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Prompt 067. Lipstick

Fandom: Mass Effect 2 Characters: F!Shepard. Mentions of Jack, Kasumi, Miranda, and Kelly. Word Count: 549 Rating: PG-13 Summary: Shepard is a woman. Shepard wears dresses. Shepard applies makeup. Shepard pokes herself in the eye with an eyeliner pencil. Author’s Notes: One of my closest female friends is the kind of girl to wear lipstick while I prefer lip gloss. I find lipstick to be too dramatic for my tastes while she thinks lip gloss is too childish for her's. 

This doesn't factor into the fill directly but I have an interesting relationship with lipstick because of it, which definitely influenced me when I was writing this.

Wearing lipstick made Shepard feel like a whore. Where she was raised, lipstick was for women that the soldiers would lay with on shore leave. Lipstick was for vanity. Lipstick was for submission, ditziness, blandness, and whores. Lipstick was foreign.

Shepard considered herself none of those things and neither did the rest of the galaxy, which made her even more uncomfortable sitting there on the floor in her quarters in the little black dress Kasumi had provided, staring into a mirror and applying makeup.

She wasn't totally dense. She knew how to apply makeup in a way that was both practical and attractive, but it was still a difficult game for her to play, where the goal wasn't to kill as many living creatures as humanly possible, but rather to look pretty.

Kasumi, Miranda, and Kelly alike had all offered to help but, even though Shepard knew they only meant to be kind and helpful, she also felt her femininity vaguely insulted.

They think I can't do it. They think I don't have a single womanly bone in my body. They think I've let myself prioritize being a soldier above being a woman. They think I can't put on makeup, do my hair, wear a flattering dress, pick out nice shoes. They thi--

Shepard's grip on the crisp black eyeliner pencil she was lacing her upper eyelid with tightened and her focus faltered and, naturally, such a distraction resulted in her poking herself in the eye with the tip of the pencil.

She winced and placed her palm over the quickly-watering eye. With her other eye, she met her gaze in the mirror. This sort of thing didn't happen often, but only because Shepard wore makeup exclusively for special occasions. Like, uh... visiting her parents... and... and...

Shepard let out a frustrated groan and rubbed her aching eye further. To some degree, she guessed that she had to admit that she had no real life outside being a soldier and soldiers don't really apply makeup. She also had to admit that compared to most of the other women on board the Normandy, she was maybe sort of perhaps less feminine. Maybe that's why she got on so well with Jack, who would be guffawing heartily at the sight of Commander Shepard wincing and gritting her teeth over getting a little black charcoal-y shit in her eye.

At least hardcore badass Jack would do that. The other Jack, the Jack that Shepard had seen only little drops and splashes of, the Jack she was convinced was the real Jack, would probably laugh a bit and maybe direct a light jab at Shepard's plight, but would also, silently, be a bit disappointed that Shepard was placing so much stock in this makeup thing.

Jack wore makeup. Jack liked makeup. However, Jack didn't wear makeup so other people could look at her and think 'that woman is physically attractive.' She wore it because she wanted to, because she liked the colors on her face and how they made her feel. Actually, the more Shepard thought, she realized Jack didn't wear makeup. She wore warpaint.

Shepard picked up a tube of pale, subtle lipstick and painted her lips. She wanted to be more like Jack because Jack was not feminine, but beautiful nonetheless.

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Prompt 075. Watching

Fandom: Dragon Age II Characters: F!Hawke, Fenris, Bodahn, Sandal. Mention of Dog. Word Count: 581 Rating: Sexy Summary: They left the door open. They left the fucking door open. Author’s Notes: NaNoWriMo brought my writer's bones back to me. Hi guise i missed y'all let's write more fan fiction.

---

"Ah!" Marian yelped, back arched and eyes clamped shut. "Fenris..."

"I want you to scream for me, Marian."

"Fenris, it's like, midnight, everybody's asleep and that'd just be rud-- Oh, Maker, that thing with your tongue is ridiculous..."

"Let everyone in this damned city know who ma..."

Meanwhile, Bodahn sit on the first level, where he usually did, seated in the chair in front of Hawke's writing desk, head in his hands and nearly scrunched up into a ball.

They had left the door a crack open. Sandal followed his ears. And was currently peering through the slit. He looked...interested. Not offended or amused or really feeling any emotion. Just interested. And Bodahn couldn't exactly shout for his son. Nor could he run up and grab him and take him away from the sight. Either option would arouse suspicion and noise and the eventual realization on the couple's part. But would it be fair to them (or to Sandal, for that matter!) to just let it go on?

"My son..." Bodahn mumbled into his hands. "My boy, my Sandal..." He was at a loss for words. This was a situation he had never once expected to be in. All the trials of fatherhood could not have prepared him for this. Nothing could have prepared him for his son being an incidental voyeur. He shook his head.

He had no clue what he was watching. No clue at all. He'd probably forget by the morning. Get him some salamanders, let the boom come, and then he'd completely forget about watching Fenris and the Champion of Kirkwall...being intimate. Or maybe he wouldn't.

"Fenris, I live with other people, this i-- Maker, Maker, Maker, Fenris, Andraste's tits, what are you doing to me?" Hawke said through gritted teeth.

"Let them know." His voice was...muffled.

"I don't think my dog or Bodahn cares about how good you are a-- Oh, sweet Maker, this is a matter of...of pride now, Fenris!"

"When have you ever won against me?"

"Twice! On two occasions! Two whole occ-- Ah, ah, Fe--"

"Would you rather me stop?"

"No! No. No, no, absolutely not. It's no longer a matter of pride, ju-- For the love of the Maker, who even taught you how to do half this shit?"

"I watched."

"You... oh, whatever, just do your thing."

"Good girl," the elf cooed and with Marian's sigh of resignation, followed by a sharp, dramatic, lovely gasp.

"Enchantment...?" Sandal asked softly and Marian and Fenris halted simultaneously and their eyes, as if bound by some sort of magical force, moved together towards the door. Other than their eyes, no part of them so much as twitched. They were frozen in place, for better and for worse.

"Sweet Maker, shit!" Marian hissed, still holding onto Fenris' head. "Fenris, I just..."

"Hawke." He'd never opened his eyes that wide. "Hawke, I think we should—"

"We should be doing a lot of things right about now, Fenris, and I don't think having sex is one of them."

"I thoroughly agree."

"Oh, my boy, no, no, no!" Bodahn broke into tears, dragging Sandal away from the slightly open door. "Serah, I am so, so sorry that this is happening!" The frantic way he shouted worried Hawke and just bothered Fenris. It was the elf who made the first move, seeing as he was the one fully clothed, by getting up and unceremoniously walking to the door, closing it and sighing languidly. Marian was crying from laughter.

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Prompt 014. Home Alone

Fandom: Dragon Age II Characters: F!Hawke. Prominent mentions of Anders. Mentions of Aveline, Dog, Bodahn, and Sandal. Word Count: 735 Rating: PG-13 Summary: Marian's not good at nights alone. Author’s Notes: My dirty obsession with Anders' shoulder pads continues. Sort of implied spoilers for Acts 2 and 3.

In the bureau to the right of the bed was where she looked. Prior to opening it, she glanced behind her shoulder at the door just barely open. The fire was dead and the candles, snuffed, the entire estate silent and missing a vital part of it.

The fur was what made it his, alongside the distinct scent of effort, purpose, and desire. Slightly ashamed, Marian took the cloak off of its hanger and held it close to her.

He tried. He really did, but some nights were too much and something tore his eyes and heart away from Marian. His first love was the freedom of an apostate. It was there long before Marian, even with her pouting lips and teasing jabs, but she understood this. A man had to have priorities, as did she.

In the bureau to the right of the bed was where she found it, with a grin. And to the bed, she took it. It was heavier than she had expected. She could never wear something like this, but he most definitely could. Childishly, Marian fell onto the bed, nuzzling the coat strangely yet fondly. This was the first time she was getting such a good look at the garment, yet not the first time she traced a finger along the metal rings fastening the sides of the coat together, nor was it the first time she toyed with the short length of chain connecting the furry shoulder pads, but it was indeed the first time she did it alone and with no one occupying the coat. (Much to her surprise, the oft-commented-upon shoulder pads were actually part of the whole garment and not something entirely separate. This greatly intrigued Marian.)

He was off that night rescuing mages or, as Marian had jokingly theorized on multiple occasions, loosening the Knight-Commander's salt shakers or tying her boots together. Regardless of mission, it was poor Marian left alone in that huge estate of hers. Aveline had taken her Mabari for the weekend. Even Bodahn and Sandal were out for the night but even then, they tended to stay as far away from Marian's bedroom as possible. Even if they were in the estate, it would a lonely sort of place because Anders wasn't there. Running her fingers between the frays of fabric only reminded Marian of this fact.

She sighed sadly. It wasn't even a desire for all the attention and affection that Anders so dutifully gave to Marian. It was a girlish longing for security, a strong mage to nestle into the arms of and be assured safety by, and, perhaps marching louder In Marian's heart, the urge to know that he's safe. Because she'd lost so much and wasn't planning to lose him.

She offered to accompany him on multiple occasions but he would only smile at her in that very Anders-ish way of his and place a hand on her shoulder and tell her that he would be fine by himself. She'd just distract him. It's not dangerous. She has a busy day ahead of her. He'll be back before she wakes (which was always true). Two people would just attract more attention, which he couldn't have.

Tossing the cloak over herself haphazardly, Marian stroked the fur of the shoulders. The leather of the coat itself. Every little stitch, her hands crossed.

Maker, the unmistakable scent of it made her so happy that Anders had gotten hold of a newer, darker, cleaner coat only because it left her something to cuddle with on lonely nights that reminded her of him so vividly that it almost wasn't fair.

Just as she was about to begin grinding her hips against the shoulder pads, Marian noticed a bit of sunlight peaking into her estate from the window outside her bedroom. Late had turned into early, all the tiny hours of the new day spent aching...

Aching? Aching. That's what he said to her. That he had spent three years lying awake at night, aching at her, the very tone and inflection making Marian's legs melt into a feminine and thoroughly-seduced goo. She laughed and covered herself in his cloak. It would be a surprise for when he made it back.

She wondered often, especially while drifting off to sleep without him, what Anders was planning. She took a mental note to keep an ear to the ground. Kirkwall needed her to.

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Prompt 065. Junction

Fandom: Dragon Age II Characters: F!Hawke and Merrill. Mentions of Fenris and Anders. Word Count: 505 Rating: PG-13 Summary: Dalish eyes note many things. Dalish ears misunderstand more. Author’s Notes: I guess it sort of takes place in the same...er...canon as Nosebleed. Shitty prompt, shitty fill. Like orz

"Your language is very strange sometimes..." Merrill leaned back on her bed. Marian sat at the edge. "The words are so harsh and separate from each other."

"What do you mean?"

"Today I overheard a conversation between two merchants after I went to go see Anders and the word 'junction' was said. I stopped and thought about it for a second and realized how weird that word sounds to me! Just say it. Junction."

"Junction."

"Junction."

"...You're right!" Marian tossed a hand over her mouth in shock.

"So, ah, what does it mean?"

"Oh, well, uh, a junction is sort of like..." Marian sighed deep in thought. "A meeting place. For two points. It's like a place where two points join. Or I guess being joined with something else." She interlaced her fingers to further emphasize her point.

"I see. Thank you. That makes sense." Merrill nodded. "So it's like Fenris and you?"

"What." Marian's smile dissolved into possibly the most serious, solemn stare she had ever given. She had to play it cool. "What are you implying, Merrill?"

"Nothing." She sat up and shrugged her slight shoulders. "You two just seem very close to one another. Joined at the hip, some might say."

"Oh!" Marian coughed out a relieved laugh. "I thought you were talking about how w--" She stopped, face dropping, staring listlessly out of the nearest window. "Maker preserve us..." she mumbled to herself. Close call.

"...How you what?"

"Nothing, Merrill. Nothing. At all." She said, words choppy and forced.

"Is something wrong, Hawke?"

"Nope!" She laughed. "Oh, would you look at the time, it's quite late I should h--"

"So how good is he?"

"W-What?"

"Fenris. You've...been intimate with him, haven't you?"

"What..." Marian sputtered. "What are you talking about, Merrill?" She smiled.

"Oh, Marian," Merrill chuckled. "I saw you two."

"You...You what?" She blinked.

"In Hightown. Late at night. I was out running some errands and I heard a gasp and turned and saw you. Together. Fenris had you against a wall and it was like... Your front was facing the wall and he had his ar--"

"Okay, Merrill! That's enough!"

"He had his arms on both sides of you and it was pretty obvious what you were doing."

"Sweet Maker..."

"And Fenris was almost...looming over you."

"Merrill, I will leave right now if you don't stop."

"Oh, what's the harm? I couldn't see Fenris' face since his hair was covering it but I could see your expression very clearly a--"

"Okay that's it..."

"You looked quite ravished, if I had to put a word to it. Eyes closed, mouth parted. You were biting your lip a little, too."

"Merrill, I am getting up to leave."

"No, it was nice. I liked it. It was a very...pure, primal display of affection." By this time, Marian was long gone, but Merrill watched her stomp out of the Alienage. She could see how her and Fenris were a nice match. "Junction..." She said to herself softly. "Joined together."

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Prompt 047. Nosebleed

Fandom: Dragon Age II Characters: Merrill and Anders. Mentions of F!Hawke, Aveline, and Isabela. Word Count: 644 Rating: PG Summary: Merrill sustains a nosebleed and relays the tale of how she got it to Anders.

"You bleed when you go on adventures like this. That's just kind of how it is." Anders shrugged, handing Merrill a cut of cloth to clog her leaking nose.

"But from there? That's never happened!" Shoulders set tight, obviously anxious around the human who'd been so quick to question her actions, Merrill put the rag up to her right nostril and held it there awkwardly. She was trying to look sophisticated and didn't think to shove it into her nose.

"You've never had a nosebleed?" Anders had begun to walk away from her, but turned once she spoke, light shock across his face.

"Well, no." Merrill sniffled. "I've heard about it happening and I think I might have seen it once but I didn't really believe it was possible." And she was a blood mage. Anders sighed. "I suppose the Dalish aren't much for whomping people in the face like dwarves seem to be..."

"Yeah, they do that." Anders turned from her again. "You can wait here until it stops bleeding just to be sure or not. I imagine you don't have much time to sit and wait for wounds to heal. And it's not like it's a horrible inju--"

"Wait!" Merrill stood up and immediately back down. "Can I ask how this happens?"

"You..." Anders stared over his shoulder at her and turned again. "How do you think it happens?" He crossed his arms and looked down at her sitting on the low table. She blinked.

"Oh, I have no clue. That's why I'm asking." She adjusted the cloth. "If I had to assume, I'd say that it's no different from bleeding from your arm or leg or..." She looked at the hand in her lap, covered in almost complex patterns of scars. "Or your hands." She glanced back up at Anders. "But that theory doesn't make much sense now that it's actually happening to me."

"I...really don't know myself where nosebleeds come from. I'm not a doctor or anything, but it probably has something to do with bloodflow or impact or whatever. You said you got it from a blow to the face?"

"From a dwarf."

"From a dwarf, yes." Anders skipped a beat. "How... How did the dwarf reach up to your face?"

"It was really quite chilling. He had a maul taller than he was and I was concerned with something else at the time and then he ran up behind me an--"

"I can see where this is going."

"Sorry. I'll be quiet." She shrunk where she sat. Anders stifled a tiny chuckle.

"No, keep going." He sat opposite her.

"Oh. Well he ran up behind me and I heard either Isabela or Aveline scream my name, I'm not sure which, so I turned around and he just sort of...whacked me in the face."

"Did your vision get blurry?"

"I seem to remember something like that."

"Okay. Go on."

"So I went down and then I guess the others took care of the dwarves since the next thing I remember was Hawke helping me up. She was looking at me kind of oddly, but she does that sometimes so I disregarded it as nothing special."

"Who eventually told you that you were bleeding?"

"Nobody!"

"You didn't smell it?"

"We're always covered in blood so I didn't think much of the smell but since it was leaking like a rain cloud, it started dripping into my mouth and that's when I first thought something was wrong but I didn't think much of it. After I went home and started washing the blood off and noticed that my nose was still bleeding, I ran over to you. I figured you could help."

Anders was sort of touched by how she trusted him despite being given no reason to. He smiled at her almost tragically, fearing what would become of her.

[charitate-blog]

Prompt 052. Pills

Fandom: Mass Effect 2 Characters: Garrus and F!Shepard. Mention of Joker, Grunt, Miranda, and Doctor Chakwas. Word Count: 737 Rating: PG Summary: Garrus hadn't really noticed that Shepard took so many pills...

”What do they all even do?” Garrus never knew about the transparent pillbox sitting in Shepard’s nightstand. She took them before going to sleep, which probably explained why.

“Hell if I know,” She glanced at the box in her hands before stuffing it back into the drawer. She was sitting on her bed, kind of staring at Garrus expectantly. She wanted him to sleep next to her. Mostly so she could hear the noises a turian made while sleeping. She couldn’t imagine he’d be too nice to cuddle with, what with all the plates and metal and serrated edges, but opportunities like this were few and far between. He usually found a reason to leave her quarters before she went to bed, but tonight, the pillbox got him to stay.

“You don’t know what they do?” He crossed his arms and said matter-of-factually.

“I don—” Shepard gasped and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. She crawled frantically off of her bed and into Garrus’s arms. “Oh God, I don’t know what I’ve been taking!” She screamed. “Just… Miranda just gave them to me and said like ‘here, these are so you don’t die again’ or whatever and I didn’t even ask any questions!” She looked up at him. He could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. “Garrus, am I retarded?”

“Probably not.”

“I don’t know what I’ve been taking! I just took it from her like ‘well, shit, she seems trustworthy enough to accept pills from!” She paced away from him, grabbing at her hair.

“Do you think anything bad is happening because of them?”

“I don’t know! I started taking them after I was brought back to life. I don’t really have a frame of reference, you asshole.”

“If you haven’t noticed anything happening, I doubt they’re harmful.”

“But what if they’re like eating my brain right now? As we speak?” Shepard strode back to her bed and buried her face into her pillow. “How would that make you feel to know that my brain is being eaten by Cerberus-issue pills right this very second and you’re shrugging it off as nothing?” She sighed emphatically.

“Relax, Shepard.” He sat beside her, stroking her back in a way that she said usually helped her feel better when she was upset. Garrus learned that about her after he began rubbing his fringe against her face when she left her favourite rifle (“The one that shot the bullets and killed everyone!”) on the Citadel and was a wreck for a couple of hours. (“Joker can we please go back? Grunt punching everything can wait! I’ll give you a handjob, I promise!”) It was what turians did. How was he supposed to know that he was going to shove something into her eye? He didn’t know any better!

“This reminds me of that one time when I died!” She cried out. “In that it’s really bad and I don’t know what’s gonna happen next. Except this time I’m sentient and have the capacity to consider the future and how it’s going to suck.”

“Aw,” Garrus cooed. “If Cerberus brought you back to life, I’m sure they’d be able to help you if something’s happening.” He sat her up. She wasn’t crying, thank God. “They wouldn’t feed you something dangerous after spending so many credits bringing you back.” That was a point Shepard never let rest. In a debate about the place of the hanar in today’s galaxy with an asari on Illium, she used the point ‘hey, Cerberus spent a whole bunch of credits to resurrect me. You’d best show some respect.’ It got the asari to leave her alone.

“I guess.” Her posture was slumped.

“We can go see Doctor Chakwas in the morning if you’d like.” He had both of his hands on her shoulders. That always calmed her down. “Is there anything I can do for you now?”

“No…” Shepard could have sworn she heard the schwing of a brilliant idea landing in her head and looked up at Garrus with huge, watery eyes. “A-Actually, could you sleep here tonight? With me? Pretty please?”

“Why?” He asked curtly. “I can’t imagine why you’d want t—”

“It’ll make me feel better!” She tugged on his arm desperately. He agreed and Shepard grinned victoriously. She was good at getting what she wanted.

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Prompt 066. Barren

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters: F!Warden (Tabris) and Anora. Mentions of Cailan, Alistair, and Oghren. Word Count: 759 Rating: PG Summary: Anora is sometimes scared by how much she has in common with Kallian. Kallian is sometimes scared by how much she has in common with Anora. Author's Notes: Infertile women wax poetic about being infertile. Disgustingly angsty.

Yes, to Kallian, Anora was a bitch and to Anora, Kallian was a child in over her head, but between the two there was a sad, desperate, clinging bond. For all their bickering and all their hatred and all their gossip and all their nitpicking, there was something softer and sweeter beneath it all.

Anora still had a glimmer of hope. Maybe it was Cailan. Maybe the whole thing was imagined and there was nothing wrong with her at all. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she was broken, hardly fit to be called a woman, let alone a queen, when unable to perform the most basic of all her duties. And it was frustrating. Countless were the nights Anora could do nothing but bury her head in her hands and shut her eyes and pray for a miracle. But she'd never cry. She couldn't cry. Being a woman was merely a circumstance she had to adapt to and there was not a single reason for her to cry over it.

Kallian had abandoned hope long ago, staring at the vhenadahl with huge eyes that desired more than her tiny hands could reach. She became angry at her hands for never being big enough to crawl out of the Alienage on their own. She theorized as a child that that was why the humans weren't there. They were big enough to get out. Likewise, elves and humans were big enough to climb out of the Deep Roads while the dwarves were not. That was where she thought the roots of the vhenadahl led and she spent so many days digging at the ground surrounding it for a way into Orzammar. She'd be big there. And they'd listen to her like she had to listen to the humans. Yet once Kallian had been sufficiently soured and eventually found a way out of the Alienage, nothing could have possibly impressed her. The elves she found living in the woods looked down upon her just as the humans had. The dwarves she hoped to conquer and lead were in a sad, shambling state. And in Orzammar, despite how hard she looked, she couldn't see the roots of the vhenadahl above her.

They had nothing in common, outside of a hatred for their own bodies for being incapable of performing the tasks their brain needed done, and both personifying the word "barren." Barren of womb and barren of apparent emotions, the two remained detached from anything going around them, Anora for fear of letting a mere circumstance overwhelm her and Kallian out of the cynicism etched into her not only from the loving arms of the Alienage but also the shrugging shoulders of the world outside of it.

Barren of womb? Quite. Very. Maybe it was a sort of kindred bond between women unable to perform the single most basic task to ensure the survival of their respective species or maybe it was just the empty look in their eyes reflecting something a bit deeper down. Either way, the distant gaze that both of the women wore was just as beneficial to them as their bodies were detrimental, presenting apathy and diplomacy first and foremost. It manifested differently in the two, with Anora seeming domineering and controlling while Kallian looked constantly bored (Oghren recalled with much fervor and passion the tale of Kallian inadvertently summoning a dragon during their hunt for the Urn of Sacred Ashes and how with one mighty claw, it tore deep into her skin. She was bleeding profusely and almost wobbling around the battlefield, and after the dragon was felled and she was still spilling guts all over the ground, she merely coughed awkwardly and marched onward. She just didn't care about anything, even herself.) but rooted in the same soil.

It was why they were so silent to each other, one not daring to even look into the eyes of the other, for fear of finding something about themselves in them that they didn't want to know. But it was unspoken. They were aware of their wordless, sightless bond and could trust only that. They had to look out for each other, because women so barren were too rare to let slip through one's fingers. It was so they knew they weren't the only ones out there who had to dig so deeply for just an ounce of caring.

It was why Kallian let Anora keep her throne and why Anora let Kallian keep the templar boy she worked up the courage to care for.

[charitate-blog]

Prompt 077. Closer

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening & Dragon Age II Characters: Anders, F!Hawke, Aveline, and Isabela. Mentions of Fenris, Merrill, F!Orlesian Warden, Ser Pounce-a-lot, and Nathaniel Word Count: 756 Rating: PG Summary: Sometimes, when Anders glances at Marian, she reminds him of someone. Author's Notes: Concept shamelessly jacked from this piece of fanart and...then...I kind of took the ball and ran really far away. SHRUG.

"Quit being so soft!" Marian batted her eyes at Anders coyly. He scowled.

"Now. Stop now, Hawke." He tried shaking her off. "Stop. Please."

"If it's because I'm an unattractive and fat hag, you can tell me, you know." With a final brush of her cheek against his shoulder, she let go of him. Her comment caught him off guard, as Marian Hawke's comments regarding a lot of things do.

"No, it's not because you're an unattractive and fat hag." Biting the inside of his mouth impatiently, Anders glanced at his left shoulder. The one Marian hadn't been nuzzling.

"It's not like I'm hurting you or anything, is it?" She went to touch his shoulder in a motherly, understanding sort of way before realizing the irony in that and settling grumpily on his forearm. "Because if you're going to pull a Fenris, Anders, please at least keep smiling." She looked up at him with a bright closed-mouth smile. "Since I can't imagine having to deal with two," she frowned deeply and narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips and looked dead ahead and straightened her posture and puffed out her chest and held her staff over her shoulder, obviously mockingly, "super masculine, scowling, brooding, stoic, emotionless soldier men," She eased her posture and put her staff down back to her side, "tagging along with me, but whatever." She shrugged apathetically before calling on Aveline, who was leading the pack ever so dutifully. "Is it safe up front?" She yelled, holding her open beside her mouth. Aveline nodded and Marian giggled and sprinted to Aveline, obviously more amused by conversation with her than rubbing her face against Anders' shoulder pads. Once more, sighing this time, he looked at his left shoulder. Merrill had done the same thing and Isabela teased doing something much dirtier to the poor things and suddenly, Anders was made aware of the harem of women he had on his beck and call.

But he wasn't in the mood to try and get close to any of them. Merrill was a sweetheart, Isabela a ball of fun, and Marian, a certified nut, but he didn't want to put the effort forth. It felt like it was too much trouble. Hardly worth it.

"Hardly worth it," he recalled Sidona always mumbling with that tired scowl of hers. And then her face would brighten in a way much like Marian's. "But let's get a closer look anyway." And Anders would sigh nostalgically and a tear would even well in his eye sometimes.

She had gotten a hold of Pounce-a-lot, didn't she? It was nice to know that, if nothing else, the cat was safe with the Orlesian girl. He could imagine her requesting a fight to the death over the cat ending up with her. Such was her nature, curious and determined and loving and across an ocean, likely sleeping at that very moment, Pounce nestled around himself at the foot of her bed, while, meanwhile, Anders couldn't rest for a moment without his brain turning to vengeance-fueled mush. Sidona would hate to know what had become of him. "Anders!" She'd yell and slap his arm lightly. "You can't keep fighting like this forever! Possessed or otherwise, just... calm down and let's take a break for a minute, okay?" And her face would soften. "If you want to talk about it, I'll be here." The two of them were rather close, with a sibling-esque bond, full of unspoken trust and affection.

And it all started with longing, lingering gazes. In Nathaniel's direction, both of them fawning over him like maddened dogs in heat, neither to any avail. Sidona was strangely bashful around him (pinning the shyness on the whole being-an-elf thing) while Anders' bold little flirts fell on ears that wouldn't register them as such. They both shared something to be frustrated over.

But they had a lot in common and, Maker, Anders would have given anything for a "there, there..." from her and one of her embraces that usually felt like they were too warm to come from someone so small.

It was then, trapped in his fantasy, that he noticed Marian gazing behind her shoulde-- She wasn't looking at Anders. Behind him was Isabela and for another moment, he saw Sidona's gaze at Nathaniel in Marian's gaze at Isabela.

With a blunt pang of saudade hitting his stomach, he looked at his right shoulder and put a hand up to it, sighing tiredly and closer to crying than he had been for so long.

[charitate-blog]

Prompt 036. Anywhere

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters: F!Cousland. Mentions of Eleanor Cousland, Nan, and sort of Cailan. Word Count: 791 Rating: PG Summary: Elissa's a troubled young woman. Author’s Notes: Really really weird. I wonder what I was smoking when I wrote this. Or maybe I'd been playing MGS2. I don't really know. Disgustingly angsty.

She could have anywhere else but in her bedroom. All of Thedas and she had to be there. If she had only stirred awake in the middle of the night, disobeyed her mother, felt the urge to sneak about the castle as she had in her youth...

Of course, the one thing that would have spared her from the bothers of her new daily life was a habit she dropped once she started filling out dresses and became concerned with things such as "beauty sleep" or whatever it was that Nan called it.

Elissa, shuddering and panting, curled into a tightly-wound ball, staring blankly at the place where her legs touched. The tiny black crevice seemed infinite where she was and she began imagining herself falling into it, sucked in as if by tendrils soothing her ached skin. Alas, the fantasy was short-lived and the footsteps of somebody pacing nearby forced her to open her eyes with a sharp gasp. She watched the feet and listened to them from the other side of her cell, the hard ground offering little comfort against the typical Fereldan chill.

Who was it and why did they care? What did they intend to do with Elissa? Could she defend herself? No no no no they couldn't come aNY CLOSER DON'T COME ANY CLOSER I WILL do anything in her power to defend something she loved this time.

She steeled and uncoiled herself all at once, head close to the ground and watching with bated breath the feet pacing around on the opposite side of the weak wall between her and freedom. It would be tempting to find a way out but in this state? No. Not tonight.

Just like she if she found a way out that night... Her fate would have been much, much different if she's found a way out of her bedroom (I should have stayed up) and into the night (nights in Highever were alwa--) and into whatever doom she would have landed in, beautiful and elegant and flowing in her tragedy and everyone would cry their dirges out for the loss of Elissa Cousland or maybe they wouldn't. But that's how it was meant to be. She had toyed with fate unconsciously, by lingering in her sleep AS I ALWAYS DO AND I CAN'T HELP IT I'M SO SCARED TO WAKE UP SOMETIMES and not doing what she wanted to.

Going against her instincts were what usually resulted in things happening that weren't supposed to. Because this was never intended to happen. She wasn't meant to be wallowing in a prison like this, the vague heat and warmth and geniality and sheer loveliness of human interaction sitting patiently for her past the walls that maybe weren't even there.

She could have been anywhere but there and that's what hurt. Each time she dodged the swing of whatever fought against her, it was through instinct, not desire.

But then again, things tended to go wrong when she went against those instincts.

Of course it was wrong. That was the single best part about her elaborate fantasy, imagining the teary eyes of those who had taken her for granted and the quivering mouths of those who never took notice. It would be glORIOUS THAT'S WHAT HE SAID RIGHT side of the brain seemed more coherent than the left. More willing to reason with itself and consider what had to be done, because she couldn't expect the world to go on without her. No, no, that was far too much to ask. The world needed Elissa Cousland when she was at her weakest, knots in her throat and lumps of coal sitting in her stomach, the place where love used to sit.

She missed her mother's touch so deeply in that one moment when she seeped in the thought of how much that woman loved her for simply being Elissa. She never asked for anything else. Not once did she ask for a Grey Warden or a fierce warrior or a cunning diplomat or anything more than Elissa could offer.

(All she wanted was for me to be me, and that's what hurts the most, staring out into the silhouettes projected on the bland walls of the tent I barred myself in, hearing under the chattering in my head the laughs of my companions, keeping tabs on just how loudly and softly I presented my case. I had let circumstances get the best of me. I'm so sorry, mummy.)

Fort Drakon's impenetrable walls paled in comparison to the thin cloth of the tent. Anywhere but here would be good. Maybe outside, for once not worrying about things her mother would have soothed away, were she there. But she wasn't there. Mum wasn't anywhere.

[charitate-blog]

Prompt 021. Wine

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters: Alistair and F!Warden (Surana). Mention of deceased Dog (;_;) Word Count: 721 Rating: PG Summary: Alistair gets his drank on.

He giggled when he drank and had a weakness for fruity wines, which was a cute little quirk when indulging in the stuff alone, but something entirely different when in the company of the manly order of Grey Wardens, fully resuscitated from near death years following the end of the Blight. Neria and Alistair, being the two most senior Wardens in Fereldan as well as "those two that ended the Blight," assumed positions unexpected of such titles. With their Wardens, they were such playful and caring superiors that it was often forgotten that they were superiors at all.

"You mean Neria's the Commander? Like Commander Neria? No!" was a common response to those reminded of her status. Based solely on the shy, yet always-willing-to-listen posture she took beside Alistair when the Order got together to drink or otherwise recreate, one would rarely assume that she was the thread holding the Grey Wardens together.

Alistair often cheerfully relayed cute little tales from their adventures in terms as grandiose and flowery as he could bear, sometimes conveniently leaving out Neria at her request ("I don't want them to be scared of me or whatever  if they knew all of the ass-kicking details of my adventures...") and sometimes throwing her in there to see her get embarrassed and bashful but primarily to remind people just how much they owed her.

But that was hardly what went through his mind each time he daintily sipped his way through whatever wine it was that he had been partaking in (such minute details he dismissed in a very Alistair-ish way) because, of course, he giggled when he drank.

"Neria, sweetheart, you have t--" He was gripping her shoulder. Hard. Neria merely made an unsatisfied face, looked dead ahead of her, and tensed her shoulders. His train of thought collapsed in a ravine as he started that infernal giggling again. Meanwhile, the other Wardens were singing, fighting, propositioning each other, or just plain passed out on the ground. And of course Alistair had to be the one who giggled.

"We are never letting you drink in public ever ever ever again." She hissed softly, trying to calm him down by rubbing the back of his neck, as she used to do with her Mabari.

"Maker, Neria, just--" Some more giggles. "What is it you always say? The mark of a true lady is knowing when to put things down?"

"Something to that effect." Her valiant and sweet kneading of his skin did nothing to calm him. In fact, it probably just made him more giggly.

"But you're not really a true lady, right?"

"Excuse me?" Almost offended, Neria squeaked, before remembering that Alistair was drunk and really couldn't be held accountable for the strange things he said.

"No, no, no!" He put a hand on her cheek. "Oh, you're so cute when you get frustrated." As quickly as she felt the contact, it was ripped away by the tempting call of the bottle Alistair had claimed at the start of the night. He was just over half way done with it. "But the point I'm trying to make is..." He thought about his wording. Smart boy. He took a swig of his wine. "The mark of a true gentleman is also to know when to put things down. And we're not going to remember any of this in the morning so, like, I guess it can't hurt to...let go a bit, hm?" He smiled at her crookedly. "No one will hate you for it probably. I know I certainly won't." In his drunken haze, he leaned close to her, likely trying to convey honesty and affection, all while stifling his giggles. "Since I do love you, Neria. In case you forgot."

"O-oh, I certainly didn't." Neria laughed a tiny laugh and Alistair clumsily yet sweetly tangled his fingers between hers. "...Forget, I mean. I didn't forget."

"So--" He glanced at her lips, then recoiled back to nurse another fit of giggles.

"Oh, for the love of the Maker!" Neria shouted in frustration, inadvertently drawing a bit of attention to herself, triggering a bolt of shyness. Head bowed, she scowled at Alistair, who was still tittering like a schoolgirl and had no clue what he put her through. It was nice, though, in an odd way.

[charitate-blog]

Prompt 062. Dirty

Fandom: Dragon Age II Characters: Fenris, F!Hawke, Varric, and Merrill. Word Count: 683 Rating: PG Summary: Some days, Marian isn't very creative and resorts to the old stand-by of falling into pits of mud to get the attention of a man.

Big, clean, clear blue eyes with everything else covered in mud. Fenris bit his lower lip and took a deep breath in.

"Aah...ha..." Marian laughed shyly, looking down at the mess she was. Tease. She knew what that laugh did to Fenris. And for as clumsy as she might have been at times, her eyes were careful, cautious, measured, deliberate things, shooting out coy gazes only when they had to, acting almost separately of whatever else was at hand. Meanwhile, while the clumsy Hawke sat wallowing in the pit of mud she'd (quite purposely, as it so happened) tangled herself in and while Fenris watched her, Merrill and Varric fought off what remained of the token forces before them.

"Mari--" Merrill almost screamed during a vulnerable, overwhelmed moment of helplessness. Varric's fingers sweetly laid over the back of her palm and the fwifp of a shot from Bianca interrupted her. He had a finger to a rather pixilated smile. "What are yo--"

"This'll be fun to watch, daisy."

Marian, like a struggling calf, found a way to her hands and knees amidst all the mud pooled deep around her and found the gall to stare up at Fenris. She looked innocent and unknowing. Mentally, Fenris rolled his eyes. Oh, please. Innocent? Barely. But perhaps that was the appeal. Aside from naïve, she also looked lost. Pleading. Scrappy. Dirty.

He almost wanted to pick her up from the mess she'd made out of herself. His eyes twitched. It was an eerie sight without any context, a lurched, tiny woman mired in muck, mud, and Maker knows what else, crawling slowly and heavily towards a blood-covered, heavily-armed, glowing elf. But all Merrill could focus on from the sideline was the expression in Marian's eyes. What came to Fenris as lost and desperate came to her as hopeful and expectant. Perhaps a bit cautious.

Varric had seen that look in her eyes too many times before, but never in such a circumstance. Always when something was on the line, she became hopeful, cautious, pleading, scrappy, lost, desperate, and most importantly, dirty. Perhaps more was on the line than he was noticing.

"Fenris?" Marian extended an arm, brown dripping from it in a clumpy, undeniably dirty-looking manner. He took a step back, biting the inside of his mouth softly and measuring the situation as it put itself forth towards him.

Here was Marian Hawke, the most sensitive and caring and stupid and naïve living being he had ever come across, with that helpless and hopeful and dirty look in her eyes, begging for him on some sort of symbolic, artistic level. This encounter meant more than it was intended to. The mud on the top of her dark head of hair began to harden in the sunlight.

"I'll rely on you if you rely on me," Fenris could have sworn he heard her say and, in response, took a small step towards her. Only slightly shaking, he extended an arm to her as she had extended hers to his. She had that patient smile lingering on her muddy lips. Briefly, Fenris pondered over how she had planned to clean herself up. Maybe she didn't. Testing the waters of affectionately touching someone, he brushed the tips of his fingers against Marian's open palm. It didn't hurt. He did this several more times until the shaking stopped and then his fingers lingered there on her palm, taking note of the fondness and warmth beneath the mud. Marian looked with wide and excited eyes. He inhaled deeply, trailing his fingers to her wrist and gripping the skin. Marian followed suit, wrapping her fingers around his slender wrist, reveling in his touch while holding back gleeful laughter.

Roughly, as he knew no other way to, Fenris pulled on Marian's arm, dragging and forcing her out of the mud. She laughed and looked behind her at the mess she'd escaped.

"She's much smarter than she lets on, Merrill," whispered Varric. "She plans ahead." He was proud of her for finally getting something she wanted, even if it was a small victory.