#for malcolm

[ageofdragon]

Royal Hawkes AU Things (that I really need to continue writing, I only have a page of the actual story typed)

leandra as viscount

gamlen Actually a respectable adventurer...w/ a gambling problem (still)

a mabari mutt named IGNATIUS

Grumpy Gold Crowned Prince Carver

twins bonding in kirkwall

double the twins (twin boys: niul and everett, younger twins: carver and bethany)

also middle sister, Malcolm and Leandra Can Get

Malcolm ALIVE

AND RAISING HIS MAGE GIRLS

no (annoying and offensive to my senses) de launcets because leandra political married guillaume

varric’s got friends in High Places

the sheer amount of drama and gossip

i’m not kidding, it’s wild. leandra got herself into trouble: she has literal mage children she has a political marriage, she has 5 bastards by a mage, and the entirety of kirkwall breathing down her neck plus meredith.

purple/red hawke and diplo hawke twins

lord anders of kirkwall...I mean not really but the sentiment is touched on

King Incognito Trope Hawke Hanging in the Hanged Man, also is seduced by our lovely pirate queen isabela

bethany gets a happy ending for once and her prince/princess charming (still undecided, probably not sebastian if we keep the inquisition plot/ending for him)

did I mention respectable gamlen, like GASP he is supportive and not as slimy. I mean he is gamlen, just not as resentful and skeevy.

not an actual part of the story, but I have grandparent one offs. as in the amell’s are actually all together for a time

including charade, even though she still is an unknown until later in gamlen’s life

[ofsaviours]

𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗈𝗎𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋; 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗅𝖾. 𝖨𝖿 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖬𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗎𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾.

𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗆, 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 (𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗉𝗂𝖽) 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽; 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾, 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖾𝗅𝗒. 𝖧𝖾'𝖽 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗆 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌, 𝗀𝖺𝗎𝗓𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗆 𝗈𝗋 𝖬𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗆 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍.

“𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐-” 𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉, 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗇. “𝖮𝗎𝗋 𝖫𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖨'𝗆 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋.” 𝖧𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖽, 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗌. 𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗎𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁; 𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐. 𝖧𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖬𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈 𝖽𝗈𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋. “𝖡𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌, 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖨 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍? 𝖦𝗈𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆.”

[thesummerking]

i've been going through the letters almost offhandedly. the edges of the wound held together by ignoring it, and it was draining. looking directly at grief is ridiculous, it'll take your head in it's hands and bang your shit around so violently that begging for mercy becomes just some other thing you do. and all it's really doing, besides holding your face to the fire and ripping your heart out, is this: he died, is totally gone. he loved you, in whatever way he did. you loved him and that was beautiful. he's gone now, in the form that you knew him in. it was all a gift, his life was lived and it was a gift. it was like thunder rolling in on a softening, electric summer dusk.

it SORT OF gets better but real slow. like, in spirals. one day you'll be like I'M FINE then the next day you will not be. you really won't! but it becomes less STRIDENTLY HORRIBLY UNCOMFORTABLE.

i'm back now when he was a little over a year old. when you said what you did to me, took my face in your hands and pulled me in for a kiss, my head to yours, i knew exactly what you meant, and was surprised and deeply delighted by it. you had given shape to what was true. you said it and that was that. your gentle blue gaze—you said it matter of factly, without inflection and like anything true and holy, it just went right down into some of the hidden abysses, sober. ragged. the surrounds came into overwhelming focus. here we are. snow fell around us. i remained silent for a long time, listening to something behind your words. you said: i see it. all of it. your life and your death. it was winter. a tremendous force can be raised by just standing in love, no consolation, no empty edifying justifications. there's no warning. let's survive tonight (this strange form of life), and the next one. when you love someone, they know survival skills, this is what we have and what we have to work with, and they know how to surrender, they know how to look. 

the next morning we made hot chocolate. i lay on the bed, malcolm next to me kicking a little in his dreams half awake and very aware of us both. we were watching small animals outside make tracks through the new ground cover, and mt regan emerging from shadow. from that moment on (and believe me, i marked it) there was no easy way, i mean without consequences, to abstract anything. or not trust my life. i mean, powerful initiatory experiences etc whatever assholes, but i know a few things.