#victeum

[royalchemy]

that one time i made samar in an elven style dollmaker & it was great

[polubog]

[polubog]

                      Spiders. Always the Maker damned spiders.

        He can’t------ he can’t remember much else after that. Just the final glimpse of Stroud, of the Inquisitor and their companions, and then the hulking Nightmare before him with oozing mandibles, too many eyes, and too many legs. He remembers, vaguely, fighting with everything he had left in him. He remembers a painful blow to the head. He remembers his life flashing before his eyes.

        Father dying Lothering destroyed Bethany slaughtered Carver taken away or else he would die too Mother murdered------

        Varric, Aveline, Isabela, Merrill, Sebastian, Anders, Fenris--- oh, Fenris, I’m so sorry, my love.

        At least everything went black quickly so he didn’t have time to dwell on any of it. Garrett Hawke never imagined his death to be quick and painless, and by no means was it painless, but he did not last long enough to feel much of it.

        Ah, this is what dying feels like.

        Dark, silent, peaceful.

        A little cold, certainly, but he thinks he feels familiar, comforting arms around him, warming him. The smell of his mother. The smell of their home in Lothering.

                                        “It’s not your time yet.”

        His eyes snap open and the light practically blinds him. Garrett is having trouble breathing, each inhale making him ache and ache and ache. Both eyes squeeze shut tight, and the air of whatever room he’s in is too cold. The blanket over him is thick and heavy but it doesn’t chase away the chill.

        Maker, he’s going to be sick.

        When he turns to lean over the edge of the bed he’s vaguely aware of another presence in the room. A petite elf woman, most likely a doctor, who springs to her feet to bring him a pail for him to empty the little contents of his stomach into. She’s saying-- something, but he can’t process it. The fog in his brain is too heavy, he can hardly even process his surroundings. Just a room with stone walls, and it’s cold. Skyhold? It can’t be. Does this mean he’s still alive? Somehow, somehow...

        It all goes black again. He sleeps; he sleeps for three more days and it’s the gnawing hunger in his belly and the desperate need to relieve himself that finally makes him stir. When he’s helped to his feet, he doesn’t speak, doesn’t protest when given further assistance. They try to give him food after, just a bit of bread first to test if his stomach could handle anything. He manages two bites and swallows his weight in water before he sleeps again.

        “Where’s Varric?” Is the first thing he finally says when he wakes a day later, while he’s managing a small meal he was given. His voice is rough and hoarse from lack of use. The two doctors overseeing him tell him Varric is still in Skyhold, for the time being, as there’s still work to be done, but he has been visiting frequently-- Garrett has just been unconscious all those times.

        “Where’s Fenris?” Is what he says next. The two doctors share a look, one that Garrett can’t figure out the meaning of. Today, he’s finally taken notice to his weakened vision in his left eye, and could feel raised scar tissue when he lifted a hand to assess the damage.

        They tell him that they aren’t sure, that Garrett had been thought dead for over a month until a Dalish clan found him half-dead on a riverside at the base of the mountain a week ago. They had carried him up to Skyhold thinking he was one of their own. They told him that Fenris had stormed the stronghold weeks beforehand with sword drawn, demanding answers. Apparently only Varric was able to get Fenris to stand down. They hadn’t seen him since.

        Garrett says nothing else, just nods. He spends the rest of the day drifting in and out of sleep, plagued by visions of the Nightmare, of his family dying one by one and sometimes, even of his companions meeting brutal ends.

        For the next few days he works on regaining his strength, doctors helping him walk the battlements and the gardens until he thinks he can properly work his legs again. Varric comes to see him and walks with him many times and he’s glad for it, but there’s still someone missing. And Garrett wants to see him, hopes that he’s still somewhere, that he hasn’t done something stupid because he thought Garrett was gone for good------

                        ( I can’t bear the thought of living without you. )

        His thoughts are going down a much darker path. Garrett wants to vomit. The only thing that finally allows him to relax is Varric informing him he’s written to Fenris again, and if Fenris is still out there, then he’ll be breaking down the gates of Skyhold once again to see him in no time.

        Garrett can only sit, and wait, and hope. He’s never been a very religious man, but he finds himself praying more than he ever has before.

        And he sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps.

@vilaap.

[polubog]

im. dying

[polubog]

        Sunlight spills in through the windows, too bright, too invasive. It shines right into his eyes and Garrett grumbles, burrowing his face into his pillow. Did he really forget to draw the curtains last night? Christ, the last thing he wanted was the whole damn city looking into his bedroom, second floor or not, but he can’t bring himself to move to fix the problem.

        Through his exhausted haze, he registers the presence of someone beside him, and also the fact he’s very much naked beneath the blanket. Garrett rolls onto his back, eyes cracking open, then everything from last night comes flooding back to him.

         He’s genuinely surprised Fenris is still here. This is their-- what? Sixth time hooking up? And the first five times the guy was gone before Garrett ever woke up. He can’t say it isn’t at least a little upsetting when it happens. One rule he tries to keep with hook-ups is to not catch feelings, and he’s failing spectacularly at that with this one particular guy.

        Because every time that gorgeous fucking barista from the café a few blocks away walks into his bar it’s like he’s falling head over heels all over again and he’s already drunkenly cried about it to Isabela, who is probably sick of trying to console the weepy disaster that is sloshed Garrett Hawke.

        Garrett stares at the back of Fenris’ head, travels down to his shoulders where he can see marks left by his own mouth on his skin. Fenris’ side rises and falls with each slow, steady breath. Garrett blinks, lips pressing into a thin line, and furrows his brow.

        Then he throws all caution to the wind and rolls all the way over, slinging an arm and a leg over Fenris.

        “‘Morning,” he mumbles into white hair. “Finally decided to stick around?”

@vilaap.

[polubog]

♡

party banter meme / selectively accepting / @victeum.

Pre-romance.

Hawke: When have you last cleaned your mansion? The smell is starting to follow you.Fenris: Flattering as ever, Hawke. The mess is a part of its charm.Hawke: Certainly not a part of yours. I’ll come over and help clean. Broken glass everywhere, it’s a wonder you don’t cut your feet on it.Fenris: Unlike many, I look before I step.Hawke: Unlike many--- hey!

Romanced, after the main events of Inquisition, before Trespasser.

In the ruins of Lothering.

Fenris: We should move on. The Blight still plagues these lands.Hawke: I used to live here, you know. Before the darkspawn.Fenris: This is painful for you, is it not?Hawke: Almost cathartic, in its own way, to finally see the ruin for myself. I haven’t been here in over ten years. I wonder if my home is still standing.Fenris: Would it help you to check?Hawke: No, I don’t think so. It would only make this all the more painful. I only wish I could have shown it to you how it was before it was destroyed. We could have settled here, I think. But it will be a long time before anyone can live here again.Fenris: Hawke---Hawke: (voice cracks) Let’s keep moving.

[polubog]

kool dad talks

[wefought]

❛  uhhh  ,  yeah  ,  listen  ,  ❜  you  bare  your  weight  against  the  base  of  the  tree  nearest  in  your  wake  .  your  rib  cage  is  a  cavern  of  chaos  ;  echoing  heart  beats  bouncing  off  one  another  and  landing  in  the  pit  of  your  throat  as  you  feel  the  bark  scratch  against  the  cloth  of  your  tunic  ,  sliding  down  into  a  bereaved  squat  .  your  head  hangs  for  the  briefest  moment  ----  attempting  to  catch  a  breath  illusive  to  the  deepest  parts  of  your  lungs  ,  before  squinting  at  the  other  elf  equidistant  to  the  foliage  ,

❛  i’d  love  to  keep  going  ,  but  after  that  huge  slice  of  murder  à  la  mode  i’m  feeling  a  little  nauseated  ,  so  can  we  just  -----  stop  for  a  second  and  like  ,  i  don’t  know  ----  take  a  bathroom  break  ?  ----  meditate  ,  a  ,  a  nap  ,  even  ,  ❜

@victeum  hit  ya  boi  up