aged 2

CONFESSION: 

A few days ago I found Gideon Emery on twitter and jokingly tweeted him saying “ hi Fenris :)” along with a gif of Fenris raising a bottle of Agriggio   Today he replied saying “cheers!” I started hysterically laughing and shaking. Fenris is one of my favorite Dragon Age characters is the whole franchise. My day is made!            

ravenshadows08  asked:

❛ you’re a weapon and weapons don’t weep. ❜ (pre-kirkwall fenris)

Trigger warning for abuse.


He writhes with it. The pain bleeds inside his bones, claws in his skull. Blood bubbles underneath the markings, seeps from the edges. He grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut as every inch of him shudders and shakes. Stretching out his hands, his fingers, trying to stop the shaking. He can feel his very skin scream. It burns, it burns, an unquenchable heat that scorches him from the inside out and yet he’s cold – his teeth chattering, shivering, breathing fog. His clothes are soaked through and through with blood sweat, his hair sticks in strands against his forehead. He would give anything to make it stop.

His eyes open when he hears the voice in the hallway, approaching the small room they’ve put him in. The ache mixes with dread. He knows that voice. He knows that voice. Curling into a ball, trying to make himself small, trying to hide in any way he can. “Why have you not risen?” It’s a demand that’s spoken by iron, a demand that stirs the fear in his heart. He does all he can to suppress the howl when a hand wraps around his wrist, tugs hard. He barely feels his arm twisting. He only feels the fire of fingers on his skin, biting into the markings, stabbing into him.

Danarius’s lip curls in disgust once he lets him go, wipes his bloodied hand on his robes. He kneels on the ground before him, this creature so pathetic and weak, and that trembling. He holds his hands to his chest as he slowly turns his gaze upwards, dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. The strike is swift. Stinging against his cheek, and the markings flash a sickly violet. “Never raise your eyes to me,” he tells him. “You will learn your place quickly, slave.”

“Stand up,” Danarius snaps. He does as he asks. His legs will not steady, his spine will not straighten. Lines of lyrium wind his bones, puncture his skin. The ache, the pain, the hurt, the agony and the misery. Shoulders hunched, staring at his own feet as he sways. There’s fog in his eyes, a spinning in his head. He staggers as he struggles to stay upright. “Stand up.” Parts of him flicker, and the blood drips down his hands. Drops fall from his fingers onto the stone below. “Pathetic.” He is failing his master.

That hand around his wrist once again, the fire, the blaze, the burn, the scorch. “There are ways of making you listen.” Danarius says it in a low tone, so close to his ear, and he can hear the sickly smile in his every word. He gets his first taste of magic. It spreads wild through the markings, and the room illuminates with him. He never thought it could be worse. This time, he cannot stop it. The scream is ripped from him as his back twists and arches, hands clenching into fists, head thrown back with the agony of it.

Lightning courses through him, and he knows, he knows – my master, my master. It’s what he deserves. He did not obey. The magic crashes into silence and he falls to his knees. Smoke rises from his skin, the smell of burning flesh. The noises tumble from his throat, whimpers and whines, tears dripping down his face. Danarius kneels before him. “You are a weapon. My weapon. And weapons do not weep,” Danarius snarls, his hand in a crushing grip on his jaw, fingers bruising into skin.  

“I must give you a name,” he says. His ears ring, and each noise is like a scratch upon stone. The voice fades in and out, in and out, as his vision remains a whitewash. “You will be my little wolf.” Hands still on his face, that terrible ache. “My little wolf.” He just wants it to stop. His body is heavy, weighed down with something he cannot see but can so deeply feel. “My little wolf.” He cannot run. The touch, the hands, the sting and make it stop, please, make it stop.

“Fenris.” White slips into blackness, but the ringing still remains. “Fenris!” Hands on his face, a weight on his body. He gasps and heaves with much needed breath as he forces himself to sit upright. Hair in strands against his forehead, back slick with sweat. Squeezing eyes closed and opening them again, but the world still spins and he cannot – “Fenris, look at me.” Those hands are still on his face. A gentle warmth against the cold of him, thumbs brushing against his cheeks. Squeezing eyes closed and opening them again. Squeezing eyes closed and opening them again.

His shoulders rise and fall with heavy breath and he realizes that she is straddling him. It is her touch on him. He reaches for her with shaking hands, winds into her tunic. Hawke pulls him against her, his head buried against her chest. She holds him tightly, smoothing down wild hair with one hand while the other rubs small circles onto his back. “You’re with me,” she says, “you’re safe.” His hands move upwards, desperately holding to her, his fists shaking against her shoulder blades. He cannot bear to close his eyes again. Every time he does, he sees only that dungeon. “I have you.” Whispering it into his ear, the softest murmur. “You’re safe.”

He struggles to control his breathing, with that terrible rise and fall, to stop the shaking. “Fenris,” she says, “it’s okay. I love you.” Focusing on the heartbeat underneath her ribs. There are no orders. No demands. No master. He is Fenris and he is free. He holds her ever tighter, and the shaking returns in full. Hawke kisses the crown of his head as he begins to weep. “I love you.”  

hey so i want to cry because i hate it that i know dragon age 2 is fiction but i still feel uncomfortable when people say exploding a chantry is a necessary act of violence

like??? if it’s just a government building somehow im okay but a chantry is a place of worship, despite the institution itself being shitty, there are genuine believers who are not part of the abuse!!!

i live in a shitty country that uses religion as an excuse to be shitty and murderous

im part of the majority, and yet i still don’t fit because i’m not the orthodox kind of muslim, cause im fucking queer and i don’t think i can handle being here anymore

BUT I STILL HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE SAY DESTROYING A PLACE OF WORSHIP IS NECESSARY it hits too fucking close to home

defend anders! support him! but don’t you dare act like it’s okay to say it’s a necessary act for freedom! don’t you dare act like it doesn’t happen in real life!

if you think fiction affects reality, that representation matter, don’t you fucking dare