give this man a regency romance dammit

Blue Hawke:

Purple Hawke:

Red Hawke:

Welp, now I’ve got a great idea for a fanfic…

reblogging because now i’m 3,000 words into a fix-it fic that may never see the light of day and what is my LIFE

I used to love Doctor Who, and now I care so little that I literally didn’t even know there was a new season starting this month

We can build a world where no one ever dies for being how the Maker created them.

[x]

Omfg. The AU I never knew I needed. Bless Gaider’s fangirl heart.

the highlight of my twitter feed ::)

For my Jane Austen AU ficcers out there :)

Merrill in the Aftermath

Merrill as a leader to the city elves, organizing them in the alienage, helping clean up and learning how to patch a roof and make room for fifteen people to sleep on her floor. She gathers all the orphans to her, because they are just part of the clan, her new clan, this one she’s made.

Merrill writing to Fenris, giving him names, faces, escape routes, they were in the Alienage last night, now they’re gone, but so is my neighbor. She waits outside the city for the ones who went missing, receiving the lost as they’re returned with tearful, happy tales of a lyrium-lined savior.

Merrill in Aveline’s office, refusing to move, refusing to budge, until the guard captain promises to enact harsher punishments to guards who abuse elves, who take advantage of those weaker than them, those who can’t fight back. She never apologizes for the cuts and bruises left on those guards by her vengeful vines.

Merrill crafting letters to Isabela, rambling, winding things that say everything and nothing. She never expects anything back, but finds new things every month, a string of pearls, a box of chocolates, an odd little idol whose ruby eyes go missing to fund a festival, and a pair of long leather boots that fit snug and go on for miles.

Merrill visiting Anders’s old clinic, sweeping, dusting, reading through his books and finding little bits of parchment everywhere, cleaning the graffiti, righting the tables. She finds new healers to run it and lights the lanterns again.

Merrill sending Varric updates, telling him about the Hanged Man, about the relief efforts, the rebuilding. She puts a little bit of twine in each report, so he can knot them together and find his way back home when all is said and done.

Merrill, a Keeper in her own fashion, her new fashion, her mirror tucked away but not forgotten. Merrill who finds a place and a people who need her, who grows and loves and guides, who passes Dalish stories and history to wide-eyed children and cautious adults. Merrill, who brings kindness to a harsh life in the alienage, and provides the strength to protect its recovery.

If anyone ever tries to tell you that Joss Whedon is a For Real Feminist and any examples of sexism or misogyny in his work must be the result of Executive Meddling, please keep in mind that when he had 100% creative control and exactly zero executives to deal with, he made Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, in which two straight dudes fight over a pretty girl like she’s a shiny trophy and who has zero agency, and who ultimately dies in order to make us sad for one of the dudes and not, you know, sad for her.

damn it varric

Keezy (x)

I hope Bianca comes back someday oh dear

On the bad days, the back side of her is all he can remember: A supple curve; a proud, bared shoulder; a flash of gold before she vanishes back into shadow. You know how dwarves are about their gold.

Her retreating form. A fading, half-seen smile. Fifteen years of goodbyes, and see you soons, and until next times, but never so much as an "I'll miss you". They're not the sentimental sort. She isn't, at least.

He hates to watch her go but he loves to watch her leave. No, that's a lie. He hates both, and he always has. But she's always leaving, always gone. Always turning away, just out of reach. Never truly his, but then again, that means he's never truly hers, either.

Right. Another lie. And she knows it, all too well.

You take what you can get with her, that's just how it is, and it leaves you pathetic and grateful for a lifetime. But on the bad days, he can't even remember enough to find comfort in her memory, so he has to make her up until he does.

the only text post meme that matters