I cannot believe I forgot to post this. For @ockissweek, my Fallout OC Bronson and my best friend @piperafterdark's Beatrice Luck. For 'Hands.' I love them your honor.
“You sure about this, Bea?” Bronson asked. “This is going to hurt like hell.”
They were sitting in their room at the Wrangler, Beatrice with her hand laying on the bedside table that they moved so it sat between them. She snorted, sitting on the edge of the bed, the springs groaning under her weight as she shifted.
“Bron, you’re asking me of all people?” She said.
Bronson shrugged. “I’m just making sure. Never done this before. I won’t exactly be an expert on making it as painless as possible.”
Beatrice smiled. She watched as Bronson took the needle, the two solutions—one a carbon black suspension, one a sterile cleaning solution, courtesy of Abigail and the Followers. He had been adamant that to do this, they were going to do it right. Beatrice tilted her head with a smirk.
“Are you getting cold feet, guapo?” She asked. “Sure sounds like you’re trying to find reasons not to go through with it.”
“What? No! Fuck, Bea, never. I just—” He took in her expression, and he stopped. “…you’re joking.”
Beatrice sighed. “Yes, Bron, I’m joking. If I actually thought you were backing out I would not sound this casual, believe me.”
Bronson nodded. He reached out and took Beatrice’s hand.
“I really am sure about this, Bea,” Bronson said. “I promise. Just want to make sure you are.”
With her other hand, Beatrice reached out and pinched Bronson’s cheek. He smiled.
“Never been more sure of anything in my life,” Beatrice answered. She leaned in and pecked Bronson on the lips. “Now let’s do this.”
Bronson leaned back, and he took the needle. Beatrice spread out her fingers. He leaned in and got to work.
Fingers swelled, and ink spread, especially in a place like that. Bronson never had a tattoo himself, but he knew former tribals in the Legion who had gotten stick and poke tattoos like this. From what he’d heard, the hands were one of the worst places.
But they couldn’t afford rings, and even if they could, Bronson didn’t trust either of them with one. They’d either lose them in the chaos of their daily lives or they’d get mugged for them. If Beatrice was going to have something on her finger…
He saw her wince, subtly, and Bronson paused. “You good, baby?”
“I am,” she answered, “keep going.”
There was something intimate about the whole thing. Bronson leaned in, alternating between his work and looking at Beatrice’s face to gauge her discomfort. The work was slow and methodical. They stayed leaned into each other as Bronson’s brow furrowed, making sure that he didn’t mess up and leave Beatrice with a random black line somewhere it wasn’t meant to be.
“You look real focused, Bron,” Beatrice remarked.
He didn’t answer. Beatrice grinned.
“Pretty sexy if you ask me.”
Bronson gave a short hmmph. He leaned back. “…I think we’re done.”
“Really?” She raised her hand, wiggling her fingers. The tattoo around her ring finger was a thin black band—you could have almost missed it if you didn’t know it was there. Bronson took her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers.
“Really,” he said. “Hold on, you gotta wrap it in some gauze to keep it clean.”
He wrapped it as promised. Beatrice put an elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand.
“So you next?”
“I can do myself—”
“Naw. Feels wrong.”
Bronson stopped, looking at her. He cut the gauze from the roll and finished wrapping. “…once this heals, you can do mine,” he decided. “How about that?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“So…” He rubbed the back of his neck. Cleared his throat. “What do you think? Now that it’s done?”
It had been his idea, a spur of the moment thing. For some reason he just couldn’t imagine either of them standing in front of a priest, or even The King. This was a promise between them, and that felt correct. Beatrice looked at her wrapped hand, tilting her head as she regarded it critically.
“…I love it,” she decided. “Suits me, I think. Nice to have a permanent mark that isn’t because I almost kicked it and there’s still a helluva story behind it to boot.”
She stood, stretching up toward the ceiling. He shirt rode up just a little, and Bronson averted his eyes respectfully as he got up to join her. Beatrice noticed, and she grinned wolfishly.
“You did good, mi esposo,” she said. “But you forgot one thing.”
“What?”
Beatrice lowered her arm, took a few steps, and wrapped them around Bronson’s waist.
“You didn’t kiss the bride,” Beatrice answered, and Bronson chuckled.
“My mistake,” he said. He started humming the wedding march. Beatrice laughed, head falling to his shoulder, and Bronson had to grab her chin so he could give his wife a proper kiss on the lips.
For @ockissweek for @squidproquoclarice. Our OCs, Ginny Archambeau and Tristen Trevelyan (not the Inquisitor).
It was funny, caring so much about a wedding when you were, technically, already married. But Ginny and Tristen had gone through way too much to not have a proper ceremony. If his sister got to have one with Cullen after their secret Chantry marriage, then she damn well was going to have one too.
There weren't a lot of guests in the Ostwick Chantry. It all still felt weird to her. Having a huge number of people standing around watching her talk about how much she loved Tristen felt weird. So...immediate family only. Tristen had been totally okay with that.
She had practiced in the mirror for days leading up to it, holding notecards in shaky hands until she had memorized the words. It was too long, so she cut it. Too sappy, so she made it more mundane. Too mundane, so she made it more emotional. She thought she had finally got it right.
"How do you feel?"
Elodi was brushing Ginny's hair, pinning it up elegantly, making sure her dress didn't have any unnoticed stains. Ginny stared at herself in the mirror.
"Um, good."
"Your father is thrilled that he gets to walk you down the aisle," she said. "And your brother officiating is very nice of you to let him do."
Yes, technically they could have had the Divine do it if they really wanted to, but that sort of clashed with the 'keep it lowkey' thing. Tristen had pointed out that it was hard to remain a lowkey affair when the Herald and Inquisitor were guests, and the Herald was the one officiating; but he compromised. There also were some questions of whether or not Gil technically could, but Ginny and Tristen were already married anyway. This second for-their-family ceremony didn't need to be binding.
"Yeah, it is," Ginny said.
They were finished. Elodi put her hands on Ginny's shoulders. "Da'len," she said. "Relax. You're already married."
Ginny smiled. "Thanks Ma."
"He's stuck with you regardless."
Ginny stuck her tongue out at her and walked out to start the ceremony.
Charles was waiting as the music started, and Ginny linked arms with him, staring straight ahead and trying not to notice the people that were watching them.
She felt herself being nudged.
"...Ginny, dear, open your eyes," she heard her father say.
...oh.
She had closed them.
Ginny was not, by nature, a shy person. That was putting it mildly. She wasn't someone that tried to avoid drawing attention to herself, that shrunk so she wouldn't fill space, that was meek or mild or anything of the sort.
But then she had to stand up in front of a bunch of people and admit, with her whole chest, 'I am in love with former templar Tristen Trevelyan and want to be with him forever' and she felt her entire soul cringe.
That was why she had practiced the vows. She didn't want to embarrass herself or, frankly, embarrass Tristen.
...it wasn't going well.
She opened her eyes.
Tristen was standing there in his newly washed tunic and pants, ginger red hair combed down and beard shaved. The light from the Chantry windows hitting him almost made his skin glow like amber. He smiled widely, and Charles bowed to him as he handed his daughter off.
Gil cleared his throat.
"Marriage. It is good," he stated. He smiled sheepishly. He'd really, really wanted to do this and Ginny had faith in his to manage it. "I am v-very...happy for you both. The Maker knows this is...g-good."
He looked between them. "Vows?"
He settled on Ginny. She took a deep breath. "Tristen, I--"
And she promptly burst into tears.
All the practice and notecards and mirrors did nothing to prepare Ginny for the reality of standing in front of Tristen in his tunic and pants and clean shaven face and soft kind eyes. She wiped at her face and felt supremely embarrassed.
"I--I'm sorry Tris," she managed to say, "I don't mean to do this I just--" Her voice cracked. "I never thought anyone would marry me, least of all someone like you."
Her a mage and him a templar, yes, but Tristen knew it was more than that. He was quiet, and patient, and kind, and Ginny felt like she was none of those things. Through her blurry vision Tristen opened his arms, wrapping Ginny in them, enveloping her in those big bear hugs that she had come to love.
"Hey," he said softly, "it's okay. You're not doing anything wrong. Just breathe."
Ginny closed her eyes, breathing him in, the salty air of the Ostwick ocean he had spent at least three days since they'd returned for the wedding swimming in because it had been so long. She finally regained her composure, but she didn't move.
"Don't even think about them," Tristen whispered into her hair, "it's just me. Just look at me."
She nodded against his chest and pulled away from him.
Tristen looked at her brother. "...I think that worked for my vows," he decided.
Ginny hiccupped out a laugh, and they got married.
Dropping heated kiss from OC Kiss Week for my Margalit Aldwir/Margalit Lavellan and @marzopups' lovely Ginny Archambeau, a little snippet from our DA Coquisitor AU.
-----------------
Margalit woke up to something warm and soft curled up in her arms, and it took her a few moments to realize that this was unusual; her brain was foggy but in an oddly good way, like she had just had an incredibly deep sleep after spending time tending to the garden in Skyhold or reading up on what they knew of rift magic. She stretched out with a quiet sigh and opened her eyes, blinking a few times, and realized why she felt so warm and soft.
Ginny was sleeping in her arms.
Ginny was sleeping in her arms naked.
Memories of last night came crashing over her like waves on the Storm Coast, and Margalit found herself blushing even as she smiled into Ginny's hair. Ginny loved her. They had talked last night not as Champion and Inquisitor but as two friends working through the fact they had feelings for each other, and Ginny had said she loved her. Then Ginny had started kissing her neck and oh, right, that was why Margalit felt a little sore and had slept deeper than usual.
Maker and Creators, she was still in Ginny's bed. Usually Margalit slept in her own bed across the room. She and Ginny had cuddled before, but never like this. If every morning was like this for the rest of Margalit's life, she'd be doubly sure the bad future never happened.
Margalit could have stayed like this forever, but she felt Ginny starting to wake in her arms; she heard the slight change in her breathing, felt her starting to shift as her mind began to wake up with her body. The elf felt a surge of nerves, but she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Ginny's forehead. "Hey," she whispered. "Good morning."
Blue-gray eyes blinked up at Margalit and cleared, and Ginny smiled sleepily. "Morning," she whispered back, and then her hand was settling against the back of the brunette's neck, pulling her down, and they kissed. It was slow, lazy; Ginny's tongue brushed against Margalit's lips and she opened to her with a sigh, and when the human pushed up further into the kiss and rolled her onto her back so they could keep kissing Margalit didn't fight her at all.
Breathing through her nose while kissing was probably one of the best things she'd learned last night.
Eventually, though, Ginny pulled away with a soft sigh; her hand continued to rub Margalit's ear affectionately. "I had a wonderful dream last night," she said, almost conversational.
Margalit smiled up at her, squeezing her hips gently. "Yeah?" she asked. "What about?"
"My favorite person in the whole world said she was in love with me." Ginny pressed another kiss to Margalit's lips, something soft. "I was almost afraid to wake up this morning."
"She?" Margalit couldn't resist. "Gil will be devastated."
"You're not funny," Ginny said, but the way her smile lit up her face gave her away.
"Mm, I'll have to keep trying, then." This time it was Margalit who kissed Ginny. "But you're awake now. How does it compare to your dream?"
Ginny studied her for a moment; her smile softened. "Better than my dream," she said. "You're still here."
"I like your bed," Margalit replied, and Ginny laughed. "Very soft. Very large. Has you in it. Really, it's just better than my bed in every possible way."
The brunette tilted her head, eyes sparkling. "Well, Iguess you'll just have to stay in my bed then," she said.
"I guess so." Margalit just looked Ginny over, drinking in, before she smiled, something small and warm. "I still love you, by the way. In case you also thought that was still part of the dream."
Ginny exhaled shakily. "I love you too," she murmured, and then she shifted, tucking herself into Margalit and nuzzling into her neck. Margalit wrapped her arms around her after a moment, giving her a gentle squeeze.
They would have to get up soon, Margalit knew. The Inquisition didn't stop functioning just because they'd found each other last night. Corypheus wouldn't sop trying to find a way into the Fade because they'd found each other last night. Thedas continued moving through its day, no matter what Margalit or Ginny wanted.
Right now, though, this moment was theirs. Margalit intended to enjoy it for as long as she was able to.
Rating: Mature
Content Warnings: Please see the work for complete warnings.
Fandom(s): Dragon Age - All Media Types
Major Pairing(s)/Character(s): Elvhen Mage/Human Noble
Before the Conclave, the bombing of Kirkwall, or the Fifth Blight, an elven mage and a human noble meet in the city of Jader. Charles, Marquis of Jader, returns home after failing to graduate the Academie des Chevaliers. Elodi, mage of the White Spire, finds herself drawn to him despite the chevaliers' infamous cruelty.
Amongst Orlesian politics and a suffering community, the two learn more about each other as they try to make what little difference they can--if that's even possible.
More from Marzo: @marzopups | AO3
More from Raflesia: @raflesia65 | AO3 | Instagram
Fun fact: This is my third novel-length fanfiction but my first one in like, half a decade. It was a full labor of love. If you like Orlais and regency romance by way of asshole orlesian politics, this one is for you.
The Collaboration period has begun! In these quiet months before works are due, we want to foster a sense of excitement, camaraderie, and celebration among our participants. To that end, all participants were given the option of a formal interview by our mod, Dema, or an informal “ask-game” survey. We hope you enjoy getting to know our phenomenal creators as much as we have!
This Elf Meets an Orlesian Noble...What Happens Next Will SHOCK You!
Marzo and Dema talk aesthetics, the dangers of Reddit, and doing a god’s work (not any of the ones you’d hope)
Dema: I saw that Inquisition was your introduction to the Dragon Age Franchise (mine, too!). When did you play it? Did you jump into fandom right away?
Marzo: Oh man so this is actually kind of a funny story. I call DAI my 'intro' to the franchise but in reality, technically, my first game was Origins. My friend Julie (shout out to you, bud) was a huge Dragon Age OG fan, and she had been trying for months to get me to try them, and I tried out Mahariel, and I hated it. Like, had no idea what was going on, didn't understand anything. So I didn't touch it again until months later, probably in like, January of 2023, when she suggested I could try Inquisition because it was 'more modern.' And I fell in love with that immediately. So I'm actually still pretty new, fandom wise, when you think about how long the series has been out.
Dema: Yeah! 2023 is an interesting time to have gotten into it. Were you seeing stuff about a potential DA4 release when you started?
Marzo: Not that I recall. I genuinely thought it was a totally dead series at that point, lmao
Dema: Ok well, wow, in that case were you astonished when Veilguard was announced?
Marzo: Yeah I was pretty shocked, NGL. That was also funny because I was like 'OH MY GOD GUYS LOOK AT THE NEW COMPANION TRAILER I'M SO EXCITED,' meanwhile I go into the fandom to be excited and it was just like....that gif of the guy walking in with a pizza and everything is on fire. I was even more shocked afterward, when I heard what development was like.
Dema: OH MY GOD, yeah. And you stayed!
Marzo: AND I STAYED. Well, I stayed, but I am definitely on reddit a lot less xD
Dema: I don’t touch reddit. I have self-preservation instincts.
Marzo: I had a two-year streak going on the weekly writing thread there so that kept me coming back. But I learned.
Dema: Oh no, I am sorry you lost that. Did something else fill that void?
Marzo: I do still post on that thread! And it led me to a very nice Dragon Age OC server. I'm actually a moderator there now. In fact one of the other mods is my friend Scalli, who I think did an interview with you a few days ago?
Dema: Yes!
Marzo: We made a pact to join together.
Dema: Oh, I love that! Had you done a Big Bang before?
Marzo: Oh god it was many years ago when I was in high school so that's like, a decade at this point. Absolutely nothing like this in terms of scope though. I was in a fandom for this webseries called Carmilla and I did a couple that were 10k words each. I remember at the time thinking that was an insane amount of words. Now I'm like 'man, hope I can keep this under 100k' xD
Dema: HAHAHA quality problems! Where’s your word count right now?
Marzo: Oh gosh it's all on different docs so I would have to look at each one but I'd estimate around like 30-35k range. I separate each chapter into its own thing on Ellipsus
Dema: That’s very impressive at this point in the event! I just started using Ellipsus very recently. How do you like it?
Marzo: Oh I think it's fantastic and I definitely recommend it over google docs, especially for fanfic writing. Besides just the fact that it's explicitly anti-AI and anti-censorships and that's been a problem for google lately, the feature that lets you directly export to ao3 is really helpful
Dema: I have yet to try that feature but I’m excited about it!
Marzo: You’ll be shocked at how easy it is.
Dema: What’s your Ellipsus color scheme?
Marzo: Ooooh jazzy blue! The blue matches the color of my MC's family colors so I thought it would be fun xD
Dema: Nice. That question leads me to: do you find aesthetics are a helpful tool for your writing process?
Marzo: Good question. I definitely find visually it’s just easier on the eye to have a darker theme, so practically I do. I don't know if this is quite 'aesthetic' but I also use a game called Spirit Lo-fi beats that just has a little avatar doing something on your screen while you're working along with some background noise. I actually find that super helpful to stay focused.
Dema: That is totally an aesthetic tool, yeah! One I will now look up hahaha. So you said a decade ago, 10,000 words felt like a stretch and now that’s a pretty easy target. Did you continue writing very consistently that whole time?
Marzo: I wouldn't say super consistently. Actually, until I got into DA again I pretty much wrote no fanfiction for a solid decade or so. But I got into roleplay writing instead – it isn't really longform, but it kept me writing. And before that one of the last projects I did actually came from one of those bangs, and I decided to continue it, and I felt beholden to have every chapter be a similar length. So that helped me build my muscles very quickly.
Dema: And now here you are! I feel that I would be remiss not to ask you about OC’s, since I know that’s one of your favorite features of Dragon Age. Tell me about one of your best OC’s! (You may define “best” however you like haha)
Marzo: OH MY GOSH that is an incredibly hard question to just pick one. I will say I absolutely love my warden, partially because I find it funny how quickly playing a Cousland totally changed my feelings about Origins. Her name is Constance Cousland and she is my best OC in the sense that she is doing the most while also being the most mentally unwell. 100% plans to only survive long enough to kill Howe and all she does is make decisions that are bad for herself. She's also my best in terms of how hard it is for me to just stick to a romance for her. She has no less than three different options for her canon I can't decide on. I literally put her in a different worldstate than my Inquisitor because mentioning her in my fanfic would mean having to pick something lmao. I was absolutely certain she'd just marry Alistair but at the last second she basically forced me to make him marry Anora, as you do when you are allergic to happiness.
Dema: Ooo what are her other options?
Marzo: Nathaniel Howe – I am a SUCKER for Nathaniel/Cousland just generally. It is a crime he's unromanceable just for the sheer drama. And then very originally, when she ended her first playthrough with Alistair as a warden, I had the idea that he died at Adamant so Connie goes to Skyhold, where she meets Cullen and eventually ends up with him. Which is especially funny to me because this means he failed his way up to becoming a Ferelden Arl. Like there is a nonzero chance after veilguard something happened to Anora and this woman gets made queen and now Cullen has to be king.
Dema: AHAHAHA! He’d hate that.
Marzo: Oh yeah he'd absolutely hate it.
Dema: He’d do it – Duty and all. But God.
Marzo: Connie can relate, she hates being a warden I think all the other wardens hate her because she just wants nothing to do with them. Let her have her little Keep in peace.
Dema: Alright, anyone else??
Marzo: Hmmmm I do also love my Hawke. His name is Rhett and he is basically the Ferelden equivalent of a southern farmboy. He has absolutely zero thoughts in his head. Varric calls him Haystack. He’s also different from most Hawkes insofar as just to make it interesting for me, I have him have a kid while he's working for the mercenaries and Varric just never tells Cassandra about them.
Dema: HA. Does the kid show up at Skyhold and hang with Kieran?
Marzo: Rhett’s kid is a little girl named Ruby and I do headcanon that she and Kieran get along very well. Morrigan is horrified. If they get along too well she might have to deal with Himbo Hawke for the rest of her life.
Dema: The Inquisition team CANNOT catch a break, can they?
Marzo: Not if I have anything to say about it.
Dema: You are doing God’s work. The Maker’s work? Somebody’s work. Maybe even your own!
Marzo: Ghilain’nain’s
Dema: OH NO
Marzo: I don't think the maker wants to be anywhere near what I am gonna put my mc's through
Dema: LOL Hooo boy. Well, I think you’re going to love this last bit. In our final few minutes, it is tradition to ask you to write a clickbait title for your DABB fic, with no spoilers.
Marzo: Oh man HOLD ON…"This Elf Meets an Orlesian Noble...What Happens Next Will SHOCK You!"
Dema: Excellent. No notes. It has been a delight chatting with you, Marzo! Thank you for taking the time tonight.
Did...did this come out on my BIRTHDAY?
What awesome timing! Hope you guys check this out--I can guarantee this will be nothing like anything else put out for this Big Bang!
Written for Day 7 of Dragon Age Sapphic Week: Alternate Universe/Free Day. Finishing off with some established relationship fluff, and thank you very much to the team that hosted this! It was a lot of fun.
AO3 link
Hanal'ghilan moved among the other halla like she knew that compared to the others she was special. Normally Sera would have rolled her eyes at it, but she felt like if anyone had earned that kind of confidence it was Hanal'ghilan; she was a magnificent creature. Her horns were full and brown, and even from a distance her creamy gold coat could be picked out from the rest of the halla.
Sera had been ready to dismiss Hanal'ghilan as a story, when Ithiren had spoken to Sharon about the creature. Sharon had been willing to go out looking for her though, and no one in the party had argued it; they all saw how different the young elf was with the clan. It wasn't her clan—her clan had been purged with the rest of Wycome—but it was still a clan, and they had welcomed her like she was one of their own despite her title. It was no surprise that after that, Sharon would be willing to do anything they asked.
Wherever Sharon went, of course, Sera followed. Even if following Sharon led her to a Dalish clan in the Exalted Plains.
Still, they were a nice enough sort for elfy elves. No one had tried to convert her into worshipping the Creators and no one had come up to lecture her about all of the ways she was letting down her ancestors, so they were already much better than most of the Dalish Sera had spoken to in the past. She still kept to herself all the same, content to watch the halla herd that milled around the den in the back of the camp.
Sera had always liked halla, truth be told. She wasn't really the naturey sort, but she could appreciate a nice looking animal when she saw one and halla were nice looking and smart. They weren't as large as horses and they didn't scream like harts, and they didn't have weird hands like nugs.
More importantly, being near them meant that no one in the clan would want to bother her. Sera wouldn't rush Sharon to leave, but she wasn't going to put herself out there more than she had to.
She was leaning against the side of the cave entrance, watching Hanal'ghilan as she finally decided she was safe enough to lower her head to start grazing with the other halla, when she heard the soft sound of approaching footsteps. Her ears twitched slightly, and a quick glance over her shoulder made her grin as she saw Sharon approach. "Hey, you. You don't seem more elfy, that's good."
Sharon laughed. "Were you worried about that?"
"A little bit," Sera admitted, straightening up and wrapping an arm around Sharon's waist; Sharon didn't hesitate to lean into her, and her grin softened in response into a smile. "Not a lot, though, you have a pretty head on your shoulders. Having fun?"
Sharon actually looked thoughtful in response to Sera's question, and she loved her for that. "I am," she said. "Being here has been nice, and I just finished speaking with Keeper Hawen. He agreed to let Loranil leave with us."
It took a moment for Sera to remember Loranil as the one who had asked about joining the Inquisition when they had first arrived. He definitely had drive, and Sera couldn't blame him for wanting to leave the clan for something else; a small circle of aravels with a herd of halla and only one merchant wasn't really her ida of a good time, either.
Still, Sharon did look good even from all of the running around they'd done today on behalf of the clan, so Sera wouldn't be as teasing about it as she normally would be otherwise. Elfy or not, finding the clan had clearly been good for her—her shoulders weren't as tense as they had gotten to be lately, and when Sharon leaned into her she was actually letting Sera support her weight instead of holding some of herself back. She was relaxed, guard down, and it was a beautiful thing for Sera to see.
It was a rare thing these days, unfortunately. Sera would take it whenever she saw it, and she would accept whatever caused it. Maybe when they got back to Skyhold, she'd see about arranging some roof time for them; they hadn't done that in awhile. It would be good.
"Good," Sera said, absently rubbing small circles into Sharon's shoulders. "Relaxed is a nice look on you, Inky."
Sharon tilted her head, giving her an amused smile. "Just a nice look?"
Sera smirked, leaning in close enough to speak right against her ear. "If I told you exactly what kind of look it was, we'd need to sneak off for a bit and I don't think anyone would appreciate that."
Sharon actually shivered at that, and Sera's smirk became just a touch smug in response. As tempted as she was to actually do something about that, she'd had sex in the woods before and no thank you. A girl made do when she had no other options, but they had a perfectly good bed waiting back for them in Skyhold and if they really couldn't wait, a tent that was at least warm and private when night fell.
"You're evil," Sharon sighed.
"Not feeling guilty about it, either."
Sharon gave her a gentle hip check and Sera laughed, pressing a kiss to her hair. When they settled, the redhead rested her head against her shoulder. "What about you?" she asked. "You've been over here for awhile."
Sera shrugged, glancing back towards the herd. "Just watching the halla. They're the best part of this whole place."
Sharon smiled. "When I first joined Clan Lavellan, I was convinced the halla would eat me."
Sera stared. "Get off."
"I was!" Sharon laughed. "I was ten and the biggest animal I'd ever seen in the alienage before then were stray dogs. I was absolutely terrified of them."
"No shite? How'd you handle that? Some elfy elf you are, being afraid of halla."
"Deshanna would have Margalit's magic lessons in the halla pen, when she was first starting out." Sharon's smile softened at the memory. "She'd invite me to watch and learn about herbs while Peggy was practicing her magic spells, and the whole time the halla would just… graze around us or be sleeping. Sometimes they'd come up to see what we were doing. Eventually I stopped being afraid of them."
Sharon was doing this more, talking about her clan. She hadn't done that for awhile, after what had happened at Wycome; her smile, though fond, was still sad and didn't quite reach her eyes. Sera would take this weird mix of sadness and fondness over her trying to bury her feelings, though. She didn't care what anyone else tried to bloody say about it, her girl deserved to feel things.
Even if they were bad things. Especially if they were bad things.
"You wanna go in and say hi?" Sera tilted her head towards the hall herd. "I know they aren't your halla, but they are halla."
"I said hi to them when we first came here." Sharon turned her head, pressed a gentle kiss to Sera's shoulder. "What about you?"
Sera hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. Once again, her eyes found Hanal'ghilan. "Don't think that's a good idea," she said quietly. "That one's real fancy. Might not like me saying hi to her."
"Why not?"
"Because." Sera shrugged with the shoulder Sharon wasn't leaning on, suddenly not able to look at her or the halla. Unfortunately, all that was left for her to look at was the ground, and that wasn't terribly interesting. She looked at it anyway. "She can probably tell I'm not all elfy and stuff. Don't want to spook her."
Sharon didn't reply, but Sera could feel her looking at her, which made her even more determined to kep studying the ground despite it continuing to be uninteresting. She felt Sharon's fingers brush her cheek and she huffed out a breath, briefly contemplating the merits of biting her so she wouldn't push this—because of course, Sharon would push this. She always pushed stuff like this, gently.
The scariest part was that Sera was starting to realize she wantd Sharon to push her sometimes.
"You won't scare her, love." Sharon's voice was soft. "Do you want to go say hi to her?"
Sera swallowed, lifting her eyes from the ground. She stared at Hanal'ghilan for a moment before she took a small breath, turning her head to meet Sharon's gaze. There was no smugness there, no expectation, nothing she'd come to expect from the Dalish when they realized she wasn't the right kind of elfy—just warmth that Sera still didn't know what to do with. Sometimes it still amazed her that Sharon looked at her like this.
There were so many other people she could have looked at like this.
Fuck it.
Fuck it.
"Yes." Her voice wavered only slightly. "If—if that's okay with her."
Sharon smiled like somehow she wasn't the one doing Sera a favor and pulled away; a part of Sera missed her warmth immediately, wanted to pull her back in and hold her close and say she'd changed her mind, actually. A part of her wanted to stay like this. It was safe and familiar, to just stay like this.
The rest of her felt Sharon take her hand, squeezing reassuringly before she took the first step into the halla herd, and after only the slighest hesitation Sera followed her. Sharon was here, she reminded herself. Sharon was here and that made everything okay. Even if Hanal'ghilan turned her nose up at her, Sharon had still thought enough of her to try this.
Sharon was here. That made this okay. Sera took a quiet breath, and she could still feel the nerves settled in her stomach, but she squeezed Sharon's hand back and followed her into the herd.
The rest of the halla paid them no mind as they passed, and at first Hanal'ghilan didn't even lift her head; Sera saw her ears briefly flick once she and Sharon were right next to her, but the golden halla only paused for a moment to peer up at them before she decided they weren't a threat and went back to grazing. Sera laughed, something quiet and nervous. "I'm not gonna get struck down by your Creators for this, am I?" she asked, and it was really only half joking.
Sharon smiled reassuringly. "You won't be," she promised. "If they try I'll protect you from them."
Sera shouldn't have believed that. She should not have believed that. The fact that she did believe it, that Sharon said it so quickly and so certainly, was something she could untangle at another time, preferably when she wasn't surrounded by halla. "You're crazy," she muttered, and to the sound of Sharon's laugh she steeled herself and reached out with her free hand, tentatively resting it against Hanal'ghilan.
Sera waited.
Nothing happened.
She wasn't suddenly struck down by the Creators. She had the sense that they were being watched, but they'd been watched constantly since finding the clan's camp, and no one was ripping Sera away from Hanal'ghilan screaming that she had somehow sullied her with her touch. Hanal'ghilan herself continued to graze, completely unbothered.
Sera hesitated, then after a moment she just—gave Hanal'ghilan a light pat, running her fingers through the golden fur carefully. "Huh," she said. "D'you think she likes it?"
"I don't think she minds it," Sharon replied, and if Sera hadn't been so focused on Hanal'ghilan she would have seen the way the other elf was looking at her like she was Mythal hanging the moon in the sky. She was focused on Hanal'ghilan, however, and she couldn't help the soft giggle when the halla actually seemed to shift slightly, leaning into her touch.
"Okay, she definitely likes it," Sera said, and now she was smiling. "I get it, no one here'll give you a good scratch, huh? Good thing I'm here. I'll give you some scratches."
"See?" Sera could hear the smile in Sharon's voice, and sure enough when she turned her head to look at her she was smiling; something small and warm and just a touch smug. "I told you you wouldn't scare her."
Sera rolled her eyes, but she still leaned in and kissed her lightly. "Shut it, you."
Look I know it's a very popular headcanon that Celine was in love with Rumi's mother and you can still keep that headcanon but like, I am just gonna throw this into the ether:
Celine/Bobby
idk man I just think there's potential there. Emotionally closed off woman that doesn't know how to love her adoptive daughter properly but tries and then the man that loves them the way she wishes she could.
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Wrote this for Day 3 of Bellara Week, prompt Grief/Comfort. It was supposed to be short and sweet and uh... it ended up not being very short at all and I'll let you all decide how sweet it is. Contains spoilers for the blighted Bellara path because what can I say, I love it.
Bellara had never considered herself a particularly vain person. Oh certainly, she knew she was attractive—she wasn't blind to the impact her appearance had on people around her. Certainly, she'd taken a particular pride in her appearance, had put some effort into dressing herself and cleaning herself up in ways that appealed to her, but was that vain? She'd never thought so, before. That had just seemed… well. Nice? She supposed? She wasn't sure if there was an exact word for it.
She hadn't felt good about much in regards to herself, after losing Cyrian. Maintaining her appearance had been one of the few routines she'd managed to keep up after his death, mostly because it had been easy and already a force of habit. She didn't think that had been vain back then, to keep such a tight grip on one of the few things left in her life that still made her feel good about herself but, well…
Looking at herself now in the mirror as she felt a hot lump well in her throat, a part of her couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she'd always taken a bit more pride in her appearance than she'd realized until this moment.
Bellara hadn't actually… well. Seen herself, since being rescued from Elgar'nan. Sure, she'd glimpsed parts of herself since leaving Minrathous and being Joined, but all of those moments had been small, quick things she hadn't let herself linger on. If her fingers trembled slightly every time they caught her eye until she tucked her hands behind her back, or if she'd kept her gaze slightly averted from her body as she'd washed, guided more by muscle memory than anything else, that was… fine, wasn't it? It wasn't a bad thing, exactly. It wasn't like she'd had a habit in the past of lingering to admire her own form when she was changing for bed.
She'd thought it was fine, until she'd seen herself in the damned mirror.
The worst thing was, it was a normal mirror. Bellara knew this because she'd checked it herself, when it had first been gifted to her and Nessa for saving Minrathous. She'd been so sure there was something to it—some kind of spell, or enchantment, or maybe even an old-fashioned Tevene trick because it had been a gift from the Archon himself and surely someone like Dorian Pavus would work in some kind of mechanism or use some special magic for one of his own mirrors, right?
Sadly, no. It had been a normal mirror, and she'd been incredibly disappointed to report this to Nessa, who had been watching her fiddle with it all evening with the kind of amused affection Bellara still didn't know what to do with. With that confirmed she'd given the go ahead to hang it up in their new home in Arlathan Forest, and up until this moment in time she'd done a truly impressive job of not catching a glimpse of herself every time she passed it by.
She really should have known her luck would run out, eventually. It always did.
The worst part was, it had only been a brief glimpse out of the corner of her eye; Bellara had been in the middle of going to do something else when she had seen only a blur of herself in the mirror, a bit of skin showing unmistakable blight scars. She could have kept walking—could have ignored it, buried it down deep and not dealt with it. She could have focused on other things in order to keep her mind busy and to keep herself from thinking too much about the ghosts that haunted her, but…
Well. She was trying to be better about that, after Cyrian. This wasn't something she wanted to confront—in truth, she was happy to continue avoiding it for as long as she could get away with after managing this long—but that bit of skin had wedged itself into her memory, and she had a really good memory and very fresh wounds to reflect what had happened the last time she'd buried her thoughts and feelings instead of dealing with them.
It couldn't be that bad, right? Right. Of course. It wasn't that bad; her mind was just filling in the blanks as it tended to do when she thought a little too hard. She'd looked worse for sure, right after being rescued from Elgar'nan; any way she looked now was an improvement over that, even if it wasn't how she'd looked before. Maybe she was worrying for nothing! Maybe this was all in her head! Maybe she still looked the way she'd always looked, and her eyes had simply been playing tricks on her out of… some sense of lingering trauma, or something. Or remnants of Elgar'nan's influence, slowly clearing out of her mind now that he was no longer infecting her body and her soul like a disease.
Bellara nodded to herself, taking a breath. Yes, that made sense. When she thought about it like that, her avoidance of the mirror seemed silly; the way she hadn't been able to really look at herself until this moment seemed silly. She'd just built it up in her head, that was all. It was fine. She was fine.
She took another breath, to remind herself of how fine she was. Then she turned around to face the mirror fully, looking at her reflection head on.
She didn't look the way she'd always looked. That revelation hit her like a bolt of magic to the chest, even as no small part of her kicked herself for so easily buying her own lie just to work up the courage to see her reflection.
The thing was, on some level, Bellara had been right—it wasn't that bad. It certainly wasn't as bad as it had been in Minrathous, when her skin had been black and her eyes had been red and she could feel the blight pumping in her blood to her heartbeat, when she hadn't even needed to try to lean into the whispers because Elgar'nan's presence had been so loud in her head. The parts of her that hadn't been blackened from blight had been pale, that ghoulish shade of white that made her seem more darkspawn than person, and she'd… she'd seen the way the others had flinched from her even after she'd been rescued, the way they hadn't been quite able to meet her eyes. They had rescued her, sure, she was still alive, but this? None of them had expected this.
None of them except Davrin and Nessa, who hadn't flinched away from her and had met her gaze easily. She supposed that made sense, when she thought about it. Grey Wardens were used to darkspawn.
(Was it fair, even, to say that she'd been more darkspawn than person at that point? Darkspawn were people, twisted and changed by the blight; it wasn't like she'd stopped being herself just because she was blighted. She didn't know. She didn't want to think about it. That was a crisis for another day.)
The point was, when she thought about it with the same kind of logic she applied to tinkering with an artifact, she could recognize that she didn't look that bad. Her skin was… it was still pale, that was true, but it wasn't blackened like it had been before, so that was a good thing for sure. Her eyes had shifted back from red to brown, and the actual blight marks… Well. They were still there, she could see them on her face, but compared to what they had once been they were faded things, more like lingering stains than outright infection.
(She'd never thought about the blight like that before—as an infection. That was how it had felt, though, as it had crawled under her skin and bitten into her dreams; like she was sick, her body throwing every natural defense it had at its disposal and some unnatural ones from her magic at it to try and slow it down.
Had it been like that for everyone caught in Elgar'nan's web? Had all of them been sick, fighting losing battles to try and preserve their bodies and their minds? Was that all darkspawn were in the end—regular people, sickened by corruption? Had they known what was happening to them right up to the very end?
Isseya had still known herself. Bellara had come back to herself.
She didn't want to think about it, and yet. And yet, and yet, and yet.)
It wasn't that bad. Bellara knew this, when she thought about it logically.
The problem was, she still remembered what she'd looked like when she'd been better.
(She'd actually gotten the chance to get better. Isseya hadn't. None of the darkspawn they'd killed while fighting the Evanuris had gotten that chance.)
With a hand that trembled slightly, Bellara reached out and carefully touched the mirror, taking in the sight of her reflection. There was nothing logical about what she saw. Blight scars lingered on her face, faded enough to indicate she wasn't entirely gone but still showing enough to prove that she'd been changed. Her eyes followed the scars down, down along her neck and the upper part of her chest to where skin vanished under her clothes. She could see how those scars continued, along her exposed arm. An entire web of past blight corruption, faded but still lingering on her body as if to remind her that she would never truly be free of what Elgar'nan had done to her.
She didn't look blighted, but she still looked—
She still looked—
(She'd gotten better. Hadn't she?
Or did she just have enough awareness now to recognize that her body had been changed in a way she hadn't been able to stop?)
She'd been beautiful once.
The sound that escaped Bellara's throat was a hoarse, ragged thing; talking was easier these days, but there was still a lingering ache that hadn't quite faded yet. When Elgar'nan had taken her, had… changed her, she'd screamed and screamed and screamed until she'd tasted blood on her tongue; there were many things she still didn't remember about her imprisonment, but that particular memory was crystal clear. The pain just made her vision swim, and she sank to her knees as she choked on her own grief.
Had she even cried, before this moment? Had there been a chance for her to? Bellara wanted to say she had—she must have, time had passed since they had ended the double Blights—but her eyes stung slightly as the tears fell in a way that told her they'd been dry for awhile. Crying hurt too, in a way that it hadn't before; trying to muffle her cries wasn't doing her any favors for her throat, and Creators, were her eyes really aching?
Maybe being in Elgar'nan's care had somehow changed the way she fucking cried, too. That would just be her luck, wouldn't it? Maybe she could make that the plot of her next serial, if she ever felt any desire to pick up a pen again: a woman learning to process her emotions again after just barely surviving blight infection. There could be a decent story there. She even had personal experience to draw from to make the writing easier.
It was a dark thought, and Bellara couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in her throat as it lingered in her mind; it wasn't exactly a good laugh, caught in between her sobs and bordering on the edge of hysterical, but there had to be something to being able to see the humor in this situation. She hadn't been able to make herself laugh when Cyrian had died, the first or the second time. Maybe this was some kind of growth that now she could see the humor in her incredibly fucked up situation.
Or maybe Joining her had failed, and now the blight was making its way into her brain, and she was going completely insane before she finished her transformation into a ghoul. Maybe that was happening, too. It would certainly explain how she couldn't stop crying, or the way her head was starting to pound along with the burning in her throat, and her chest felt so tight—
"Bellara?"
Bellara's ears twitched slightly, at the sound of Nessa's voice; the utter chaos that had been crashing around in her head quieted slightly in response. It didn't stop entirely and the sensations were all still too much, but the dwarf's voice was a ray of light shining in the darkness the elf had found herself tumbling down into and she grabbed onto it tightly with both hands.
Literally.
If Nessa was startled when Bellara lunged up and pulled her into a tight embrace, she didn't give it away; the only hint that the smaller woman had been caught off guard was her sharp inhale, but she melted easily into the mage's arms as Bellara sank back down to the floor again, rocking back and forth slightly as she held onto her partner like her life depended on it. Nessa moved briefly in her arms and Bellara made a soft noise of protest in response but the Warden simply shifted, wrapped her arms tight around her and settled back into place.
Good. That was good. Later Bellara would apologize for her behavior, but right now she just needed to focus. She needed—she needed to get out of this spiral she'd found herself in. Her grief was a sea trying to drown her, and right now Nessa was the only bit of land she had left to hold onto.
Her head still throbbed and her throat still burned and her eyes were way too wet, but Bellara focused instead on the sensation of Nessa in her arms; it was both achingly familiar and entirely unknown to her, as she let herself sort through the sensations of it. The things that felt familiar she still loved with her entire heart and soul: the feeling of Nessa's clothes under her fingers (a little rough and worn down from years of wear and tear, but still in good shape and well cared for), the faint floral scent that always clung to her from her favorite soap (lavender, which had earned her no small amount of teasing when the Wardens had made a new permanent home in Lavendel), the way it felt to just bury her face into her hair and breathe her in. The things that felt unfamiliar but still distinctly her were…
Well. It was only one thing, really.
Before being taken by Elgar'nan, Bellara had only known as much about the Wardens as anyone else outside the Order. She'd known they were sworn to defeat Blights as they swept across Thedas, and she'd heard the rumors that the Wardens were willing to do whatever it took to prepare themselves for an eventual Blight. She hadn't known how true that was until she'd met Nessa, and then eventually Evka, Antoine, Davrin, and the rest—that was when she had learned Wardens were as tainted as the darkspawn they fought, shortening their lives in the process and exposing their dreams to an Archdemon when one took to the sky. In the days leading up to Tearstone Island, Davrin and Nessa had barely slept.
She still hadn't known what that had meant, though, not really. Not until Elgar'nan had dragged her through his eluvian and had placed her under his… gentle care. She'd walked away from him able to sense the blight, both within him and all around her, and that had extended as well to the Wardens—she could feel the blight in Nessa's and Davrin's bodies, in a way she suspected they couldn't quite feel towards her.
Even now she could sense the blight in Nessa's body, moving through her blood with every pump of her heart. It was a strange thing, when she thought about it; she'd still been partially blighted even after Elgar'nan had died, and being Joined had given her the chance to live another thirty years, but apparently her connection to the last of the Evanuris had just been that strong. It should have bothered her, but now that she was focusing on it in the moment, it felt almost comforting. It was a reminder that she wasn't alone, that even if Nessa didn't look like her she still carried the same blight within her.
That was weird. Right? That was definitely weird. Bellara probably should just keep that thought to herself.
"I can still sense the blight in you," she murmured, because if there was one thing Bellara could always count on, it was that her brain and her mouth sometimes weren't connected.
Nessa hummed softly in response; if she was bothered by the comment, Bellara couldn't tell at all. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. It's, um, comforting? In a way? That's—Creators, that sounds bad."
"It does," Nessa replied, but she still squeezed Bellara gently anyway and the elf smiled into her hair. "Explain it."
Bellara was quiet for a moment, composing her thoughts; she shifted again, absently rubbing Nessa's back as she did so, and the dwarf rumbled contently against her in a way that made her smile soften. Her vision was starting to clear and her headache had faded now to something dull, something easy to ignore.
"I was always afraid of the blight," she murmured, when she could follow her line of thought. "I don't think that's shocking or anything, I mean… you know. You heard me every time I had to deal with it. I hated it."
"I remember." Nessa's voice was amused. "Never stopped you from following me into it, though."
"Well, yeah, of course I did, it was you. It's still you. I'd follow you anywhere."
Bellara didn't think she'd said anything particularly special; to her it was simply the truth. Wherever Nessa went she would go, too. For some reason though she felt a small shiver run through the dwarf at her words and she paused, pressing a gentle kiss to dark brown strands of hair. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No, no, you didn't, I just…" Nessa cleared her throat. "I'm still not used to that, I guess. How easily you say that, even after Tearstone Island."
"Vhenan, Tearstone Island wasn't your fault." Bellara had doubted many things during her captivity, had questioned many of the decisions that had led to her ending up in Elgar'nan's hands; Nessa's role in all of it had never been something she'd doubted or questioned. A job had needed to be done, and she had volunteered to do it because she'd only trusted her own hands to keep Neve and Nessa safe.
"I'm still working on believing that," the Warden sighed, then shifed to glance up at Bellara before she settled down into place again. "Besides, we were talking about you right now, not me."
Bellara pressed her lips together at that, but she couldn't argue with it even though she really wanted to—she filed away Nessa's words for later, however. This was something they would properly discuss, eventually. She trailed her fingers down the shorter woman's spine, realigning herself to get her thoughts back on track.
"I was always afraid of the blight. I still am, really, even if I… understand it now better than I did before. But when I can sense it in you it's not as scary? I guess?" She frowned for a moment, tapping her fingers against Nessa's back. "You're you, and I love you. So the blight feels safer with you, I think. I can feel it running through you the way it runs through me, but it just feels… better when I feel it through you, compared to through me. When it's you it feels nice."
Bellara was snapped out of her focus by the gentle feeling of fingers brushing against her cheek; she blinked and looked down into Nessa's eyes, realizing with a small jolt that she must have focused her gaze somewhere else as she spoke. Her partner's dark eyes were soft, and for some reason the look of them made her swallow. "You know the blight runs through you now the same way, right?" Nessa asked, and her voice was gentle. "You're a Warden, love, even if we have no expectations about you hunting darkspawn. We're the same."
"We're not," Bellara snapped, and immediately winced at the sharpness of her own voice. "The same, I mean," she continued, quieter now in an attempt to control her emotions. Nessa was helping her feel better, it wasn't fair of her to lash out. The wound on her soul was a gaping, ugly thing, but the dwarf didn't need to see how heavily it still bled.
Time hadn't healed it. Maybe it never would heal.
Dread Wolf take her, what an awful thought.
Bellara shifted again and started to pull away now, because her mind was made up; she felt better—at least marginally so—and at the very least she wasn't spiraling anymore, and if she continued down this particular path of thought there was a chance she'd just hurt all over again. As far as she was concerned this was done, and if it was a little abrupt, if she was a little closed off now, well…
Well. It was fine. She'd be fine.When she'd been like this after Cyrian's death, it had been easy; Irelin had let her go, hadn't followed her. She was used to this; to the letting go.
How easily she'd forgotten Nessa wasn't Irelin.
The shorter woman let her get up, got to her feet with her, but before Bellara could step away entirely her hands caught her wrists; loose, gentle, not holding on tightly but enough to make the elf pause. She could have pulled away entirely, could have turned and walked off—Nessa would have let her go, she knew this. But the dwarf's thumbs were tracing gentle patterns over her pulse points, and she foud herself slowly relaxing at the lingering touch.
"Your heart's racing again," Nessa murmured.
"Just… got a little angry." Bellara's voice sounded weak, even to her own ears. The apology was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back through nothing but sheer willpower; she may not have wanted to talk about this, but her feelings weren't wrong.
Nessa apparently had different ideas about the not talking part, though. "Why?" she asked, her tone mild, and she kept her eyes down, focused on Bellara's wrists like they were the most fascinating things in all of Thedas.
"I—I'm not sure talking about this is a good idea."
"Do you want me to let go?"
"… No." Bellara sighed quietly, stepping closer when Nessa very gently tugged her back in. "This feels nice."
Nessa chuckled, something deep and warm. "I've been told I'm good with my hands," she teased, and when she did finally lift her eyes to meet Bellara's there was a gleam there that was both wicked and affectionate.
For a moment—only a second, really—the image of Nessa in front of her was replaced with something else. Still Nessa, but… changed. Those dark brown, almost black eyes brightened red by the blight, dark veins running under skin that was several shades too pale. Bellara inhaled sharply, blinked, and the image disappeared as quickly as it had formed in front of her.
Nessa didn't say anything. She simply waited.
Bellara swallowed against the lump in her throat. "We're not the same," she murmured. "Like… you're right, too, we are, but we're not. We both have the blight and that is comforting to me? Because I'm not going through this alone? But even if we both have the blight you still look gorgeous—which isn't bad! I like the way you look! Just… you're still so pretty and I'm… not."
"Bellara," Nessa said, and it was strange, really, how she sounded like she'd just been stabbed.
Bellara shrugged, and now she was the one looking down at where Nessa was still holding her wrists. "I see that now," she sighed. "I was trying to not see it, I guess, but I saw myself in the mirror and… well, I can't keep pretending, can I? It's better if I accept it. I'm going to look this way for the rest of my life."
The thought still hurt. The thought still really hurt, because apparently Bellara was, in fact, a bit of a vain person who had taken more pride than she'd thought in her appearance, and to have that counted as something else she'd lost to Elgar'nan… didn't feel good. The grief was still there, even if it wasn't consuming her, overwhelming her, drowning her. Nessa's presence had caused it to shrink from a raging sea to a trickling stream, but Bellara could still feel it deep in her stomach.
Nessa being here with her made it better, though. Nessa had let Bellara hold her, and hadn't squirmed or tried to get away from her even though she was covered in blight scars and still too pale. Nessa was still gently holding her hands, tracing patterns over the pulse points of her wrists like she hadn't been changed at all. The grief would probably never go away, but as long as Nessa was with her—as long as Nessa stayed—Bellara could live with it.
Nessa was the one who stepped closer now, as silence fell between them. A hand left Bellara's wrist, gently reaching up to brush against her cheek; the elf hummed softly at the touch, leaning into it and meeting the dwarf's gaze.
She looked pained.
"You don't need to be sad, vhenan. It's true."
"It's not true," the Warden snarled, and the intensity in her voice made Bellara blink. "Lara, it's—" She caught herself, took a quiet breath; the other woman wasn't sure how much it helped, her eyes were still blazing, but it gave her a moment to think, apparently. "You're still so, so beautiful."
Bellara blinked. Then she blinked again, because it took a few seconds for the words to really sink in. "You saw me before I was blighted, Nessa," she said, because for some reason her mind had suddenly gone blank.
"Yes, I did. You're as gorgeous as you were when we met in Arlathan."
That—that couldn't be right. Could it? The evidence had been in front of Bellara plain as day, was still in front of her even if she wanted to ignore it; she could see the blight scars running along her arms. She's biased anyway, whispered the little voice in her heart she'd never been able to silence. She loves you. Of course she'll say what you want to hear to make you feel better.
It would have been easy to believe; Bellara almost did believe it, for a moment. That little voice had been a part of her for as long as she could remember, and it had already whispered to her so many times; even when she tried to ignore it, it was never gone. The rest of her heart pushed back against it, though—reminded her that yes, Nessa loved her, but Nessa had also never lied to her. The Grey Warden knew how to speak well, and she often had when she'd needed to rally the team, but left to her own devices she preferred to speak directly and bluntly, and that also meant that she had a habit of speaking honestly.
Nessa might have tried to soften painful truths, but she'd never lied to her. That wouldn't change now, even if she was trying to make her feel better. So…
So when she was saying this—insisting that Bellara was still beautiful, even with her changes—she meant it.
She really meant it.
Oh.
Her vision was swimming again, Bellara realized. There was pain again, in her chest, like a lightning bolt had struck her heart or she'd lost control of an artifact while tinkering, but even though it hurt it felt… good. Nessa made a soft concerned sound at the sight of her tears but Bellara shook her head, gently tugging one hand free to wipe at her eyes. "Sorry," she whispered.
"I didn't mean—"
"It's not you! I mean, it is? But it's—I'm alright, you didn't do anything wrong. They're happy tears. I think. I just…"
Bellara took a breath; this time, she was the one reaching for Nessa's hands, and she turned her head slightly to press her lips to the dwarf's palm. "I just don't think I believe that yet," she admitted. "Not the way you do. But it still feels good to hear you say it."
Nessa smiled up at her, and it reminded Bellara all over again why she had fought against Elgar'nan's control for so long. "I can believe it enough for both of us, trust me. And I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it."
"Every time I ask?"
"Every time you ask and a few times you don't." Nessa squeezed her hand, then glanced towards the mirror. "Do you want to take that down?"
Bellara paused, glancing at the mirror. She took a moment to look at her reflection, to look at the image of her and Nessa standing together. "No," she decided. "It can stay up. I'd like to get out for a bit, though."
Nessa laughed. "Then I have the perfect thing, I wanted to tell you while we were cleaning out the darkspawn remnants in Lavendel today we found an intact artifact. At least, I think it's intact. I brought it back for you to take a look at."
If Bellara pulled Nessa all the way in and kissed her for that, muffling the sound of her laughter with her lips and forgetting about the mirror entirely, well. That was fine. That was more than fine, really. She may have been changed by Elgar'nan, she may have had to be Joined to survive, but this… this was still the same and always would be.
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Pastime: Sparring, finding new and more dangerous ruins to conquer, harassing slave ships and pretty much any Tevinter vessel she suspects have slaves onboard
Food: Anything sweet
Drink: Bourbon
Books: Anything recommended by The Randy Dowager, enjoyed ironically.
HAVE THEY
Passed university: Harrowings count?
Had sex: Frequently
Had sex in public: In the library at Kinloch, yes
Gotten tattoos: No
Gotten piercings: No
Gotten scarred: She got a very nasty lightning scar escaping from the galley of a Tevinter slave ship.
Had a broken heart: A couple of times. Once was her first love as a teenager, who was Harrowed at Kinloch and never came back. The second was her husband, Lethanavir (dalish elf)--their marriage was kind of shaky to begin with, but the real heartbreaker was when he died.
Been in love: With her late husband, yes.
ARE THEY
A cuddler: Not naturally, but she's not opposed to it.
Scared easily: No. She has seen Too Many Things.
Jealous easily: Extremely.
Trustworthy: Depends on what you're asking her. She is liable to make shit up just on a lark (like over exaggerating certain exploits) but for serious matters she'll tell the truth. One exception: Ginny tells people she and her husband divorced, so she doesn't have to pick at the scab of being a widower.
FAMILY
Sibling(s): Her twin brother Gil is the Inquisitor. As of Veilguard he is married to Josephine and (trying) to live his best life in Antiva.
Parents: A mother, Elodi (elf, currently a Grey Warden after the death of her husband led her to have a pretty intense midlife crisis). And her father, Charles (the aforementioned dead husband). Charles was an Orlesian noble who was disowned for marrying the elven mage hired to act as a family physician. The two went to Kinloch and through sheer luck, Elodi managed to ingratiate herself to Lady Isolde when she wanted a live-in mage for her pregnancy and liked that Elodi spoke Orlesian. Until Ginny was sent to the Circle when she was nine her home life was relatively stable, with Elodi able to leave the Circle often to work as a person physician for the Guerrins.
Children: None
Pets: None, but she would like a cat if she could take care of one.
It is always so funny to me that the most popular discourse on Anders surrounds his act of blowing up a Chantry, which I would argue is one of his more morally justifiable acts and the least interesting to discuss.
Why are we always talking about that and not, like, his obsession with Tevinter and the fact you gain approval from him when you give Fenris to Danarius. Or how when he talks to Merrill, he treats her like an ignorant little girl who has no idea how the world works. As if his view of spirits is not colored by the teachings of the Chantry. And how he (re: Justice) can kill an innocent girl in Dissent because she calls him (re: Justice AND Anders) a demon.
Like. Anders is interesting to me because in many ways he's a massive asshole, but he also serves as a martyr for the cause of free mages, and he is a healer for the people of Darktown. He's cocky and has a chip on his shoulder and is a massive hypocrite and yet he is actively trying to improve conditions for mages.
The reason I don't think the Anders discourse with Fenris is worth discussing (and tbh I reject the premise that it isn't discussed, I've absolutely seen it discussed) is because the entire scenario is so ridiculous that everyone is rendered wildly out of character.
To put it more simply: every single companion or at least most of them should have left or fought Hawke immediately upon them doing this to Fenris. Merrill would be horrified, Aveline would be horrified, Sebastian who is good friends with Fenris would be horrified. Isabela is literally in hot water in the entire game for refusing to help sell slaves! She likes Fenris enough that they can start hooking up if they're not romanced! How is does it make any sense that she allows Hawke to just do this?
(And yes, I am aware of Isabela's past with slavery; but the fact that she did that in the past is WHY she's so adamantly against slavery NOW. Which she unambiguously is. This is why she has a man trying to kill her for over half a decade.)
I just reject it because the entire thing makes no sense. If Anders is getting judged for the plus 5 approval, everyone else is getting judged for just letting it happen.
The real reason why I think it should have been Neve/Bellara and not Neve/Lucanis (tl;dr: I just think it's really funny)
Bellara is so millennial coded. The way she speaks, the quirky awkwardness, the fact she literally is writing romance fiction in her spare time.
The reason I think Neve and Bellara should have been the play is that Bellara is absolutely the girl that wrote 'auctioned off and bought by One Direction' fanfiction that she posted to wattpad. She absolutely has a self-insert oc in her favorite fandom.
So if there is any character whose romance should be 'I met my celebrity crush and it turns out I'm exactly what they want and they fell in love with me' it would be Bellara Lutare. It is just. So millennial fanfic coded. If you don't like that tone in Veilguard it's one thing but you cannot deny that if you meet the game where it's at this absolutely fits Bellara's vibe.
In Regards to the John Epler Controversy With the Dragons Age AMA/His Deactivating Social Media
Two things can be true.
A developer should not be harassed to the point that they feel the need to deactivate social media
The way Epler responds to criticism and, generally, his handing of Dragon Age, up to and including his answers in the AMA and recent interview, has been pretty shitty (at least in a large portion of peoples' eyes) and deserves to be criticized.
And even a third thing can be true:
3. Epler was deserving of some sort of backlash and criticism for some of his comments even if it is wrong to harass him to the point that he deactivates his social media.
Just my two cents, which admittedly, really doesn't count for all that much.
Thinking About How Fucking Ridiculous Celene Meeting My Inquisitor Must Be for the Poor Woman
Veilguard is coming this is just a muse blog for my ocs now you've been warned my like 5 followers.
So recap: Inquisitor Guillaume Archambeau-Trevelyan who, through my own convoluted machinations, is actually the half-elf son of a disowned Orlesian noble who was taken in by his Orlesian aunt who married the Bann of Ostwick, adopting him into the family so he would be shielded from the mage-templar war happening in Ferelden where he lived. Has a stutter. Romances Josephine.
Be Empress Celene. You are in an incredibly precarious position. Your future rests on this party you're throwing and you must now meet with the famous Inquisitor.
You meet him. He has a terrible stutter. He was raised in Ferelden and looks like it with a full beard long hair and a lumberjack aura. He's nice but seems to have no idea what the Game is nor does he care.
....he is dating the extremely hot Antivan ambassador you used to see around court. He somehow bumbles his way into finding incriminating evidence against you. He talks about how his father had given up everything to be with his mother, an elf who worked for his family, and manages to seem totally oblivious to how passive aggressive this anecdote is. He has broken into your house at several points in the night.
Despite seemingly oblivious to social graces and generally the most Fereldan Man to Ever Fereldan, he also unites Briala to support you and oust Gaspard, secures your throne, and gets you back together with your ex girlfriend.
You now owe your throne to the most lumberjack Fereldan man you have ever met.
And seriously, how the HELL did he manage to attract the hot Antivan Ambassador.
