"Hello! Can I first say that your posts made my day? (and yesterday) You're awesome <3 Also can I request Varric/Bethany? I hope it's rare enough..."
Oh my goodness, darling, I’m so, so glad that I was able to make your day the least bit better, really, though I hardly know what to do with being called awesome because me? Awesome? Eeee. *Hides face* GOSH. THANK YOU. UM. UM. THANK YOU A LOT, FOR EVERYTHING. FOR THIS, FOR FOLLOWING ME, AND FOR BEING SO RAD YOURSELF.
AND OF COURSE YOU CAN REQUEST VARRIC/BETHANY, THAT IS MY SHIT, MY MORNING DEW AND MY REASON FOR BEING, THANK YOU FOR THE SUGGESTION, EEEE.
So, in the vein of my headcanons that Bethany helps Varric write books before and after they start dating, and they go out to fancy restaraunts in character as characters from their books:
Bethany lifted her skirts with an expression that tried for dubious and ended up slipping back somewhere between self-conscious and pained, a flickering thing that was lost for a smile in a blink, but Varric caught it, as he always did, and came over to press a gloved hand to hers. She gripped it after a moment, fingers clenching tight. “I look ridiculous,” she whispered. “They’ll take one look at me and laugh me out of the restaurant, out of Kirkwall.”
"Nonsense." Varric tilted his head so that she had to draw back or hit him with the tightly woven fall of her hair, trying for a smile that projected all of his assurance and none of the thumping beat of a heart that beat too rapidly in his chest to allow for breath. "Tonight, you are the Comtesse de Bedeau, and you own the whole room, myself included." His smile relaxed, growing that bit warmer in the light reflected off her. "Especially myself."
This is perfect. I may be screeching right now.
# taokan # reply # dragon age 2 # I'm not sure if I'm doing this right help I'm a potato
- Miles and Miles of No-Man’s Land | Libba Bray (via machinery)
big puffy gorgeous ridiculous like what the fuck are you
It’s a manul, aka Pallas cat, aka wild lumploaf and they are basically the best and most ridiculous big puffy gorgeous ridiculouses in the world.
Look at this absolutely stunning commission from iheartapostates!
I requested a slightly older Bethany Hawke, reveling in her freedom, years after escaping Kirkwall. I am in love with every aspect of this—her expression, those tiny wrinkle lines and streaks of gray. Charlotte also incorporated some elements from my own post-game Bethany headcanon: freckles and sunspots from her seafaring life, and a blue scarf and gold earrings—favors from a certain someone. :)
# hannibal # spoilers # this pretty show that also makes me want to throw up
On that note, PTSD ALL THE FRIGGIN WARDENS. ALL OF THEM, NO EXCEPTIONS.
Mahariel having a panic attack every time they face a shriek for weeks after the final encounter with Tamlen, freezing up with their weapon in hand when one slips into being right before them, angry tears streaming down their…
"f!Hawke/Isabela, a mild cardiac event over buckles"
"Andraste," Hawke wheezed, down on her knees in the dirt, with her heartbeat jamming up beneath her ribs. "It’s finally happened."
"What?" Isabela demanded, fingers urgently plucking at Hawke’s shoulders. "What’s finally happened? Hawke, for fuck’s sake, get up, it was just some unruly dwarves—"
"This blighted armor," Hawke gasped out. If hearts could dance a jig, hers was having a fair shot at it. She scrabbled uselessly at the ties that dotted her side; she’d begun to lose feeling in her fingers. "Get it off me, get it off me—”
With nimble fingers—for she’d done it dozens of times before, in decidedly more pleasant situations—Isabela undid the buckles, applying pressure in all the right places. Little by little, the horrific weight that had squeezed tight around Hawke’s chest let up. Gasping for air, she flopped onto her back, nearly choking on dust while Isabela went on snapping the buckles apart.
In the dirt of Lowtown, with foundry smoke sailing over her head, Hawke breathed deep, coughed, and inhaled again, chest heaving beneath her thin undershirt. Isabela knelt beside her, fingers wrapped around the inside of her wrist to seek out a pulse.
"I told Aveline," Hawke said, her voice little more than a breathy exhale, "I told her, when she commissioned the damn armor, that it had too many buckles. Aveline, I said, are you trying to get me killed? And she said, No, Hawke, in that patronizing way of hers, and she flapped her hands at me, and told me I was being dramatic, and that it suited the aesthetic, and besides, I always complained that my armor wasn’t tight enough, and the buckles would help. Never a thought to unruly dwarves sneaking up behind me and pulling the blighted things tight enough to stop me breathing!”
Isabela looked as though she was trying very hard not to laugh. “Dearest,” she said, “even Aveline couldn’t have foretold you’d meet your end with buckles. It’s far too pathetic.”
"I just nearly died, and here you are, making jokes—”
"Mmm, yes," Isabela agreed, poking her in the stomach. Hawke yelped. "It’s awful of me." Without looking up, she flung her last knife off to the right. There was a hiss of surprise and the sound of a body hitting the ground.
"I love it when you do that," Hawke said, beginning to feel a little faint.
"And I love when you make a fool of yourself," Isabela said, a wicked smile on her lips. "Come on, then."
"It’s not my fault," Hawke protested as Isabela dragged her to her feet. "It’s Aveline’s. Aveline’s.”
"I cannot wait to tell Varric,” Isabela mused, not listening to a word. “It will be a story to shame all others. The Great Hawke, explorer of the Deep Roads, slayer of the Arishok, felled by buckles.”
Hawke let out a low groan. Isabela pressed a kiss to her cheek and drew Hawke’s arm around her shoulders. With a quick flick of her ankle, the discarded armor popped up in the air for Isabela to catch in her free hand.
"Better keep this," she teased. "I’m sure we can find a better use for those buckles."
Hawke snorted, turning her face into Isabela’s shoulder, and Isabela tugged her forward, leading her home.
my future wife
cassandra pentaghast with her hair messy. why is her hair messy? who suffered for it? who paid the price? who gives her a haircut when she realizes her hair is now long enough to get messy in the first place? (varric.) who comments on her hair’s length with a curled lip and bright eyes? (vivienne.) cassandra pentaghast with messy hair.