Hello! 👋🏾

(previously samseabxrn)

I'm Ad (she/her), and I'm glad you stopped by! Abandon all hope ye who enter here, LOL. I love reading, video games, and art. Been obsessed with Dragon Age/Mass Effect for a while now. Currently playing WH40K: Rogue Trader.

✍🏽 I write on ao3 as carnalapples!

👩🏾‍💻 Current WIPs:

👉🏽 If it's of interest: my writing, tag games

👉🏽 DADWC prompts!

wip thursday

Thank you @theluckywizard for the tag!! I have modern AU sebhawke because it's been a rough week, and I have been reading a lot of cozy books:

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“That’s—not a word!” Her laughter comes in gasps. He leans toward the board and squints. 

“Look again. Look again!”

“Parsimony, what, is that a vegetable?”

“It’s a word! It’s, it’s… being thrifty. Frugal.”

Hawke shakes her head. “Sebastian, when did you ever use that word in a sentence?”

“Are those the rules we’re playing by, then? Your parsimony when it comes to giving me points is unbelievable.”

She takes another sip of her wine, and Sebastian follows suit. 

“I dreamed about you the other day.” He says this casually, as if such a thing would not ruin her day completely to hear.  

“What?”

“I dreamed you came to visit me.” He shuffles his tiles around on the rack, moving one from the center to the far edge. Likely an A or a T, because Sebastian just seems to attract good things like that, or at least, he used to. Hawke’s own tiles are in an excellent order, and there were two solid possibilities for her before he dropped this upsetting news. It’s not upsetting. It shouldn’t be. “I had fallen asleep in Elthina’s office,” he laughs. On the blue sofa, she fills in, though it probably doesn’t exist. “I really did think you were there.”

“Why would you tell me this?”

“Because I dreamed about you, and you’re here.”

“You’re here,” she says, strangely testy about it all. When he looks at her, she can tell that he understands the difference. 

"Even when I woke, I believed it for a moment." He would stop, if he had any shame, but she chalks it up to embarrassment; hers or his, she's not entirely sure.

Hawke decides on can. It’s a poor choice. She had better ones, but she’s thinking about Sebastian, too large for that loveseat, the drafty air of that office, how he left the lamp on the whole night, the only bit of warmth, of the shadows that must have cut through the room. Were his feet tucked up on the fabric or did they dangle to the floor? It seems such a lonely picture, though she must be ascribing that herself. 

“Bad luck with the tiles?” he asks.

“No such thing as bad luck,” she says, and she regrets it. When he glances up, trying to pin down this remark, his eyes are so very blue. Hawke thinks of how back then, they could see the ocean outside their room and she thinks she might be sick. It is a sickness, really. It’s obsession.

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Tagging @rowanisawriter, @lasatfat, and @skinwalkingxana if you want to share anything you have cooking :)) (One day I will actually do this on a Wednesday)