Hi there! My name is Ann (or Contre Parry, for those who follow my Ao3 writings). My blog is a mess and has no cohesive theme, a criticism that applies to most of my life. Thank you for stopping by!
The Star: What does hope in the aftermath look like for Rook and their love interest? When things feel hopeless, how do they act as each other’s light in the darkness?
I haven't written my Veil Jumper!Rook in some time, and I have a soft spot for the boy. Here's some pre-Rook/Davrin for @dadrunkwriting!
"Could be worse. You could be dead."
Adric could have hit himself for the thoughtlessness of that statement. It slipped from his mouth the moment he saw Davrin slumped in his chair by the fireplace with Assan curled up at his feet like a loyal hound. It was a Veil Jumper philosophy, better alive than dead, but Wardens were different. He knew Wardens were different. They were all about grim nobility and sacrifice and stupid bloody duty, and Davrin was all of those things and more. Noble, self-sacrificing, honorable idiot. And Adric was a foul-mouthed, wild thing that had to say the stupidest, cruelest thing imaginable while Davrin was grieving. Weisshaupt might have been giving him shit, but that was his home- or something like it. How many of Davrin's fellow Wardens died during the attack? How many more would fall in the aftermath, succumbing to their wounds? Stupid, stupid, stupid!
"Sorry. Veil Jumper humor," Adric mumbled, ready to walk back and flee Davrin's little sanctuary. He didn't tell the others, but it might well be his favorite spot in the entirety of the Lighthouse. Being a Veil Jumper, he knew he ought to find more comfort in the familiarity of Bellara's room, which was full of elvhen artifacts and magical ephemera, or even the wild garden Harding was cultivating. Yet it was Davrin's room, that smelled of wood shavings and clean air, that eased Adric's mind. It felt like a home, and Adric hadn't had a home in a long, long time. Now he'd gone and ruined it, because he didn't know how to shut up. Davrin stirred, raising his head to look at Adric. His dark eyes were rimmed red, an obvious sign that he had been crying until Adric invaded his sanctuary and was an insensitive prick. Again.
"You don't know how to sugar-coat anything, do you, Rook?" Davrin asked, and his mouth twisted up into a wry smile that didn't reach his sad eyes, and it made something in Adric twist so violently it nearly broke.
"No. It's been... a problem," Adric said carefully.
"So I've heard," Davrin replied. "Heard about you before in Arlathan, whenever I visited. Mad Aldwir, some call you." He leaned back in his chair and fixed Aldwir with a piercing stare, like he could divine the contents of Aldwir's very soul should he just look long enough. Adric met his gaze, even though it was difficult, even though he'd rather retreat and hide away and not be known at all. Varric said he had to open up to others, said it was important, said that he couldn't keep pushing others away out of fear-
He didn't fear Davrin. Davrin was a good man. But Adric feared losing Davrin's good opinion. He feared destroying the friendship that was building between them. He feared that he wouldn't get the chance to know Davrin better, to maybe get a chance to-
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for it," Adric said. It wasn't like he'd get the chance to know Davrin better now, not after he mucked it all up as badly as he did. Davrin stared at him, eyebrows raised, head slightly tilted as if he didn't quite hear what Adric said.
"For the madness?"
"For my lack of tact. And the way I..." Adric paused, then gestured at himself, as if he could convey the enormity of his missteps and flaws in that singular motion.
"The way I am," he concluded. Davrin continued to look at him, and it was nearly unbearable to be scrutinized by him. What did Davrin see when he looked at him? He wasn't wrong. Lots of the elders among the Veil Jumpers and other clans in Arlathan called him Mad Aldwir, and that was when they were being nice. They weren't wrong to judge him so harshly. He had a reputation for wildness, for recklessness, for being rude and harsh and dangerous to himself and others because he never stopped to think about reprecussions-
"Right. The way you are," Davrin said faintly, and he was still staring. Staring like he had never seen Adric in his life before.
"I'll let you rest. You need it. Sorry for bothering you," Adric said, and he shuffled back towards the door. Maybe he could go mope in Bellara's room, or he could hide in the pantry until Lucanis kicked him out. But Lucanis had a soft heart and might give him a bottle of wine on his way out. He could camp out on one of the Lighthouse roofs and watch the shifting skies. He could go anywhere at all, so long as it wasn't Davrin's room or his own. He couldn't stand that underwater scenery. It made him dream of drowning.
"Adric?" Davrin called out, and Adric turned to him like a puppet on a string.
"Hmm?"
"For what it's worth, I like the way you are," Davrin said, and when he smiled it stretched across the whole of face slowly, like honey dripping from a spoon. "Even if you're a bit of a shit."
Adric grinned, joy bubbling within him so violently he was nearly hysterical with it. "I'll keep that in mind, and try not to be a full shit."
"Don't ask for miracles," Davrin remarked, and if it weren't for the fact that Assan was sleeping so sweetly at Davrin's feet Adric might have crossed the short distance and- better hold those ideas in check. They weren't even proper friends yet, after all. Adric had a long way to go before he could be anything more. But this was more than he could have hoped, after having fumbled so badly, and he'd hold onto that bit of hope to fight against the gloom and sorrow. If someone like Davrin, noble, honest, earnest Davrin, liked him, then maybe Adric wasn't completely hopeless.
in love with this Norwegian trotter named Express Go that’s won 7/7 races so far, is only 14.2hh, and has taught herself to duck down her head to give herself super speed (and lengthen her stride I guess)
Next up someone is going to claim that the Narnia series isn't kids books.
Kids books is probably not the best way to word it, you can enjoy them at every age, including your childhood, as you get older you may find new truths in them, but they're still good for any age.
I want you to understand this. I NEED you to understand this. My mother read me the hobbit as bedtime story, and I started pushing myself to read before pre-school so I could in fact read the hobbit for myself instead of having to wait for bedtime.
I didn't do so right away but jesus wept I PUSHED myself to learn to read SPECIFICALLY so I could read The Hobbit! It is, in fact, a children's story! And children only see page count as 'there is a lot of this fun story to read!'
One of my fondest childhood memories was when my dad read The Hobbit to my brother and I before bedtime. He did voices and everything. He also summarized the songs because he refused to sing. Anyways, The Hobbit is a children’s book. The fact that it was “long” was just even more exciting because I could hear my dad go “uhhh… and they sing a song about breaking Mr. Bilbo’s dishes” or “they sing about the mountain” whenever he didn’t want to sing.
For @scrollsfromarebornrealm ‘s birthday, here’s my boy Rai’s AU. He joined the Ironworks instead of the Scions, but despite his best efforts the plot keeps dragging him away from his job as a magitek engineer.
Happy Dragon Age Friday! Here's a prompt: "comfort in their presence" for the ship of your choice!
I felt like writing some pre Zevran/Warden Surana today, so here they are for @dadrunkwriting !
There really was nothing like a Blight to bring people together.
Alistair meant it as a joke, a sarcastic little comment to break the tension, but there was a sick truth to the statement that Bran couldn’t ignore. None of them would be here if it weren’t for the Blight. Well, the Blight and Loghain, but sometimes Bran bundled all his problems and enemies into one great ball. Sometimes it felt easier to face one problem instead of a dozen.
But back to the Blight and its tendency to forge bonds through adversity. Bran would still be at Kinloch if not for the Blight- or the Warden fear of Blight. Same thing, when you stripped it down to the bare essentials. And if it was Blight or death, Bran would pick the Blight every time. You had a chance of surviving Blight. Look at him! He was fine!
He was not fine. But he had never been fine- or if he had been, he didn’t remember ever being so.
“You are deep in your thoughts tonight, Warden,” Zevran remarked lightly. Everything he did, from walking to speaking, was performed with a deliberate lightness that should have set Bran on edge. Too many secrets, too many dangers. He knew better than to trust a man who tried to kill him. But, at the same time, lots of people were trying to kill him. Bran couldn’t afford to be picky. And at least Zevran was doing it for money. At least it was impersonal. Why he turned was a little less easy to parse, but Bran wasn’t going to pry. Not if it meant disturbing the peace. And there was peace to be had, strange as that sounded. Zevran was good company if you let the flirting and flattery wash over you, if you understood that he didn’t really mean it.
Bran didn’t know what he’d do if Zevran was actually serious. He didn’t really want to find out. Blight might bring them all together, but it definitely wouldn’t keep them together. All things were temporary, especially the things Blight touched.
He felt Zevran sit down beside him in the dirt, felt the warmth radiating from his body, felt how at ease he was with himself and the world around him. What was it like, to know yourself so well that you could be comfortable in any situation? And though he knew it was foolish to put his faith in anyone, especially a man who tried to kill him, especially a Crow with a reputation for wining, dining, then murdering his targets, Bran found comfort in Zevran’s presence. Their enmity (and now their alliance) was simply business. Nothing beyond that. They knew better than to think it could ever be anything else.
“Busy days ahead,” Bran finally said by way of an answer to Zevran’s unspoken question. “And we don’t know what lies in wait on the road.”
“Nothing good, I am sure,” Zevran replied. “But we will see to it when it comes.”
Bran shrugged. That was probably the best they could hope for. He’d take it.
Hi happy DADWC, how about the world for your Rook?
Sure thing! Here's some Mourn Watch!Rook x Lucanis for @dadrunkwriting.
It was good to be back in the Necropolis.
Her return was not heralded by trumpets and triumph. It was decidedly understated and restrained. But there was warmth there. The Lich Lords were not in the antechamber when she arrived, but their heavy gazes watching the proceedings. Her peers congratulated her with awkward conversations and even more uncomfortable handshakes. Myrna gave her a hug. Vorgoth said they were proud. Emmrich was all smiles and insisted on inviting her to tea the next day, with Manfred echoing the invitation.
The impromptu welcome party (she supposed it was something of a party, though no refreshments were provided) split apart soon after, Watchers drifting back to their duties. Elena retrieved the key to her apartment (refurnished and ready for habitation once more, Myrna assured her) and took the lift up with Emmrich and Manfred, the two of them standing in amiable silence as they waited for their floor. They went down separate hallways, Emmrich for the section where more distinguished senior Watchers resided, Elena for the junior Watchers. Vorgoth asked if she would like an apartment change (she had, they intoned, more than earned the honor), but she refused. She wouldn't know what to do with all that space, and she'd rather be surrounded by familiar, if currently bare, walls.
"You're quite certain you will be fine on your own?" Emmrich asked before they parted, and he clasped his thin hand on her shoulder. "Manfred and I would welcome your company, and we have a spare bedroom for you should you require it."
"I'll be fine," Elena lied. Emmrich seemed to sense the lie, but he did not push. Instead, he squeezed her shoulder before letting her go. Elena backtracked until she found herself walking down familiar hallways, back to the small apartment she was given as a member of the Mourn Watch. It was little more than a room with a bed and an adjoining washroom, but it was once hers. It could be hers again. Returning to what she once was would be difficult, but it could be done. It would be done. Where else could she go? Elena stopped in front of her new old door and sighed.
She knew returning to the way things were would be difficult. She hadn't realized just how poorly the Mourn Watch mantle would fit on her shoulders. Her world had grown impossibly large in a very short time. It was only a little over a year that she left the Mourn Watch and the Necropolis, yet the world changed. She changed. How was she supposed to go back to how life was before? She had friends across Thedas, she saw so much of the world and was hungry to see more. The mysteries of the Necropolis would always call to her, but there was more to see, more to marvel at, more to discover. And she had people she wanted to see it with. But in the end, she returned to the Necropolis. She told herself that it was because the others were busy tending to their own responsibilities, mending a broken world as best they could. And she had responsibilities of her own, skills she gained during her travels that were indispensable to the Necropolis. She would be so busy that she would not miss her friends, would not miss their companionship. And they would not miss her! After all, they all had their duties to attend to, duties they all picked!
"They're busy. We all made our choices," Elena reminded herself, and she did her best to ignore the painful twinge in her chest. Neve was trying to fix Minrathous, broken and Blighted as it was. Bellara had to take care of the Jumpers and everything they discovered about the elvhen gods. Davrin had Warden business, true, but he was also busy reintroducing the gryphons to the wilds. Emmrich had his research (his and Johanna's) to comb through. Taash... Taash had a lot on their plate. And Harding... it was hard to think about Harding, who would never return to her beloved Ferelden. Her and Varric. She might even miss Solas, just a little, if only because she'd gotten used to him snapping at her in her own head. And then Lucanis... she had gotten used to being around Lucanis, slotting beside his quiet stillness, carving out a spot for herself by his side. That was gone now. All of it was gone. They all made their choices. This was just another one of them.
"He's busier than me," Elena muttered, as if fact could soothe the hurt she felt. It was true that Lucanis was busy. He was the First Talon now, leader of the Dellemortes, a proper Antivan Crow once more, and he had to get his house in order. It wasn't a surprise that they parted. But she had thought... oh, she didn't know what she thought! She wasn't a romantic. They had an understanding. An arrangement. They liked each other, but liking (loving) didn't change their circumstances. Duty came first. Elena jammed her key into the lock and turned it, surprised to find that the usually fiddly lock now worked so smoothly. That had to be one of those repairs Myrna said the Watchers made while she was away.
She pushed the door open and found that the lights were already turned on, burning low and golden. The room was furnished, just like Myrna promised. Bed in the far corner, sitting area near the door, rug on the floor, shadow sitting in a chair- Elena stumbled back, reaching for her staff on instinct even as she realized that she knew that shadow.
"Lucanis?!" Elena exclaimed, unable to balance what she knew (what she thought she knew) with what she saw before her. He was supposed to be in Antiva, at the Dellemorte estate or in Treviso. Yet here he was, hollow-cheeked and exhausted, but with the faintest smile on his face as he rose from the chair and swiftly crossed the short distance between them.
"Rook," Lucanis greeted. He stood in front of her now, hands folded behind his back, light on his feet as he waited for... waited for what, exactly? He wasn't supposed to be here! He was meant to be in Treviso, or the Dellemorte estate, or- or anywhere that wasn't Nevarra! Unless he had concluded business early and the Dellemortes were taking contracts again. With the house and family so disordered, she would have thought Lucanis would stay in Antiva for an extended period of time. But this was Lucanis. He hated inactivity. If the opportunity to take a job crossed his desk, he was going to take it.
Did someone take a contract out on King Markus again?
"How did you get here?" Elena asked, even as she put her staff away and closed the door behind her. It was a stupid question, really. She had a good idea what the answer would be. They still had access to Eluvians and the Fade. They could still travel through the Crossroads. It was perfectly plausible that Lucanis snuck into the Necropolis, found his way to her apartment, and waited for her to arrive. "How" was not the question she should have asked. She should have asked "why."
She thought they made their choices. She thought he chose the Crows, just like she chose the Mourn Watch. Yet here Lucanis was, sly half-smile on his lips, a genuine smile in his eyes, patiently waiting for her to sort out her thoughts in silence. She even felt Spite's somewhat pleased preening, like he had some part to play in this reunion. It was quite possible that he did.
"I picked the lock," Lucanis said when the silence stretched over-long. "I do not like the lack of windows in this place. Good for security, but it is too much like a cell." He gestured at the bare walls, all of them carefully painted in limewash, all of it pale and barren and tomb-like. For some that would be alarming. Elena once found it peaceful. Now... now she wasn't so sure.
"I used to have paintings," Elena protested faintly, so shocked that Lucanis was here that she couldn't think of what else to say. "And diagrams." She faintly wondered where her diagram of the nervous system went when she was gone. She judged it too bulky to bring with her, but she hadn't many friends to give it to at the time. Someone must have taken it when she left. That was how possessions tended to go around among junior Mourn Watch members. If they weren't assigned in a will or negotiated after death, then they would be picked over by the residents.
Getting her things back would be nearly impossible now. Besides, Elena didn't know if she even wanted them back. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to return to this apartment! She simply couldn't... couldn't think of anywhere else to go. With Varric and Harding gone, how was she supposed to wander Thedas? Who was going to smooth over her awkward conversation? Who was going to know where to go next? She couldn't do it by herself, not alone, but she couldn't ask anyone to wander around Thedas with her while she figured herself out. What else was she to do but go back to the Necropolis and put together the pieces of her old life. At least here she wouldn't be alone. She had Myrna and Vorgoth and Emmrich and Manfred... she could even talk to Johanna, terrible as those conversations were.
Yet Lucanis was here. Here, not in Antiva, not anywhere else, and Elena didn't know what to do about it. Should she do anything about it? People were so complicated. Spirits were easier. Spite was pleased, nearly smug, and he and Lucanis tended to echo each other's feelings. If Spite was happy, Lucanis tended to also be happy. Which meant...
"Paintings are not the same," Lucanis replied softly. Kindly. He was good at hearing what she didn't say.
"They aren't," she agreed. "But they are a good substitute."
"You should want more than substitutes," Lucanis said, and something in his expression went serious and stern, even as his eyes softened. Were they still talking about paintings and windows, or something else?
It was then that Lucanis moved, fast as a snake striking out, and he took hold of her face. His hands curled under her jaw, across her cheeks, and he kissed her, harsh and desperate. Elena returned the gesture in kind, grasping hold of Lucanis' shoulder and tangling her fingers in his hair as she buried herself in feeling. No more thinking, no more brooding, just live in the moment. She always felt as if she was too much- too intense, too demanding- to truly be herself, but with Lucanis? With Lucanis she didn't feel that way. She had resolved to live without the peace belonging gave her, but now that she had it again she felt her resolve was shaken.
"I thought you were staying in Antiva," Elena said quietly when they parted. Lucanis held onto her tightly. She felt his heart racing against her own as they caught their breath together, falling into familiar patterns they established back at the Lighthouse. But this was better, now that the fate of the world didn't hang over them, and she wanted it again. Wanted the peace, the belonging, wanted to be wanted- but Lucanis came, didn't he? He came, so perhaps the wanting was mutual.
She was thinking again. She wanted to stop thinking for a moment. Just a moment.
"I will return tomorrow, before sunrise," Lucanis mumbled into her hair. "Too much work, not enough people to do it. But I wanted to see that you were comfortable in the Necropolis before I left."
"You didn't take another contract on King Markus, did you?" Elena asked. She had to ask, even if she knew the answer. She heard the smile in Lucanis' voice when he answered her question.
"No. Too much paperwork," Lucanis replied. He rambled about the difficulties of taking a contract out on King Markus once, staving off sleep in an attempt to keep Spite at bay. Davrin and Neve were his audience that night, but the two of them filled Elena in on the details the next morning. Neve found it entertaining. Davrin was disturbed. Didn't think Crows cared about paperwork, he remarked. Elena was unsurprised. Lucanis liked an orderly workspace. He liked knowing where things stood.
"I haven't anything to offer you regarding refreshments," Elena said awkwardly. "I've only just returned." And she, unlike Emmrich, hadn't an established place to return to. And this apartment didn't even have a kitchen! She never had to cook before she left the Necropolis. Traveling changed her in unexpected ways.
"We will have to explore the city, then. Unless members of the Mourn Watch don't eat?" Lucanis asked dryly. His eyes were sparkling, though, dark and mischievous as the crows he and his people valued so dearly.
"Not all of us, but I do," Elena replied. She reached for her staff and clipped it back onto her harness, then reached into her pocket for her apartment key. Yet her hand grasped empty air. She was puzzled for only a moment, until she remembered who she was with.
"The key?" She asked expectantly, and she held out her hand. Lucanis deposited the little brass key into her bare palm, brushing his fingertips across the sensitive skin of her wrist before he lowered his hand to his side.
"You should see to changing the locks for next time. Make it more of a challenge," Lucanis suggested. "Spite enjoys lockpicking."
"Really, now?" Elena couldn't help the smile that crossed her face at that bit of news. Emmrich encouraged Lucanis to find common ground with his spirit. This must be the result of those exercises. No wonder Lucanis looked more at ease with himself! No wonder Spite was so content!
"He likes puzzles," Lucanis replied. "Visit us in Antiva. We have uncovered some objects of interest to an itinerant necromancer. Or a recently reinstated member of the Mourn Watch." He looked at her expectantly as they shuffled out of the apartment. She locked the door behind them and slipped her key back into the pocket of her robes. Lucanis would doubtlessly steal it again before the night was over, just to prove that he could.
"Mixing business with pleasure? That isn't very professional," Elena commented, a smile creeping onto her face despite her best effort to maintain a neutral expression. She was still learning how to make a joke (and how to take them, too), but Lucanis understood her well enough.
"In order to ensure that you will come," Lucanis replied, and he caught her hand in his. "You will, won't you?" He glanced over at her, dark eyes wide and earnest, and she was struck once more at how straightforward Lucanis was. She didn't doubt that he could be deceptive if he wanted to be. He simply didn't want to be. And neither did she.
"Yes," Elena said, glad to be honest and upfront and herself again. "I would be happy to."
As we look forward to another year, there’s no better time to celebrate our wonderful community of creators. This year, we’re shining a spotlight on our alumni: the talented writers and artists who successfully completed the Dragon Age Big Bang in previous years. All past DABB alumni were given the option of an interactive interview with our mod Alix, or an informal written survey. If you’re thinking about participating this year, check out the insights and advice from those who tread this path before!
On managing badly
Alix and Contre talk magic systems, Johanna Hezenkoss, and insomnia
Alix: So, firstly: Congratulations on successfully completing DABB last year! Do you want to start off by telling me a little bit about the fic you wrote last year?
ContreParry: Absolutely! It was a crossover fic between Garth Nix's Old Kingdom series and Dragon Age: The Veilguard. I utilized the intricate magic system from the Old Kingdom and put it into the Mourn Watch as a specialized necromancy class, so that Emmrich and his apprentice (Rook) are running around northern Thedas as necromancers who put the dead back to rest.
It was a lot of world-building, which was super fun for me to explore!
Though I have to admit, sometimes it got overwhelming. So many ideas, but when you're on a schedule...
Alix: I always have so much fun with world-building, both as a writer and a reader. What was your favourite thing that you got to include?
Also, what did you want to include that you weren't able to?
ContreParry: The one thing I loved playing around with was the magic system. In Nix's Old Kingdom, magic and music are closely intertwined (I believe he once said he was playing with the saying "bell, book, and candle" when he developed the necromantic bells). It was fun to figure out how to make that work in Thedas, where there's all sorts of magical phenomena (especially where the Fade and the Veil are concerned). Balancing and weaving together the two very different systems was a blast!
The one thing I would have loved to include (maybe I'll write it someday) was Emmrich and Johanna Hezenkoss's younger years, when they were partner Abhorsens running around and building up the magic system. I loved writing their banter in the story, and would love to write more of it!
Alix: Johanna Hezenkoss is an icon, I'd always love to see more of her.
ContreParry: She's easily my favorite antagonist of Veilguard. Stands head and shoulders above the rest. She's so petty and vindictive and does it all with style!
"Ethics? Bah, who needs ETHICS?! I have experiments I'm conducting here!"
Alix: Do you have a favourite line of dialogue or banter from her?
ContreParry: That's a good question! I don't really know if I have a favorite line, but I do love how snappy she is. She's a very "stop wasting my time" sort of lady, which comes across in her conversations with Emmrich.
She conveys an attitude like: "Ugh isn't it obvious what I'm doing, hurry up and get with the program here!"
Alix: Now, you had one of the longest Bang fics that got written last year, clocking in at a truly massive 172,000 words. How on earth did you manage your time to write that much?
ContreParry: In short, I managed badly! For a longer answer, I have insomnia and will write when I can't sleep. And I tend to hyperfocus during those moments and get a lot done. It's definitely not healthy or sustainable, and I do not recommend it, but that's how I managed to get so much writing done.
I am planning to be MUCH more health conscious this time around!
Alix: You're planning to participate again this year, I take it?
ContreParry: Yep! I love participating in these. I like having a project with a goal in mind, and working with a lot of other writers and artists is encouraging!
Alix: What was your favourite thing about participating last year?
ContreParry: All the writers were sharing bits of their work in the writer's chat, and it was fun to sneak on there and see what everyone was doing and where they were going.
It was a fun reminder of how many different directions people can take, even though we're all working in the same fandom!
Alix: Absolutely. I loved just listening to people talk about their stories; it was especially fun when people were working with the same characters but the stories they were telling were so unique.
ContreParry: Exactly! The different perspectives and ideas were inspiring!
Alix: What would you say to someone who was on the fence about signing up for this year's event?
ContreParry: It looks intimidating at first, and I won't deny that it's challenging at times. I know that there were many times that I looked at my work and went "wow I hate it!" But it was a good sort of challenge, and the community is both really flexible and super encouraging. There's always someone around who will help you. If it sounds interesting to you, give it a try!
Alix: Good advice! Thanks, Contre, and good luck this year!
The most amazing thing to me about Jane Austen is that she staunchly refuses to leave any woman behind. It doesn't matter if a woman is an antagonist, a side character, or what, the reader is assured that they will be okay. This is so different from fiction at the time or even now.
Marianne Dashwood, living a plot perfect for a tragic death by illness to preserve the beauty of her first attachment and disappointment? Nope, she lives and loves with her whole heart again. Maria Rushworth, the fallen woman who cheated on her husband does not die for her crimes or even fall into poverty or prostitution, her father and Aunt Norris will provide for her. She is punished, but she's protected. Lydia Bennet? Her two sisters will provide for her for the rest of her life. Her husband's debt will not destroy her. Miss Bates? There is an entire community around her no matter what happens and her newly rich niece will provide. No woman is even left as a governess, Miss Taylor is Mrs. Weston, Jane Fairfax becomes Mrs. Churchill instead. Mrs. Smith is pulled out of her indigent state by Anne and Wentworth.
The only woman Jane Austen allows to suffer a terrible fate is off-page and dead long before the novel begins: Eliza Brandon. Eliza Williams, her mother's affair baby, is ruined by Willoughby. Colonel Brandon could easily have washed his hands of her and her affair child, but he doesn't. Eliza Williams is going to be okay. Her child will be okay.
Antagonist women never fall into poverty or die for their crimes, most of them are even in loving marriages. Fanny Dashwood is cruel to her mother and sisters-in-law, one could imagine her falling low in karmic retribution, but no, she's fine. Lady Susan, the delightful anti-heroine, marries a baronet at the end of her novel. No punishment looms on the horizon for her promiscuity and deception. Caroline Bingley has a loving family that will never turn her away and an independent fortune. Mary Crawford has a loving sister. Isabella Thorpe may have lost the big prize, but she has her mother. Never is a woman thrown to abuse or poverty, even when they have attacked other women. The only punishment would come from their own conscience or regret for the goodness they have thrown away.
Jane Austen somehow imagines a world where even the worst women are safe.
#jane austen#which definitely throws the very common 'caroline gets her comeuppance' trope in fanfic in high relief#the sheer volume of fics where caroline gets completely cut off and sent to live in exile is staggering#it's always struck me as unnecessary and excessive and i think this might be why#this just isn't how austen treats her characters so having it be SO prevalent in fanfic feels weird#all these fanfic authors out here saying that caroline should live in shame and exclusion and poverty forever#for being a little mean to lizzy#when ms austen simply would never (via @irasobrietate)
Yes! This is such a big thing for me I wrote a whole essay about it. Honestly, it's fics that destroy Caroline being so common that made me consider how unique Austen's treatment of women really is! That and the way she protects Miss Bates.
Happy DADWC :) How about “pushing a strand of hair behind their ear” from the touching prompts
Here's some pre-Fenders for @dadrunkwriting.
Anders made for a terrible patient, but this was no surprise to Fenris. He was a difficult man. Why would this change just because he was ill? Trekking through the Free Marches was a miserable experience. The summer storms flooded the plains, leading to them trudging through muddy wilderness for nearly a week before they found refuge in a safe house that belonged to a friend of Varric's. They resolved to wait out the latest storm before moving on and making for Rivain. That is, the plan was to reach Rivain. Fenris had some business to take care of first, and Anders was determined to accompany him rather than save his own skin. Fenris couldn't understand it, but he couldn't persuade Anders to do otherwise and reluctantly accepted that having a powerful mage and spirit healer at his side would make his travels through the Imperium easier.
But before they even got to future adventures, they had to wait for Anders to get better. The constant travel was getting to him. At least, Fenris hoped it was just exhaustion and whatever else caused illness. He hoped it wasn't anything more concerning.
But it never hurt to take precautions.
"It's barely a fever, Fenris," Anders complained as Fenris piled another blanket on top of him. "I'm not dying!" Fenris ignored him completely and crossed the small room to pull yet another blanket out of a battered wooden chest. Anders was burning up, his eyes glassy and skin pallid, greasy, sweat-soaked hair clinging to his forehead and cheeks. Yet he was as mouthy as ever, protesting and struggling any time Fenris attempted to tend to him. And Fenris could not be said to have a compassionate bedside manner.
"If you can stand on your own and walk across the room, you may do so. But seeing as you cannot, you will sleep," Fenris retorted, and he tucked the next blanket around Anders' slim form. He brushed the back of his hand across Anders' sweaty brow and tucked a strand of damp hair behind the shell of his ear.
"You're a tyrant," Anders complained. He closed his eyes and sank into his bed, buried under blankets and head propped up on several thin, tattered pillows. He coughed weakly, the sound wet and rattling. It didn't sound good, and Fenris cursed himself for his uselessness. He kept his hand on Anders' brow and hoped it offered some comfort.
"We can spare the time for you to recover your strength," Fenris said. He'd find time for Anders to get better. He'd make time, if he must. But Anders would get better. He must. Anders' mouth twisted up into something like a pained smile, and his eyes fluttered open.
"That was almost considerate," he teased. "Who are you and what have you done with Fenris?"
"Hush. Rest now," Fenris ordered, and he brushed his fingers against Anders' thin, stubble-covered cheek. "Save your strength."
Happy Dragon Age Friday! Here's a prompt: The Star: What does hope in the aftermath look like for Rook and their love interest? When things feel hopeless, how do they act as each other’s light in the darkness?
Here's some Mourn Watch Rook and Lucanis for @dadrunkwriting!
Killing Zara should have been the end of it.
That was how it went in his line of work. You completed your contract. You wrapped up the loose ends. You cleaned yourself up and got some rest. You collected your pay and went on to the next. Zara was just a job. Just a job, just a contract, just another name on a page. Finish it up and on to the next.
But nothing was ever that simple. Not for him, not as he was now. Nothing would ever be simple again.
Lucanis didn't rest. Not anymore. He dozed. He slept in fits, starting awake at every creak and footstep, waking every time he felt Spite stir, wild and hungry under his skin. Even now he was awake, staring at the fire and flinching every time a log cracked and spat sparks. Here he was, carrion bird accustomed to shadow and death, and he was jumping at shadows! Ridiculous. But this was who he was now. What Zara made him. It should have been over. She was dead, and it should have been over.
It would never be over. Not for him. Nothing was that simple. Lucanis leaned the majority of his weight onto his forearm and stared into the flames. Hiss. Crackle. Pop. And underneath the sounds of the fire came the ever-present growl of Spite. Angry. Bitter. Hungry.
"You are awake. I thought you might be," someone said softly. Lucanis lifted his head and turned to find Elena behind him. She was not dressed in her armor, but in the plain every-day clothes of a member of the Mourn Watch, all soft greens and purples that clashed with her sandy skin and copper hair. Everything about her was a study of contrasts, a disharmonious mixture of subtlety and brashness. Yet there was something comforting about the strange, prickly way she settled beside him. The discomfort was a reminder that this was real.
"I usually am," Lucanis agreed. He lifted his hand and gestured towards an empty seat before the fire, an invitation for her to sit.
"Emmrich has her body. He will conduct an autopsy tomorrow," Elena said softly before she perched herself on the edge of the seat.
"I thought it would be over, once she was dead. That is how a contract works," Lucanis confessed. "And yet... " And yet Zara lingered. She was a stain that couldn't be scrubbed out.
"And yet," Elena repeated with a patience he did not expect to hear. "Death is not an end." She spoke as if she was reciting a lesson. Perhaps it was. Mortalitasi were a secretive lot, the Mourn Watch even more so.
"It usually is, in my line of work," Lucanis commented lightly.
"A vocation that is a thorn in most mortalitasi's sides," Elena said gravely. "But we have learned to... live with it." She almost smiled at that comment, a little twitch of her mouth before she turned her eyes up to him and stared at him. She had bright eyes, sharp and all-seeing. A hunter's eyes, like the hawks that nested in the towers of Treviso, the ones that hunted all the small birds below. The crows (the actual birds) liked to taunt those hawks, draw them into fights and chases, cawing their victories over the predators as they sailed into the clear blue skies. There was a part of him- a younger, more innocent, playful part- wondered what it would take to provoke this stern, prickly woman into a chase. The rest of him- wounded, tired, changed forever- would not dare to find out. Perhaps she was considering things along a similar line, for Elena abruptly launched herself from the chair and bowed her head in a sharp gesture.
"I am keeping you from your rest," she said suddenly. "Good night." She turned on her heel and fled the room, fled the dining room completely, and shut the door firmly behind her, leaving him alone to stare into the fire once more.
baratheonpilled
snowghoul
stormborns
areudirty
gummygunk
izzy806
