27. She/her. 10+ year tumblr vet • disability and queer rights activist. gamer. writer. adventurer. the pitbull owning, tattoo loving, man bashing, sex positive butch stereotype your parents warned you about • TERFS NAZIS MAPS AND PRUDES DNI
the situation with harry potter is kind of unprecedented in some ways imo because it is maybe the largest media franchise in history to be created & owned by a single person who still has direct creative control over it. who is also a billionaire with significant cultural/political influence. like the usual "no ethical consumption under capitalism" type excuses shatter on impact when the bigoted author in question is logging onto twitter every day saying explicitly that when you buy the tim hortons ravenclaw donut she is using your donut money to fund the genocide of trans people. like with big franchises usually there's at least a little more diffusion of responsibility than this
My father is a classic layabout lazy bastard. He's the guy that people try to stereotype people on benefits as when they call them "dole bludgers". Sits in a filthy house all day whining that his wife won't clean it up, gets a great idea for a new business every few months and gives up after two weeks when it becomes clear that starting a business is hard, does everything he can to avoid doing a single scrap of work in life, uselessly drags his feet when the government forces him to actually do some.
Or at least, he was, until about three years ago, when he was sent off to do mandatory Work for the Dole at a volunteer organisation. He'd done a lot of Work for the Dole in the past, of course, and like most people who are forced to do a shitty job under the threat of starvation, was neither enthusiastic nor particularly useful. But in this particular place, he was given a job that he could do better than anyone else (he was one of 2 men working with a legion of elderly women, and the only person able to easily haul around the heavy goods that the organisation works with). He quickly found himself with a job he could understand, he could see the clear utility in, and that his coworkers greatly valued him for. He started arriving on time every day, putting in the effort, getting shit done. He started caring about the results. And when his Work for the Dole time was up, he kept volunteering.
He's one of two people paid to work in that warehouse now (the other person being the manager), and he's a lynchpin of activity there, their sole regular and reliable source of physical labour. When he takes holidays, they have to plan around it, because his consistent hard work has become such a critical asset to their work. And he's not taking nearly as many holidays as he should -- he works extra unpaid hours, lifts loads that are somewhat heavier than he should be lifting, shoulders the work of others when they need breaks, and we all have to urge him to take more days off for his health since he's not a young man any more. For my entire life this man has been a pile of old mud in the shape of a human, and the instant he found a job that fulfils his needs, he won't fucking stop. He's gonna die in that warehouse and die happy.
The anti-vax and anti-science propaganda is very real - and also, frankly I think doctors and nurses would've had an easier time getting people not to fall for it if they spent less time treating people like fucking shit
Characters: Inquisitor, Cullen Rutherford, Leliana, Josephine Montileyet, Cassandra Pentaghast, all inner circle mentioned, Adan and healers mentioned
Warnings: Mild violence, description of injuries.
Ship: Pre-relationship Cullen x Inquisitor x Cassandra.
“And just where are we to go, Ambassador?! Look around! We’re stranded in a blizzard in the middle of the mountains!”
“Our people need us to lead a united front, to hold strong and confident. We must not let them see weakness, Commander, you surely know this!”
“Haven is gone! She is gone! We have no where to go and no one to guide us! Our ‘people’ surely know this! They are not idiots - they don’t need us hiding the truth!”
“Or perhaps we can all just shut up and get our wits about us.”
“You always talk as though we’re children, Leliana, this argument is not for naught! We can’t form a plan if we don’t even know where we are!”
“We cannot stop because we could still be followed!”
The Inquisition’s advisors continued clawing at each other’s throats, and Cassandra stood aside, sitting on her heels with her head bowed in prayer. Mother Giselle came toward her, wrapping her shoulders in a blanket. Cassandra nodded in thanks and continued to pray silently to herself, until Leliana’s voice cut through.
“Why bother praying, Cassandra, no one is going to answer them.”
Cassandra snarled and jumped to her feet, stomping into the circle, “Now is not the time to lose faith. Justinia would not want--”
“Justinia is gone, and so is the Herald. We don’t need prayers, we need to move.”
“And go where?!”
Those listening sighed as the fight reignited. Dorian stood aside, watching with disdain, and others were around various fires, helping wounded or wallowing in their own emotions.
Then, a silhouette emerges at a short distance, unbeknownst to the four fighting around the fire, trudging their legs slowly through the thick snow. The movement catches Dorian’s eye, and he readies his staff, until he sees a faint, crackling green glow. Bright, chartreuse eyes shine stark in the firelight, from a face covered in dirt and blood.
“Shut up!” The fighting ceases as Dorian shoves in the middle, staring at the Northwest corner of camp. His voice wavers, chest heavy with shock and concern.
“Inquisitor.” All four heads snap to look back, watching her tall, strong frame slowly appear in the light. Bone sticks out of her right shin, which she is dragging behind her. Her armor is dented and the spots in between are slashed and torn, blood dripping from countless spots. Her eyes are dazed, pupils small and pointed, and blood drips from her mouth as she opens it to speak.
“Culle--”
Cullen and Cassandra rush forward, jumping over boxes as she collapses into the snow, blood staining and melting the snow around her. He wraps his mantel around her. Josephine screams for healers as the two pull her into their arms, each taking a side. Her weight falls fully on their shoulders, blood staining the thick, wool outerwear they’d changed into to bear the blizzard. Leliana steps back, motioning for her agents to clear space in a nearby makeshift tent for the Inquisitor. They follow the silent orders quickly, a healer and Adan jogging up behind them and taking bags of supplies into the tent.
Meanwhile, Cullen and Cassandra catch each other’s eyes, care, concern, fear, and relief all swirling together as they each pick up a side by the Herald’s shoulders and knees. Her head lulls against Cullen’s chest, blood smudging on his plates, eyes fluttering closed. He whispers a prayer against her temple, pressing a grateful kiss against her temple.
The three disappear into the tent with Adan and the Elven healer, setting her gingerly on the cot. The two medics get quickly to work, stripping off her armor. Cullen and Cassandra stand motionless, watching each movement closely, until a hand grabs each of their biceps. They turn to Leliana, standing in the entry flap.
“Come, let them work.”
The two reluctantly exit the tent, and Cullen collapses onto the nearest log, hands cupping his mouth and chin. Dorian walks over, placing a hand on her shoulder. Softly, so softly he likely didn’t mean to be heard, Cullen whispers,
“She’s alive.”
Dorian lets out a breath, looking up at the stars, “Yes, she apparently has a tendency for that, despite the odds.”
Cullen lets out a soft, breathless laugh, resting his elbows on his knees. Cassandra stands as close to the tent as she can without being in the way, listening hard to Adan and the healer talk in hushed whispers. She can make out little, except brief things like “this is broken too” and “she’s lost so much blood” and “how did she get this far? How did she even survive?”
Everyone waits quiet and on edge, each little noise a startle. At different points, Vivienne, Dorian, and Cole all walk into the tent, offering assistance, which is taken with grace.
After what seems like days, but is only till the stars just barely start to fade and the sky just starts to lighten, Adan emerges, a grim look on his face. Cassandra and Cullen rush him, both simultaneously asking,
“How is she?” “Please tell us she’s alive.”
“Alive, yes, at least so far. But she’s unconscious and unlikely to come to any time soon. If she does, we’d likely just knock her back out, the pain’d be so bad. ‘D never seen someone up ‘n movin’ with a body wounded as bad as this.”
The elven woman comes out behind him, piping up, “She’s stable, but she’s lost a lot of blood and is surely in immeasurable pain, or would be if she were awake. She needs all the rest she can get. For now, we should not move her, lest she become unstable.”
Her eyes met Leliana’s, last words pointed. Leliana closed her eyes and shook her head, “We can’t know if we are being followed. Perhaps we can--”
Cullen’s fist clashed with the small, makeshift table their map had been sitting on, causing it to collapse. The outburst gave everyone pause, as did his soft, but threatening tone.
“We, are not, moving.”
He breathed a heavy sigh through his nose, then tilted his head toward a nearby soldier, “Take shifts for watch. Set up cots and shelters. We are holding here until she is safe to move.” The soldier saluted and turned on his heels, marching quickly toward the various circles of soldiers and civilians.
“Giana Trevelyan risked her life to give us an escape. We are not playing fast and loose with her safety again because of this savage and his army of my corrupted comrades. There are dozens of soldiers still strong and standing here, because of her, as well as all of us. We can stand guard for her for a few days while she rests.”
With that, Cullen opened the tent flap and stepped inside, shoulders slumping and throat bobbing as he took in the sight of her pallor, mangled body. He grabbed a nearby stool and dragged it over next to the cot, removing his gloves and taking her marked hand in his. For the first time, he got a close look at the glimmering skin, shades of green flickering and swirling in her palm and fingers. It both sickened and fascinated him, and he squeezed it tight between his two hands as it crackled.
This time, he bowed his head in prayer, holding her hand against his lips and he whispered canticles against her skin.
--
The circle takes shifts. Each sit with the Herald for a couple of hours at a time.
Blackwall and Leliana sit in silence, save for the occasional soft hum of a song from Leliana when the Herald occasionally writhes or tremors with pain.
Bull sits with the Chargers, a circle on the ground around the bed, playing cards and sharing idle talk while Bull sharpens his axe at the foot of her cot.
Vivienne and Solas tend to her - Solas more focused on her anchor while Vivienne cleans her face and helps dress her wounds with new bandages and poultices.
Cole soothes her dreams - his visits are when her sleep is deepest and most calm.
Josephine cannot bear to be in the tent for more than a few moments at a time, eyes beginning to cloud when she looks too long at her battered body on the bed.
Varric reads letters from his editor and notes for his next manuscript, punctuated with commentary and bad character voices. He only hopes she’s laughing in her dreams.
Dorian kicks his feet up beside her and acts like she’s fine, sharing idle gossip, scandals from Tevinter, and unserious quips about her silence.
It is Cassandra and Cullen who stay at her side the most. The two stay with her all night, every night, trading shifts on who sits outside on guard and who stays beside her in the tent as she rests, watching closely for any sign of waking.
It is the third night, Cassandra sitting at her side, that the line of consciousness begins to blur, and she starts to truly feel. Cassandra sits with a book, only half focused on the pages when Giana’s hand twitches on the bed. The movement, though miniscule, catches her attention, and quickly it escalates. Giana’s body begins to seize, pained gasps and gargles wretched out of her throat. Nearly tipping over the table holding a small lamp, Cassandra yanks at the flaps, “Cullen, get the healer, now.”
Cullen darts off into the darkness, clamoring around makeshift shelters. Cassandra returns to Giana’s side, shushing her gently and placing her hands on her shoulders. Giana does not cease - in fact, the jarring of her body pulls at her head wounds, causing blood to start to seep out beneath the wrappings. Cassandra (though she’d heavily deny the caring, soft gesture if anyone were there to see), gently pets her hair and coos at her in sympathy, sitting on the cot and leaning over Giana’s writhing, clammy body.
Cassandra’s face is only centimeters from the Herald’s, speaking soft consolations into her ear. This is what the healer finds, rushing into the tent and immediately seeing the Herald’s pain.
“I’ve got a sedative tonic to relax her body, then I’ll redress her head. Give me a moment.” She begins digging into her bag, and Cassandra gasps as Giana thrashes harder, nearly screaming despite still being unaware.
Cassandra’s voice, a bit rusty and off tune, carries a Nevarran lullaby through the tent, soothing and melodic. The words are soft, and Cullen can only barely hear them through the canvas. After a few moments, Giana begins to still, voice finally registering even in her pain and sleep. The healer approaches with the tonic in hand, and Cassandra helps tip Giana’s head and jaw so the mixture can be poured into her mouth. Soon after swallowing, Giana’s sleep evidently deepens, and the thrashing stops completely.
Cassandra instinctively presses a soft kiss in front of Giana’s ear, the stubble of her buzzcut ticking Cassandra’s lip, and she immediately jerks away in surprise at her own actions. She turns to the healer, thankful her back was turned away, and shakes her head to focus. As the Elven woman goes to leave, Cassandra stops her.
“I…do not know your name.”
The woman smiles, tucking a long strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear, smiling and bowing slightly at Cassandra, “I am Ellandris, Seeker. Your Herald saved me at the Crossroads. I decided to offer my services back in Haven, instead of staying in the Hinterlands. I am glad I did.”
“As are we. Thank you, for helping her, I can dress her head.” Cassandra smiles and nods at the woman as she exits the tent, then turns her attention back to the Herald. Cullen peaks his head inside, eyebrows furrowed, “Is she alright?”
Cassandra nods, grabbing a washcloth and basin and gently wiping the blood from Giana’s forehead as she sleeps, voice uncharacteristically soft and sweet.
Notes: Day 2 done! This is my worldstate's take on the Haven aftermath scene. I don't think the game adequately addressed just how badly someone would be injured by a fight with a plethora of demons, an Archdemon, an ancient magister, and falling into a ravine.
In my canon, Giana suffers lots of bone breaks, internal injuries, and copious blood loss. She also fractured her back which causes long-term pain and episodic loss of limb function, even after treatment. Adan and the healer Ellandris brew her daily tonics in secret to keep her fit to serve.
Hey all! My first time posting Dragon Age fic content, but the prompts for DA kiss week really inspired me. I have my own alternative Inquisitor and canon romance.
Ship: Cullen x Inquisitor, pre-polyamorous Cullen x Inquisitor x Cassandra
Commander,
We have finally landed in the Emprise. Our men are holding well, considering all land in eyesight is covered in six inches of ice. There is an ancient fortress in the distance, cracks alight with a faint red glow. Knowing what we will find inside is not the reassurance you would think it would be.
There are signs of Samson’s presence here, but only low-level red Templar footsoldiers and slaves thus far. It is them that burns me. Their poor, gaunt bodies, covered in fabric scraps, hardly holding up against the chill and not at all hiding their mangled scars. When I find their owners, when I find those responsible…
Anyway.
We have mined a great deal of silverite and dawnstone to be carted back to Harritt. By the time I finish scouring Thedas, our forge will have more resources than we can dream of using to bolster our troops. Dagna has asked me to keep an eye out for blah blah blah blah
Do you think they’ve stopped reading by now?
Hello Taälthi.
That’s more like it. God’s Breath I wish you were here. Or I was there with you. Or we were both entangled in expensive sheets in some little seaside home in Antiva, in silence save for the sounds of the waves and our bodies.
At least Cassandra is here. She still freezes when we wake up in one another’s arms, but at least now, she doesn’t hit me when I refuse to let her go. She says I’m quite the warm bedmate. What she doesn’t know is it is because she steals all my blankets and curls up into a damn cocoon of fur and linen. I have to peel it open like an onion and sneak in before she notices. I want to give her grief for it, but she’s cute when she traps me in her limbs like some weird tentacle sea creature.
I love Dorian, but Andraste’s dear ass if he doesn’t shut up about the damn weather, one of us is going to die. He’s a fire mage for fuck’s sake! He started complaining about walking on the lake to traverse between sites, about how he could “feel the ice seeping through and freezing his beautiful feet”. Who the fuck has beautiful feet??? Cassandra apparently heard me say to myself I was gonna keep my foot warm by shoving it up his ass and snorted so hard she slipped on the ice, so. At least she’s having fun.
Bull saw all the dawnstone we’ve been harvesting and got that look in his eye. I’m gonna give him a greataxe made of it for Satinalia next month. It’ll be pink and have a dragon-slaying rune. He’ll be thrilled.
Speaking of Satinalia, what do you want? When you’re in love with one of the most affluent women in Thedas, whatever you want is yours. Sera says I’m your sugar mama and that “he’s like your trophy wife, but a man”. When I told her that’s just a husband, she said it wasn’t the same.
All I want is a day alone with you. No asskissing or bureaucracy or jesting friends (no matter how much I do love them). I want a warm fire, a full food tray, and thick furs on the bed. And maybe a little mistletoe, though I certainly don’t need any pushing to press my lips to any available skin of yours.
May time speed by before I see you again. I can hardly bear this world where we are so constantly connected through only ink and parchment.
Aej leuthahn tu dørn. I love you madly. ♡
-Giana Trevelyan-Trovensostra
Giana folds the parchment into thirds and slips it into the envelope. She grabs the lip stain she keeps inside her bag for these little moments, painting her mouth before pressing a kiss to the inside of the envelope’s flap, the mauve-red mark only visible to whoever opens it. She sets down the flap then drops the dark green wax and presses her insignia down into it quickly before it hardens in the frigid air.
The sounds of soldiers establishing camp rings out around her - the clangs of weapons and shields and idle talk garbled by the wind. She stands from the small table and slips the letter into a stack of paperwork being delivered back to Skyhold in the morning. Then, before anyone notices the staining, she pulls out a dark cloth and wipes the tint from her lips - a sigil privy only to him. And makes her way to her friends around the fire.
getting fixated on something is funny because the first like week i have an insatiable need to tell everyone i know about it and spread the good word but by weeks 2 and 3 it becomes so intense and personal that even hearing it mentioned in public makes me sweat as if a dark secret was alluded to
Jon Bernthal willingly uses his platform to lend a voice to abusers of women, push the zionist propaganda that Palestine were equal oppressors, and be an egregious cop bootlicker that openly praised cops wearing the Punisher skull.
Triple threat of dogshittery but this app babies and protects him to death and acts like none of these are verifiable from his own fucking social media and podcast 🥴
There is really something strange about how female celebrities that show their true colors like Sydney Sweeney gets easily lambasted but their equally gross male celebrity counterparts that are unapologetic with their dogshit stances like Bernthal is given endless grace and protected. Why not keep the same energy? Wonder why.
interesting phenomenon when the internet says to you that a masc straight female character is """""subversive""""" because she "breaks stereotypes about queer women" so you ask them to please name 3 canonically butch lesbian fictional characters right now and everyone comes out of the woodwork to name one william female characters who are neither canonically butch nor canonically lesbians. and they think they're proving something to you.
"YOU'RE stereotyping her just for being a butch romantic who yearns for the ideal love–" like okay name ONE lesbian butch in video games, especially medieval/fantasy gaming.
Also I'm sorry that Cassandra Pentaghast's storyline presents the PERFECT later-in-life queer awakening, if the authors had hired one lesbian writer for her it'd have been one of the most iconic queer character lines in gaming history.
