?” He responded and proceeded to put empty glass bottles into a box.
“Medium rare.” Parker answered, just to mess a little. John B actually chuckled quietly. Bingo.
“I kissed Kiara. She pushed me away.” He began and went still, waiting for Parker’s reaction.
“Told you so.” Was all he said, not really surprised that his cousin had tried it after the conversation they’d had on the way to Ms. Lana’s house with JJ.
“I apologized, but she said it was okay.”
“I think nobody cares about you the way Kiara does. She’s doing her best to be a good friend and make it as easy on you as possible. I understand where your confusion is coming from, but I think you should try and take care of her a little better, too. Especially now that this misunderstanding is out of the way.”
John B shrugged in a way that said: You’re right, but I don’t really know what to say now. So he just proceeded with his story. “Then we were arrested because I hurt the lighthouse guy. Peterkin told me that she knew about the compass, I denied having it, Kiara’s dad got us out. I think he hates us. The square groupers chased me through the streets, Peterkin saved me, I gave her the compass, and Ward Cameron fired me because he found out about the scuba gear we took.”
Parker raised his eyebrows, trying to process what John B had just said. “Nice afternoon, man.”
“Yeah, right?”
Parker looked out to the scoop, suddenly remembering something.
“Is that damn turkey still in there?” He asked, and John B nodded.
“Should we bury it or burn it?” He asked, the question directed almost more to himself than to John, and watched him stack a lot of old stuff he recognized from his father’s office and from around the house on a pile.
“If you wanna burn it get it now, because I’m gonna burn all this junk here right now.” He said, taking out a box of matches.
Parker frowned. “You sure you wanna destroy all this?”
“Yeah, pretty.” John B lit the pile on fire and poured gasoline into the flames. They both watched at them in awe for a bit, but then Parker snapped out of it, grabbed an empty box and went to put the dead rooster inside.
“Rest in peace, or something.” He murmured, staring into the creepily open eyes of the animal. “I hope rooster heaven’s nicer than North Carolina.”
Then he closed the lid and crawled out of the scoop, just in time too see John B grab something from out of the fire and stomp on it to stop the flames.
“What the hell are you doing, man?”
But John didn’t answer, he just stared at the pin board he had just saved, as if it held the answers to all of his questions.
Then he looked up. “I think I know what Redfield means.”
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hi there, so in love with your works. Seriously *bows head* thank you all so much. If its not too bad, I wanted to know how everyone in DAI from the advisors to the companions would react to a teen inquisitor who is brilliant at cooking? Yet the inquisitor has no idea about people from Leliana's agents to everyone else pinching her food.
Cassandra: She thinks she is being sneaky and subtle, insisting that because of their age and responsibility it is better for their young herald to stay close to camp and not take a watch when they leave Skyhold. There will be time for that when they are older, and bearless of a burden. If they will take on the difficulty of closing the rifts, then the most they should have to do is help around the camp, and after a long day nothing is appreciated more than hot food.
No one contradicts her, and the Seeker is left to silently congratulate herself on enjoying the absolutely divine way that their young leader has with rabbit and Hinterland herbs without making the Inquisitor feel worthless.
(And if everyone else lets her take a lead on that because she has mattered the speech, well...it’s really good stew.)
Varric: Damn, this is the stuff. Its like being back in the Hanged Man, except the bread is trying to actively strange him, and the pies aren’t staring back and..
It’s nothing like the Hanged Man, really, but the sheer comfort of phenomenal food at the end of the world? The same kind of warmth as sitting with your friends as the city goes to shit and laughing at a joke no one else gets. Their young protagonist has a good skill set on their hands, and If Varric’s writing table moves a little closer to the door into the kitchens, well.
Keeps the ink from freezing.
Solas: It had been a passing comment about the frilly cakes in Val Royeaux, some exchange of banter with Varric about time passing and philosophy and the unending banal that one takes on to keep the miles from turning monotonous. He’d had no idea the Herald was listening, and so it makes it all the more touching when- after waqving to them as they take on the climb to the library- he comes down from his painter’s perch to find three petit fours waiting for him on his table.
It drives home that they are a thoughtful young person, so different from the rest of this world, and if he uses the sweetness of the frosting and cake to drive away the twinge of guilt that his plans still move at speed....it does not take away from their talent, or their kindness. He will be content with that.
Blackwall: Food is food, particularly on the road. Hard tack and sausage has kept many a soldier alive, and he is the last person you’d hear complaining that he can’t put his pinky out eating meat from a spit. Luxury is for soft handed nobles, not men and women striving to make the world better. Let them have the best cuts-- Blackwall would starve before he robs true heroes of a hot meal.
And yet the first time he comes back from gathering firewood to find that the reason the inquisitor was tying so much string around the side of a wild hog was to make a porketta, and he got a good whiff of roasted pork slowly spinning in it’s own drippings....It would be a harder sacrifice. It made the Inquisitor so happy to watch their work be enjoyed and help people though, that it would the crueler not to take some.
And if he dreams about the tender meat and crispy skin all perfectly seasoned and roasted for days afterwords, that’s no one’s business of his own.
Vivienne: She cuts an imposing figure, and for the Madame de Fer is quite proud. It has cowed more than one recalcitrant novice into place with only a long legged stride alone, and for that she is a legend in her circle. Of course the stories do not tell how she would never be cruel or unfeeling to a child, and particularly not one far from home and frightened of every shadow like the ones that the Templars rip from families and depost in a new and strange place.
She expects a similar attitude from the young Herald, particularly after her (rahter stunning) entrance on their first meeting. And perhaps they were a bit overawed, but before it could become something she needs to address Lady Vivienne is pleasantly surprised to find their young leader coming to her for advice from a letter from some minor Orlesian lord. And while surely it will be up to Josephine to craft the response Vivienne is delighted that the Inquisitor wants her input.
That they went to the effort to bring beignet’s with them as a bribe...For that, she will give them every secret of the author’s well kept family scandals.
Sera: Their Bitty Herald can make cookies better than Sera can make cookies, but they aren’t the kind that you throw at people as a prank or that come out all rock hard and brown and blegh. They are the soft gooey kind that make you want to steal the whole plate and eat them on your roof but also throw the plate at their Quizznitor because....because cookies!
She will trade pranks for cookies, who ever her Jenny in training wants to see doused in water or flour or...or...pudding! Pudding for cookies is the most fair.
Dorian: Southern food is bland and tasteless, and Skyhold’s resident ‘Vint will endure it for as long as he must to help defeat this ancient magister and get things on the right track. And the beer isn’t the worst, much to his own dismay as his delicate palette accepts the swill. But the food is all friend or brown or smothered in gravy, and he’d just as soon not.
So when they finally stop for the night under the endless web of branches that keep the sky from meeting the Fallow Mire, the pond water full of dead people sounds more appealing than one more night of Varric’s nug stew. Which makes the fact their valiant young Herald just ladled him a bowl of Minestrone so much more impressive. Their shrugged explanation of ‘I’ve always wanted to make it and the merchants had actual artichokes on the way here and you can tell me if I got it right’ does nothing to take away the warmth and delight the gesture brings to him.
It would be like coming home, if anyone had ever made sucha rustic and delightful soup for him without strings and hooks attached in Tevinter, and for the first time on the whole mission Dorian isn’t chilled the rest of the night.
The Iron Bull: He isn’t sure which one of the Chargers talks to the Herald (lies, it was Krem), but one night half the fortress is piled into the Rest and the Inquisitor is waiting with four bowls of unreadable origin. The explanation that these are four kinds of curry and each is hotter than the last is the best gift he’s ever gotten, but the wager of a single coin (he won’t steal more than that from the kid) that the Iron Bull can’t finish them for the spice is even better.
Three hours later finds him chewing on one of Stitche’s poultices for a burnt tongue (and throat and stomach and probably ass in a few hours) but one coin richer and hoarse voiced from the roaring laughter he’d gotten after a straight face convinced Krem to try the last bown and he’d literally wept.
Good times.
Cole: The nug is made of bread, and it isn’t a nug but it looks like one. And it’s wearing a tiny hat! ‘Roll the dough out, has to be thin so it rises to keep the shape, he likes nugs so much and doesn’t ask for anything and Sera bet me I couldn’t.’ You made it for me. Thank you! He says hello back!
Josephine: When their ambassador hears that not only does the Herald have an aunt who married into a merchant house in Antiva but the inquisitor spent a summer there and learned to make authentic Paella, Lady Montiliyet’s mind is a whirlwind of plans and thoughts of just the appropriate bribe that would spare her from getting down on her knees and begging a fifteen year old to make her favorite dish. Eventually Leliana gets tired of little doodles of steaming bowls on all their meeting notes and sends a raven three windows over, Josie, really with an ‘anonymous’ request to make it and leave it in the war room in exchange for a trade of equal value.
And when Josephine finds out that all the Inquisitor wants is the creepy love letters from young Orlesian nobles to go away, she takes great delight in her strongly worded letters to their mothers in between heaping mouthfuils of white wine rice and shrimp and the warm bite of saffron that will always be home.
Leliana: It is written on no report or schedule, and her agents will go to the grave without speaking of it to another soul, but the Inquisition’s spymaster has a man in the kitchens whose only role is to fetch firewood and water and try to one day recover his shattered after a terrible mission in her service. It’s easy work for a man who gave so much, and somewhere he is able to do good work until the tremors and the nightmares stop. The kitchen staff is kind to him and treat him well, but his true mission is known only to himself and his mistress.
The second the herald starts making Cassoulet he is to fetch her immediately. She won’t be caught in a meeting and miss her favorite food again, damn it.
Cullen: It’s hard for the Inquisitor’s commander to be at ease with someone who is both a child and at least nominally his leader. They are someone he wants to protect, but also the key to stopping the world and someone who must be on the front lines. That is gift alone to the world, but when the rumors begin to swirl that they will also go out of their way to make things that people like it brings a small smile to his face. The world would be better if had more people like the herald in it.
Especially if they could all make little crocks of shepards pie like the one that sits on his desk after a day of long meetings and a lyrium migraine. That might make everything right again.
-- Mod Fereldone
#dragon age inquisitions#Cassandra Pentaghast#Solas#Varric Tethras#sera#dorian pavus#the iron bull#cole#blackwall#josephine montilyet#Leliana#cullen rutherford#vivienne de fer#reactions#teen inquisitor
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A Web of Betrayal
This is an excerpt from yet another fic I will probably never write. I have a lot of those. Anyways, enjoy!
Cw for sexism, plans of poisoning and Canon death of named characters. Also a discussion of how Orzammar's sex-based system is stupid and artifical binaries do not work in real life because nonbinary and transpeople exist. And enforcement of such a binary system hurts people who do not fit within its demands.
Valda Aeducan was lucky.
She was a princess in Orzammar. Daughter of the King and his noble Queen. Noble Caste and wealthy. Desirable and beautiful.
And yet she felt strangled in unseen webs at times for it.
She had seen her father's favoritism from a long time ago. He favored his sons, particularly his eldest two. It was not that surprising in retrospect, she supposed. Bhelen had been born from a casteless concubine-which had further soured her parents' then already-strained relationship. She had been born a woman, and thus should have inherited her mother's noble caste, not her father's royal one. But her mother had convinced the King to break from tradition for her daughter's benefit. Perhaps with the potential a future alliance of marriage could bring him.
The whole caste system was sexist, really. She had recalled the few times her cousin, Firenze, had broken down in her arms sobbing because they had not fit between their mother's noble caste and their father's casteless one since they did not wish to be male or female. Their brother, Rethan, had been assigned their mother's caste as a noble and he lived in fear for the discovery of his true self and being forced down amongst the casteless, to live in squalor and disease and refuse until he died. Both had gone off into the Deep Roads one day and neither returned. Rumors said that Rethan had escaped to the surface and Firenze had joined the Legion. But they were only rumors.
The caste system was killing them, bit by bit.
Even when one's gender did not affect things, one's caste certainly did. She was a noblewoman and was expected to be chaste and honorable. She had more bodies hidden under her stone caverns to be fed to her spiders and spilled more dwarven blood than quite a few members of the Warrior caste. She had been denied male lovers unless her father had approved of the match. Gorim was proof of that.
It rankled her. Coated her veins in venom and she was not surprised to find her growing disdain was matched with an increasing skill in actual poison and its antidotes.
She saw how Bhelen held the same doubts and frustrations. He was chided and ignored by their father, only gaining attention when he failed drastically. While she was praised for her own combat skills, it was because it was rare and often discouraged for women to become warriors due to the looming threat of broodmothers. Or so her father had explained when she had picked up her brother's sword to practice. She had batted her lashes and played on her father's soft spot as his only daughter and the family's precious jewel, to be safeguarded in Proving fights and not in true Deep Roads expeditions, when she was allowed to fight at all. She had been forced to maintain that image for years. She was as harmless as a nug as far as many nobles were concerned when really all she had been doing was weaving webs of influence and manipulating court intrigue to her family's benefit.
It had only been a matter of time before she had learned of Bhelen's ambitions. He had begun to be more reserved at family meals. But Trian was busy being groomed for heirdom and Barran-her own twin- was focused on both supporting their brother and learning the ways of war for the day he became Commander of Orzammar's armies. Whatever was left of them. No one else noticed the growing frown in their younger brother's expression. The faint hint of mockery in each laugh. The deep exhale of relief the moment he had a moment away from his brothers' shadows.
But she did.
And so she waited.
She did not strike when he took that lovely redhead as his lover. Trian had scoffed and demanded she be kept to her rooms like the dirty casteless woman she was. Barran had scowled and offered to find him a better match when he had time. Bhelen did not listen. Valda did not need to see the tender looks and small touches they hid before each parting to know how deep the affection ran. She even helped the woman by sending her gifts of food and small trinkets in passing over the years-always discreet, of course-and let her presume Bhelen had been the one to send them or whatever she wished to think of them. And her little brother did notice and gave her a questioning look between meals every once in a while after each present arrived. But she only smiled and went back to discussing the ways the various Houses were quarreling again as she cut delicately into her bronto steak.
She did not strike when she saw Bhelen begin to make moves in Dust Town. To ally with the Carta bosses to do his dirty work in exchange for some of the wealth and finer adjustments in life. Trian did not notice a few of his silver buttons went missing and blamed it on the servants as thieves. One poor girl had been beaten so badly that Valda had stepped in and offered the girl a new job instead of cleaning her brother's laundry: to make sure her spiders were fed. She had agreed and despite the healing wounds causing her some delay in being able to work, she had grown extremely adept at managing the caves and the spiders had learned not to harm the girl, even when she took a few of their eggs and venom for herself. Valda did not mind nor ask after her blatant thefts. Being a woman of any rank was hard enough when the men of the noble caste were as inconsiderate and selfish like her eldest brother.
Still she did not strike when Bhelen began to put his plans in motion. He had quietly orchestrated small quarrels between a few noble Houses, pitting them against each other in Provings to test his skills at coercing the upper classes. Barran had bested them all and drawn himself as a target after he ended the conflict through diplomacy. Their father had held a feast in celebration. Trian had all but secured Lady Helmi's daughter's affections by then, bolstering the traditionalists' favor in the Assembly despite Barran's rising own status and favor amongst the reformists and Warrior castes. Bhelen seethed over his wine that night. Until she had slipped him a note with the location of a warehouse full of food and medicine and scraps of old unused fabric and metal from her many, many gowns and armor. He had put the warehouse to use and it was empty within a fortnight, it's contents gutted and distributed amongst his followers.
He had thanked her but did not reveal his plans further.
But they both knew where the rot lay. And they both knew what measures would be needed to remove it.
Still, the entire system did not need to be torn down like he wished. Rebuilt and reconstructed, but not demolished.
So she struck at last.
It was the eve of the expedition and the feast was in full swing. Trian was complaining until his eye had wandered to some lovely noble women wishing to dance and flirt with the heir to the throne. Barran glowed with pride and swagger as he roamed the hall before disappearing with a pair noble-hunters, one on each arm. A third had been sent to Gorim's quarters and Valda did not pretend to hide her jealousy when the woman left with a smile later that night. Luckily, her handmaidens had been more than happy to help calm her anger by giving her tasks until it was time to move. She was still human, after all. She still held regrets sometimes.
If she were not who she was, she might have been able to have him. But the castes were absolute and the Assembly and her father and Harrowmont all valued tradition. Some more than others.
She was waiting alongside his concubine when Bhelen returned to his room, the two of them happily chatting about various skin and hair care regimes and the frustrations of the world's expectations with her future sister-in-law and herself. There was no doubt Bhelen would do anything for his loved ones.
And so would she.
"Sister, I....I did not expect you." He frowned and crossed his arms as he made his way across the room towards the two women.
"I know," She savored her last sip of wine for the evening before setting the glass down, "And I have a proposal, dear brother. I will be blunt since it is time we be honest to, at least, each other."
Bhelen's brows furrowed and the canny intelligence he took great pains to hide gleamed bright and open in his eyes then. "I'm listening."
"I know some of what you have struggled with these past years," She ran a finger around the rim of her glass, letting the sound breathe into the air for a moment before she continued, "Our struggles may not be the same, but we understand that our home is being destroyed by more than the darkspawn. It is being destroyed by ourselves."
Bhelen sat down across from her, gently taking Rica's hand and kissing her knuckles, "Would you mind preparing a bath for me, love? I need a moment to discuss some things with my sister."
Rica nodded and curtesied, "Course. My lady, excuse me."
Valda waved her off, "None of that, my dear. You will be Queen one day. Bow to no one but the ones you love."
Bhelen blinked in surprise and Rica smiled, as pleasant and easy-going as ever, "I will keep that in mind."
As Rica left the room, Bhelen leaned forward, fingers dipping out of view to no doubt reach for his knife sheath. "Queen, sister? Whatever gave you-"
"Honesty," She reminded him simply, "You and I both wish to change the face of Orzammar in our own way. And I believe we can help each other do that."
He leaned back and lifted his hand to stroke his beard for a moment. The gesture was so very much like her father and brothers that she had to bite back a swear. Bhelen, of course, noticed the slip in her mask and smiled, "Yes. Let's be honest, sister. Tell me how you wish to change Orzammar for the better."
"I believe you've had enough of listening to others tell you their goals, brother. " She smiled and set her hands on the table, palms up, "Tell me yours."
There was a pause as Bhelen seemed to weigh his options. Finally, he shook his head, "You will not help me. You do not have the heart for it."
"I have no more heart than you." She countered, "Our brothers are fools, my twin included. If they must be removed to ensure we get where we need to go, then so be it. That is what you planned for with that ex-warrior caste, isn't it? To move the Aeducan shield so you can set them up against each other."
He frowned, "Why would I wish them dead?"
"Because Trian does not respect you and would never change what needs to be done. Barran attempts to help but does not understand the causes of our sufferings."
"And what sufferings are those?"
Valda let her eyes drift towards the screen that separated the running water room of the bath, "You and I were not meant to be what we wish, Bhelen. Your ambition is to do better for the dwarven people, for your lover and your child."
He scowled, "You seem to know a great deal, sister. However did you come across such things?"
"People talk about interesting rumors all the time," Valda responded crisply, "Beyond that, we both know that I cannot name my sources without risking their lives, now can I?"
He chuckled and waved a hand, "You are such a spider queen, sister. If I did not know better, I would say you would much prefer the throne yourself!"
"No." She said.
There was a pregnant pause.
He arched a brow, "Truly? You could have all the power you wish. Any man you want. The Assembly would happily support you."
"The Assembly are old and do not speak for all of our people," Valda looked at her nails. The paint had chipped away a bit somewhere. "I wish to remove the caste system where it harms people. But I cannot be the one to do that."
"And why not?"
"I do not want power, Bhelen. I want people to be able to choose what they are in this world. What we Dwarves become. We cannot do that if a symbol of the old ways does that."
"Elaborate." His brows furrowed as he turned his head to the side to glance at the baths.
"Many people view me as either a copy of my mother or an extension of my brother as his twin." She smiled bitterly, "It is how I have managed to go unnoticed on my own all these years. So, no, I cannot be the one to change our people, but I can help the one who does."
Bhelen shook his head, "You want me to be King?"
"I want to help my brother," Valda corrected quietly, "Because I believe that he will do what he needs to in order to better help our people. All I ask is that I am listened to and my requests are accepted when I have them."
Bhelen met her gaze, "And what requests would you have?"
"A voice of my own to say what I wish, agency to decide things for myself be it marriage or other life prospects, and the dignity of any dwarf has been granted in your new rule."
"That's vague," He pointed out, "What will you do with these favors, if I grant them?"
"Serve our people by ensuring the old nobles do not interfere too much with your work, for one," She brushed aside her ringlets from her armored shoulders, "Ensure the casteless are fed and respected and the darkspawn driven back. Forge alliances and trade. All the same things you are already planning. And a few you haven't accounted for."
"Like?" He questioned.
"You'll find out eventually. You're smart enough, brother. And we promised honesty to each other." She held out her hand, "Now, do we have a deal?"
Bhelen glanced at her hand and seemed to think it over a moment longer. Then he clasped her forearm and they shook, "Very well, sister dear. I will do what you ask so long as you do not betray me."
#Valda Aeducan#my writing things#cw sexism#my ocs stuff#bhelen aeducan is smart and kinda hard to write so i hope i did it write?
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Happy headcanon for all da muses // After five hundred years!
@capeshifters
Archer has like a lot of stamina and thus has to eat a lot as well. He eats almost the same as a Grey Warden. But he also trains a lot so his bodyweight doesn’tchange that much.
Cyrion is like in a weird relationship with his hair, he does let it grow to like a point where he either cuts of a few inches. He knows when his hair is too long when he suddenly sits on it or birds start to nest in it.
Dreag is rather emotionally stunted because of Elgar’nan but shows emotions sometimes but it is more like an outburst.
Lia learned how to read maps and especially Deep Road maps because Loghain actually showed her how to do it.
Than is able to shoot a running dear out of a hundred yards distance. It is never about speed it is all about practice and endurance.
Sethius speaks ancient tevene sometimes to just insult people so they would just shut up. He also randomly draws mustaches on to the statue of Andraste.
Elgan is despite her rather small staturem, capable of doing some real damage with her magic, she is also not really taken serious until she summons the dead.
Diran had never in his life worn anything female despite having a rather feminine body.
Hjarrand lost his child and partner many years ago. He never talks about them and just lets them rest.
Lucius was sent to Seheron due to a missunderstanding and yet came out victorious and became a magister.
Etienne opened the brothel to help escaped elven servants and people that were kicked out by their family. He took in both men and women, no matter the race or age.
One of Nicolas targets was actually his father and one of the reasons why he stopped being a crow. He also inheritated his father’s business as a merchant prince.
Malcolm had a secret relationship with a man in his past and rarely talks about it.
Tomey is actually the daughter of a first enchanter. (Mind you my headcanon is that elves that come from a human-elf relation, have 50% chance of looking like an elf or a human. Screw Bioware.)
Lyon nearly drowned when he was 11 years old, giving him a tremendous fear of water (deep bodies of water) and he cannot swim.
Solona had the quickest Harrowing of the entire Ferelden circle. It took her less then ten minutes to finish it.
Talar once got his horns stuck on a low hanging ceiling and had to be saved by his little sister.
Jarida sleeps with a knife under her pillow.
Jerker can actually change forms while in the fade, so he can also appear as a woman if he decided to do so.
Kieran is capable of the hardest forms of magic due to having an old god in his soul. The old god in future Kieran was never removed by Flemeth.
Eric is constantly running around with a plush nug, since he cannot sleep alone.
Ishal doesn’t own any slaves. He doesn’t understand the concept of having them and providing for them. One of the few magisters who don’t want a slave.
Lorenzo is so rich he could buy the entire palaces of Orlais if he wanted to.
Armadiel is not opposed to blood magic if it means an end to a conflict. Hence why he sacrificed Isolde via blood magic to save Connor.
Fergus like to wear a scarf that his sister made for him when they were younger. He still owns said scarf.
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If you'll take another one from the poetry prompts, how about #50 (“With a memory all fragmented but inclined to miracles”)?
Small secret spaces
Iron Bull’s Tamassran reflects on the boy she raised.
Also on AO3: here
This is soft, okay? I’m soft for tiny babies and their not-mothers.
* * *
They call her Aqun, a nickname that sticks through the years, though to all the children in her care, her flock of imekari, she is Tama. Tama with the stories, with the stern reprimands, with the cool hands in the middle of a sweaty nightmare.
Some of the women work with paper and quill, some with breeding administration, yet some can be found in the temples and the hospital wings tending to those with the broken minds that qamak leaves behind. She has friends that re-educate and friends that deal with nothing but death, its final stages, its remains, its practical matters.
Aqun considers herself lucky that her place is to work at the other end of things.
Imekari are life, messy, brutal life that shakes her up every day, at every turn. It keeps her awake, it smashes her heart open.
She will lose them. She will lose them all, but some will carry pieces of her with them as they go; it’s a thought that sits well with her, a flash of pride that she allows herself. A Tamassran’s job is to evaluate and educate; she isn’t meant to have favourites but she always has. She considers it a rebellion, a reward, or both.
*
Ashkaari is a big baby, arrives loud and dark-haired and screams for half a day when they place him in her arms. He’s the genealogical product of a Sten, now lost to glorious battle, asit tal-eb, and a re-educator nicknamed Asta though Aqun does not know this. The Tamassrans in charge of recording never show her the notes of the children given to her house. It would cloud her judgement, upset the scales. Aptitude triumphs over inheritance, as it must in any civilized society.
Because he will not settle at night she rubs his back and stomach, sings to him to drown the screaming. He is meant to cry it out, they all are; infancy is a test, one of her old instructors echoes in her memory. But Aqun’s head hurts from listening, so she sings. A made-up song of a made-up nug, the king of all nugs, living in a cave. She feeds him another bottle of milk, mutters a rhyme she vaguely recalls from her own childhood and places her mouth against the crown of his head. A snug little nug, small as a bug.
The baby looks at her, blinks, and falls asleep.
The warm weight of him in her arms, the softness to his mouth, his tiny fists against her palm. That swelling in her chest, its terrible gentleness.
The Qunari don’t have motherhood; she understands why.
*
The streets boil in the afternoon heat but the heart of the classroom is cooled by heavy stone and clever architecture. Some of the smaller children shiver as they huddle over the letters, painstakingly forming them with mouth and quills.
Baqo sits near Ashkaari and Vasaad, one head shorter than the boys but her mind is sharper, her feet faster, her capacity for mischief endless. They love her, magnificently; Vasaad and Ashkaari would both lay down their lives for the troublemaker with the red eyes.
Words have always wielded themselves easily out of her, her mind is strong and supple and she makes up stories where the Qun ends, follows its logical conclusions into tales of dragons and war, of ancient times and endless knowledge.
“Tell me about the green dragons in the desert again,” Ashkaari implores, big and towering but gentle, his hands shields rather than weapons. He’s apt at storytelling himself, prone to the fantastic and the untrue. Vasaad heeds them both, moving around them like a protector.
Tama allows them slices of freedom when she can. Moments of play, of pretends. Soon enough they reach their true calling and get scattered across the North but days like today, there are green dragons and friendship, willfully blind eyes and make-believe.
*
The Arvaarad comes for Baqo only months later, in the middle of the day, as the other children make equations and build models. Four men march in and lift her up, without a word.
Her eyes are wide with fear, her mouth open in a silent scream and Vasaad holds Ashkaari back - or perhaps it’s the other way around, perhaps it will never truly matter. They are two now where they used to be three.
Aqun shoves the children back into the classroom, hands on their shoulders, their backs. Herding them like cattle. It’s not a bad metaphor; cattle, too, are meant to serve.
“She will serve the Qun with honour,” she tells Ashkaari; his eyes are narrow and dark.
“She has found her purpose,” she tells Vasaad who stares back at her, his lower lip trembling.
They do not cry over saarebas, she reminds them. They do not cry over finding one’s place, wherever and however that place may appear.
The one who was called Baqo takes the chains, takes the stitches and Aqun thinks she can feel them, every single one.
*
The one who was called Ashkaari becomes Hissrad, becomes a grown man so tall and broad of shoulder that Aqun ages a decade just looking at him.
He still calls her Tama, still comes by to see her though he has no reason for it anymore. She tells him this once and he scoffs. They share a mindset, she knows, a flair for the inappropriate, a disregard for the brutality of absolute truths.
Some days she thinks that it is her greatest failing that she has allowed it to slip into him, a poison in his soul.
*
She learns that Hissrad has been given command. That he’s tracking down Tal-Vashoth. That he’s transferred to Seheron.
What an honour, she says to everyone who needs to hear it. Basks in the knowledge that she had been right, that she had seen the boy’s cleverness behind those fists, the sharp wit inside the body of a warrior. The other Tamassrans nod and tut, the way they do. All of them know there is also regret, unspoken, treacherous regret for every name they put down on the lists for the positions that will take their imekari far away, into danger and death.
The one that was called Ashkaari, who slept soft-faced and defenseless in her arms when no one was looking, takes the orders he is given and Aqun thinks she can feel them, every single one, the devastation of them rattling inside her chest.
*
Once, he comes to visit.
He’s in Par Vollen, temporarily liberated of the burdens of Seheron, his face cut in stone but his embrace is tight and warm and Aqun smiles into the crook of his neck when he lifts her up from the ground. He’s brought cocoa beans and spices; she makes supper and refrains from staring at him like an overbearing old Tama.
They don’t speak much at all; he stays the rest of the day.
*
Once, in the Viddathlok of Qunandar, she sees him when he has returned.
He’s shipped from the island of asala-taar like a caged beast, rumour has it; he arrives in chains and is accompanied by soldiers on each side of him. The gossip is unremorseful, crisp, but it tastes of ashes. They had found him surrounded by so many dead they had lost count. That’s a lie, Aqun knows, they always count. The Qun is nothing if not a balance.
Ashkaari who used to fear demons, his teeth clattering in the dark, his hands tugging at hers. They get inside your mind, he says. I don’t know how to hit things that live in my head.
Hissrad who spends two months with the re-educators but they refuse his request for qamak. It’s partly her fault that they send him off, his faith broken and his mind all fragmented but inclined to miracles.
The one that got away.
*
The one who was called Hissrad becomes the Iron Bull and Aqun first hears it in the queue outside the baker, waiting for her daily bread, then from an agent with red eyes and a hoarse voice.
She hears it and all the way home, her heart hammers the rhythm of the words. He got away, he got away.
The Ben-Hassrath agents frown over her, towering like conquerors before a bas and Aqun looks them in the eyes and says: “yes, I failed. I should have seen. He was unfit for the job. I will do better, allow me to make amends.”
Says it, while she thinks run, Ashkaari, there is much to struggle against, you always knew. There’s a note, deep and low, singing of her own defiance and she thinks one of the agents can hear it because he holds her gaze for so long Aqun begins to prepare for her own re-education.
Then he lets her go. She’s old, she’s beginning to lose her rough edges and her patience shrinks with every passing day, they don’t count on her to rectify her mistake; they let her go.
They will go after him instead.
*
Years later, she hears the news in the streets outside the market.
This time, no one deems her in a position to have the reports so she has to make do with gossip.
They tell her the attack that Par Vollen loudly condemns while sending resources to Orlais, sneaking ships and coin past all boundaries, has been a failure. That the Inquisition still has the Tal-Vashoth in their midst, that he had not listened to reason or respected the chain of command. They tell her the Viddasala’s direct orders had been refused by the one they once called Hissrad. Nothing but a savage now. His soul is dust. He’s lost.
The words sound like curses but they fall like relief in Aqun’s chest, fall like tears on her aging hands that used to hold him. She has educated her last flock of imekari, told her last batch of night time stories. They have been so many, her body is full of their voices, their faces, their nicknames. She has been theirs.
Some of them, like Ashkaari, have been hers.
She will lose them all but some will carry pieces of her as they go and she has given him her heart, as much of it as he has ever dared to give and loved him in all the small, secret spaces she was never allowed.
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At least 12 LGBTIQ community members have been killed by regime forces and another 73 arrested or charged since the junta’s coup for fighting against dictatorship and striving for equality, according to a report from the National Unity Government (NUG).
LGBTIQ groups in Myanmar have actively participated in anti-regime protests since the start of the pro-democracy movement in February. The most visible sign of their participation are the rainbow flags that have been waved among the crowds at anti-coup demonstrations nationwide.
Three gay men and one transgender woman from Myingyan and Bago were also seriously injured by junta forces, according to the report.
Of the 73 LGBTIQ people arrested, 65 are still being detained. Another 28 are in hiding to avoid arrest, the report stated.
It quoted a 50-year old transgender woman in Yangon who was arrested and severely tortured by junta forces. (Article contains detailed accounts of torture. Please read at your own risk)
In addition, many of the gay and transgender detainees who are being treated for HIV with antiretroviral therapy are unable to access their medication as they are scared about revealing their health status to the officials detaining them, the report said.
Civil society organizations representing LGBTIQ groups stressed that members of the LGBTIQ community actively participating in the anti-regime movement faced harsh retaliation and transphobic attacks from junta forces. However, the groups vowed that they will never give up contributing to the revolution in acquiring equality for all.
Also, if your reaction to this is ‘oh they’re only doing this because they’re paid for/ being supported/organized by westerners’, do not bother. Go outside and touch some grass.
#myanmar#burma#lgbtqia#gay rights#trans rights#military dictatorship#lgbt activists#cw torture#tw mention of abuse#tw jail#please reblog#please spread the word on other platforms#tw transphobia#tw homophobia#tw death
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Artist Meme
Was tagged to answer this set of interesting questions by @kourvo
(original post is here: https://kourvo.tumblr.com/post/621355098110640128/artist-meme
Thank you so much for that!
Let’s see....
1) What is the character you've drawn the most (Can be original or fanart)
This precious boy. I can never get enough of him. One of the most compelling characters I have ever come across. Love everything about Fenris and can relate to him on so many levels!
2. What colour do you often use?
Gray and brown are my faves. And all other colours have the same chance of appearing in my artwork :D
3. Any colour you are bad at using?
I don’t think so...I love them all, even the pinks and yellows people usually find hard to incorporate into a colour palette. Tell me in the comments if I’m wrong :)
4. When drawing people, where do you start?
Funnily enough - either with the front of the hairline or with the left eyebrow. Don’t ask me, why - I don’t know myself.
5. What is a character only your eraser will love?
Hmmmm...any sort of villainous character. I can’t draw evil people convincingly. I’m a huge softy at heart.
6. Which of your works took the longest time?
Big scale commission I did for @pikapeppa, featuring all the Inquisition companions, along with Fenris, Rynne and Carver Hawke. That one took almost 3 weeks, due to its sheer scope and my relative lack of experience in such large works. Pika was extremely patient with me though, for that I am eternally thankful!
7. What techniques do you use when you want to improve in drawing?
Classical art studies. Varying my technique, themes I choose and software I use. I try to experiment and go outside my comfort zone often.
8. What do you think of the art of the person who gave you this ask meme?
I adore Lillymon’s technical skill, refined style and limited colours! She is a huge inspiration for me!
9. What art tools/media are you good with?
DrawPile, Photoshop, graphite pencils and liners. That’s about it :)
10. Art tools/media you are bad at?
Traditional paints. I have no formal artistic education and my lack of knowledge comes to the forefront whenever I have to paint on a real canvas. It’s so much trial and error, you can’t even imagine....
11. What do you think about your own art?
Lately it’s one of the last few things that were bringing me joy. I hope I won’t lose the passion for it. Because at this point I’m not sure I’ll be able to find some occupation I will be genuinely interested in and good at it. I don’t know if me gravitating towards moody fantasy art speaks about my fear of facing reality. If so, idk what to do with that. I do hope to develop my skills and being able to support myself financially as an artist.
12. Do you consult references for your drawings?
Yes. A lot of them. Anatomical atlases, schemes for both academic and manga art, photographs found online and taken on my own, copying colour palettes from classical art - anything goes. I think it’s essential to develop your technical skill.
13. What do you like about your art?
Lately - consistency, both in terms of produced results and in sticking to the timelines I set to myself. I hope this lasts. I would also like to branch out to other themes and not confine myself to quirky fantasy characters, so I’m working on developing my own story behind the scenes (spoilers) :P
14. What habits do you have while drawing?
Only the bad ones, lol. Hunching forward in front of the screen, forgetting to eat, drink and letting my eyes rest. Tilting my head to the side instead of rotating the canvas....I’m an idiot XD
15. Are you good at drawing faces facing right?
I think that’s the thing I’m good at!
16. How frequently do you draw?
For the last 1,5 years - almost every day without fail, for good or ill.
17. What do you do when you have artist's block?
Change occupation and work myself into a depressed state. I changed work places in the last few years a lot, working as an interior designer, draftsman, textile designer, a cook, a bartender to name a few.
18. What must you have when you draw?
No commotion around me and a cup of some hot beverage.
19. Do you have a lot of stray lines (messy lineart)?
In the starting stage of my work process - yes, like you wouldn’t believe! If it’s a personal doodle, I sometimes just leave in as am under layer and draw clean lines on top of that mess. It looks cool in a way.
20. What is drawing to you?
An essential part of what helped me to retain my sanity in the last year and a half. Hopefully a lasting profession that will help me pay bills and survive on my own, if my life falls apart entirely later.
21. Your art goal from now on?
Broaden the themes I depict, improve my technical skill, work on personal creative project and not only fan arts. And most of all - not giving up on it this time.
22. Artists you've had influence from?
To name a few: @kallielef @kourvo @shayafury @fairsparrow who I met here on Tumblr, and many others who I follow and zealously study their works for clues on how to improve my own work.
23. Artists you like?
I am following them all either here or on Instagram, I also do my best to share their works on my side blog!
24. Which is easier to draw, humans or animals?
It was animals earlier. But now that I started to diligently study human anatomy, I would say it evened out! I’m quite confident drawing humans/humanoids now!
25. Show us an old drawing
My first digital drawing from 2010 when I first bought my tablet!
26. What is the charm-point of your art?
I ummm....I don’t really get the question? Is that like the the strongest suit of me as an artist? Intense expressions maybe? Idk. Let me know in the comments :D
27. What is the first thing you would draw if we're talking about fantasy?
Broody warriors, he-he
28. Please draw your most beloved character:
Here’s a sneak-peek of me drawing him right now! :D
29. When thinking of characters is it mostly female? male? or androgynous/no sex?
I usually gravitate towards depicting strong-willed, caring, passionate, brave, honest men and women.
30. What did you draw yesterday?
Started cleaning up that sketch from the last question, actually!
31. What is the funnest part to draw?
A circle. Mostly because you’d die laughing seeing my struggle to draw a believable one XD
32. What part of other people's drawings do you notice first?
colours, mood, eyes, hands.
33. Regarding backgrounds, what is your method of making it easier to draw?
pick your favourite textured brush, find a good reference for mood and colour scheme, zoom out, squint your eyes and start slapping colours like mad. You’d be amazed at how much you’ll be able to achieve in 30 minutes with this approach. Bare white background is the enemy - destroy it! >:)
34. What colour coordinations do you like?
Gray or brown as a main colour and then deep, earthy, saturated colours to complement the main one. Pink and orange is the combination I strangely enjoy using lately too.
35. What character did you last draw?
Fenris and Eris :)
36. Does your style change easily?
I don’t think so. More like it’s evolving slowly into something more serious and deliberate.
37. What part of drawing do you pay most attention to?
Facial expression, body movement, mood and light effects. Not so much the composition and framing, he he.
38. How do you feel about drawing adult art?
Tbh, I don’t consider straight up porn to be ‘adult’ exactly. To me adult art means aiming towards serious topics, exploring complex emotions and ideas, being honest with your viewer. I did doodle a few more steamy sketches of my OTP just to see if I could, but it was definitely a tongue-in-cheek kind of a artwork that I don’t take seriously.
39. Do you like criticism from others?
If it’s friendly and in done in private - I welcome it always.
40. How many people do you normally draw per artwork?
1 or 2. Rarely more. Crowded battle scenes are definitely not my thing :D
This was fun! Tagging forward to @shayafury @schoute @stella-minerva @nug-juggler @kallielef and anyone else wishing to go through such a long questionnaire!
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Thank you so much @zuendwinkel for donating! I am SO GLAD to add this lovely Hawke x Fenris to the collection, writing them was a joy! I’m also SO EXCITED to share the artwork you created that goes along with it! Thank you so much for blessing us with something so soft, beautiful, and detailed!!
I’m not longer accepting RAINN Commissions but you can see the ones that are already finished in this series on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!
Title: A Flock of Trouble
Pairing: Male Hawke x Fenris
Rating: T
Content Warnings: Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age II, Fluff and Angst, Reunions
Read on AO3
Broody,
Listen. We got into a bit of a situation in the Western Approach. Fell tits over ass right into the Fade. I wish I was shitting you. Do you remember those giant spiders outside Kirkwall? They’ve got nothing on fade demon spiders. I have had enough of the whole thing for the rest of my life.
Hawke took off with the Wardens to tell Weisshaupt that their whole fighting force is at risk of being controlled like finger puppets by an ancient magister. I got the worse job of telling you where the fuck he was going (Remember, don’t murder the messenger. Who else would get you that wine you like from Tevinter?)
He said not to follow him. Doesn’t want your Broody arse that close to Tevinter, I expect. I’m fully aware you’ll be going anyway. Take the note attached to my solicitor and get some coin to tide you over. Don’t get captured by slavers. Try to lie low.
When you see Hawke - ask him what happened in the Fade. Somebody needs to kick some sense into his ass. You’re the best person for it.
Sincerely,
Varric Tethras
P.S. I’m adding the money Hawke lost to me to your gambling debts. Wicked Grace soon?
Weisshaupt appeared as foreboding and desolate as Fenris had expected.
Sun-bleached stone soared into a clear, burning sky. Walls meant for defense rather than appeal ringed a fortress that looked as if it could withstand an archdemon itself. If Fenris remembered correctly, it had survived at least two. Perhaps three.
Of course, if Garrett Hawke were there currently, it may soon fall into the blighted land surrounding it. That did seem to be the man’s luck. And if Garrett Hawke wasn’t there, Fenris would hunt him down, if only to give the man the tongue lashing he richly deserved.
In truth, Fenris felt uneasy. The Tevinter border at his back reminded him of the last time he’d been so far north. He’d been running then, as fast as he could go, a desperate chase that led to Kirkwall, an empty box, an abandoned mansion and…
And Garrett Hawke.
Fenris remembered clearly everything that happened after he met Garrett. He had spent hours examining the path he took with a cynic’s wary gaze, looking for the moment it had all changed, the second he stopped running and made a choice.
A choice that led him here, to the edge of the world, chasing instead of being chased.
“What business do you have here?” A rough voice barked. It belonged to a woman, old for a Warden, her long brown hair braided neatly down her back. Her hand rested easily on the hilt of the sword on her hip with a warrior’s preparedness. But her stance was casual. Eyes alert and pleasant. There was no whiff of danger here, not for him at any rate. It did not quite reassure him, but there was no reason to reach for the blade on his back. Yet.
“I am here for the Champion of Kirkwall.” He informed the guard politely, wrapping the reins around his fist while he smoothly dismounted.
The woman rocked back on her heels, a started, humorless laugh slipping from her lips. “The Champion of Kirkwall?”
Fenris’s heart sunk, but he kept his face impassive. He could not help the way his gauntlets tightened on the leather bridle. “He is not here.”
“Oh no! The blighted fool is still here. Are you here to take him back to wherever he came from? Cause I’d be grateful, Serah. May even slip some coin in your pocket.”
Something broke inside him, a fever finally easing. Fenris had been traveling for longer than he wished to recount, and had not allowed himself to consider the end of the journey or who he wished to find there.
“Where may I find him?”
The woman opened her mouth to reply, but whatever response she meant to give was cut off by an unholy clatter and what sounded like a small explosion. Her expression darkened and she jerked her thumb to a thin trail of smoke rising above the walls.
“Wherever there’s trouble, typically.” She sighed.
Fenris knew Garrett far too well to disagree with that statement.
The smoke smelled of herbs Fenris recognized, elfroot chief among them, and it was billowing from within a stable of all things. Soldiers, Fenris assumed they were Grey Wardens, stood with various expressions of shock, dismay, and annoyance.
The nobles in Kirkwall wore the same looks the day Garrett knocked over six of the merchant’s stalls in Hightown. He’d been chasing a dog, who was chasing a street urchin, who was trying to catch a nug with a kitten in it’s mouth.
Maker only knew how Garrett had gotten roped into the whole thing.
Fenris simply remembered the chaos unspooling below him from his perch on the steps and that bubble of emotion that rose up in his chest while he chuckled ruefully and Isabela cheered. He hadn’t known what to call that feeling, not then, not watching Garrett retrieve the kitten and present it to the street urchin while the rich nobility stared in bewilderment.
But when he saw Garrett in the stable doors, waving his arms like a windmill to disperse the smoke, Fenris felt it again. This time he knew its name.
Joy.
Knots loosened in his chest. Only to be replaced by a sharp spike of annoyance more than a match for the cloud of irritation hovering around Garrett.
Except, of course, Garrett was impervious to the mood. He cast his dark eyes around the courtyard, flitting right over Fenris in his search for something. Then, a half second later, sliding back to where he stood.
“Fen!” Garrett shouted, a joyful grin splitting his face. “You’re here!”
Garrett bounded away from the smoking door, arms swinging. He wasn’t in armor, wasn’t armed, and a part of that struck a chord that made Fenris both wary and wistful. When was the last time Garrett had abandoned his armor around strangers?
Garrett stumbled to a stop in front of him, arms out, waiting while his eyes dragged themselves over every inch of Fenris’s lyrium lined face.
“You’re really here.” Garrett whispered.
Almost as if he thought he’d never see him again.
“Yes.” Fenris snapped instead, jerking his chin at the ancient fortress. “I have, once again, followed you to the edge of civilization.”
At least Garrett had the good grace to look contrite. “I mean. They do have that wine here you like.”
“It is more easily obtainable this close to Tevinter.”
Garrett winced. “I told Varric to tell you-”
“It was too much trouble to write to me with your own hand?”
That made his lover recoil. Garrett did not grab for him, although he lifted his arm, fingers outstretched in silent plea. “Fen that… that wasn’t it at all. There was an army of demons. Giant spider. Marching across the blighted desert. Griffon eggs…”
“Griffon eggs?” Fenris repeated, incredulous.
Garrett’s whole face brightened. “Griffon eggs! I swear on the Maker’s hairy asscheeks, Fen, you won’t believe-”
Fenris swallowed his anger and shook his head. In one movement, he turned on his heel and stomped away from the human with his beaming smile, warm eyes, and new wrinkles from sorrow on his forehead.
It was always safest to walk away when he did not know whether to slap Garrett or kiss him, after all.
Garrett found Fenris on the battlements while the sun was dipping below the western horizon. He stood, awkward and yet endearing, cradling a large white object gently in his arms. On second look, it was indeed the largest egg Fenris had ever seen.
“I should have written.” Garrett murmured. “I… wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Fenris did not pull his eyes from the pink and orange sky. “That is hardly unusual.”
Garrett chuckled to himself, shifting his weight from side to side. “Fair. But… it was bad, Fen.”
He knew it must have been. Varric would not have mentioned it otherwise. “Do you wish to tell me about it?”
“Yes.” Garrett sighed, placing the egg tenderly on top of a crate. He rested one large hand over it before casting a baleful look at Fenris. “But not tonight. Tonight I’m just… I’m just fucking thrilled to see you. Even if you’re fuming.”
“I am not fuming.” Fenris stated on instinct.
Garrett grinned. “Ah. Is this brooding then?”
Fenris’s lips twitched. “I do not brood.”
“Not even a little bit.” Garrett stepped closer, holding his arms out with a shy, uncertain tip of his lips. “I missed you.”
Fenris pushed himself away from the warm stone. For a breathless second, the two men looked at each other. Garrett’s eyes shimmered with emotion, an expression torn between longing and hope.
Fenris stepped into the man’s embrace and allowed himself to be tugged towards his broad chest. His sword rough fingers yanked on Hawke’s hair immediately, scowling into the grinning face.
“You are a fool, and I am a worse one for loving you.”
Garrett laughed, ducking down to press an eager kiss to Fenris’s lips. Fenris closed his eyes, drifting on the sparking heat between them, the way the world settled back into place. Garrett smelled of home, of warm hay, leather, salt and sun.
They broke the kiss, but clung to each other as Garrett pressed his forehead to Fenris’s.
“Griffon eggs?” Fenris finally asked.
Garrett smiled. “My newest adventure, Fenris. Much better than the last one, I assure you.”
Fenris simply sighed and melted into his lover’s embrace under the burning sun. As with most of Garrett’s adventures, it would be nothing but trouble.
Fenris found he did not mind much at all.
#manka's friend fiction#charity fundraiser#fenris#hawke/fenris#dragon age hawke#dragonage#dragon age#male hawke#fenhawke
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What are Amayian and Leliana’s kids known for long after they pass away? What’s their legacy?
Tumblr deleted my drafts three different times because I accidentally clicked off the page. This was much longer. Hope you enjoy.
Jacqueline: She is remembered for her long reign, filled with a restoration project for the dwarves of Ozammar, which included a reconstruction of the dead Dwarvish language, a rising in fertility among dwarves, thanks to potions commissioned and crafted by the Queen. She repopulates her small kingdom, and regains Jader from her sister. She also encourages learning of different dialects, especially Elvish, within her growing kingdom, and encourages a growing sense of unity between the Avvar peoples. They, surprisingly, become one of her vocal supporters, though they call her the Great Thane of Thanes instead of Queen.
Esmyial: Esmyial’s reign was the first true test for a Trevelyan ruling over non-settled subjects. But due to him being raised at the capital of Ferelden, he is seen by the local populace and nobility as a trueborn Ferelden. (This is heighten over the fact that, theortically, King Esmyial was born in what was than Ferelden) His reign also saw a slow adoption of different aspects of Ostwickan, which began known as Esmyilor style. He also saw a strengthening of the country’s coffers through his reorganization of old lands and titles, his development of newly sprouting cities, schools, and libraries. His rule was known as the Reign of the Arts, as he sought to display Ferelden power through architecture and art as much as military arms.
Ralia: She is known by two names: The August Empress and The August Magister, the latter used by her naysayers as a reminder of her loose claim to the Orlesian Throne by conquest. The most religious, she is remembered favorably by the people of Thedas - many saw the War of Retribution as a defensive holy war against the assassination of King Amayian I, and many did not pity the decadent Valmont Dynasty under the rule of Louis Celemont Arno Philippe Valmont - as a woman of sternness, but just. Styling herself after her father, she sought to appear an atmosphere of all calm and even coldness to her subjects, though she would be beloved for her abolition of the feudal system in Orlais, reestablishment of the Dales, (which earned her the epithet the Liberator and the Restorer) under Orlesian suzerainty, and the enrichment of the country through domestic means. Her textile mills allowed her industry to out shine that of rest of Thedas, and many became economically tied and dependent on Orlais’ prosperity, further increasing Ralia’s esteem. Though domestically in constant peace, save for the Valmont Rebellion of 9:63 - 9:71, which was more insurgancies than a fully fledged rebellion, the forigen policy was filled with glories. She conquered half of Neverra into her Empire, while keeping the remnants as her vassal state. She siege parts of Tevinter’s southern proviences during their war. She than later crafted, along with her siblings, a strong Ostwick-dominated Free Marches, after Kirkwall, Tantervale, and Starkhaven attacked the city. Many see her as the greatest of King Amayian and Divine Victoria’s children, by Ralia’s cold nature and destruction of Val Royeaux had lessen her stance in the recent years, with Jac taking the position as favored of the King’s children.
Saliasya: She took part only a little in poltiics, although she played the Game masterfully. Many see her has having a good, prosperous life, the greatest out of Amayian’s children if the most peaceful. She took care of her mother’s nug farm, and expanded it greatly to include many indangered animals. This sanctuary would be dubbed Val Saliasya - the city of Saliasya. There would be numerous little houses for the poor, and even a library that, for a time, was larger than even the great library in Nouvelle Aoube, the New Dawning, the capital of Empress Ralia. (It was later renamed Val Royeaux by Leliana I)
Isalian: He is considered the most unknown, and many forget that he was a child of Amayian I. He was illusive during his life, a great advisor and spymaster for his monarch siblings, holy mother, and royal-divine father. Some say that he could hear the whispers of men through their shadows. It is quite possible true.
Asmarian: He is overshadowed by the rest of his siblings, but many think on the young, smiling prince with fondness, even in the later ages. This is mainly due to his sudden and swift death alongside his father during the Assassination.
#Dragon Age#Dragon Age Inquisition#DA#DAI#Dragon Age Leliana#sister leliana#Amayian Trevelyan#Ralia Trevelyan#Jacqueline Dorothea Trevelyan#Esmyial Trevelyan#Isalian Trevelyan#Asmarian Trevelyan#iwritemosttimes#thank you for the ask!
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WIP Wednesday
I was tagged by @sweethawke <3. This is an excerpt from chapter 14 of A Heavy Weight for Small Shoulders; ATAB: All Templars Are Bastards
Time crept through the fortress like melting ice. Blackwall passed it by whittling small bees out of wood scraps that Cole kept bringing him from… somewhere. Sera kept taking them and putting them in a jar she had stolen from the kitchens despite the fact he would need to varnish them later. Cole had also taken to letting a rather persistent cat into the room to curl up on the bed with the Inquisitor. Hawke and Varric were made busy writing letters to old friends, ensuring them that everything was fine, while Cullen held onto reports coming from Skyhold. Themos made himself scarce to everyone but Dorian and Solas, and the rest of them were in and out of Ivary's room, checking on her for themselves or, in Vivienne and Cassandra's case, turning everyone out so they could get on with the long task of replacing her bandages.
It was the third day when Ivary finally began to do more than sleep. It was also then that her boredom reached its limit. Luckily for everyone she always had something to do with her tucked away somewhere; a craft, or her diary to help her wind down before bed. Sometimes she worked on requisitions, but Bull could always tell it wasn't quite the same. She needed time to not be the Inquisitor before she could sleep, and requisitions were Inquisition work.
Whatever involved the embroidery hoop she was working from at the moment was thankfully not.
"Is that a nug?" The Qunari asked, watching her work the pink thread in lines as neat as Solas' brush strokes. The girl nodded.
"He likes them; they're friendly and they trust him."
"'He'?" Blackwall grunted.
"Oh! Yes, it's for Cole. His shirt is in… rough shape. He doesn't know it's for him, though." She put her finger to her lips. Both men nodded a silent promise.
I tag @chicago-reeed ; and @godshaper
#wip wednesday#writing#A Heavy Weight for Small Shoulders#ivary trevelyan#my writing#fanfic#da:i#tag game#my post#thom rainier#the iron bull#themos Trevelyan
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dragon age: all characters (companions)
I’ve been in this fandom for a hot minute now and I want to update my opinions on characters :)
Origins
Alistair: super sweet dude who literally is not the stereotypicalchantryguyfightme. He’s a great example of healthy masculinity and I totally wish he was bi because I have an entire essay on that— also: he’s a poc! His mum was brown. In game he’s got dark features. if you really want a blond/blue-eyes/white guy, make your warden that. or accept that brown people can be noble and moral. or just draw cailan, idk. just because BioWare whitewashes doesn’t mean you should.
Leliana: someone hug my singing girlfriend before I crush her under with my own hugs. Also: nugs. Yes! Shoes. Yes! She likes how I style my hair? YES!! I honestly think she’s super duper and it pisses me off whenever someone’s like: yeah she enjoys killing people and the Game. ok. and michel de chevin willingly participated in genocidal marches through the alienage he grew up in with his elvhen mum.
Morrigan: dirty swamp witch that i stan and also have a v big crush on. tiddies. Have a son with a GW so we can raise him with our tiddies out in the forest. she’s also white-passing, as her father was chasind and all people we’ve seen that are chasind are black. therefore, she is biracial. therefore, poc can be goths and don’t shy away from giving morrigan a darker skintone. if the devs had of been thinking, she’d have a darker skintone.
Zevran: Actually is the best romance, I think. Loves consent, therefore I will stan him so hard my skull cracks a little. Also: he is a very brown boy and if he’s white in da4 I’m seriously going to throw all canon out the fucking window. genuinely a good person who needs to be told so.
Wynne: grandma who only likes my friends who go to church. but also super sweet and I’d rest my head on her bosom (in a platonic way omg ZEVRAN)
Sten: angry quiet boi. the bestest boi. I totally would give him a kitten for a gift and bake him cookies. Thicc softie. I think if I had DA:O and i knew how to use mods i would mod the fuck outta him. sorry.
Sha(y)le: who’s gender? idk her. See also: fuck birds and authority. pound ur ass into the ground you feathery meatbag little shits. fuck songbirds.
Dog: such a good boi. thicc. thinks Alistair is a whiny fuck and is Morrigan’s only friend. love him. he’s the cutest companion. bet.
Ohgren: honestly forgot about him bcc he’s such a shitbag. also: he could’ve been a really cool addiction recovery type but NOPE. probably would have a trump shirt in a modern au and would catcall wlw and hit mlm. no thanks.
Awakening
Anders: he acts like rlly straight but he’s so gay I can smell it. also he’s rlly cute and fun and I love him so much.
Justice: MAYBE i’M selF CONSCious OF THE twitchING. is the friend that genuinely doesn’t get dick jokes but is ur 110% ride or die.
Nathaniel Howe: honestly is sort of a white knight/neck beard a little, but it’s kind of charming with his whole velanna m’lady?? grump boi. annoying soul patch that I’d mod out SO FAST—
Sigrun: would have ROMANCED the FUCK out of her. why she even entertains the idea of fucking with ohgren makes me realize most of the writers are dumbfucks.png. peppy little emo. 12/10 would die if she kissed my cheek teasingly.
Ohgren: why. why. why. I’d have brought Shayle over. Maybe Zev? Definitely Dog.
Velanna: she was written to be an annoying feminist and you can tell but I deadass am a kindred spirit with her bcc I too am deadpan annoyed with Thedas’ general population too. love her. Would’ve loved to romance her. She’d totally be one of those who’d get all tsundere and be like “n-no i hate you” *kisses the fuckin soul out of you then blushes so hard she’s now a tomato*
Dragon Age II
Anders: fuck the cops. i don’t care. fuck the cops. (vine reference). also: do i hate him for blowing up the chantry that would eventually annul a huge collection of his people? no. read dalishious’s meta on Anders. v intriguing. didn’t they retcon the fuck out of the reported deaths too? like there was like eight Templars and Elthinia in there. Templars killed more “abominations” in a day than Anders in the game canon—
Aveline: initially thought she was fine and then realized she’s shit to my lil brother and I will fucking clap her ginger ass. See also: whorephobia isn’t a joke so fuck off with treating Isabela badly, you tit.
Bethany: sunshine. Literal sunshine. I feel my freckles grow in her presence and i love it. she’s my little baby sister and I’d slam that ogre so fuckin hard before it touched either twin.
Carver: there has to be a mod where both twins survive. I love them both to bits. My babies. carver is my bitter, angry little brother and I can relate because I too am very angry and would totally clap my own ass. hes so genuine and I don’t get the competition between Beth and Carver. Like, both are fuckin stellar in different ways. In this essay I will—
Fenris: honestly, I don’t get the general hate between him and Anders. Fenris’ main arc should’ve been a recovery arc, not drunken moping and revenge. he deserves better. give him a soft sweater instead of his spikes and let him love himself as much as I love him for MAKERS SAKE. like when you really think about their relationship, it could’ve been an eye-opener for fenris and finally some legit sympathy for anders. but we all know that if they had of teamed up that Meredith would’ve been dead before the end of Act 1 so.
Isabela: whorephobia is not a joke. oversexualizing your only appearing brown woman is so poorly written. how about we appreciate her and her lovely bosoms but also let people tease her about her heart of gold? her innate understanding of freedom? instead of just a wave of dick? please?? can we give her some pants for when she fights? can we accept that i fall for rogues who hate themselves?? fuck. also whomever draws her x femHawke x Merrill literally is after my own heart.
Merrill: my fucking babygirl MARRY ME. Fenris could’ve been her older brother type, but NO. she and Isabela should’ve been canonical gfs instead of Isabela/Fenris (no shaming the pairing tho!!). I love how she’s written as neurodivergent. V nice. Sometimes I just look her up and cry because she’s fucking everything. Also: she’s in the Dalish origin and she’s far from being white. Why did they make the most innocent/naïve character really white? hmmmm.
Sebastian: whew that boy. Would totally be that annoying Mormon at your door but you still let him in bcc he’s super sweet. Also: huge ass bible thumper and should get his head slap because you said the maker loved all his children why do you defend a complicit old hag you annoying attractive fuck—
Varric: totally is a bard and the devs couldn’t handle the idea of him being one bcc it might make him look less straight. is the only grey morality person I don’t want to fucking bash in with a fry pan. he sees people and I like that, but you totally know he’s siding with mages every time bcc him and Anders are like besties. I’m sorry. I don’t make the rules. “Professional Younger Brother”.
Tallis: I know nothing about her but she seems okay. I think she was an escaped slave and honestly? Fucking props. Spy on a shitting organization, idk what you’re doing, but your VA was that cool lesbian from SPN so I think ur okay?
Inquisition
Blackwall: Redemption Arc 101. Love him to bits. Sad dad bunwall. good man. actually atoned for his sins by actively becoming a good person. his initial design is 80% hotter im so sorry but so not.
Cassandra: was way browner in the last game. would romance the fuck outta her. I love me a butch lady who melts at my dorky recitation of poetry. BioWare is a coward. also is the worst choice for divine. but not a bad person. could use some more guidance or get her ass whipped by a dalish elf about religion or a circle mage kid whos like “yeah bud i didn’t ask for the templars to whip my ass everyday for existing.”
The Iron Bull: I think the Qunari/Vashoth were a little based off black people (the whole anti blackness thing where ppl are scared of them bcc of whatever reason) and it pisses me off that he had a weird ass dubcon thing with Dorian in banter. It doesn’t make sense— he’s an A+++ dom and would not jump straight in role play without at least checking in at first like wtf BioWare.
Cole: his mother was chasind so he’s like not supposed to be that white? or like biracial? albino? idk. love him to bits tho. He’s neurodivergent and I deadass love him. romancing him? idk. I see why ppl think it’s fuckin nasty but also like as a writer I’d age him the fuck up so fast before my inquisitor even THOUGHT about that. like idk. I’m down with him being a sweet little bro character tho. he’s a babe. love him.
Sera: had the worst fucking writer I’ve ever seen and I willingly read the twilight saga twice by a shit ass racist white lady who okay’d pedophilia. like. Fuck you Kristjanson suck your own dick you fuck. had the worst options in regards to speak to her. has a thicc case of internalized racism that literally most of the fandom just loves to use against her. my lesbian neurodivergent queen. Would write a thousand fix it fics for her. Love her to bits. im gay.
Varric: I haven’t played DA2 so i don’t get why everyone wants to romance him but like. a dwarf romance? yes please. Idk he reminds me of my uncle so I only see him as fun uncle material. Deadass should adopt Cole and Merrill and co parent with Blackwall for Sera. dads? fuck yeah. love me some wholesome, present fathers.
Dorian: is a gay stereotype that I love/hate so much. and he’s also just as bad about being a creep bcc he sexualizes qunari men (in banter). I attribute that to shit writing tho. I want to protect him from all the “omg gay best friend!” people. he’d clearly be that tired gay that wouldn’t give a diddly damn about ur het romance. wanna talk about politics? he’s ur guy/gay.
Solas: “me, an intellectual:”. I don’t hate him, but I’m not about him. He comes off as mysterious and suave (which he totally is) but I deadass would not save him from himself because he’s a racist, exclusionist eggshell. idk. not my cup of tea, but I can totally see the appeal. And he’s interesting, I’ll totally say that. “I think the Dalish are garbage but they made you” is not a compliment. it’s so offensive. and such bait for “quirky girls” which I’m no fan of. Would be Achilles and let Patroclus (Lavellan in his case) die before he realized how his pride is literally a waste of time. If he gets a redemption arc I hope Lavellan gets to slap him before getting him to teach all about ancient Arlathan and show that the Evanuris weren’t all total dicknozzles. (Aka I really have a hard time believing that they’d be slavery cult things. especially since they’ve compared elves to indigenous ppl, Jews and the Romani.)
Vivienne: it’s so racist that they’d make a black woman be pro-slavery. That’s such internalized racism. She could’ve been the cool ass “educate yourself first before you speak, fool” ice lady, but NO. the devs could’ve kept the “Templars are a tool that I proudly can mandate” and the “circles are very good education” and we. Could. Have. Romanced. Her. Like. Fuck. Sake. I just wanna give her a hug and say “love yourself omg!!” and not even in a romantic way. Also: she and morrigan should not have been so antagonistic towards each other. I’d expect them to have great respect for each other, as they both moved up in the world through hardwork and very little help. They could learn different magic from each other too and still maintain that rival respect “oh you” mood. Sidenote: probably the cooler option for Divine. if her approval is high enough she’ll love and be loyal to you forever and i can’t see her agenda being bad. she improves the circles exponentially and tells all the antis to suck her pretty painted toes.
Josephine: an actual disney princess. romanced her my first playthrough. I love her so much. she just makes me so happy. And she’s like: “Integrity, Loyalty, peace. That is what it means to be a GREY WARDEN good fucking person.” she’s the person who would let you hold her hand if you got anxious and she’d be that person who shouldered the whole group project with finesse and poise and would probably lie for everyone as to not be mean. i love josie. her and leliana’s relationship is so cute, too. whether it’s romantic or not: women supporting women.
Leliana: if you leave her hardened you must hate her. why. she becomes so against herself. i like how shes feminine and lighthearted because that’s so powerful-- to remain hopeful when the world is hopeless. (its hard to know when to soften her/harden her so i get it but. google it. she deserves to be happy and sweet again.)
Cullen: uwu war criminal with shit ass “redemption arc” that was actually a half-assed (at BEST) recovery arc. Recovery isn’t linear, it isn’t pretty, and even the broken need to be told they are wrong in order to heal right. Like I’m offended by that bullshit. I’ve had to do some mental health recovery in the past and unlearning lots of toxic ideologies— which I’m still unlearning— and it bothers me that he gets an easy pass because he’s hot. It’s one thing if you like Cullen, it’s another thing if you hold him accountable.
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