The Best Kind Of Ships Are The Ones That Have Something Aromantic Going On

top 3 places to bleed out:

1. the snow

2. your lover/best friend/homoerotic comrade’s arms

3. bathroom floor

If you believe hard enough, every character can be aroallo

queerplatonic polycule but two of us fucking hate each other

every single day I think about how the DA2 male love interests had their queerness erased in a straight romance because the writers feared that the straight girlies would find it off-putting to romance a queer guy

but yeah sure custom fem!hawke/fenris is suuuuuch an underrated ship 🥺🥺

Aragorn n Legolas r so funny to me bc people who don’t know lotr well see gruff manly ranger and elegant princely elf but they don’t know what i know. they don’t know that Aragorn is the long haired sensitive softboy writing sad poetry on his livejournal about not being able to show his girlfriend the awesome new song he wrote for her on his guitar meanwhile Legolas is doing backwards kickflips over gimli at the skate park bc gimli double dog dared him then he and gimli climb the tree at Aragorn’s house n yell at him through the window to come play halo

listened to "so american" on repeat, have toxic solavellan modern AU thoughts. this is what they are in canon. to me.

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Your hand brushes his on the gear shift, and he smiles, not looking at you because his eyes are always on the road when he drives. Everything he does, he undertakes with a grave kind of seriousness, with you dutifully posing as distraction.

“You’re pretty,” he says when he stops at a red light, steals a glance at you. He’s the first man that didn’t feel insecure that his clothes fit you perfectly—the first man to meet your eyes and didn’t insist he was taller than you, actually. Why would he be insecure about this when he gains so much height in any other aspect of your lives?

He lifts his hand from the gear shift to brush your hair out of your face, just for a tiny, self-indulgent second. His fingers are cold to the touch. They always are.

You watch his profile as he switches his attention back to driving. In the warm sunset light, he looks almost divine. He is easy to worship, even when he claims not to want it. Sometimes you think that he’s not real at all, he’s just a figment of your imagination. He’s too perfect. He’s something out of a poetry book, but you don’t write anymore.

Whenever you make a joke, he laughs like it’s the first time he’s ever heard that one. He will smile to himself, then, a private, self-indulgent sneer, not directed at you but at what you represent in his eyes. Not always. Only when he remembers it. Only when he remembers that you are not the same.

“I do forget that you’re Dalish,” he’ll tell you.

It’s not fair that your heart jumps when he says it. It’s a compliment out of his mouth, and an insult to everything you grew up with at the same time. He looks at you in spite of.

You would follow him anywhere, glued to his lips, hungrily taking in everything he has to teach you. You would swear any oath that can bind you two together, if only to keep listening to him.

It might as well be love.

You have nothing to offer to him, of course. He’s more knowledgeable than you, and he thinks your practices are crude. He takes up every conversation you have; his words become yours, his wisdom echoes in everything you say.

In bed, he touches you like you’re the only thing that can sate him. He’s been starved of affection and you have denied it yourself for so long. You melt against him, let him reshape you, drinking in his praise like plants take in the sun.

“I do forget that you are Dalish,” he’ll tell you.

And you forget it too, because he makes it all seem so insignificant, all so small and laughable and worthless.

You choose him so quickly, from the moment you first meet him, but he falls just as fast. It’s not something you discuss, not at first. He kisses you, almost unthinkingly—only almost, of course, because he weighs his every action against the weight in his chest—and when he tries to turn away, you guide him back to you.

It has to be love.

He looks at you in spite of.

"He/him lesbian Solas"

Milena, speaking nothing but facts

Been thinking about one of my favorite things in Da2. That being the little reminders of your companions around the Hawke Estate. The statue Fenris hates, whatever rude thing Isabela carved into the stairwell, alcohol that was a gift from Aveline, the never ending copies of Anders' manifesto. The books they recommend you line the bookshelves. Theyre your friends and while its not shown often in game, they are at your house enough to leave imprints of their presence.