errantgoat replied to your photo “Behold, a friendly, chirrupy Bastard Man who was hiding somewhere and...”
ah, that's just a cat thing. all cats know how to enter their own pocket dimension for a short time x'D
Oh, I know. Just never had one do their little pocket dimension vanishing act on me before, and he belongs to a friend of my aunt’s, so I didn’t wanna have to be like “Yeah, sooo I lost your friend’s cat while I was staying with Grandma for you this weekend :D”. (Also I got so laser-focused on my inability to find him--even though I knew he had to be here SOMEWHERE--I couldn’t concentrate on anything else til he showed back up xD)
errantgoat replied to your post “I need to give that last Steven Universe episode a rewatch because...”
ehehe, people just want to slap moral judgment on everything, I suppose. I think it was a cool plot-twist, a theory that got confirmed, and we can at least get some real explanations and get to the plot? (whenever that happens, SU is really bad at that :P)
Okay, just rewatched and confirmed that I like where this is going. Or where everything comes from xD
I don’t know what that theory was but I can see where they might have gotten clues from. The sad part is we’re going to have to wait until things actually unfold, SU takes things very slow. Usually lol.
Anyways, to me this is like the end of a villain’s redemption arc but we only saw what happened afterwards. I mean, she was a bad guy, noticed things were wrong and turned against her own kin to change it. I can see why people are angry, though, but I think that’s because a lot of people look at Rose the same way the Crystal Gems do: through admiration, devotion. But we’ve seen she’s far from perfect, she can be brutal and make grave mistakes.
So, I agree this is a cool twist xD
Here it is! My long-awaited submission to the @santa-age Dragon Age Secret Santa! This gift is for @errantgoat! She asked for something fluffy or bittersweet from the past of her Warden, Harvey Cousland! I hope this fits the bill! Hopefully I wasn’t too off on the characterization!
(Also it’s a bit lengthy so most of it is under the cut!)
Title: Frida
Rating: General
Warnings: None
Harvey was a born wanderer. That was what Fergus thought, anyways. He had always been a solitary soul. Ever since he was a young boy, he was never happier than when he was alone on the coast. Their father called it “strange” and “irresponsible,” but their mother insisted he just had an adventurous spirit.
When he wasn’t roaming the teyrnier, he could usually be found pouring over maps in the castle library, making notations or just envisioning faraway places. That was where Fergus found him now.
He cleared his throat, as not to startle his brother. Harvey still jumped, wheeling to face him. He relaxed considerably when he saw Fergus.
It was easy to see where the rumors about his parentage came from. While Fergus looked like a younger copy of their father, Harvey looked nothing like the Teyrn; he had a long face, hawkish nose, and wild dark hair. The only thing that marked him as a Cousland was his eyes – verdant green, just like Eleanor’s.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Fergus said. “I was just on my way to look at Lorna’s pups. I thought you might like to join me.”
Harvey’s face fell. He looked downright miserable. While a litter of mabari pups was always cause for good cheer, these pups served as a painful reminder to Harvey. He had loved Lorna, their father’s faithful hound, as if she was his own. He had known the stately dog all his life. She had practically been his nursemaid. She had doted on Harvey almost as much as his own mother had.
She wasn’t supposed to breed – she was too old. But one night she had escaped, and had returned pregnant. Their father had been furious, and that fury turned to grief when the strain of the birth had been more than the aging mabari could take. She had taken her last breath as her pups had taken their first.
Harvey had been even more devastated than their father. His anguish was compounded by guilt – he couldn’t remember if he had securely latched her crate the night she escaped. Their mother had assured Harvey that Bryce didn’t blame him, but the icy looks the Teyrn had directed at his younger son made that difficult to believe. The youngest Cousland had tried to take responsibility by vowing to care for the pups, but Bryce was having none of it. He refused to entrust such valuable commodities to his wayward son. Instead, the puppies had been handed off to the kennel master.
Still, it was clear that Harvey felt some duty to the pups. Despite his obvious discomfort, he nodded. “Alright.”
The puppies were so young they could barely be classified as dogs. They looked more like exceptionally fuzzy potatoes. Their eyes were barely open, and they were capable of little more than toddling about.
The kennel master insisted that the pair make themselves useful. He handed each a bottle and shoved them towards the whining balls of fur. Hesitantly, Harvey picked up a mewling pup. It was surprisingly warm, and squirmed in his arm. He offered the bottle and the pup was quick to latch on. It fed eagerly, and Harvey marveled at the tiny creature in his grasp. It was hard to imagine that this small lump of fluff would eventually grow into a fearsome war dog. Certainly, the puppies were too small to fill the gaping hole Lorna had left in his heart, but perhaps they could soothe the ache a bit.
After feeding for a few more minutes, the pup in his arms yawned and shifted. Soon, it was fast asleep. Though Fergus had already moved on to the next puppy, Harvey couldn’t bring himself to put the snoozing dog down. He cradled it and stroked its head while Fergus attended to the other two pups. He only relinquished his burden when the kennel master came to shoo them away.
After that day, Harvey became a fixture of the kennels. He materialized on the daily to attend to the needs of the litter. At first there was little for him to do other than bottle-feed the pups, sweep out their pen, and the entertain them with bits of string and sticks. The labor was menial, but Harvey took it seriously. While he still mourned the loss of their mother, he carried a certain fondness for the young mabari, and it came as a huge blow when one of the females succumbed to an illness that winter. He hid any tears he may have shed, but everyone could tell how deeply the death affected him. For the first time in more than a month, he disappeared on one of his solo journeys to the coast. Fergus had worried after him, but within days Harvey had returned and resumed his duties at the kennel, as resolute as ever.
As the remaining three pups grew, Harvey spent more and more time with them. He brushed their fur, bathed them, and helped to teach them rudimentary commands. They were quick learners, and were soon ready to move beyond simple tasks like “sit” and “stay”. From there the kennel master took over. He insisted that the training of such noble beasts was too important to be left in the hands of some snot-nosed son-of-a-noble, but allowed Harvey to watch their sessions. After all, the stern-looking boy was nothing if not dedicated.
Harvey was diligent about attending training. He would watch from the sidelines as the pups chased clay pigeons or practiced charging at armored dummies. They had grown to more than half their full size, but still retained their puppy-ish clumsiness. As often as not, exercises ended with one or another toppling head over heels and landing in a heap. Harvey did his best not to snicker while the kennel master threw up his hands in exasperation.Under the tutelage of the kennel master, though, the pups slowly learned the arts of hunting, tracking, guarding, and battling. Harvey with sometimes charged with shouting orders, giving rewards, or even acting as bait. By that point the dogs recognized him and would crowd around him, vying for treats or head scratches.
The older the puppies got, the more distinct they became. None yet had a name – those would be for their eventual masters to choose – and all were the same mottled brown color, but their unique personalities shone through, making them easily distinguishable. To Harvey’s disappointment, none were much like their matronly mother, who had been wise and dignified. But they were young yet, the kennel master assured him, and may come around.
One of the males was a cautious, watchful dog, always the last to join in games and play fights. He frequently balked at the sound of clashing steel, and was cursed for it by the kennel master. His wariness of strangers, however, made him an excellent guard dog. The other was something of a showboat. He reveled in displaying his talents and the praise he garnered for it. After completing an exercise, he would prance around the field, giving them a chance to admire him. He was a skilled hunter and tracker, but his constant quest was approval was tiresome.
The female was the most vexing of the three. She was mischievous, rambunctious, and particularly slobbery (or so Harvey thought). While she was fiercely protective of her siblings, she would also lead them into trouble. Unfortunately, Harvey noted, she also seemed quite fond of him. Every day she greeted him by jumping up and licking his face until she was shoved off. Whenever he was near the kennel, she would follow him around like a particularly noisy shadow, shoving her wet nose into whatever he happened to be doing. Sometimes, during hunting lessons, she would bring her catch to Harvey rather than the kennel master. She would be scolded by both men, but it never seemed to curb the behavior.
Bryce Cousland disapproved of the time his son spent with the dogs. The fact that Harvey would neglect classes or important meetings to attend to the puppies was a source of endless frustration, and he often complained when Harvey showed up to dinner smelling of mabari. The term “dog-lord,” he mused, had never been so appropriate. Eleanor, ever the buffer between the two, defended Harvey. It was good for the boy to take on such responsibilities. Besides, he was spending more time within the castle walls rather than traipsing about in the wilderness. Bryce begrudgingly agreed, but never missed an opportunity to lecture Harvey about spending more time on his studies and less time playing with the hounds. Harvey was unfazed. His father had never approved of anything he did, and he didn’t expect him to start now. Especially with the loss of his own companion still festering.
Harvey wasn’t sure when the trouble started, but it came to a head while he lay curled up in his bed late one night. He had been sleeping soundly when he was awakened by a scratching at his door. At first, he thought the sound was the remnant of a dream, but then it came again, this time louder and more demanding. Harvey sat up, torn between fear and annoyance. This was how men died in all the old ghost stories, he lamented.
He lay completely still, barely breathing, for several minutes, hoping that whatever ghoul was lurking at his door would give up and move on. But it was insistent, and the scratching was joined by soft, plaintive cries. It was clear that he would get no peace that night. What was worse, he was growing concerned that the racket would wake his parents. He decided he feared his father’s admonishments more than ghosts.
Rallying his courage, he slid out of bed and grabbed a sword from the corner of the room. Slowly, quietly, he crept towards the door. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he swung it open.
He didn’t have time to register what was happening before he was hit with a hundred pounds of smelly, slobbery, mabari. He stumbled back and threw up his arms to shield himself, but it was too late. The dog had its tongue all over his face, stubby little tail wagging at record speed.
“Gah!” he gasped, pushing the beast away from him. Undeterred, the mabari continued wagging its tail and gazed at him affectionately as he wiped the drool from his face. He instantly recognized the soft, brown eyes and expressive features.
“What are you doing here?” He hissed. “How did you get out of the kennel?!”
The young female just panted at him. He thought she looked pleased.
“You can’t be here!” He insisted, “We’ll both be in trouble if someone finds you here!”
She yawned, unimpressed by the prospect.
Harvey groaned. “Why are you even here?”
At this, the mabari yipped excitedly and pushed past him to jump up on his bed. She circled several times before settling at the foot of the bed and resting her head in her paws.
Harvey stood there mutely, mouth agape. “Oh no!” He spluttered when his mind finally caught up with him. “You are not staying here. No way. This is my room, not yours. You have a perfectly nice kennel to sleep in.”
The mabari whined upon hearing this, but Harvey would not be swayed by the dog’s hurt expression.“Don’t give me that look! Come on, I’m taking you back to where you belong.”
The dog whimpered again and lingered on the bed. Agitated, Harvey affected his most authoritative tone and commanded, “Come!”
Finally, the dog slunk off the bed, head and tail drooping. Harvey couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty, but he stood his ground. “Maybe your master will let you sleep on their bed, but you can’t sleep on mine,” He tried to explain, until he realized he was reasoning with a dog. “Ugh. Let’s just get you back to the kennel.”
The dog dragged her feet the whole way, but Harvey was eventually able to coax her back into the dog kennel and into her enclosure. She cried sadly as he turned to leave, and attempted to follow.“No! Stay!” He instructed. She complied, but continued to whine. When he closed the door behind him she let out a mournful howl. Not wanting to be discovered, Harvey sprinted out of the kennel and all the way back to his bedroom.
The next day he told the kennel master to double check the latches on all the dogs’ pens.
He hoped that would be the end of it, but Harvey had never been that lucky. The next night the mabari was back for a repeat performance. Once again, he escorted the dog back to the kennels. Undaunted, she returned the next night. And the next. And the next. Soon it was a nightly ritual. For more than two weeks he would wake in the small hours of the morning to the dog pawing at his door. And every night he would drag her back to her own pen.
He was at his wits end. The kennel master, baffled by the young noble’s sudden intense interest in the security of the enclosures, assured him that all the locks and latches were in good working order. She shouldn’t have been able to escape at all! Ignoring or berating the offending mongrel only made her more determined to curry favor with him – a struggle he could sympathize with. He even stopped visiting the hounds altogether, hoping she might redirect her attention. Nothing seemed to work. He had done everything he could think of short of telling someone or leaving her until morning to be discovered. He couldn’t help but think that he had somehow brought this on himself. He didn’t want this father to know that he had somehow psychologically damaged one of Highever’s prized war hounds. As silly as it was, he also didn’t want the dog to be punished.
The midnight disturbances were taking a toll on him, though. He was tired and irritable during the day, and was repeatedly caught nodding off during meals and lectures. The dark circles under his eyes were becoming more and more pronounced. When someone, usually his mother or Fergus, asked him what was wrong, he would simply say he hadn’t slept well. It wasn’t exactly a lie.
That night had started like any other: with a scratching at his door. Harvey groaned into his pillow, cursing anyone he could think of – himself, the dog, the Maker. His body felt like lead, but he dragged himself to the door and yanked it open to glower at the mabari. She merely wagged her tail in greeting and dropped something at his feet. A gift. He sighed and knelt to pick it up, only realizing what he was doing when his hand wrapped around damp, matted fur.
“Ack!” He spat in surprise, dropping the item – a dead rat. A large one. Lips curled in distaste, Harvey picked the mangled creature up by the tail and held it at a distance. The dog wagged her tail.
“I don’t want this,” He told her, sternly. “This is disgusting. I’m not impressed.”
The mabari’s tail slowed to a stop, and she made a dejected sound.
Harvey sighed and dragged his free hand over his face. This couldn’t be happening. “Where did you even get this?” He grumbled. “Alright, come on. You know what comes next.” The mabari’s ears dropped, but she followed Harvey reluctantly out of the room.
Castle Cousland was eerie at night, with its ancient stone walls and creaky wooden fittings. Fergus had always delighted in spinning ghastly ghost stories set within the castle’s walls. Harvey was well past being scared, though. He was tired, annoyed, and could by now navigate the path between his room and the kennels on even the blackest night.
He paid no mind to the scuttling when it started, either because he was too tired to notice or too tired to care. The sound did not escape his keen-eared companion, however. She halted and sniffed the air.
“Oh, stop stalling,” Harvey said when he noticed she had stopped. He had grown used to her theatrics. He made to keep walking, an unspoken threat to leave her behind, when something scrabbled over his bare feet.
From there, the gates of the Black City burst open. Harvey gasped and stumbled backwards, flinging the dead rat he was carrying into the darkness in his surprise. The mabari took off after the offending critter – an even larger rat – barking wildly. The rat snarled and hissed in return. The ruckus was more than enough to rouse those sleeping in adjacent rooms. Torchlight flooded from cracks under doors to other suites. Harvey bolted after the dog to hush her, but it was too late. A door swung open, and the color drained from Harvey’s face.
It was his father.
“What in the Maker’s name is going on out here?” Bryce Cousland demanded.
Everyone froze. Harvey had a hand on the scruff of the dog’s neck, and what remained of an enormous rat dangled from her jaws. For a moment, nobody knew what to say.
Finally, Bryce broke the silence. “Is that a mabari?” He asked harshly. “Is this the racket I’ve been hearing every night? Is this why you’ve been practically falling asleep with your face in your breakfast?”
“It’s not my fault! I can explain!” Harvey exclaimed.
“Then by all means! Explain why you felt it necessary to sneak a mabari out of the kennels and gallivant about doing Maker-knows-what with it before the crack of dawn!”
“I didn’t!” Harvey’s heart sank. How did he explain this? He knew the truth hardly sounded believable. “She just keeps showing up! I don’t know how, but she gets out of her pen and comes to my door! I can’t get her to stop!”
Bryce scoffed. “Do you really expect me to believe that, boy? Don’t lie to me, Harvey!”
With Bryce’s voice rising, the dog chose that moment to interject, pulling back her lips and growling at the Teyrn. She stepped protectively in front of Harvey as she did so.
The older man’s eyes snapped to the dog.
“She didn’t mean it!” Harvey said quickly, trying to shove the mabari back behind him. She could be a nuisance, to be sure, but he didn’t want her to be treated harshly. He was sure threatening the Teyrn would not be received well.
Bryce looked from the dog, to Harvey, then back to the dog. “Come with me,” He said finally. His tone was calm, but that did little to put Harvey at ease. “And bring the dog,” He added.
Harvey exchanged glances with the mabari. They had little choice but to follow.
Bryce led them to his study, where he lit a few torches and took a seat behind his desk. “Sit,” He instructed, indicating a chair across the table from him.
Harvey sat. The dog came to stand next to him, still eyeing Bryce suspiciously. “Sit,” Harvey parroted the command at the dog. She sat.
Bryce studied his son, and Harvey shifted uncomfortably. “Tell me Harvey,” he started, “What do you remember from Aldous’ lectures about mabari?”
“Mabari are the pride of Ferelden,” Harvey answered automatically. “They were bred by the Formari to be smarter than other dogs. They’re said to be able to understand human speech, though they’re incapable of speaking themselves. They’re powerful, intelligent, and loyal. Fereldens keep them as hunters, guard dogs, companions, and war hounds. Mabari charges are an essential part of Ferelden military strategy.”
“Very good,” Bryce said, taking Harvey by surprise – praise from his father came about as often as the Blights! “Now, do you remember the part about imprinting?”
Harvey faltered, suddenly aware of where this was going and not wanting to believe it. “Mabari choose their masters. Most mabari will bond with one person and serve them for the rest of their life. The process is called imprinting. But I hardly see how that applies –”
“Precisely,” Bryce interrupted. He fixed Harvey with a serious stare. Harvey stared back, swallowing hard.
“Understand, I don’t say this lightly, Harvey. This dog,” He gestured to the mabari waiting attentively at Harvey’s side, “Is yours.”
“Father, you don’t have to –” Harvey started, but was cut off again.
“This is not my decision,” Bryce reminded him. “Nor is it yours. A man doesn’t choose his mabari – his mabari chooses him. This dog chose you.” Harvey opened his mouth to protest, but his father continued, “This is not a gift. At least, not from me. Mabari only bond with the worthy. A mabari’s respect is a mark of honor. Clearly, this dog sees something special in you. That is not something to be taken lightly. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” Harvey responded. In truth, he was conflicted. Of course, every Ferelden child dreamed of being partnered with a faithful mabari, but this was not at all how he imagined it happening. What was more, he had difficulty imagining himself partnered with this particular mabari for life. She was nothing like Lorna, and nothing like him. But it seemed he had no choice.
The mabari in question, on the other hand, looked as happy as she ever had. While she remained seated where Harvey had ordered, she wagged her tail and shoved her face into Harvey’s lap. From there she gazed up at him affectionately. Harvey reluctantly patted her head.
“Owning a mabari is also a large responsibility,” Bryce continued. “From now on the care of this dog will fall to you alone. It is your duty to feed her, clean up after her, and teach her. She still has much to learn. You are her master and she will look to you in all things. But more than that, the two of you are partners. You will care for each other. You will rely on each other. This, too, should not be taken lightly.”
Harvey nodded, considering the face in his lap. While it wasn’t ideal, he was determined to make it work, he decided. He would show his father, and the entire castle, that he was deserving of such an honor. He wouldn’t fail this dog as he had failed Lorna. “I understand,” He said resolutely. “I won’t let you down. Either of you.”
“Good,” Bryce said, then paused. He looked awkward. “Look, son, I know I can be hard on you at times but tonight, well… I’m proud of you.”
Harvey was at a loss. He wasn’t sure if he was more shocked that his father was proud of him, or that he had actually called him “son”. He was unsure how to respond to either. All he could manage was a quiet “Thank you.” He hoped his father couldn’t hear the lump forming in the back of his throat.
Bryce seemed equally uncomfortable with the display of affection. They sat in awkward silence for a long moment, before the Teyrn cleared his throat. “Yes, well…. You’re dismissed. Go back to bed. And take care of those maker-damned rats on your way.”
“Thank you,” Harvey repeated. He pushed the dog’s head off his lap and got to his feet. She looked at him expectantly. “Come on then,” he said, stifling a sigh. “Looks like you got what you wanted all along.”
The mabari barked happily and leapt up to bounce after Harvey.
“One more thing,” Bryce called after the pair. “A mabari needs a proper name.”
Harvey stopped and considered his dog thoughtfully. He considered her spunk, her mischievousness, her stubbornness. She could be a pest, but she made her dedication and unflagging optimism known. He placed a hand on the mabari’s head and peered into her eyes, willing her to understand him. “Frida,” he declared. “Her name is Frida.”
errantgoat replied to your post: Anyone managed to identify which vampire clan each...
i think matt’s might have been Lasombra= no reflection, and Liam’s = Nosferatu, because of the weird/monstrous appearance? But other than that i don’t know either
I’ve never met Lasombra (or don’t remember anyway), but I think you are right. Thought Liam must be a Nosferatu too! Marisha was a Gangrel, I think? Sam is probably a Toreador. Laura may be a Malkavian, because she can go invisible, but she kind of seems too sane. Don’t know about Travis, could he be a Ventrue? TBH I can’t remember what powers he demonstrated, other than the power of shirtlessness XD
errantgoat replied to your post: I’m just gonna say, that batle royale with Percy,...
i seriously thought keyleth was going to win - forgot shape change was concentration :’D also TARY was so good? (Grog for the mvp though)
Ohhh yeah, me too! She did turn into a freaking dragon, I didn’t think she’d go for anything else to be honest xD BUT YOU NEVER KNOW AND IT WAS AWESOME. Definitely, Grog was amazing, and Tary has a looot of cool shit. Both Sam and Travis are great at D&D... Can’t wait for Travis to play a smart character. Also, the cards! I was so excited to see if Grog would use them and omg xD
What a rollercoaster of emotions!
@errantgoat and my reply under the cut cause spoilers for saga #42
errantgoat replied to your post: Saga #42 spoilers under the cut because I need to...
i’m so disappointed in this series, it started out so good, but now it’s excess of form over substance, killing off or leaving characters behind because they serve no purpose anymore/for shock value? other twists seem so unnecessary like marrying off Gwendolyn to a random woman we never saw before, making the Will fat. I mean I don’t get a violent reaction over animal death, but that made me roll my eyes. Unnecessary. Look so drama, so
I think the story is stil quite interesting but honestly, when it keeps getting “edgy” and death is everywhere, your readers will end up feeling numb about death. The day Marko or Alana die I will care, but I won’t feel as strongly as I should, I just know it because they’re making me not feel like it doesn’t matter, there’s no hope or way to scape, they’re all gonna die so whatever, okay, bye.
Still very bitter about Sweet Boy’s dying just like that, but oh well, all of them had. Even Izabel died a bit out of the blue and just because. IDEK.
Anyways, Gwendolyn’s wife wasn’t quite the surprise, I think it’s the character that shows up when Gwen gets high in that planet where Sophie almost kills The Will, remember? She sees the person she lost her virginity with and I think it was that unicorn woman. BUT if it wasn’t her, I wouldn’t be surprised xD That doesn’t bother me that much, people met other people and get married and shit, this comic goes at a very fast pace... maybe that’s why everyone dies like they do, the pace is so fast we can’t take more than a page to mourn for them, things keep happening and we can’t grieve.
Meh, I’ll keep reeding like a bitter fan until it fucks up so badly I can’t bear it and regret buying the spanish volumes :___D At least I know I’m not alone with my bitterness lol.
errantgoat replied to your post: SOLAS YOU SONOFACACTUS. DAMN YOUR NICHOLAS CAGE...
i’m genuinely impressed you managed to avoid solas-centric spoilers :’D
Thanks to Xkit tbh and you guys using the tags properly, bless. And muting a lot of mutuals back in the day until it was safe xD Now I can turn off the blacklist almost entirely! It is over now!
