cheesiestart replied to your post: I started my twelfth playthrough of DA2 tonight.
i too am agonized by that same decision WHO YA ROMANCING WHAT DECISIONS HUHUHUHUH
Might go for Izzy this time. Purple!Marian/Isabela have such a great rapport, and such a fabulous romance—not to mention Those Who Speak has left me in a Rivaini frame of mind.
missl0nelyhearts replied to your post: interesting tidbit on Andraste’s birth?
in order to be reborn they have to have the ritual right? would the wardens, or anyone really, have known that much during the first blight? does that mean her mother was a Warden, or at least Warden-adjacent?
Maybe that’s how they figured out the Ritual? I mean, at some point in time, someone had to learn that you could make an Old God Baby by smashing Warden and Muggle body parts together at the right time and place.
I dunno, it’s probably nothing — more like the Chantry just wants Andraste’s birth to coincide with the end of the Blight as a point of theological pride. Still, the date did pop out at me.
cheesiestart said: oooooooh that would be really fascinating! maybe OGB via Morrigan will be regarded as some sort of ‘prophet’ too - how the masses see this deeper connection to the divine
WANT *grabbyhands*
cheesiestart replied to your post: ships in which to sail the high seas
there was this brilliant fic but sadly its been put on hold….the rest of my recs im sure youve read already
ON HOLD BUT NOT DEAD
NEVER DEAD
(unless you meant someone else’s brilliant fic but I choose to believe that you meant shadows)
The hang-up — and it’s always been this — is that there’s this certain plot point we’re working towards, you know the one, and it’s got to happen, but I just can’t make myself DO it, because you KNOW where it’s going and I KNOW where it’s going and sweet Maker can’t that just be enough? Can’t we just time skip past all the necromancy and horribleness? Can’t we just skip forward to the happy ending already?
Okay I’ve added these people to the list:
- ilikelookingatnakedmen
- waywardlordofsalamanders
- abominationadoresangel
- cheesiestart
- kyoubin
And I still need addresses from:
- Myleftsidedown
- ireallyhatecornnuts
- roastingwinchestnuts
If you’d like to exchange holiday cards, just leave an ask or a fanmail (my only request is that if I send you something, you send me something back! Yay for snail mail!)
And one last thing, please only request a card if you are 18 years of age or older. I have absolutely NOTHING against my teenage followers, not at all, and I’m certainly not going to stuff my cards with cigarettes and porn or anything like that. But consider that your parents would probably freak out if you got a card from some 30 year old anonymous stranger you met on the internet — if for no other reason than that means you gave out your address to some 30 year old anonymous stranger on the internet. So please, only consenting adults should volunteer for my holiday exchange. Thanks!
(And if you see your name above or on this list and you’re not over 18, please let me know and I’ll take you off it. I know — maybe we can do a holiday email exchange instead?)
Come on, self, try a looser cartoon style
….looser
LOOSER
NOT LOOSE ENOUGH
GARHARUURRRRRRRGHHHASAAARFG
omg girl i am fucking DYING over here
FLUTIEBEAR ARE YOU ACTUALLY A BEAR
GPOY
Flutiebear I drew you a trueform! Castiel because you used an Anders picture and well how can I refuse
I doubt a human would be able to see him - but its a sin to keep him caged, his feathers are just too bright. But the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock him up does rejoice — though the place you live is that much more drab and empty when he’s gone.
Dean. His bones vibrated with the words, every atom alive with intent. I don’t understand that reference.
“Not sure I did either,” muttered Dean, hand clenching the discarded trenchcoat, “until now.”
cheesiestart Asks:
flutiebear Said:
magenta: what drives you the most insANE?
Noise. I cannot concentrate with noise, particularly intermittent, staccato noise. So talking. Eating. Coughing. Humming. Whistling. Clicking your pen. Flossing your teeth. Breathing. (No, seriously, I have yelled at people for breathing before.) And I get vicious when I’m disturbed—it’s a good thing I work from home because I wouldn’t last two minutes in a real office.
I really am the worst person to be around when I’m working.
Yellow: What do you do when you’re stuck in a block? list three sources of inspiration when new ideas are scarce.
I’ll answer this for fic writing, because when it’s work-related, my process usually just involves going back to the source material and doing more research. For corporate writing, I find I don’t get blocked in the same way—you still have good days and bad, of course, but for the business world it’s more important to ensure that the words make sense when you smash ‘em together than that they look nice, you know?
So, for fic:
- I troll Tumblr tags for artwork. Sometimes all it takes is the right screenshot or sketch for the words to start flowing.
- I visit my bookmarks folder and pull up an old favorite fic, usually a glass of the spicyshimmy, proxydialogue or myjusticecake vintage. I’ll read a passage I really like out loud, listening to the cadence, the rhythm, and sometimes that’s enough to get my juices going again. Sometimes it’s not. In which case I then look for a metaphor, a phrase, a line of dialogue, any small concrete bit that really strikes me, and use that as a starting point—as in, I ask myself, what is it that I like about this phrase? How can I translate it to the conflict I’m working on now? So I change it and build around it, bit by bit, word by word.
- I take a walk, do a few dance drills, maybe just jump in place for a bit. Sometimes when you’re sleepy, your brain gets sluggish. And if all else fails, coffee won’t. God bless coffee.
Carver and Merrill are university students that have to read the same book for their freshman English class. Late night study session. GO.
she’s just enraptured by the way your mouth moves, Carver
good thing you have coffee because I bet you’ll be up all night studying
Is she—
Yep, still staring. At me. Like I’m some sort of monkey, and she’s waiting for me to dance.
I grit my teeth and force myself to ignore her, because, dammit, Carver Hawke is nobody’s monkey.
“She gave me for my pains—“ She sighs, her breath making a little flutter against my arm, hot and brief. “A world of—“ Goddammit, she did it again. Wait. She’s not doing this on purpose, is she?
“A world of—what?” I slam my hands on the table and wheel on her.
Goddammit. She’s still staring.
“What?” Trust Merrill to make one syllable sound so innocent and yet so dirty at the same time.
“I can’t do this with you, with you,” the heat rises to my cheeks, “sighing all over the place.”
She brings a small hand up to her mouth, to hide a smile she thinks I can’t see. “Oh, Carver. Don’t be so literal.”
I frown. “What?”
“The line?” She leans against me and pokes a finger against the play in my hands. She’s warm. Firm. Pressed against my arm like it means nothing at all. “The line you’re reading? She gave me for my pains a world of sighs. See?“
“I see,” I grunt. Something on her smells like apples. Her hair, maybe. It’s like the stuff her friend Bela uses—not that I’ve been paying attention. “If you know this play so well, maybe you should read it.”
“Nah.” She leans back, the half-smirk still toying with the corners of her lips. “I like when you do it better.”
Quickly I look down at the play in my hands. Without her pressed against it, my arm feels cold. “But you’re not even listening to me.”
“Of course I am.” She pauses so long that I look up again. When our eyes meet, she lowers her lashes ever so slightly, and bites her curling lip in a way that goes straight down my spine, and I suddenly get the sense she’s been waiting for me to look up all this time, just so she could look at me like that. “Intently.”
“Then, uh.” I swallow. Words. Breath. Making. How? “Guess—I better keep going.”
She hesitates a moment, and I swear her eyes drop to my lips before whatever that expression is on her face dissolves, melting away into a full, wide grin.
“Guess so,” she chirps. She waves her hand. “Orate on, my good Othello.”
It takes me a moment to figure out she said orate and not something else.
Stupid Carver. No. Goddammit. Stupid monkey.
DAY 9 of the Bianca Art Challenge According to Age Dragon
a rare pair you enjoy(you mean besides my Cullen/Bethany OTP because they are ALSO RARE to find stuff for I feel I like I draw half of their base)
I like Merrill/Carver :D they’re cute together
I bet Carver is the more bashful of the two - once Merrill knows what’s goin on she pounces (this is the girl who doesn’t bat an eye over blood magic I doubt Carver will last long under her sultry sultry gaze before he crumbles)
brb reblogging all the cheesie Carrill forever lalalalala
For the fabulous flutiebear! Because I totally remembered I had a List of Things to Draw and this was one of them
for le fic; http://archiveofourown.org/works/283891/chapters/514041 this part in particular
I know that the mask doesn’t have a handle dooblie, but….I really liked this pose :B let’s say it’s detachable, a lot of them are
also what are backgrounds
oooh I do hope you view this full-size, so much detail is lost in tumblr-size
disney princess merrill
my favorite part is that she’s barefoot :B
FUCK EVERYBODY THERE’S MORE SHE DREW MORE I AM LITERALLY INCAPABLE OF USING LOWER CASE LETTERS FOR THIS OR EVEN PUNCTUATION BECAUSE LOOK EVERYBODY ITS MERRILL IN THE CHATEAU HAINE DRESS WITH THE HALLA MASK AND THE CURTAIN ROPE AND SHE’S BAREFOOT AND I CAHNT I CAHNT I CAHNT EVEN AUGH
Cheesie, this is so, so awesome. What a pleasant surprise this was. I’m beaming, I’m bouncing up and down in my seat, I can’t even contain these noises I’m making, you’ve totally made my week, thank you babe, thank you thank you thank you. :)
From the same flutiebear fic as the Merrill :D
http://archiveofourown.org/works/283891/chapters/514041
Carver why did i put you in that it looked so much cooler in my head. this is not what I pictured (unlike Merrill, who’s only fault is I can’t draw roses at all)
You are not at a Star Trek convention Carver, your arms are way too beefy for that
“but I am a templar”
no you are not you are what the 1950s thought we would be wearing today
wait Carver come back i have eight cows for you to eat to maintain those arms
AUGH HOW DID I MISS THIS
LOOK EVERYBODY LOOK LOOK LOOK AT SHADOWS!CARVER LOOK ARE YOU LOOKING AUGH LOOK
The silverite mask! The way his doublet brings out his eyes! DAT GRUMPY FACE! EEEEE! I love it! Thank you so much, cheesiestart!
(I haven’t forgotten you, Shadows. I promise. I just needed a break to get this real-life work stuff done first. Then it’s back to where we left our heroes, on the run from a blood-crazed Harvester in the alienage sewers…)
omg is it request time? Yay! Modern AU! Carver taking Merrill to go see the Avengers. Maybe there’s cosplay involved. GO. :)
Oh Carver stop being so embarrassed you’re totally into the tshirt…
Aaah I just saw this now! Thank you for messaging me about it I would have missed this gem!
I am going to put it into my Drafts so I can look upon it always
this is just wonderful, I love all the little details (the bicep! Mrs. Marethari! looking at her lips! AND GARRET OMG you would and the car and hammers and oooh maker)
asdfdfbgg Let me just melt into a puddle of gratitude and fffft man I would really love to see this story continued that involves hemlet-grabbing
ifyoukknowwhatImean
or you know I can just draw it and leave it up to imagination that works too
betcha dont think its such a silly getup NOW huh Carver? This is worth dealing with your brother
AUGH! I love it! So here’s a sequel (of sorts) to this:
Carver had been wrong: Garrett hadn’t planned on sitting next to him and Merrill at the theater. Oh no, his troll of an older brother sat behind them instead.
“Don’t you think you’re taking this chaperone joke too far?” Carver hissed, not even caring anymore if Merrill overheard.
Garrett grinned viciously before rearranging his expression into one of mock horror.
“Never,” he gasped, splaying his hand over his heart. “It’s my solemn duty to be your lord and cockblock.”
Next to him, Anders choked on his soda.
“Our solemn duty,” amended Garrett. “Sorry, Anders. Not leaving you out. Don’t be angry.”
“You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry,” offered Anders.
“You’re walking home,” growled Carver. “Both of you.”
“Yeah right. Like I’d leave you two alone.” Garrett slung an arm easily around Anders, who shifted closer. “You’re not showing her your hammer again on my watch.”
Suddenly, Merrill slapped Carver’s bare bicep, her palm making a loud, unmistakable crack in the hushed theater.
“Carver!” she snapped, her eyes still glued to the screen. “Tease your brother later. The previews are on!”
Sheepishly, Carver turned back around and settled in his seat. Rubbing his stinging arm, he tried to ignore the snickers behind him—but it was easier said than done, especially when Garrett began kicking the back of Carver’s seat in time to the trailers’ swelling music.
As the last preview finished and the lights dimmed, Carver began to turn toward Merrill, only to stop short when he realized her mouth was much closer to his than he’d originally thought.
“Isn’t this great?” she whispered. Her breath fluttered on his cheek.
A piece of popcorn pelted the back of Carver’s neck.
“Awesome,” he grunted.
***
The movie went uneventfully enough, much to Carver’s dismay. Every time he tried to take Merrill’s hand or even shift closer to her, he’d be met with a shower of popcorn, or obnoxious soda-slurping noises, or Garrett’s whispered yet piercing commentary on the movie. Once, when Carver finally heard tell-tale smacking sounds behind him and thought his brother sufficiently distracted, he almost managed to get his arm around Merrill—only to have Garrett’s boot abruptly kick the back of his seat.
“That’s it.” Carver stood and wheeled on his brother. “Quit it, you—“
Carver’s voice died in his throat. As quickly as he had stood up, he sat back down again.
“Goddammit, Garrett,” he said, face burning. “You’re in a public theater.”
“Science boyfriends,” Garrett reminded him, and kicked the back of Carver’s seat again, this time on purpose.
“Carver, quit it, you’re missing the movie,” hissed Merrill. Steve Rogers was on screen, looking baffled by something, and she sighed happily. “Isn’t this just the best ever?”
“Awesome,” he mumbled.
***
Merrill’s house was on the way home from the theater. Carver parked as far as he could from her front door and still be in her driveway. Then he rushed out to open her door for her and walk her inside.
“Stay,” he commanded Garrett, who grinned back at him from the back seat.
“I’ll make sure he does,” Anders said with a smirk.
When they’d gotten some distance from the car, Merrill finally spoke. “I don’t know why you encourage him.”
“Me? Encourage him?” Carver felt his face grow hot again. “He’s the one who crashed our date, remember?”
“He only does it because you react,” she said, frowning. “If you just ignored him—“
“—he’d go away? Hah.” He shook his head emphatically. “You obviously don’t know Garrett. Ignoring him just makes him work harder.”
They walked a moment in silence. “Why do you let him get under your skin anyway?”
Carver frowned. “What? I-I don’t let him—“
“I mean, you’re bigger than he is. Stronger. Smarter. Better looking.” Merrill continued, rattling off the compliments like she was reading a grocery list. “You don’t have to feel inferior to him just because he’s older than you.”
Carver tried to come up with some witty response, or any response at all, but found he was having enough trouble just to remembering how to breathe.
“You really think,” he eventually managed, “I’m smart?”
Merrill smiled gently, her cheeks wrinkling the edges of her mask. “Of course. You fixed your car up from scrap, didn’t you? And they don’t make just anybody captain of the football team.”
Carver didn’t have the heart to remind her that he only became captain because Cullen sprained his ankle. Especially not when she was looking at him like that, her lips slightly parted, eyes wide and earnest.
“Merrill,” he murmured past the pain in his chest. “I think you’re really—nice.”
Carver grimaced. Nice? Nice? Thank the Maker Garrett was out of earshot. He’d laugh at him for that one for the next five years, at least.
But—Merrill wasn’t laughing at him. She wasn’t doing much of anything, really, just staring at him with those huge green eyes, pupils as wide as oceans.
Suddenly she laid a hand on his cheek. Startled, Carver flinched back from the gentle touch.
“Oh no you don’t,” she murmured.
In one swift motion, she grabbed both sides of his helmet and tugged him down, down, their mouths not so much meeting as colliding. Her lips were warm against his, soft, reassuring.
The kiss lasted only a moment, or forever, Carver couldn’t be sure.
“There,” she murmured when they broke apart. “Now wasn’t that great?”
“Awesome,” he agreed, and tugged her close again.
