OC Fact Swap. I honestly couldn't choose between Isiah and Hawke, so here we go. Isiah is secretly and quietly extremely sentimental. There's a point during the DA2 timeline where they go back home for a year to find their parents/people. After Trespasser, they use Leliana's contacts to write letters to the old Kirkwall crew and see how everyone's doing. || Hawke liked to eat wild mushrooms he found on the Deep Road and go skinny dipping at the Wounded Coast. Frequently.
Awwww ISIAH. I love those ‘hard on the outside, soft on the inside’ characters - especially when they hide it so well. I hope they find what they are searching for, and that they get to keep in touch with old friends wild than he was expecting?
Fact swap: Cyrus had panic attacks quite frequently, growing up. After being kicked out of home, he was surprised to find he had none at all... until he received the news that they were heading back to Orlais for the Winter Palace.
(less enthusiastic today) isiah with the fighting prompt "no no no!" or "it shouldn't have ended this way" or "we had one shot and you fucked it up!" (that last on is my own :'})
I’m actually kind of feeling these, and I might end up doing that last one in its own separate things. But for now, I’m going to combine the first two. This one’s for you, friend.
This happens in the realm of if Isiah hastily left their camp underprepared with an unskilled leader in the Fallow Mire when the Inquisition (/Varric) called on them.
They were all knee deep in the Fallow Mire at this point. The stench of death from the sunken cemetery and the overall stink of the bog were wading up their noses. But the small group was fixed in place. Isiah had a mask in their hand as they stared blankly down at the floor. Hawke glared at them, furious. The Inquisitor was trying to peer through the fog. Sera was up ahead scouting. Sending her forward was the only sense of control the Inquisitor felt they had in the situation. It probably meant she would end up finding some ghoulish trinket to take with her later, but that was fine. That was preferable to the fight that was going on here.
“It shouldn’t have ended this way!” Hawke emphasised, pointing down and staring at Isiah. “You could have called this any day, but instead you left your camp here to die!”
“It wasn’t my camp,” Isiah said dryly. They shrugged up their shoulders and let their eyes close. “Well. It’s not my camp anymore. I handed control over to—”
“I don’t give a damn who you handed control over to! This was your deviation. Your responsibility, and none of them would have even been out here if it weren’t for you.”
Silence fell and Isiah let out a long, waving sigh. “When you’re right, you’re right. What can I say?”
Hawke hooked his daggers in the sheathes on his back before moving to close the gap between him and his friend. The Inquisitor perked immediately and desperately rushed forward between them.
“No! No, no, no!” The Inquistior said with their arms opened between their two companions. “I can’t have you two fighting out here.” They looked to Isiah. “Isiah. Whatever happened here, I’ll need for you to clarify for me later.”
Isiah pressed their lips together. “Can’t you see, Inquisitor? They’ve had their faces stolen. S’as simple as that…”
The Inquisitor pressed their lips together but immediately faced Hawke as he charged forward unimpeded. He reached an arm across the Inquisitor and grabbed onto Isiah’s clothes.
“You let those monsters you escape claim the people you supposedly care for. And you’re just sitting there, nonchalant and without remorse?!” At first, he spoke through gritted teeth, but as he went, his voice began to rise until it echoed amongst the fog.
Isiah turned their flat gaze onto him. “I never said I didn’t care, Hawke. I just can’t right now. Not right now.”
“Then when?”
“When we find the ones who did this to them.” Isiah slipped the mask over their face, and their voice echoed slightly as they added, “Of course.”
Hawke let go in a sudden, unnatural release of fingers. His jaw was tight as he stared at the featureless visage looking back at him. The Inquisitor looked between the two, unsure of how to interfere with two friends but also unwilling to move from their spot.
“Inquisitor!” Sera shouted, and soon after, there was the plunksh of legs dipping into the bog. “I think I done found them men y’ wanted me to look out for,” she said with a comical drawl before looking to the scene before her. “Sheesh… What happened here?”
“Nothing,” the Inquisitor emphasised before looking between Hawke and Isiah. “Nothing yet.” They lowered their hands and squeezed out from between the tight space. “Show us where they’re set up. They can’t be too far away from the camp.”
“Aye. They’re back this way.”
She turned on her heel to lead, and the Inquisitor looked over their shoulder to the two behind them. “Coming…?”
“Yes,” Isiah said hollowly.
Hawke gave a stiff nod and turned while still staring at Isiah. “Let’s get going.”
The tense stare down broke when the two turned away from each other, but the Inquisitor still felt the tension thick in the air. They hoped that this fight would bring some needed closure for the fallen Masqrader came and would at least put some ill feelings behind their two trusted companions.
It was advice that Isiah believed in, wholeheartedly. Life demanded forward movement, and if you didn’t do it, it would go on without you. That’s why it didn’t hurt, per say, when Isiah heard those words, but there was a pang of emotion because of who it came from.
Isiah and Hawke weren’t exactly close. They left Kirkwall on amicable terms, of course, but their alliance had been more of a dance. Oftentimes, Isiah felt more like the devil on Hawke’s shoulder more than anything else. But today? Hawke was confiding in them, unfurling a bitterness that had been settled deep in their heart.
“Eventually…” Hawke started again. Leather squeaked as he tightened his fingers. He pressed his lips together and let out a harsh sigh. “You just move on…”
Isiah turned their head finally and looked at Hawke. “You have to,” they said quietly. “If life takes you apart, maybe, down the road, you’ll come back together again.”
Hawke gave a smirk. “I never gathered you to be one to believe in fate.”
Prompt: “Hawke is finally allowed to see Bethany after years pass with her in the Circle. They don’t really believe the few letters she sends. Is she okay? Do the Templars hurt her? Is it worse? Hawke hates her being there but surrounded by Templars at the gallows they have to piece truth from her tales.” [x]
Author Note: This takes place in an AU I have with my sister and friend, thus the mage Hawke. This is also the outfit Derek’s in. This takes place during Act 3.
Just being near the Gallows was unnerving. Actually being in them? That made him very uncomfortable. There was a part of him that thought this was a trap. That Meredith was finally tired of dealing with him. That she had snapped and decided to throw him into the Gallows under the disguise of visiting his sister. Honestly, if there was a Hawke sibling Meredith was most likely to grow tired of, he would have thought it was his twin, Vera. At the very least, he had helped the Templars from time to time. He, while expressing wishes for the Circle to be better, for Meredith to relinquish her iron grasp, also advocated for a peaceful solution.
There had been enough bloodshed in his life. He didn’t want anymore.
And while he desperately wanted to see his younger sister, he wasn’t a fool. No, he hadn’t told Vera where he was going. The only person in the manor he’d told was Kenrick. He’d left under the pretense of running an errand with Kenrick, though like usual he’d taken his staff and the other man had grabbed his sword. Even if it was under the disguise of a simple errand, Kirkwall wasn’t a place to walk around unarmed.
He’d met up with Fenris and Sebastian in Lowtown, trusting all three of the men he traveled with not to go running to his twin. He trusted Vera and knew if she found out, she’d kill him for keeping it from her, but… But he already had one sister in the Gallows. He didn’t want to get his other one anywhere near that Maker-forsaken place. That was also a reason behind him not requesting any help from any of the other mages he knew. He didn’t want Merrill or Anders anywhere near here. He also didn’t want to approach the Gallows with a small army. Three seemed like a good number of companions to bring.
However he knew he couldn’t bring them into the Gallows. If he did that, the Templars would think he was trying to break his sister out.
“Are you sure about this, Derek?” Sebastian asked when they arrived at the Gallows.
Derek pulled his eyes away from the prison turned Circle to his companions. Earlier Fenris had made his unhappiness with the plan clear. Now he could tell from the looks on all three of them that neither of them liked the idea of him going in there alone.
“Mages go to the Circle,” Sebastian pointed out, “They don’t come back, especially apostates.” He was stating the obvious, but he felt like it needed to be said. He felt like Derek needed the reminder.
Holiday Drabble Queue! Approx. 1300 words (some under cut)
Fenris jerked with agasp, eyes snapping open, wide and wild around the edges. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t see. He blinked into a sea ofblack, straining, searching erratically like prey snared mid-hunt. Dead. Waiting.
Then he could feel it.
He could feel it all.
The lines, as thoughthe tip of a red-hot blade was being dragged slowly through his skin. Peelingit aside in perfect, intricate lines, swirling over his legs, his stomach, hischest, his neck. Bright. Beautiful. Thechains that held him were hot from being pressed tight to his skin for so long.From being thrashed against in twisting, desperate movements that deep down heknew were futile. Pathetic.
Burning.
Everything burned.Fighting against his bindings, Fenris could feel his throat spasm as he triedto breathe, but only managed to choke a gasp through the pain. Through thetears. No. He wasn’t. He couldn’t. He can’t.
But he did.
He always did.
A hand. It was in hishair. Grabbing – twisting. Wrenching his head back as though he were nothingmore than a wretched beast, primed for slaughter. A brittle part of Fenriswished he would. Dared him to do it. Hetried to look defiant. To harden his sightless eyes and stare into the dark asthough they were equals. As though he was anything worth saving. As though hewas anything at all.
“You were nothing before me, Fenris. Remembermy kindness. Never forget what I have done for you.”
Holiday Drabble Queue! Approx. 1300 words (some under cut)
Fenris jerked with agasp, eyes snapping open, wide and wild around the edges. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t see. He blinked into a sea ofblack, straining, searching erratically like prey snared mid-hunt. Dead. Waiting.
Then he could feel it.
He could feel it all.
The lines, as thoughthe tip of a red-hot blade was being dragged slowly through his skin. Peelingit aside in perfect, intricate lines, swirling over his legs, his stomach, hischest, his neck. Bright. Beautiful. Thechains that held him were hot from being pressed tight to his skin for so long.From being thrashed against in twisting, desperate movements that deep down heknew were futile. Pathetic.
Burning.
Everything burned.Fighting against his bindings, Fenris could feel his throat spasm as he triedto breathe, but only managed to choke a gasp through the pain. Through thetears. No. He wasn’t. He couldn’t. He can’t.
But he did.
He always did.
A hand. It was in hishair. Grabbing – twisting. Wrenching his head back as though he were nothingmore than a wretched beast, primed for slaughter. A brittle part of Fenriswished he would. Dared him to do it. Hetried to look defiant. To harden his sightless eyes and stare into the dark asthough they were equals. As though he was anything worth saving. As though hewas anything at all.
“You were nothing before me, Fenris. Remembermy kindness. Never forget what I have done for you.”
He couldn’t. It wastoo much. He closed his eyes. Turned his head and bit down, grinding his teethso hard his head felt like it would split. He pulled again, and to his surprise,his hand came free. Just one – his right - but it was enough. Lashing out,Fenris grabbed in the direction of the voice, stretching into the dark.Grasping. Strong fingers wanting to tear. Rip. Crush.
He met nothing. Hishand swept in a hopeless arc, and he met nothing.Low laughter filled his ears. No. It was inside his head. No. No… it wasn’tright. He could move. He could fight!
Then why?
Why couldn’t he…?
Something graspedFenris’ wrist, pinning his hand back down beside his head, but he didn’t resist.Didn’t twist and snarl and snap like the feral wolf he was, fighting againstthe hunter’s snare. His body went slack, like a sail that had suddenly lost thewind. Everything flooded out of him in a rush, as though falling through theburning cracks in his skin. His breath. His heartbeat. His fire. The darkness took it all, but left the pain. It wasn’t thesame as before. It wasn’t being done to him. It wasn’t something he couldstruggle away from, or flee. It was apart of him. The burn was constant. Crawling. Insidious. With every touch,no matter how kind or how tender, it simmered and seethed. It was worse. It reminded him.
“Remember my kindness…”
Fenris tensed again –a reflex to that voice. Muscles andtendons, trained to kill, pulled tight, and he rasped a word. Said somethingthrough the darkness. Though the haze of bitter hurt.
“No.”
It was something bad. The wrong thing. He knew it was. It wasa grave mistake – he should not have said it. But despite knowing that, he saidit again, louder this time, but still barely more than a grating whisper.
“No!”
Fenris jolted, eyesflying open only to slam shut again as bright light flooded his vision. Hecried out – a low sound, more a growl – as he tugged his wrist, demanding it tocome free. To move. To close around the nearest throat. But it didn’t.
“Fenris, listen to me.Listen to my voice.”
That voice. Soft.Edged with worry. It… it couldn’t be him…
“Fenris, please.”
He knew that voice.
“… Hawke?” His ownvoice sounded strange to him, and Fenris frowned slightly when it reached hisears. It was… not whole. Not broken - neverbroken - but not his either. Not entirely. A part of it was…
A soft sound – a sighof relief – drifted down from above him, and he felt the pressure on his rightwrist suddenly shift. It did not fall away. It simply changed. Gentle fingers soothed the skin, rubbing absently where ithad once been pinned. Slowly, Fenris opened his eyes, and met those of Hawke.Blue and bright and burning in all the ways he never could.
“The one and only.”She said, and gave him a smile. An attempt to mask some of her worry. “Are youall right?”
Swallowing to soothhis aching throat, Fenris managed a stiff nod. He had been sweating – he couldfeel his hair, matted against his burning skin. He was about to reach up and pushit aside but Hawke beat him to it, her fingers brushing the pale strands out ofhis eyes. Combing them back, her fingertips stroking against his scalp. As sherepeated the motion, his breathing began to slow in time with the gentle dragof his hair, and he closed his eyes. Inhaled long and deep. Held it in hischest. Released it in a careful stream, feeling the air drift past his lips.Her other hand moved; touched the side of his face. Leaning into it, Fenrisreached up and placed his hand over hers.
“I’m fine.” He said,and while a part of him knew she was not reassured by the assertion, it wasbetter than saying nothing. She hated lies, but silence was worse.
“You say that,” shesaid gently, only a touch of reproach in her voice, “but I can’t imagine it’sthe truth.”
Fenris met her eyes.“You have my word.” His gaze slipped down to her shoulder. “The worst of ithas… passed.”
She shifted, rollingoff him, but maintained contact, her fingertips gently caressing the side ofhis neck as she moved. A part of him mourned the loss of her, even though shewas right beside him. For a long moment, they simply lay there, breathingquietly, the oil lamp burning brightly. Candles, too. Some of them were…misshapen, the wax melted awkwardly. Caving in on itself. Lit by magic in toomuch of a hurry.
“I wouldn’t be.”
Fenris blinked, andturned his head to the side. “What?”
“Fine.” Hawkeclarified, her dark hair catching the red of the open flame. Her typicallybright, easy face had fallen into seriousness. “I know it must be… well, I don’tknow… but if you want to talk, I canlisten.”
For a second, Fenrisconsidered. Really, truly considered telling her everything. About the dark.The cold. The heat, but only from pain. About how it was etched into his skinwith the uncaring hatred of a child dragging an iron nail through the bark of atree. The words were in his throat – on his tongue.
But he swallowed them,and felt his lips curve into a smile. Saw them move, reflected in the worriedgaze of her eyes. That perfect, crystal blue. The only blue that brought himcomfort.
“I… appreciate theoffer, but…” he began, and immediately noticed a kind of easiness to his voice.One he had not expected. He reached up and brushed her fringe from her face,tucking it behind her ear. A thick section of it immediately fell back again,but rather than get annoyed, he let out a low chuckle. It was tired. Exhausted. But it was his.
Hawke reached up. Tookhis hand. There was a familiar curiosity in the tilt of her brow.
“… But?” she prompted.
Fenris leaned forward andpressed his lips to hers. Softly. Slowly.She kissed back, but it was restrained. Not her usual impassioned entreaty;rather a reply. A reassurance. Fenriseventually drew away, and his face softened into a half-amused smile.
Damn Hawke, I love this girl so much I have only myself to blame for not playing the game much sooner … I wanted to make a more dynamic/wild illustration with her but I guess for now this will have to do P: a wip for now but I really hope to finish this
plus finally I was able to do an abstract background that Im actually proud of myself so yay for me
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