Adalwolfe Hawke (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wolfehawke) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
makinglies2021-06-14 01:46 pm
wolfehawke) wrote in makinglies2021-06-14 01:46 pm
Call Me Out post for Reiko!
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| » Canon-compliant/canon continuation prompts » AUs into a canon/setting ↳ Specific canons: Dragon Age, Exandria (Critical Role/D&D), Hyperion City (Penumbra Podcast), the Magnus Archives, Mass Effect, X-men, Star Wars, Wizarding World, etc - Open to any even if I'm canonblind! ↳ General settings: Magic school (generic preferred over Hogwarts), mech pilots, merfolk, modern mundane (band, coffee shop, college, strippers, etc), modern urban fantasy, monster hunters, paranormal investigators, post-apocalyptic, vampires, etc » Dimension Hopping ↳ Any of the above, but with canon memories intact. ↳ Additional general settings for this prompt: floating sky city, generic sci-fi/space, underwater city » Canon alteration AU (ie: what if Hawke was caught by the Circle as a child? What if Link was royalty instead of Zelda? etc) » DWRP setting/continuation ↳ Duplicity, Noctium, open to others at request » Make a comment calling out any of my characters by putting their name in the subject line. » If you want to play in a canon I'm not familiar with (a massive list of canons I do know can be found here) please include a starter with a general idea of setting so I have some info to go on when responding. If it's a canon I am familiar with however, you don't have to include a starter if you don't want to! A general idea of the tone you want and a concept for the PSL would be super though, if you have one in mind. Feel free to contact me on plurk ( ☆ Notes: ↳ Shipping with some characters will be easier than shipping with others, but I'm open to it for all of my characters. Some have caveats, but I'll let you know if you tell me you're interested in shipping with them. ↳ Communication is key! Please let me know if something's getting boring and I'll let you know the same so we can try and throw interest back into the thread, or we can end it amicably. This is a hobby! If one of us isn't having fun, then we should make it fun. ↳ I tag about once or twice a week, sometimes more and occasionally less, mostly because of work and evening commitments. Please be conscious of this when we thread. ☆ Absolute No: ↳ a/b/o ↳ Grimdark hopeless plots/settings ↳ Mpreg ↳ Non-consensual sex (dubcon ok) ↳ Torture porn ↳ Underaged sex (younger than 17) | ||||
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For Kit - Fenris & Hawke urban fantasy AU
The fight last night was a close one, but he'd managed. Without revealing his powers too, which he's as proud of himself over as he imagines his father would be. It had been a very near thing, though, as the bandages around his arms and the hidden one against his side are quick to prove. "Mugged" is all he'd told his manager, adding with a broad and slightly sharp grin "You should see the other guys."
It's not the fight he keeps going back to in his head, though. It's the elf. Silvery tattoos covering his face and hands, glinting in the moonlight. He tries not to wonder if those tattoos go anywhere else and spectacularly fails, nearly wiping a hole in the bartop with his rag before a customer shouts for his attention and shatters the reverie. He shouldn't be thinking about him like that anyway, he reasons as he pours a beer for the customer and resigns himself to no tip for zoning out. There's nothing to be gained for him in something like that. Relationships are for people who don't have secrets they have to keep on pain of death.
So he tries to put it out of his mind, pouring drinks and occasionally singing along with the music he's put over the speakers under his breath. It doesn't take long for him to get so busy in the easy flow of the crowd of orders that he stops glancing up at the door every time it chimes.
no subject
Look at it like this: three days ago, he had nothing and no one. He had been a wary, wounded creature circling around a trap, unable to rest until it had been sprung and yet again far too clever to press a hand in himself. He'd been certain that one wrong move would be all it took for Danarius to clap a collar around his throat once more. He'd had the word of a dwarf he barely knew and a mercenary that he'd hired. And now . . .
Now, the trap is sprung. Now, he is free from Danarius for a little longer. Now, he knows not just one, but a whole host of people, all of them strange in their own ways, but all of them seemingly eager to help. Not overly so, not so much it rings alarm bells, but . . . still, ones who had aided him despite his trickery. Ones who might, tentatively, be allies, if Fenris is allowed to have such things as allies.
The Hanged Man, Wolfe had told him. That's my bar, and yet Fenris doesn't realize the true meaning of his words until he walks in that night. He's just as beat up, bruises littering his body and a worrying twinge in his ribs, but that's all right. He's used to injury. Pursuing this is far more interesting than staying at home (is that what he's calling the abandoned townhouse they'd stormed?).
Besides: there's something about Hawke that's, ah, alluring. Don't get it twisted: he isn't some soppy idiot reading too much into what was very much a paid job. But there had been something assuring about the other man's easy kindness, and . . . well, whatever. Fenris doesn't need to justify his reasoning tonight; hadn't Hawke asked him to stop by? That's excuse enough.
He slips in silently, as is his wont, though a woman in the corner with dark hair and glittering eyes winks at him as he weaves to the front. And ohp, there Wolfe is, his attention focused on another customer, which suits Fenris. It gives him time to observe the other man for a precious few seconds: his eyes trained on him, flicking over the curve of his jaw, the cleverness in his fingers as he mixes a drink—
And he's so caught up in all that he doesn't actually think of what he wants to say when Wolfe turns his way. He's left blinking, caught off-guard for a precious half-second. Because, see, he'd never actually worked out what he wanted to say, uhh—]
Hello.
[NO. DO BETTER.]
Is there a house special I ought to be aware of, or can I order whiskey?
[MARGINALLY BETTER.]
I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG
Except Fenris is here, with that rough, deep voice his words make smooth. Tantalizingly smooth, in fact, and Wolfe feels his pulse quicken just a bit with the unpracticed line. He doesn't flush, though it's a near thing, and instead shoots the elf a wordless grin and pulls the bottle of Mackay's Epic Single Malt from the top shelf and pours two fingers in a low ball glass by way of stalling to think of what to say. A sprig of elfroot later and he slides the glass over with a small flourish.
"Older than the Maker and smooth as a baby's bottom, according to Mackay himself," which is entirely off the mark of smooth for himself, but it's the only thing he came up with, failingly, as he'd poured. Though thankfully he recovers a moment later, winking knowingly. "Looks like you had a rough night."
NO WORRIES!
But ah . . . he picks up his drink, his amusement fading in favor of something more even.]
Mm, not too rough. I have yet to find a job, but there are always those who will pay to watch others fight.
[He gestures towards one peeking out of his collar.]
But I grew arrogant, and thus, careless. And sometimes, even I lose.
[It doesn't happen often, his tone says. Fenris' fingers toy idly against the rim of the glass, his eyes trained on Wolfe.]
They will mend soon enough.
For Terri - Duplicity Freedom Fighters AU
Adalwolfe's clothes stick to him uncomfortably as they trudge through the cloying mist that permeates the deep forest west of the city and he wishes not for the first time that he'd kept wearing the loose shirts and sleeveless jerkins he'd been used to back home. Then he wouldn't be quite so much of a sticky mess. It's warm too, making everything worse with sweat, but he can't use too much of his winter magics to mitigate that lest he make the humidity worse.
At least that's the excuse he keeps giving.
In reality, when the SIN guards had hit him with their power nullification weapons in the Great Escape (he'd heard another LIEr call it that and now it's taken root in his mind) it made it so he has trouble summoning even a weak campfire. He still can, thank goodness, and can protect himself and his own if need be, but it takes a whole lot more effort than it ever has.
But that's a worry to keep to himself. No need to alarm anyone else, certainly not the already disheartened group of escapees. It's fine. They're fine. They're free which is more than any of them could say last week.
"Have you ever been hunting before?" Wolfe asks Jon quietly, making sure his voice doesn't carry. Not that it would in the fog. Everything sounds sort of muffled and doesn't go terribly far past their immediate vicinity. Its great for not being discovered, which is both a blessing and a curse when trying to hunt for food lest the hunters become the hunted.
no subject
"Not in a way that might be useful... or that you'd approve of," he responds, tone bone dry in contrast to the surroundings. Jon's gathered his hair into a messy bun atop his head, but the prospect of just chopping it all off is seeming more and more alluring. His clothes are office wear... but he's at least left the city with sensible shoes. "If you're expecting me to shoot something, we're likely going hungry tonight. I've lived in cities my whole life."
no subject
He glances around, looking for an opportune place to dig a pit trap for small game. "I haven't seen any rabbits or anything but we haven't exactly been quiet as a group. Might have scared them all off for the moment... here we are, looks like there's a good spot."
Looking around before moving from the relative safety of the corpse of trees they'd found themselves in, Hawke cautiously slips into the open and taps the ground with his staff. Well, really it's more of a glorified stick that he'd picked up on their trek, but it's a sort of security blanket, especially right now when he absolutely needs a focus for his magic or he risks not being able to cast at all. He taps around a bit, trying to find softer ground, then kneels when he's apparently found it. "While I dig this up, find some fallen branches and leaves so we can camouflage it. Just don't go too far, alright? Stay in the clearing."
It's like being in the woods with his siblings again, and that makes him equally as fond as it does trepidatious.
no subject
He gets a good few yards away before he realizes just how thick the fog is. It's swallowed up Wolf's form, even if he can hear the other man distantly. Much as he hates being in a group at the moment, Jon likes the idea of being out here alone even less. In spite of himself, he heads back toward Hawke, picking up leaves and branches as he goes, until he can see the other man's form through the mist. At least he assumes...
"Hawke?" His voice is smaller, worried. He shouldn't have this kind of separation anxiety, but this place reminds him far too much of the Lonely. "That's you, right?"
For Carly - Vanessa & Amnos fake!married in Duplicity
He paces, tail lashing from the bottom of his kilt back and forth like a caged tiger, and gesticulates just as fiercely in his displeasure. He's smart enough to not have shown all this to the Guard, of course, but now that they're alone he doesn't feel the need to hold back. Not entirely, anyway. The last thing he's going to do is fly in to an actual Rage, but he can feel the heat of his own anger roiling like a geyser under the surface and it takes every ounce of his self control.
Good thing he has a lot of that.
He does another lap, curling and uncurling fists but never throwing anything but words and never directly at Vanessa. She's just as much a victim in this as he is.
"--and if I find out what kind of lunkheaded slack-jawed useless pebble brain came up with this I swear I will split them from nose to navel!" He declares with finality, turning to face Vanessa and then letting out a heavy heave of a sigh as he drops to the bed, the mattress creaking a warning under his significant bulk. "And use their entrails for compost."
no subject
In moments such as this, she has learned that it often proves more helpful to simply wait until the worst of the furor has abated, until the feelings that have been brewing within him begin to dissipate and lose their intensity. She simply waits, patient, unspeaking, until he practically collapses into a seat against the bed — and then she steps forward, only a minute hesitation before she ultimately reaches out to set a hand against his shoulder.
It is nothing beyond how she has already touched him before — she had held onto him in the dance they had shared out in the center of the ballroom only less than an hour ago — but in the room, alone with him now, it is a contact she initiates with even more awareness of him, uncertain if it would even be proper now.
Then again, considering that the city has all but bound them together in something that is being referred to as marriage, perhaps any contact between them does carry more significance, more weight — especially in light of what they are intended to do in this room together, the manner in which they are supposedly meant to see that ceremony officially consummated.
"There is nothing they can demand of us from here," she murmurs, trying to reassure him with soft words. "For all they know, we will... comply with their intentions for us, while perhaps merely spending the next three days simply getting to know one another better."
For Cath - Albus & Adalwolfe wizards in SPACE (post Dup. AU)
Adalwolfe Hawke doesn't much care about the structure of the station he's on, or the view into the black, other than hate them both with every fiber of his being. He'd already been in space once and found it intensely distasteful. Now to be here again is downright cruel, especially when it's still probably better in every other way imaginable than Duplicity. Save one. And that's the few layers of hull plating between them and utter oblivion.
Not for the first time he wonders how in the world anyone can actually live in and love a place where life is so solidly unwanted. Well, people will like anywhere he guesses. Sort of like rats that way.
With a heavy sigh, he turns to Albus - thankfully he hadn't been dragged here alone - and tries not to see the myriad of stars from the corner of his eye. "Can we go somewhere a bit more interior? Maybe find out how we got here?"
no subject
It's beautiful, in its own way. Still, he can sense Hawke's discomfort with it, so when he turns to Hawke he nods in agreement at the request.
"Of course -- let's find somewhere more informative. It would be rather good to have some idea of how we got here."
Thank you for waiting on me x.x
But also just can't abide it himself. He's genuinely sorry though, not wanting to tear Albus away from something new and interesting to the other mage due to his own phobias. Or... maybe phobia is the wrong word, when space really is trying to kill them. Well, not actively. Space is too vast for caring what insignificant specks of people live within or without it. The monumental scale of it and the indifference that permeates the great inky blackness withers his insides in a way that nothing else ever has in his life and puts him in mind of Jon and his fear entities. He wonders if the Void is one of them, but can't remember just now.
It's never the place you miss, he knows. It's the people.
He signs heavily and offers as much of a smile as his troubled state can manage. "At least we're together. That's some stroke of luck."
No worries!!
Albus had never really gotten the full story of where Hawke and Anders had come from before Duplicity, but he knew enough to understand that outer space had been involved. Presumably, it had not been a pleasant experience, or at least not pleasant enough that Hawke particularly wished to return.
Nodding slightly, smiling a bit more, Albus answers, "Better to face obstacles with a friend at your side, I'd say. And besides, it may not be ideal circumstances, but two pools of magic are far more powerful than one.
for Dia - Anduin & Hawke in Azeroth
Adalwolfe Hawke is already wounded, tasting blood and knowing its splattered across his clothes and skin. The fear demon that the Nightmare had set against them had been almost enough to handle all six seasoned fighters, leaving them too weakened to have any hope of facing the Nightmare itself with any sort of success. He'd argued to cover their escape, unsure if he'd even make it back to Adamant anyway with the seeping wound in his side and his meager creation magic not enough to knit wound, not with his mana tapped near the point of imbalance, but Lavellan made the call.
They'd raced to the portal and then. The world was nothing but green and vertigo, veil winds rushing past and buffeting his already battered body to the point where its a wonder that he doesn't lose consciousness.
Or maybe he does.
When Adalwolfe awakes, its to chanting in a strange language and that same sickly green Fade light. He's on a cold stone surface and when he can finally force his left eye open - the other is swollen shut - its to the sight of soft boots and the hems of robes in a deep purple with gold trim. The floor, then. Had they failed? Was he being held by Venatori? That feels wrong but he can't place why for the wave of nausea that washes over him as he attempts to rise to his feet.
"The demon is rising!" someone shouts in Common and Wolfe hastens to find his feet all the faster. He's had about enough of demons.
"Hurry hurry!!" another voice, this one female. "Its on its feet!"
Wait... he's the demon? He doesn't have time even to laugh, let alone protest, before the chamber explodes in magic.
no subject
It also casts a little more illumination on the chamber itself, before only light by candles and torches. Tall pillars of damp stone engraved with twisting tentacles stretch towards a ceiling that lies in complete darkness, the mosaic of stone beneath their feat illustrating some overlarge terrible sea creature. The scent of the sea, of rotting fish and wood and ceremonial incense, lingers thick in the air around them. One of the figures steps forward, lowering their hood to stare at Hawke in confusion, clearly having expected to draw forth something else entirely.
"Father?" One of the other hooded figures clearly sees the doubt in his eyes, and what appears to be the leader of this merry band straightens, surprise and confusion hardening into fanatical certainty.
"Fate smiles on our blessed mission. The Tidemother has granted us our champion! As the visions promised." The words send a rippling effect among those gathered, and whatever questions they might have had now seemed reassured and silenced.