text overlaid atop the dragon age logo that reads “@kagetsukai is just kind of amazing. She is supportive and fantastic to talk to, and she makes so much more of an effort to make this a positive space than I think she probably gets credit for. Her writing is also fantastic, and it is always exciting to see new content from her. She undeniably makes the fandom a better place for her presence.”
All of this. All. Of. It. I am privileged to know @kagetsukai and if you’re not following her, get over there and do it now!
Day 9: Offering Your Drink/Snack for Sidni and Any Companion – prompt by @out-of-the-embers
Yes, I am finally getting back to this. The good news is I have nothing to interrupt me this time. No more weddings or trips so I should actually be able to finish this month. Thank you for being patient with me. Hopefully this is worth the wait.
And I’m sorry if you’re sick of Sidni and Dorian, but I love them so much that I can’t stop writing about them.
She wants her tent and the sweet oblivion of sleep. She’s sick of these mountains and sick of the snow. Everything aches. Sometimes, as they walk, she swears she can feel ribs grinding together. She’s had worse, certainly, but still. There have never been so many people focusing on her in such a state. It’s unnerving. She knows she looks like she barely survived being trampled by a bronto.
That’s probably more apt than she wants to admit. She certainly doesn’t look like a leader at the moment.
But with a lack of healing potions and Solas having done all he could, she just has to give it more time. And keep up the front. Hopefully she won’t collapse while leading the entire remains of the Inquisition. It almost makes her long for the days when she traveled alone and could find a cave to stop and lick her wounds in.
The lone figure sitting by the fire in the center of her companions’ circle of tents brings her pause. Dorian has his robes drawn tightly around him and his brows are furrowed. She glances at the meager meal in her hands and then back to the mage. Thinking of the warmer climes of Tevinter and the ready luxuries they enjoy, she can imagine this feels like a death sentence to him. He’s not complained once, but …
Biting back a groan as her body protests, she drops onto the crate next to him. He turns, his eyes sweeping over her and lingering on the bruises and cuts.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
She can tell the truth on this at least. “I’ve had worse.”
He frowns, surveying her closer. This unlooked for ally, this outcast, catches on to her more than many of the others have. It’s unnerving, but she likes him, so she lets it pass. Still, she fights back a flush under the scrutiny and holds out the venison someone had thoughtfully put aside when she didn’t attend dinner.
“I know you’re hungry,” she responds to his arched brow.
“Cadash–”
The lie rolls easily off her tongue. “I snatched some extra. Old habits.”
He takes it from her, still hesitant. She brushes her fingers clean and looks to the fire as he nearly devours it after the first bite. Her heart twists for him. And her admiration grows.
He holds out half of the small portion. It’s her turn to raise a brow and hope her face shows her displeasure.
“You took it for yourself. Have some,” he urges.
She breaks off a piece and pushes the rest back. She’s gone longer periods with no food. She’ll survive. He almost looks guilty when he finishes it.
“There’s an extra fur in the crate we’re sitting on. I would hate to find a frozen Vint in the morning. Good night, Dorian.”
His splutter follows her as she crosses to her tent. She catches sight of Cullen, hovering outside his own tent, watching her. There’s an odd expression on his face. Her heart does something strange and causes her breath to catch. She steels her jaw and nods, hurrying to the safety of canvas walls.
The frozen ground is unforgiving against her body, but she curls up and ignores it all. The pain, the hunger, the confusion … it all fades as she lets sleep take her, content that at least Dorian will sleep easier tonight.
My “favorite” part of growing up/being poor is when you have some disposable income, even like 10 or 20 bucks, and deciding to splurge on yourself or even doing something unnecessary outside of base survival (Ie: Instead of getting a lot of cheap processed food “splurging” on a night out like bowling or going out to eat)
and then the moment it’s over or right before you click checkout, you get hit with this deep feeling of guilt and shame as you realize what that money could have gone towards. Or when later, always inevitably, you are in desperate need of money you can recall every “wasted” cent you spent.
It’s really disgusting that while I feel guilt over buying something as simple as a face mask, someone else can lose millions in the stock without even noticing.
it really is disgusting that things like bill gates not knowing the price of bread is endearing while me for once in my life placing the quality of life over survival is seen as living outside of my means. That living within your means is just code for just existing as a tool to make others money.
I am weak for Chinese food. Give me takeout cartons with lo mein, steamed rice, mushu, orange beef, and a sweet & spicy chicken and I will be your best friend.
I’m also a California girl so I thrive off of good Mexican food. When I went away for college, I would come home demanding real Mexican and Chinese food from my hometown restaurants.
Maker's Breath 