o hai.
This is mostly a place for me to obsess over dragon age 2. And Fenris. And my Hawke.
But I am obsessed with other things too XD
Lots of them actually.
This blog is also [often] very NSFW. (And homoerotic.)
You have been warned.
Links of import:
SO LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT QUINNTUS HAWKE :U
shaleene-deactivated20120804 asked: More something about Carver... hmmmm... Drunk at the Hanged man with .. person of your choice.
“Why didn’t you tell us it was your birthday, Junior? I would have bought you a free pint!”
Carver shook his head vehemently and took another swig from his tankard, “I’s ‘snot my birthday. ‘Snot a birthday without Bethy.”
Varric looked at him with sympathetic eyes, “I’ll buy you that pint anyway.”
combination-nc asked: Anders and Fenris, agreeing on something other than how bad blood magic is!
Anders wiped a bit of sweat off his brow as the last Tal-Vashoth fell to a bolt of his magic. “There, I think he’s dead,” Anders glanced around the battlefield for survivors.
Fenris stabbed the kossith in the chest and twisted his blade, the sand underneath the body churning. He smirked as he walked past Anders towards Hawke, “Now he is.”
frikadeller asked: Quinn & Carver, awkward chatting about Fenris 8Da
[[This ended up waaay longer than three sentences XD]]
“Hey, hey, hey, Carver. Heeeeey, Carver, Carver, heeeey,” Quinntus leaned heavily against his younger brother, three sheets to the wind, completely drunk off of the Hanged Man’s terrible brew.
Carver pushed against his brother’s shoulder, “What, Quinntus?”
“Hey, hey, tell me.. tell me what d’you think of Fenris?”
The younger Hawke nearly dropped his tankard in surprise, “What!?” He glanced at Quinn suspiciously from the corners of his eyes, “What do you mean. Is there anything more to him than being a prickly bastard? I get that he’s been dealt a bad lot in life, but you’d think a person experiencing freedom for the first time would be a bit more, I dunno, cheerful.”
Quinntus shook his head, a rather dreamy expression creeping over his drunken features, “No.. I mean, don’t you think he’s tall—for an elf?”
Carver blinked stupidly, “What?”
“And that hair of his,” his elder brother insisted, continuing the conversation on his own “it looks like moonbeams, softer than cotton.”
“You’ve been chatting with that dwarf Varric again, haven’t you?” Carver accused his oblivious brother.
“And his ears they’re—”
“Just like any other elf’s?”
“They’re so.. so pointed and elegant. Makes me wanna… wanna just take one and nibble on the end of it.”
“Brother!” Carver exclaimed, a bit horrified now.
“And then his hands and his skin. I just.. think it would look good next to mine. They look like they’re the right size for me—his hands.”
Carver snorted into his tankard, not nearly drunk enough for this conversation, “Oh sure, if you want to come away with a bloody stump, by all means, try it. Go ahead and hold his hand. See where that gets you.”
“His legs, Maker they kill me—and that little split in the back of his shirt that goes up his spine? It’s.. I can’t take my eyes off of it!” Quinn’s cheeks were glowing like coals. “I need to understand how that tunic works, Carver. I haffta b’able t’undress him in my mind!”
The younger Hawke shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Blight it all, why did Quinn get to handle the coin purse!? Corff was such a bastard, and the man wouldn’t let Carver leave, even if he promised that Quinntus would pay his tab.
“I think this is it Carver, I think I love him. I wan’ him t’laugh at me more,” Quinn put his cheek down against the table and pushed his empty mug back and forth between his fingers.
“He’d probably laugh at you right now if he could see you,” Carver said bitingly.
“Nnngh, and that voice, even if he doesn’t speak, if he just hums, it’s like he’s set my trousers burning hotter than Andraste’s pyre!”
“BROTHER!” Carver shouted, more than a little horrified now, but his stupid, stupid drunk elder brother wouldn’t. Stop. Talking. All about this stupid elf.
Hawke’s brother shook his head, and Carver sank down lower and lower into his chair, wishing more and more as the night wore on that he could no longer hear.
glamaphonic15 asked: Alistair/Hawke - Chocolate Cake
Hawke met the gaze of the King of Ferelden across the table, and a palpable tension filled the room. The Champion clenched his fingers tightly, dragging his teeth across his lower lip.
Then, they both sprang towards the double layered Orlesian chocolate cake, each man armed with a silver fork.
msbarrows asked: Sebastian/Carver - Brothers
((ohgod, SUDDENLY AND INSTANTLY SHIPPING THIS SO HARD.))
“You shouldn’t judge your brother so harshly Carver,” Sebastian offered with his typical pious manner “being the eldest is no easy task, Hawke has many responsibilities to consider.”
Carver glared at him, “Can you really tell me that you never coveted your older brothers, the attention they got, their positions, prince?”
Sebastian opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but he heard the words of the chant float up in his mind—lying is a sin—and he turned his gaze away from Carver.
The younger Fereldan crossed his arms and smirked.
autumnyte asked: Quinntus/Fenris, something they'll never try again. (I'm asking two, but you can ignore one if you want. <3)
Quinntus wished he could turn into a dragon and go somewhere else—anywhere else. He offered Fenris a razor apologetically once they were away from their friends. He cleared his throat sheepishly, and stroked the generous growth of facial hair around his mouth, “So… apparently felicitating while having a beard can lead to… evidence left behind.”
Fenris narrowed his eyes at Hawke and took the razor by the handle, as though it had been Quinn’s idea to let his beard grow out, “We never speak of this again.”
autumnyte asked: Carver/Anders, unexpected circumstances
Anders looked at Carver in disbelief and then amusement. Carver was flapping his arms in a panic—no one was supposed to see him like this! “I can explain, honestly!” He blurted out in a rush.
The healer just looked at the lad dressed in a lovely frock complete with an apron and bonnet, and smirked. “I’m sure you can,” he said, with hungry eyes.
shaleene-deactivated20120804 asked: Carver, Fenris banter. :D
Fenris glanced between the brothers again, wondering if they truly never separated while Hawke led them on in the ceaseless hunt for money.
“You make an excellent block, Carver.” The younger brother looked surprised, and assumed the elf was making a reference to their previous battle.
“Oh! I…. uh… thanks?” Carver seemed surprised that Fenris had even spoken to him.
“It was not a compliment,” Fenris growled, his eyes fixed on Hawke’s back.
A white halla wearing a belled harness coughs up a wax-sealed bit of parchment. A stocking stuffer! Hurrah! It’s recipient is named as Biancalovescheese
Unrolloing the parchment, it bears a title:
Title: Junk of the Heart
Rating: FLUFF AND SILLINESS
Pairing: Alistair/F!Tabris
——
Junk of the Heart
*
“And you’re positive this will work?” Alistair sounded dubious, he hardly trusted the assassin’s supposed oath of loyalty, after all, so why would he trust the Antivan in a matter as important as this? A fine question, why was he trusting this man? Apart from the fact that he was utterly hopeless when it came to this sort of thing. Alistair had already asked Wynne and gotten a lecture about his “Duties as a Grey Warden”—he knew what his duties were! There had never been a time, in fact, when Alistair hadn’t understood what his duties were. Redcliffe, the Templars, the Wardens, his whole life had been about duty and responsibility, he didn’t need to hear it from the old mage!
Leliana wasn’t any easier to talk to. Her effusive talk of romance and her expressive storytelling only served to make Alistair feel uncomfortable and inadequate. How was he supposed to compare to the suave and masterly lovers in her tales when he was more like the awkward pup from The Littlest Mabari, all big awkward feet, an excitable nature, and the inability to form coherent sentences? No, Leliana could not help him either.
He didn’t even think of asking Morrigan.
Even if Alistair felt up for the verbal abuse at the hands of the venemous apostate, he wouldn’t have asked her anyways. Morrigan’s idea of romance probably involved luring a hapless innocent to slaughter and then wooing the intended party by giving the victim’s skin as a rug.
And if the stories she told about the ‘games’ she played with her mother were true, Alistair suspected that this wasn’t far off from the truth.
Well, begging and choosing never went hand in hand, so Alistair swallowed his pride, dignity, and sanity, and asked Zevran for advice.
The Antivan clapped him on the back with a broad smile, “You are too untrusting, mi amigo! This technique has worked for me countless times. If you like, I could regale you of the time I won over the Archduchess of Cumberland with this very—” Alistair held up a hand to stop him.
“No! No, that’s.. that’s quite all right, thanks,” the one-time Templar coughed. “It just seems a bit too.. easy that’s all. It really only takes these two steps?”
The one-time Crow gave him a winning smile and the brotherly hand on Alistair’s shoulder started to slide lower, “My dear Warden, you do not understand. Such desires are natural! It is the easiest thing in the world to want to show affection, no?” Alistair squawked as Zevran goosed him cheekily.
“Hey! R-right. If you say so. I guess I better go get what I need then,” Alistair frowned and went into his tent to gather the necessary materials for his plan.
*
“Er, Mudaste, might I have a moment?” Alistair swallowed as his fellow Warden lifted her head and looked his way. He felt incredibly stupid, but relieved as she set down her weapons and whetstone and approached him.
“Yes Alistair? What is it you want?” Maker, how was a man supposed to think under the gaze of those sharp green eyes?“Er, this way, come… I mean, would you come this way? I thought we could have a brief word in private,” Alistair could feel his palms getting sweaty as he led her away from camp.
They stopped a short distance away, far enough that they had a decent amount of privacy without completely abandoning the campsite. Mudaste fixed the man with a silent stare, brows raised in expectancy.
“Er, right. You—you’re always picking up things and… giving them to us, so I thought.. I thought maybe you’d .. er.. I thought—I got you this present. As.. in thanks, for the stuff you’ve given me. Thought it would be… fair,” Alistair thrust a small box at her, with a hole roughly carved out of the top.
Mudaste raised one of her thin red brows and peeked inside, the moonlight and starlight illuminating part of the box’s contents.
The inside was littered with detritus of all kinds. A bit of mabari crunch, a worn sock, a dewclaw, the fragment of a darkspawn tooth, a cracked and empty bottle, an arrowhead, a frayed bowstring, a raven feather, a cracked Templar insignia… Mudaste looked up at Alistair, a rather unamused expression on her face.
The other Warden swallowed nervously. Blight take that tricky elf! He was going to get her to assassinate him! Mudaste threw the box back at him, “Is this a joke? Are you making fun of me!?”
Alistair whimpered and flinched as the box struck him, “Z-Zevran said to, he told me—”
“Keep your garbage!” Mudaste rolled her eyes and stormed back over to camp with an irritated growl of ‘Shemlen’ as she walked away.
Alistair toed the offending box with a sigh, “I knew he wasn’t telling the truth. ‘Step one: cut a hole in the box….’ Tch. What was I thinking?” The man shook his head and headed back towards the campfire.
*
In the shadows, there was an exchange of coin—Zevran cursing as he gave Morrigan her silvers. “Bah! I knew I should have told him that story!”
The apostate smirked cruelly, “I told you he was too simple to understand such euphemisms.” She stowed the money safely away and headed off to her own tent, cackling loudly into the night.
Oops I meant to say that she threw the box at him hahaha. Oh well. Glad you liked it<3 <3 <3 I promise to write a REAL story tho and get a bit of arting done, secret santa. My life is just sort of… insane right now XD :\ At this precise moment in time.
Sweet Maker, this ended up being nearly 4K of words.
[ This is all in a response to this ask fenfenbutt got yesterday and the one before it. (I AM JUDGING YOU SO HARD ANON ಠ_ಠ)]—LLyrium.
TW: Talking about Danarius and justifying the terrible action of turning Fenris over.
Whaaaaat!? *Table flip rage*So I would say, e-waifu, don’t read these. The first link/the post I’m reblogging would be especially triggery for you.Okay, just because Fenris is rude, a bit petty, sometimes cruel, and sharp with Merrill does not make him an abuser. It just makes him a bit of a jerk. (Not that he’s had what you would call a normal experience in the realm of socialization. The only manners he learned before living with the Fog Warriors, I’ll wager, amounted to ‘Yes master, please master, thank you master’ and ‘don’t look at your master unless directed to, do not speak until spoken to.’ ARE WE REALLY SURPRISED THAT HE HAS ISSUES BEING SOCIAL!?) In fact, half the time, he’s simply trying to warn Merrill that she’s pursuing folly and doing something foolish. He’s sharp with her, because in his experience, the world is a brutal place, and coddling only serves to make a person more vulnerable in the end. (Not that he’s been the recipient of much gentle treatment.) In any case, Fenris actually has plenty of good reasons to dislike Merrill. (From his perspective, not mine, not yours, not ‘Ours the Audience’, or Varric’s, but his.)
To make it clear once more: I am attempting to deconstruct why Fenris treats Merrill the way he does, I am not going on a Merrill-bashing rampage. I am merely trying to illustrate why the two party members do not get along.
Added a few things I forgot. Maker I always forget some key points when I make huge things like this until AFTER I post it XD
Added an addendum at the end, and a few points sprinkled throughout, but overall it’s still pretty much the same XD
Sweet Maker, this ended up being nearly 4K of words.
[ This is all in a response to this ask fenfenbutt got yesterday and the one before it. (I AM JUDGING YOU SO HARD ANON ಠ_ಠ)]—LLyrium.
TW: Talking about Danarius and justifying the terrible action of turning Fenris over.
Whaaaaat!? *Table flip rage*So I would say, e-waifu, don’t read these. The first link/the post I’m reblogging would be especially triggery for you.
Okay, just because Fenris is rude, a bit petty, sometimes cruel, and sharp with Merrill does not make him an abuser. It just makes him a bit of a jerk. (Not that he’s had what you would call a normal experience in the realm of socialization. The only manners he learned before living with the Fog Warriors, I’ll wager, amounted to ‘Yes master, please master, thank you master’ and ‘don’t look at your master unless directed to, do not speak until spoken to.’ ARE WE REALLY SURPRISED THAT HE HAS ISSUES BEING SOCIAL!?) In fact, half the time, he’s simply trying to warn Merrill that she’s pursuing folly and doing something foolish. He’s sharp with her, because in his experience, the world is a brutal place, and coddling only serves to make a person more vulnerable in the end. (Not that he’s been the recipient of much gentle treatment.) In any case, Fenris actually has plenty of good reasons to dislike Merrill. (From his perspective, not mine, not yours, not ‘Ours the Audience’, or Varric’s, but his.)
To make it clear once more: I am attempting to deconstruct why Fenris treats Merrill the way he does, I am not going on a Merrill-bashing rampage. I am merely trying to illustrate why the two party members do not get along.
You can do this. You flirt with anyone who’s a friend of yours, Quinntus told himself sternly as he took a seat. Why should it be different with him? Let him know you’re interested, you fool! Say something charming! Tell him how amazing he looks! Hawke took a seat at the messy table covered in bottles, maps, and spare parchment.
“What are you drinking?” Smooth. Great opener, Hawke.
“Aggregio Pavali,” Fenris said “there are six bottles in the cellar. Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed.” Hawke felt his heart race in excitement, the same sort of thrill he felt on the battlefield when an enemy showed him a weakness.
This was it.
An opening.
The perfect setup.
Even you can’t screw this one up Hawke. Tell him you like his appearance!
“I can’t imagine why they’d be put off,” Hawke heard himself say, in a rather sarcastic tone. What in the Maker’s name!? No, no, no! That’s not how I meant it at all! Buggery, I’m hopeless. He tried to keep the charming expression on his face, hoping it would mitigate the sarcasm, at least a little. Fenris stared at him for several long moments. Hawke felt his stomach sink lower and lower every second.
Just when he thought the elf was going to tell him to get out, he smiled, just a hint of one. “You say what’s on your mind, I’ll give you that,” there was even a trace of his deep chuckle there. He probably still think you’re mocking hi—Quinn’s thought process stopped as Fenris tipped his head back and drank deep from the bottle. He felt himself go a little warm each time the muscles of that slender, lyrium-lined throat rippled and moved. Fenris pulled wine-stained lips off the mouth of the bottle with a short sigh of satisfaction. His tongue sneaked out to capture the remaining alcohol on his lips. The elf glanced down at that bottle, and then threw it against the far wall, where it shattered in an explosion of green and red. The sound of the breaking glass drew Quinntus out of his stupor. “It’s good I can still take pleasure in the small things,” Fenris said, in that low rumble of his, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk.
Quinntus blurted out the only thing he could think of, “You could have offered me a glass first, you know.”
Fenris shrugged. “There’s more, if you’re really interested,” his tone spoke of indifference, but the fact that he’d offered gave Quinn a tiny sliver of hope.
“Perish the thought,” he said with a dismissive gesture “how else would you redecorate the walls?” A warm feeling of gratification spread through his chest as the elf chuckled heartily, ending with a ponderous hum, as though considering the laughter itself. The noise sent an unmistakable tingle between Hawke’s legs. Quinn bit the inside of his lip. No, not now, pay attention to what he’s saying now. Don’t let his laugh distract you the rest of the night.
Quinntus was glad, however, that he had a few more opportunities to make Fenris laugh again before he left that night.
Hawke must be doing something very, very right to see Fenris’ smile the first thing in the morning, to have their hands and fingers joined together.
as;dkfj;kJSDLFJ;sldfkjsa;lkfdjsifsndf *dies*
SO ADORABURUUU. THAT BED-HEAD EEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Sequal to earlier fic/pic combo? 8D Yesyesyes, I think so.
=========
The first thing Hawke saw when he woke up was Fenris’s smile. It was a soft, gentle, openly adoring expression that took his breath away. Hawke swallowed a moment later, and felt his face flush red, when he realized their hands were clasped together.
“Good morning,” Hawke said, his voice splintered and faint. Memories from the previous night slowly started to filter back to him as he took in the sight and he felt his blush deepen. Hawke glanced down at their joined hands in awe. “You’re still here,” the Fereldan said even quieter.
Fenris chuckled dryly before the fond expression returned once more, “I meant it when I said I would stay, Hawke.” That deep voice was soft and touched with affection.
The Champion felt his eyes burn, and his vision blurred as he squeezed the elf’s hand in his and crossed the short distance between them for a kiss.