at least try to help hawke

anonymous asked:

Can you imagine baby jeon trying lamb skewers for the first time and wanting to have it everyday for every meal

yoongi didn’t know of the consequences of bringing jungkook out for lamb skewers for the first time… until he was asked to bring him out for a second.

he had absolutely no idea how to explain to jungkook in a nice way that a. if he does bring jungkook for lamb skewers everyday, twenty years from now he’s going to hate him so much because no one wants to find out in a doctor’s office that he has excessive fat in his body and b. that shit is expensive. more so for a person who is trying to bring up a kid at least until he’s eighteen and able to fend for himself. 

so here yoongi stands in a spot that leaves him vulnerable to jungkook’s puppy eyes and your hawk ones staring at him from the kitchen.

yoongi meekly excuses himself and runs over to you, who - “y/n help me,”

“hm… i don’t know. i mean i did tell someone not to bring him out for lamb skewers but someone just didn’t want to listen to me,”

“i’m sorry!” yoongi tries his best to be soft but it’s hard when the regret is mighty high in him, “he was asking and asking of how it tastes like and i just wanted to shut him up but now he won’t shut up about wanting to eat it again!”

“and whose fault is that?”

yoongi gulps and swallows the answer of jungkook to squeeze out a me…

you pat your hands on the apron and brush past him to get out of the kitchen. getting down to your knees and motioning jungkook over, the seven year old walks over with a gummy grin at the sight of you.

“noona,” he stretches his arms out for a hug and of course, you hug him first. giving him at least five seconds to relish in your hug, you pull back with hands rooting his shoulders down so you can see him properly before you say: “jungkook, are you asking your hyung to bring you out for lamb skewers again?”

he doesn’t even lie, nodding his head with a smile, “lamb skewers are tasty!”

“they are tasty jungkook, i won’t lie. but it’s not something that you can eat everyday. it’s… let’s just say it’s okay to eat it every now and then but it’s not good to eat it all the time,” you brush his hair from his face to continue, “so let’s save lamb skewers for another time when the time is right, okay? tonight i’m making your favorite fried rice, hm?”

he seems to take it in well, nodding (gentler) again with a faint smile. you can tell he’s a bit disappointed but he understands. which is all you ever ask for.

“okay noona. can i go play with jiminie hyung now?”

you stand and pat his head, urging him towards the direction of jimin’s room.

turning around, you see yoongi standing by the wok, “teach me how to cook.”


“c’mon! i want to make it for the kid,”

folding your arms and leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, you raise a brow, “you feel bad, don’t you?”


“then get out of the kitchen,”

“yes i feel bad! now let me cook for him and teach me how to do it.”


Anders never was much for sleep since his Joining–insomnia had been his sole companion through many of the past decade’s empty nights. Until Justice.

And until Hawke.

He watches half-lidded as she snuffs, makes as if to turn over, then settles back down against him. Anders smiles and flicks a lock of hair off her face, marveling. Here lies a contradiction: she is a human firecracker, his bulwark in battle, yet now she cups herself to his chest, almost more dove than Hawke.

The banked fire glows in the fireplace and he drifts, on the cusp of sleep now and musing–thoughts of Justice, pushed far back in his mind tonight, and of stories and names. She’d never asked his surname, and he’d never called her by her first. Not for three years. Not until this night

(Oh Maker – yes, Marian, yes – )

and he relishes the memory now, how sweet it was to call her and know her, the consonants and vowels of that name falling from his lips in a babble as he arched above her.

He slits his eyes open for one last look: the portwine birthmark splashed across her nose like blood, like fire. He wants to reach into that fire, close his fist through it and shape it, burn down everything that would try to take her from him.

Anders sleeps. For tonight, at least, she is safe. For tonight that is enough.

A Thousand Winter Mornings

Fenris/f!Hawke, 3143 words, nsfw-ish? A discussion of his past and family in the wake of Fenris’s Alone quest, with a wee bit of headcanon that I’m not at all confident about.

Read here on AO3

“I think—I remember my mother.”

The words rumble into her ear as she lies nestled against his chest, half-draped over him. Either he’ll say more or he won’t; she knows him well enough by now to know that, so she tucks an arm under her chin and waits. In the grey-white of morn, the lines of his profile are bold and sharp, the lyrium filigreed into his skin stark against it, but the diffuse light that filters through the rain-battered panes does little to clear the clouds that linger in his gaze.

The last time he remembered something of his past he left her—but now his hand is steady on the small of her back, as is the ebb and flow of his breathing, the even flutter of his heartbeat under her palm, where it lies splayed on his chest.

For a long time it’s all she hears over the pitter-patter of the rain, padding the velvety silence and muffling the Hightown bustle outside his window. The quiet of his mansion is unsettling after the constant activity of her own estate: the rattle of Sandal’s enchantment apparatus, Bodahn’s Veil-rending snores, the clatter of Orana’s cooking or the pounding of her carpet beater, the dog barking at shadows, a visitor come to say hello or request the Champion’s help. So whenever Fenris lets her spend the night at the old mansion? Hawke startles at its every squeak and creak despite herself—yet there’s something to be said for the hush of mornings spent like this one, in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets.

“She had green eyes, and red hair like Varania. Not a mage, though, at least not that I can tell from what little I remember. She taught me how to hold a sword. Her hands smelled of cinnamon,” he adds in an undertone.

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maegonstorm  asked:

Did you say... prompts? Fenhawke wedding! Fenhawke wedding! Fenhawke wedding! Pretty please? I have a strong preference for it to be happy (and for you to be happy)

I realized this could be an entire fic in and of itself, so I tried something a little different here. Hope it’s not too off-putting.

From an addendum to The Tales of the Champion, by Varric Tethras, found only in more recent copies of the tome –

Dear readers, as it comes time to update my novel for posterity, I would like to take the opportunity to describe for you a wedding – a wedding of lavish excess unlike anything has ever known, paid in full by the joint efforts of the citizens of a city grateful for all the years of sacrifice, dedication, and service their Champion invested in it.

I would like to describe for you the excitement and the fanfare. I would like to tell you how the Divine herself came down to oversee the ceremony, which was held in Kirkwall’s recently rebuilt Chantry. The aisles were strewn with fresh fragrant rose petals, and the air was bright with sweet music. The Champion and his elf, clad in exquisite Orlesian silk suites, said their vows in the light of the setting sun, and as they shared their first kiss of marital bliss – a miracle! Andraste’s statue, watching over the union, shed three pure, glistening tears of joy!

I would like to describe all this for you – but we all know it’s a load of nug shit.

Kirkwall did not remember its gratitude for its Champion for long, and Fenris and Hawke were forced to flee the city one dark and moonless night. They travelled for a time, fighting slavers, never staying in one place for too long. When Fenris at long last agreed to marry the Champion, they went to Lothering, and wrote for their friends to come and join them there.

The intentions were good. The planning? Terrible.

Lothering, for all its rustic charm, is a bit of a backwoods shithole. Even rebuilt and a full eight years into its recovery from the Blight, it remains one of those provincial little Fereldan towns that refuses to recognize the legality of the union between a human and an elf.

A few of the Chantry sisters knew Hawke from before, but the Mother did not – and no amount of Hawke’s dark scowls and strongly-worded pleas could convince her to allow any of the sisters to perform the service. They were not even permitted to hold their “unnatural farce of a wedding” within the Chantry’s walls.

The Mother was, dear readers, a bitch.

This unfortunate news was not discovered until after I had arrived with the others, and it could have ruined everything – but our brave heroes were not daunted. Hawke would not be deterred in his quest. It was an old man named Barlin who suggested they have the ceremony on the hill where Malcolm Hawke’s ashes were buried. Hawke had recently brought Bethany and Leandra’s remains to rest there as well, so it was almost like having Hawke’s family present, even if Carver had sent word that he had no intention of attending, himself.

As to the services, Sebastian and Merrill offered to help.

“I know you aren’t Dalish, Fenris, but I thought it could be nice,” Merrill said. “I was my clan’s First, so I do have the authority – and anyway, it couldn’t hurt anything, could it? Really, it’s a lovely ceremony – and, oh, I’m babbling, but wouldn’t you at least consider it? I would really like to help, if you would let me.”

Fenris surprised me. He looked at Hawke, and was quiet for a long time before he said, “A generous offer. Thank you,” and it was settled.

Attire was the next hurdle. Hawke and Fenris had been away from Kirkwall for well over a year, and neither one of them owned anything suitable for a wedding. Barlin offered to lend them something, but his suites, aside from being moth eaten and thirty years out of style, didn’t fit.

“If you make me trying one more on, I’m setting it on fire,” Hawke warned.

Aveline met him glare for glare. “You can’t very well get married in that ratty old flannel!”

“Nude wedding?” Isabela perked.

“Hawke can wear whatever he wants,” Fenris announced. “I don’t care. I just want to marry him.”

“You all heard that?” Hawke asked. “I have witnesses?”

“At least mend the holes in the shirt,” Aveline frowned.

The morning of the ceremony dawned dark and gloomy.

“Rain on your wedding is a good omen,” I tried to tell them. We gathered in the common room of Lothering’s inn and we ate the wedding cake and we drank the champagne and we watched the storm roll in across the farm fields. Merrill wove flowers into a circlet that the Big Guy actually let her put on his head, and the moment the rain let up we were up and out the door, rushing across the tiny town to what remained of the old Hawke family farm.

Maybe it was the champagne, but I’ll swear to you, reader, that the clouds parted and the sun poured down on them like pure gold. I’ve never seen Hawke smile the way he did that morning, with flowers in his hair and Fenris’s hands in his hands.  The elf looked pretty damned happy, too.

You’ve all seen weddings, readers, though maybe not weddings like this one. Choir Boy said his prayers, and Daisy sang to her gods. The Champion and his elf vowed to love each other for the rest of their lives. Aveline and I stood up with Hawke, Donnic and Isabela with Fenris. Old Barlin cried.

It started raining again, right there at the end. Hawke laughed, and pulled Fenris close, and as the skies opened up once more, they kissed, again and again and again, smiling between their kisses.

If you want to see love, you only have to watch the way they look at each other.

We all stayed in Lothering for a few days after, but it was bittersweet. Hard to feel like old times when loss is like a scar on reality. But it was good – I’m glad I got to be there.

I wish I knew what the future held. I wish we could all to back to what came before – fix some things, right some wrongs.

But at least I can end this confident in one thing.

The Champion of Kirkwall is going to be just fine.

-          V. Tethras

Best Served Cold is the worst, most bullshit mandatory quest when you’ve been playing Hawke as a radical Libertarian, and I’ve been trying to come up with a way for it to make some amount of sense. I think the key is that it happens right after On the Loose.

My Hawke goes through the entirety of OTL being brazenly uncooperative with Meredith. Meredith asks for her help, and Hawke tells her to fuck off. Meredith threatens her, and Hawke dares her to start something. Meredith gives her the leads anyway and asks her to at least see for herself what the situation is, and Hawke makes it very clear as she takes them that she’s not going to lay a hand on anyone who isn’t the danger Meredith claims they are. When she comes back at the end of the whole awful experience, she and Anders tag team chewing Meredith out for pushing mages into the arms of demons with policies that are as counterproductive as they are cruel. She also lies to protect Emile, and Meredith clearly knows she’s lying.

And there are no consequences for this, because OTL wasn’t really an attempt to rein Hawke in. The ship has clearly already sailed on that, so what are the alternatives? The Templars could just kill her, but that would probably jumpstart the war, which is exactly what they’re trying to avoid. But maybe they don’t have to actually get the leash around her neck if they can make it look like she’s leashed.

Officially, Meredith sent Hawke after three escaped mages, and Hawke killed all of them. Hawke knows that she saved Emile, and she would have saved Huon and Evelina too if it hadn’t already been too late by the time she got to them, but to Thrask’s and Grace’s rebels — the people who freed the fugitives in the first place — the Champion suddenly looks less like a potential ally and more like Meredith’s personal hatchetwoman.

And then, of course, there are the demons. Grace’s people have been using a lot of blood magic, which means there are probably malicious spirits whispering in their minds encouraging them to let their own fear sabotage them. Grace herself is already possessed by the time Hawke finds her, and it’s entirely possible that Carver was abducted on the orders of a demon wearing her skin.

And that’s good news for Meredith, because with her and Thrask’s death and their followers’ capture — which Hawke is once again apparently responsible for — the last major pocket of resistance has been crushed, and anyone who wants to try to start more will be hobbled by not knowing who to trust. The renegade Templar-mage alliance is gone. The Mage Underground is gone, except for Anders, and now his connection to Hawke — the very thing that’s been protecting him all this time — is more of an obstacle than an asset. The nobles Hawke helped Marlein rally are probably having some serious second thoughts. The Right of Annulment has been called for, and Meredith is closing in on checkmate.

The only problem I can see with this reading is that by this point, Meredith is seriously cracking under the influence of the red lyrium, and it’s a little bit difficult to believe that she still has enough subtlety left to come up with a plan like this. But you know who does?


Anon, you gave me this gift in my inbox in April. I have read it over and over again, but I never posted it, and I have no excuse. I’m sorry. You continue to overwhelm me with your generosity, and I can’t tell you how many times this has picked me up over the last few months. You are amazing and I don’t deserve you, and I am so, so sorry it took me so long to post. These things are beacons in some of the most difficult parts of my year, so seriously, thank you.


“Before I forget,” he replied pointedly, “I have something for you.” Her eyes rounded out in curiosity as he hefted the wad of brown paper and string into her hand. “I’m not much for wrapping I’m afraid.” She held out her glass and he obliged her taking it, trying not to watch so closely for her reaction. Paper dropped to the ground with the pieces of confetti and ribbon already littering the place. What was left was a jutting, three-pointed pieces of crystal the color of an ocean.            

“Damn it.” Over and over Fenris muttered the same words as he walked, police-grade coat drawn against the wet cold of creation. For half the neighborhood this would simply be the time to gather around the fire and drink something warm. But for Hawke (and the other half of the neighborhood surely invited), it was a day to celebrate.

The detective inspector palmed the paper wrapping in his pocket, trying to reassure himself. Hawke had never been averse to celebrating her birth, and certainly never objected to an occasion to have any sort of party, but he’d never seen her make a big deal out of it. Only in the recent years, as memories of family and city turmoil began to fade, had she shown any real interest. So naturally, he had to do everything in his power to help make this an occasion worth remembering.

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deviantdragons  asked:


Quince - temptation

Hawke is bored. 

Rationally, Anders knows he should feel guilty, and on some small level, he does. He had planned to have more pages of his manifesto ready for copying by now, but the words aren’t coming out right, and a poorly written screed can be worse than none at all. He’s sure that if he just focused, this wouldn’t be a problem. 

Mostly though, he just feels enthralled. 

The dying candelight is outshined by orbs of tightly packed electricity, gently bouncing around the room at chest height. They bathe the space in blue, giving it a distinctly otherworld feel, as though this is a dream. If it is one, it’s centered around Hawke, leaning back in a chair and directing the lights about with smooth flicks of his hand. 

The dog sleeping at his feet may be unimpressed, but Anders knows what kind of control must go into such a display. It’s everything the Chantry insists can’t be, and Hawke, unpossessed and unrestrained Hawke, is in his clinic, living proof of everything a free mage can be. It’s dizzying. 

And Anders wants. He wants a lot, too much, everything. For all mages to have those kinds of opportunities, loving families and lessons without punishment. For everyone to see the good that is so obvious to him, to replace fear and hate with acceptance and understanding. For all the wrongs that have been done to be prevented from happening again. 

And those are nothing new, but he also wants to see what Hawke looks like without his armor in this unnatural light. He wants to kiss him until the building need in his chest is sated, to see how long Hawke’s control can last, to replace that neutral expression with something more rapt. Anders wants to hold those sweeping hands with his own and feel spells collide and combine. He wants to see what Hawke can really do when he’s trying. 

But none of that will help in the long run, and Anders knows it. He lets his hair fall in his eyes and refocuses on the papers in front of him. At least he has inspiration. 

Me: POW!
Me also: … ow. D8

I keep thiking about my post-Trespasser headcanons with Anders and Justice helping cure the Tranquil who come to them - and always it kills me to think about Anders and Justice learning about the cure for Tranquility in the first place, or them curing the first Tranquil (I imagine this picture taking place after the latter). How it would gnaw at them - if only they’d known in Kirkwall…

But at least they can help now, do everything they can to those they CAN help, and try not to blame themselves for not knowing.

*crawls into a corner and cries*

The Hard Morning After


me: I wasn’t sure if the bit about Anders never drinking was just fanon or not. even now that I’m playing the game I can’t always tell, because there’s a lot of dialogue choices I don’t see

fauxfires: it’s an ambient banter in act 1, if you bring him near the entrance to the hanged man on the lowtown side he sometimes says it

me: ….justice would be a hilarious drunk

There were days like this when Anders hated the sun, the burning, piercing, eye-stabbing bringer of mornings that man was never meant to experience. Even Hawke’s heavy velvet curtains couldn’t block out the hateful light, and Anders groaned as even the slightest attempt to shift out of its path turned into an arcing bolt of pain through his head.

“Ohhhh Maker,” Anders moaned, flopping one hand over his face to try to block out the light. Even his own hand was too heavy, too hot to bear the touch of it on his skin. “Whatever I did to deserve this headache, I repent for it.”

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anonymous asked:

fenhawke in a barn, with injuries? :)

“Hawke,” Fenris said, speaking slowly and clearly, despite the hint of pain that colored the dark rolling depths of his voice, “If you mention the word boots one more time, or any variation thereof, I will be forced to become violent with you.”

Hawke quickly closed his mouth.

The job had gone to shit too quickly for comfort. Tracking a “small band” of thieves into the Marcher countryside somehow became “fleeing a small army of ne’er-do-wells through cornfields in the pouring rain”. There had been explosions, strong language, violence, unnecessary sexual innuendo between Isabela and their adversaries…

Hawke was pretty sure his group had ultimately won the day, but it would take sunrise and a break in the rain for him to be completely sure. His group had gotten separated in all the mess, sometime between retrieving the Lady Lanell’s stolen jewels and thoroughly upsetting the leader of the group responsible.

This would be the last time Hawke accepted work from one of his mother’s childhood friends. The pay had been good, and Leandra thought the good will might help with her bid to restore the family name, but – as Varric had so eloquently put it, before another wave of attackers separated them – shit.

“There’s a barn up ahead,” Hawke said, after a moment. “We should be able to take shelter in there until daybreak.”

“I’m sure it will be very reassuring in the morning, when the farmer finds an apostate and an elf curled up in his hayloft,” Fenris said darkly. “We can reach the city long before morning.”

His limp was getting worse. Even in the darkness and the downpour it was unmistakable. About an hour ago the elf had finally agreed to allow Hawke to put an arm around his shoulders to help him walk. That in itself surely paid testament to a certain level of pain. Still, Hawke had no illusions that trying to outright carry the elf would not result in a glowing first through the throat.

“I want to get a look at your injuries,” he said. “There’s no harm in taking shelter for a bit. Rest up. Maybe the rain will stop.”

Fenris snorted, and seemed unconvinced, but didn’t argue when Hawke began to steer them toward the barn.

Inside, the best that could be said was that it was mostly dry. Fenris’s concerns about a farmer objecting to their presence was put to rest by the fact the barn clearly hadn’t been used in years. Hawke helped Fenris to sit on an overturned crate, then nosed around until he found a lantern. He had to use magic to get it lit.

Outside the rain started coming down harder.

“Let me have a look at your feet,” Hawke said, returning to the elf, squatting down before him. When he reached for him, the elf pulled quickly away.


“Even when we get out of here, we’ve still got a long way to walk. They’ll be worse if we don’t at least try to treat them.”

“You aren’t a healer.”

“I promise – no spells without permission.”

Fenris continued to frown at him for a moment before finally stretching out a leg.

They’d been over rough terrain, and at one point the fighting had broken glass. The elf’s feet were cut up and bloody, and a sprained ankle was beginning to swell. He didn’t make a noise or so much as wince as Hawke began to carefully pick debris from his flesh, merely staring down at him, attentive and watchful. There was a way he looked at him that made Hawke all-too aware of everything around him, every breath, every movement.

“I guess this isn’t the best introduction,” Hawke said, speaking to distract himself from a sudden bout of nerves. He glanced up, tried to give him a smile, which wasn’t returned. Hawke was used to leading, to knowing what others needed to do, bullying them into the care they needed. He was not used to feeling self-conscious and jittery. “Being only your second week with us, I mean,” he clarified, bowing his head again.

Fenris was silent a long while, staring down at him. His expression was an odd one, as if Hawke was some strange creature he could not put a name to. The big mage cupped his heel carefully, and tried to be as gentle as possible with his work.

“Healing spells,” Fenris said, at last. “You do know a few?”

“Small ones, yeah,” he said. “Enough to help.”

Fenris hesitated, then finally nodded, slowly. “Alright.”

i’m having feelings about the hawke-anders parallels.

Hawke starts out surrounded by a family to love and protect, but over the course of the game they lose them all, in one way or another. No matter what choices they make, no matter how hard they try to protect their family, Hawke fails. And by the end of Act 2, they’re left rattling around in this big empty house on their own.

Anders has that exact same plot arc.

He loses the lover he came to Kirkwall for. He starts out surrounded by people willing to help and protect mages - we know what happens to mages in this town, and it ain’t gonna happen to him - but over the course of the game we see the templars “purging” mage sympathizers, until in the end, the mage underground is all but destroyed. He’s left on his own, just like Hawke. And by the start of Act 3, Meredith has already sent to Val Royeaux for the Rite of Annulment that will kill everyone in the Gallows. Anders has failed, just like Hawke.

The difference is that although Hawke loses everyone they’d originally been trying to protect, they can reach out to the companions and create a new family among them. But Anders spends the entire game reaching out and getting shut down.

He lights up whenever he’s given the least bit of support - but when he talks to the companions about the mages, they treat it as an annoyance; the manifesto written to convince people is treated as a joke; the authorities repeatedly prove unwilling or unable to help. The people in the underground who had been helping him are either dead or have otherwise been convinced to give up. And the only solution he can see in the end requires him to isolate himself even further.

The culmination of the game is simply Hawke choosing whether he really is on his own.

And Hawke knows exactly what it’s like to lose everything you were trying to protect, and to refuse to let that end as a tragedy.

anonymous asked:

I really love Merrill but there are some things about her romance that i don't like. She is constantly infantilized, both by characters and the narrative. Her inexperience with people are supposed to be because she is from a different culture but it doesn't always feel like it. She ends up looking like a character who is in constant need of direction and help (which she doesn't but it comes off that way) and that creates a power imbalance in a relationship which kinda makes me uncomfortable.

Okay so keep in mind that I’ve never done her romance and I’ve only watched clips of it but

Merrill does have self-esteem issues though, regardless of the fact that she’s romanced or not. She didn’t seem to form any close relationships within her clan - she was always apart the others, because she was meant to become a Keeper. She was meant to help her people find their history and lore again, and that weighted heavy on her shoulders to the point where the only worth she sees in herself is through this, through her role as a Keeper, through claiming back her people’s lost history.

But at the same time, she’s terrified of not living up to the expectations placed on her. She tells Hawke she would have made a terrible Keeper, because she doesn’t know her clan, she doesn’t know its people, and she cannot imagine leading them. The only way she would feel worthy of being a Keeper, of being part of the clan, is to restore the eluvian. That’s why she started the whole thing, and if she dies on the way, at least she would die in a meaningful way, in trying to accomplish something for her people. She’s both trying to prove herself - to others and to herself.

Merrill doesn’t believe anyone can love her if she doesn’t accomplish some great miracle, if she doesn’t prove she’s worthy of love by proving she can be useful and help her people. And this is reflected in her romance.

The point of my post was that Merrill isn’t innocent. She isn’t naive, either. She’s also not the only LI in DA2 who’s got self-esteem issues - see Isabela. She seeks Hawke out. She has feelings for Hawke if a romance is pursued, she even goes to their house to ask if Hawke feels the same. This is something Merrill wants. And yeah, she might needs reassurances and little nudges, but so do every other LIs? So to rob her of her agency by denying her a romance that she *chooses* to pursue bothers me a lot.

I feel like fandom infantilizes Merrill way much more than the game actually does, tbqh.

Live tweets of Hitsugaya hanging out with Matsumoto, Haineko, and Orihime

As requested by anon. :)

Matsumoto, her embodied zanpakuto Haineko, and Orihime are having a girls’ day out! Oh, and Hitsugaya is coming along too. For reasons. And he’s going to live tweet the whole ordeal experience!

–matsumoto is taking the day to bond with her zanpakuto

#bout time she got serious about bankai  

–correction: she is taking the day to go SHOPPING and HANG OUT with her zanpakuto

#when i achieved bankai  #it was more meditation  #less shopping  #to each her own i guess 

–help she wants me to come!!

#head captain is there anything you need me to do? #anything?  #anything at all?  #please



–no this is good. i will help matsumoto and her zanpakuto pay attention to the true purpose of this outing: achieving bankai. i will be a stabilizer.

#ha ha i’m doomed

–wait we’re hanging out with Inoue Orihime too?

#this is feeling less like a bankai trip  #and more like a girls’ (+ captain) day

–I am filled with foreboding and dread

#i would go sit on the roof  #but that stupid cat zanpakuto won’t let me  #she has eyes like a hawk  #or um a cat i guess

–No. I am a captain of the Gotei-13. I have survived many battles. I can survive this.

#I am CAPTAIN Hitsugaya!



–i figured if i agreed to buy everything they might let me stop shopping. i am now the proud owner of 47 shirts.

#i am bad at strategy

–now they are going to try on clothes

#at least they are all roughly the same size  #i bet that makes it easier

–Haineko and Matsumoto are spending the entire time insulting each other. Inoue is trying to keep the peace. there is a lot of yelling.

#this may be a step back  #i knew this was a bad bankai strategy  #matsumoto will never achieve bankai  #never

–wait matsumoto and hainkeo are hugging. wait they are buying all those clothes. i am so confused.


–thank goodness we are getting food

#i think stress uses up a lot of spiritual pressure  #also carrying all of these bags  #wait how did i end up carrying all the bags

–currently in the bakery where Inoue works

#i didn’t know she had a day job  #but then i guess we don’t pay her for healing us



–we are going back to inoue’s house

#thank goodness  #i am so tired of crowds of humans

–matusmoto is going to go take a bath and inoue is going with her for some reason

#don’t know what to do with that information  #why can’t i just sit on the roof  #the roof is my friend

–so it’s just me and haineko now

#figures i’m the one bonding with matsumoto’s zanpakuto





–sorry about that. there was a cat woman sleeping on me.

#after ten minutes a deep panic set in  #i apologize for any uncaptainly tweets

–the women are now going to do their hair and nails. i would ask not to be included but i know that it is futile.

#i guess my hair could use some touching up  #it has been a long day

–my nails are turquoise like my eyes and i am weirdly okay with that.

#is this what style feels like



–Haineko just asked if I would ask Hyorinmaru if he “like-likes” her

#and now i want to clean my ears out with bleach



–i don’t care if i have sparkly turquoise nails now. i didn’t enjoy that

#if i wanted to share my feelings  #i wouldn’t

–Inoue is going to show me something called ‘ice cream’

#i like ice  #i am cautiously hopeful

–okay ice cream is kind of delicious

#it is like frozen creamy candy 

–maybe today was all right

#but can we go home now?


 Beyond game mechanics, I think I figured out why there are no Spirit Healers in
Inquisition. You can argue that a Tal Vashoth or Dalish mage simply wouldn’t know about the rituals required, but Trevelyan is a Circle Mage and would at least know OF  the specialization.
Solas specifically tells the Inquisitor that the breach scared off all the friendly spirits he would have asked for help in the first third of the game, maybe the same goes for the fade spirits the circle Healers commune with? “Templars killed all Spirit Healers” is a bit too cut and dry, especially since Mage!Hawke can pick it up presumably just  from being around Anders, and the DAO cast get it from a book. It doesn’t make sense if it’s just a lack of teachers, my money’s on the spirits themselves simply trying to stay away from the Breach and then Corypheus’ army.

lil drabble i put down that’s a sequel to this


When Fenris wakes up he hurts.

His stomach. The pain is awful. He tries to reach for the spot but nothing happens.

“Can’t,” he rasps. “Move.”

There’s a clear blue sky above him. No. A wooden roof. “Don’t try to move.” Someone is talking. A gentle voice. The Dread Wolf? “Please. These wounds are—very bad.”

“Help me,” he tries.

“Just try to relax. You’re safe here.”

He can’t turn his head either. But his eyes move, sliding down to his right, where a wide open plain stretches out into the distance—no, there’s a window, and the plain is—

“Shit. Fenris, your lyrium—can you make it stop?”

“Where am I?” A warm breeze whips across the plain, brushing over his cheeks, making his hair flutter over his forehead.

“No, no, no, Fenris, please, you have to control it.”

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“And then they said ‘burn the witch!’ and that’s when I ran away.”

“I’m sure that didn’t look odd at all, Hawke. The templars wouldn’t have suspected a thing.” Aveline shakes her head at her friend and shoulders the sack of her gains from the market. “You need to stop drawing attention to yourself.”

“What was I supposed to do? They’re all mad, anyway. As I left I heard them shouting to go fetch a duck. What does that even mean, anyway?” Hawke swings her pack around her legs as they amble across the courtyard to the door of her estate. Aveline shrugs. “Beats me. Just – try to be more careful, ok?”

“I’m always careful!”

“You could at least try to convince me.”

“I’ll stop wearing the warty nose, if that’ll help.” She stops in the doorway and turns. “Coming in? Orana’s off for the evening but I could make us something to eat. Although, no promises on how edible it is.”

Aveline chuckles. “You go on. I have – plans for this evening.”

“Ooh, romantic dinner for two. Run along home then, captain.” Hawke touches two fingers to her forehead in a mock salute. Aveline ignores her and turns to go. “It’s a nice afternoon, Hawke,” she calls over her shoulder. “Enjoy it! Carefully.”

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I’ve had it pointed out to me in the past (rather bluntly) that my playing so many characters is off-putting for other roleplayers. I’m not keen on dumping any of ‘em; that’d be like asking me to pick a favorite child. >3> 

While in game, I am rather progress-driven… running roulettes or chipping away at the challenge log. I mean… managing six squadrons takes a bit of time. ; u ;


I very much want to roleplay, y’know… with other people! >..>; I am always free to rp as long as I’m not in the middle of running something and I play a LOT.

Due to what’s happened in the past, I’d probably get on better with other altoholics who would understand juggling so many characters. But this doesn’t mean I want to exclude you guys who manage to focus on one!

Here is a list of my characters’ themes (I am very Ul’dah/Thanalan centric [heck even my FC tag is <Uldah> >..> ], so assume that is a common theme as well):

  • Alberic Grimmeau: (Please note, two characters are played on one) Sr: caravan work (guarding & raiding), black market, lancers, travel, older characters, mentoring. Jr: Ishgard, hunting, new to Ul’dah.
  • Tin Man: general jobs, restaurant/bar work, adventuring, friendly chat/gossip, anti slavery.
  • Valia Rosa: magic, alchemy (bombs & poisons… maybe healing stuff), Ul'dah, politics, voidsent
  • Ralin Thalin: academics/research, hunts, business, politics, Ishgard
  • Brinn Rosa: adventuring, fighting, hunts, tragic pasts, Southern Thanalan / Little Ala Mhigo
  • Chanar Himaa: Othard refugees, hunts, archery
  • Daire Hawke: Little Ala Mhigo residence; Ala Mhigan Resistance; impressionable teenager; aspiring gladiator

Since I’m tethered to a computer for work all day, I am VERY willing to rp over out-of-game chat if anyone else is similarly inclined. (Prefer Discord or other programs/resources. Skype is a butt.)

I do prefer darker or at least intricate plots, something I can sink my teeth into. I am also willing to npc or help out at events or any other FC’s story arcs!

Please boost! Thank you! ^^/

For the first ten minutes, it was just a lot of screaming.

For the next two hours, it was a matter of trying to keep people calm.

It had been like that in Kirkwall, the night the chantry went up. Mostly Varric had been otherwise occupied–Hawke meant to try and fix things, much as they could be fixed, and there was too much chaos in the streets. They did more for the innocent bystanders by getting rid of the threats than trying to spend any time evacuating.

At least there weren’t any crazed templars, blood mages, abominations, or demons.

Yet, anyway.

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The Most Happy

The police station seemed a little more quiet as it was three people lighter.  True, the local law enforcement had enjoyed and appreciated the help.  But the people of Twin Peaks had begun to think of Cooper as ‘theirs’ especially those in the Sheriff’s office.  Having daily reminders that he belonged to a life far away that they were only a small part of (they thought) was not pleasant.

So When Cooper stood on the side of the main road, waving to the sleek black car that held his friends, new life had been injected into the station.  Harry and Hawk returned to their places standing over the case, and began to try and decipher the different hand writings of the temp agents.  At least no one had gone home with a black eye this time.

The gloom that always come with departed guests and visiting friends was not helped by Audrey’s absence.  As the school year was coming to a close, she was immersed in her plans for updating and expanding the school.  If she did not know how much this would boost local morale she could care less.  This was compounded by the simple fact that he was now Miss Audrey Horne, CEO of Horne Industries and serious/only girlfriend of one Agent Dale Cooper.

All day, when the numbers grew fierce on their page and the letters leaned against each other in a blur on her reports her mind would wander off to some poor hapless imaginary stranger who would ask if she were free.  Her imaginary self would smile and shake her head saying “No I hate a date with my boyfriend.  Have you seen Agent Cooper?  He’s my boyfriend.  Oh look, there’s a tie I can buy for Dale.  Dale, my boyfriend.  Dale, Dale, Dale.  My boyfriend has such a cute and unique name.

She knew such thinking was horrifically juvenile and shallow.  She decided early in the morning she really couldn’t care.

One morning, when she was leaning on her desk, leaning back and trying ot pop her aching back, Shelly came in with her reports from the clothes department of the store and a package.  "This is for you,“ she said tossing the package on the desk.

"Who’s it from?”

“Doesn’t say.  But it looks like a gift.”

Her brow knit.  Who’d give her a gift.  For a second she felt a familiar sense of dread, hoping Lye hadn’t crossed that lin–No.  Wait.  She had someone to give her gifts now.  That was right.  She picked up the package and sat down.  He’s too good.  his friends leave and he buys me a gift?  I have to give him something in return.  A new package of tapes maybe…

She undid the ribbon and gently ripped the shiny green paper.  Inside was a flat jewelry box.  Inside was a pearl necklace, with a golden “A” hanging form it, three dew drop pearls dangling form the letter.

There was a note written in a right slanting script:

O that you would kiss me with the kisses of your mouth!
For your love is better than wine
Your anointing oils are fragrant
Draw me after you, let us make haste.
The king has brought me into his chambers.
We will extol your love more than wine.

Audrey blushed.  Dale Cooper you sultry man, she thought, her blush deepening to a true red.  Maybe he’ll need something more than tapes…

That night, Audrey wrote Dale a quick note to join her for dinner.  It was about four days after the FBI’s Lone Gunmen had left, and for a newly sprung heart, four days were agony.  She made sure her flouncy, tea length red chiffon dress was fitted properly, and the pearl necklace placed smartly about her throat.

She sat by the fire, placing a book in her lap so that he would find her thus, hopefully a vision.  She barely saw the words on the yellowing pages.