send five times kissed for five times our muses kissed / accepting.
1. RELATIONSHIPS DO not come easily into Garrett’s life. Even something so simple as friendship must be torn from his chest. It’s only gotten worse over the years. Romance is difficult to kindle when you are a blood mage hated and feared by most, if not all. Alistair reserves his hatred for better things, it would seem, because the warden has kept entirely mum about the fact that Garrett’s arms are always scabbed over or bleeding in some sort of way, subtle though it is. That first supposed kiss is to his upper-left shoulder as a drunken JOKE – “want me to kiss it better for you?” It doesn’t work, and Garrett pretends that it never happens.
2. THE INQUISITOR leaves them alone in the cave, and Garrett looks at Alistair with such disgust for the both of them that he can feel it writhing and wiggling across his skin; like entrails after casting a walking bomb spell. It’s not a question, to stride as fast as he can to press the warrior against the wall. His clawed hand wraps tight enough around the warden’s throat to allow a sense of danger, but no true harm. He should be wringing his neck, but finds that the other melts at the pressure. Hawke scoffs and pushes scarred lips to his jaw. It lasts a moment and only that, but it’s enough to leave its mark. Teeth are good enough. It’s not sweet, but he’s never been.
3. THEY ARE in Skyhold, and Garrett is… anxious to be back. Anxious is not the right word, no. Outright enraged, maybe. For Varric to drag him back into this kicking and screaming is one thing. For Alistair to do the same is just as insulting, no matter how long they’ve been on the same side. Hawke knows how to play his cards. But this time, the deck has been laid across the table. Now it’s a matter of picking the right ones, not playing them. He cannot SIT still ; this is perhaps why he strides down to the gardens and grabs Alistair by the arm tight enough to draw blood with his talon-like gauntlets. He’s tempted to take him around the corner and fuck him, but they are both far behind that age of mischievousness. So instead he lets the obsidian wisps of smoky magic out of his mouth like some sort of dragon protecting its hoard in a small room nearby, Andraste overlooking them as if she knows their sins. The golden haze sets his eyes alight like embers. The kiss is rough, passionate, and utterly strange. Affection is something more than foreign, and this time it’s different. Nothing like last time.
4. ADAMANT IS already like the pits of the damned, and it is accepted that this could be their last night together. They’re both covered in blood, having wiped out tens if not hundreds of corrupt wardens and demons alike. He has torn a pride demon in two with a scream of pure outrage, allowing the beast that lurks in the dark of his minds and cradles his head like a mother to reach out and control his movement. The Inquisitor and their group run onwards, pushing through shades and desire demons in their efforts to proceed and catch Clarel and the wormy ‘vint that had been going after her. They ‘round back to talk to Hawke about the plan of action, and Alistair catches his wrist before they follow the others. Lips are pressed to Hawke’s forehead. Fleeting, distant, and writhing in his chest, for the first time in years, Garrett feels what could be called… adoration. Now is not the time. They don’t have the time. His arms are dripping with red, old scars and new opening. He cannot caress the warden, hold him close and whisper empty promises. So he doesn’t.
5. IN THE fade, they are shown their fears. Did you think anything you ever did ever mattered? It licks at the back of his brain, drags itself along his skull and digs its nails into his eyes. But he is not afraid. Hawke has already sold his soul to rage. He has nothing left to give. Not even his heart, carved out and offered up to the man standing at his side. He will never say it aloud. I love you is a lie. They both know that. I love the idea of you is a better proverb. And then the finality of where they are settles on their shoulders, as the Inquisitor looks at Hawke with a mix of pity and sorrow. Hawke wants to snap at them to stop it. He is not to be pitied. He is no kicked dog. His fingers grasp around the center of his staff, fire dragging itself from his feet and then extinguishing. “Hawke…” their voice trembles when they speak, and Alistair looks at them like they have made such a great mistake that it physically pains him. ( Perhaps it does. )
HE HAS BEEN BAPTIZED IN BLOOD & FEAR. This is no different. The final kiss he and Alistair share is not a physical one. It’s looking each other in the eye and knowing —- Hawke’s time has come. He has been a walking corpse for too long, innards rotting and limbs growing cold y e a r s ago. He is an empty shell of a man. They run, and Hawke lifts his weapon. If he is going to die, he will die fighting. Nothing he did mattered, anyways. Perhaps his opportunity to fix that has arrived.
6. THE CHAMPION of Kirkwall had fallen into the fade. Seven months later, Garrett Hawke, bloodied and broken and utterly shattered —- Garrett Hawke rips open a rift at the seams from the inside and crawls out, hands and knees. He vomits ICHOR. He wonders if Alistair can feel the way his throat burns and the way his chest aches like he has cried for hours in a row. This is a new hurt. He is utterly human.
I came up with this based on things I love to know about RP partners!
Feel free to reblog and fill in your own answers – or don’t. Shh. Love me.
FILL IN:
I like to be called: cee.
My favorite color is: pastel blue and purple.
Gender: ;w; no one’s business but my own.
One thing you should know about me: i’m a teacher !
One thing you should know about my muse: he angry. someone help this child.
First language: english.
I live in: oregon.
HIGHLIGHT:
Age range: under 13 | 14-17 | 18-22 | 23-25 | 26-29 | 30+
Am I okay with NSFW? yes | no | sometimes
My favorite/most common thing to RP is: angst | fluff | smut | crack | other
OC friendly?: yes | no | depends
RP blog: does | doesn’t contain OOC posts
“please don’t do this, don’t act like you care.” (just fuck me up)
hurt sentences / accepting.
HURT FLASHES for too short a period of time for Alistair to catch. Hawke is something of an enigma when it comes to emotions. A clawed gauntlet draws itself back, faded and shiny scars flickering in the dim firelight of their small shelter. They’re on their way back to Skyhold, having been separated from the Inquisitor and their merry band of misfits for some time. Anger darkens his gaze, makes him see red ( and he knows that’s the demon, talking, the one that urges him to press his hands into Alistair’s throat and squeeze until it drips a dark crimson mixed with black. WHAT WOULD HIS BLOOD LOOK LIKE IF IT CAME OUT ALL AT ONCE? ) before it is quelled and pushed back down to a place no one else save for Garrett Hawke dare to go.
HE DOES not act as if he has been burned, as if his skin is scorching or as though this is it for them. No. Hawke acts like Hawke. “If you want me to stop caring, then I won’t. Take care of yourself, lick your pathetic wounds. Don’t come crawling back to me when they don’t heal correctly.” That’s Hawke talking now, the anger furrowing itself so deeply inside him like some sort of parasite. He must seem truly FRIGHTFUL, standing over Alistair with his hands covered in the other’s blood. It’s an unpleasant and sticky feeling, but not one he is unused to. He strides away, grabbing his stave and cloak off of the boulder nearby and rushing out of the cave. SMOKE FOLLOWS IN HIS WAKE, floating off of his skin like steam from water. There are no excuses, no further arguments.
A LESSON learned, Garrett hopes: do not bite the hand that feeds you, no matter how hard it may push the meal into your mouth.
“IF YOU’RE done complaining, I’d love to get on with this.” The words are quick, blunt, and to the point: he doesn’t like dragging corpses around. For this operation, unfortunately, it is necessary. Too messy. Not that Hawke minds messy. It’s the concern of getting caught that stresses him so. He grabs hold of one body and drags it behind a pile of crates, then goes for the second.
hawke is far more aggressive in his usual dragon age verse than in his modern verse. modern garrett is surly, and has an explosive temper if he’s upset. champion garrett is mean, especially during inquisition.
didn’t romance anyone, for fear they would turn him into the templars or that he would lose them somehow.
by the end of inquisition, the only one garrett can get on well with is varric & isabela. everyone else has either been turned away or left.
his arms are covered from top to bottom in scars from using blood magic. he loathes it by inquisition, but still uses it for fear of what will happen if he doesn’t.
not at all affectionate in relationships. would rather be punched in the face than hold hands with someone in front of other people.
allows young mages to harbor themselves in his old house in kirkwall, under the guise that they are servants helping sandal and his father for a mother and son that are both dead -- one more-so than the other.
became a blood mage shortly after leandra’s death, due to the rage that rose in him and for once could not be quelled.
before inquisition, had stopped healing himself in combat because he’s ready to die. someone else has always pulled him back from the edge. if he’s not left in the fade, hawke disappears forever after staying in weisshaupt for around a year. he is reminded that there are still things to do, still mages in thedas that need to be helped.
“IF YOU have something to say, Warden, I suggest you spit it out.” He does not address the man by his name -- the words leave a sickened taste on his tongue. He has worked mercilessly, to drag the MAGI from their plight. And every time, they have looked wrongly upon him and labeled him as if he were some sort of MONSTER, harrowing himself from the dead dirt to strike down a Blight unto their children and land. The Champion of Kirkwall is just a man -- nothing more, and nothing less. “Look down from your nose at me any longer and I may be tempted to snap it off.”
“I’VE HEARD of you.” Okay, only sort of, but that doesn’t matter. Mage rights advocates are oftentimes looked down upon, but he can’t help and feel grateful for them. He can’t be an outspoken advocate as mage and city-wide criminal, but he can thank her. It’s a rare moment of kindness. “You protest too much for your own good.”
“THAT’S QUITE the nasty scar.” Hawke is, of course, referring to the one one on the other’s forehead. He’s seen such things in his time in Kirkwall, but none quite as prominent. “Surprised you’d show your face at all, with that.”
“YOU DON’T look like you belong in a place like Kirkwall.” Ah, yes! Kirkwall: the city of filth that thrives on the destruction of its own citizens, corruption, and unfair treatment of mages. The Champion absolutely loves it here. He gives the stranger a pointed gaze, seeing as how he looks ready to throw himself over the railing of Lowtown’s docks and into the ocean. “Lost?”
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