Figured it was about time I create a masterpost to pin on my blog.
Name: Kogarashi, Amanda, "hey you"
Editor, (fandom) writer, freelance artist
Multifandom geek and generally crafty jack-of-all-trades (master of none)
~ I Draw ~ I Write ~ I Craft ~
Outside links here, but the most relevant is probably my Archive of our Own page.
You can buy me a cocoa (Ko-fi) if you want to throw a tip my way, and you can buy things with my art on Redbubble (slowly adding to inventory).
I also have a side blog for reblogging art I like, and now a side blog for reblogging other people's fiction.
I have a tag list for things like tag games. Want on (or off) the list? Just leave a comment on the linked post.
Fandoms, collected posts, commission info, etc. below the cut to keep this shorter on my page.
Quick links to my OCs:
Castelin Cousland | Aelinn Hawke | Tyria Lavellan | Saadrah Mercar
There are a lot of fandoms I'm in (or at least consider myself a part of, even if mostly on the sidelines). The biggest three would probably be:
Sonic the Hedgehog
Dragon Age
Mass Effect
But you'll find me posting things from other fandoms from time to time. If you followed me for one specific fandom but it seems like my hyperfixation has shifted, if you stick around long enough I'm sure it'll shift back.
I've got some sets of posts where I've put together a masterpost to link them all in one place, or have a collective tag for useful things. You can find them here:
Writing Tips (mine specifically; you can find more under the tag "writing advice")
Art Resources (I may not have every resource post properly tagged for this one, but I did my best)
My fandom headcanons
My tumblr dividers - free to use, credit is nice but not necessary, don't claim them as your own work or use them in commercial works
Yes, I do take commissions for both art and writing. If you don't see a type of commission listed below that you're interested in, you can always send me a message to ask.
OCs or canon characters (or both)
No NSFW
I find mechs difficult but I'm willing to give it a fair go
Digital delivery
Payment will be handled through Ko-fi (if you don't see an option on Ko-fi, message me), or you can send me a DM to discuss alternate payment methods.
What you Get:
High-res digital copy of your commission
Limited personal-use print rights (no re-selling, but you can get it printed on media/merchandise of your choice for your own use)
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Back around to another fic post since it's an even-numbered prompt for FenHawke Week (@fenhawke-week). This time, let's skip ahead to sometime between Inquisition (specifically Trespasser) and Veilguard. When exactly? Don't worry about it. That part isn't important.
Let's go with the "Strange Places" prompt, and where my mind immediately went when considering that prompt: maybe it's Fenris's turn to take Hawke somewhere she isn't expecting?
Strange Places
(1,231 words)
Read on AO3
Aelinn looked up at the towering architecture of Minrathous and whistled.
āWow. These magisters are really compensating for something, arenāt they?ā
Beside her, Fenris pulled his hooded scarf closer around his face to hide his ears and markings and harrumphed, drawing a laugh out of her. She hitched her glaiveās strap more securely onto her shoulder, jostled him with an elbow, and flashed a brightly toothy grin that usually served to unsettle most people who knew her. A little wild. Definitely irreverent. Maybe a touch predatory.
She knew he liked predatory.
āYouāre the one who brought us here, you know,ā she said, ignoring the deepening of his scowlāmostly for show, definitely fewer teeth than she deservedāand striding confidently through the bustling docks to find surer footing. Boats never sat well with her, not since the crowded ship that had carried what remained of her family from Ferelden to Kirkwall. No amount of time or distance seemed to settle that.
At least the company was good this time.
āThat doesnāt mean I like it here,ā Fenris huffed, his wiry legs keeping up smoothly with her pace. He still insisted on going barefoot, and Aelinn had long-since learned not to expect it to make sense to her, but every other inch of skin was covered with new leathers, nondescript but otherwise well-tailored at her insistence, intended to hide the tracework of lyrium all over his body.
Too identifiable. Too dangerous to parade around in the capital of the Imperium.
If Aelinn had had her way, neither of them would be there. Theyād be back in the Marches just outside Kirkwall, enjoying their quiet cottage and playing with their children, and making the most of every last private moment they could find together.
But Fenris had insisted. Heād made some contacts by letter, had a lead on something that mattered to him but that he still felt tentative on sharing. Aelinn could live with that. Heād tell her in time, and in the meantime, she could at least spend that coveted private time with him on the road.
And now, she walked through Minrathous with him.
As far as she knewāas far as Fenris had told her over the yearsāwhile Danarius had been based out of Minrathous, heād had a private estate quite some distance outside of the city. Still, neither she nor Fenris relished the idea that someone in the city might recognize him and try to take him into custody. Then theyād have a fight on their hands, and a mess once people realized it was a bad idea to try to take on the Champion of Kirkwall and the Blue Wraith.
Aelinn hated messes. They always got her yelled at by Aveline or Cullen or someone else whoād have to clean them up in her wake.
She couldnāt stop shooting glances at the overt displays of magic in the city, though, even in the obviously poorer districts. Right out there in the open, even though Tevinter had templars too. Glowing signs and glittering lights and displays of charms and offers of wards.
The backs of her hands itched. Overt, yes, but safe?
Mages in the open. Still poor. Still downtrodden.
And the city still tingled with an undercurrent of something...shadowy. The tang of blood on the back of her tongue. The barest hiss of whispers in the back of her mind before they flitted away.
If she had to put a name to it, the first one that came to mind was Kirkwall.
Tevinterās glittering jewel, and it still smelled like blood and demons.
Some of the luster flaked away, and she wrinkled her nose at the feeling like sheād rather just set fire to the whole place and call it good.
Fenris caught her eye. āLike Kirkwall,ā he said, his sharp eyes picking up on the shift in her attitude.
āDonāt poke too hard or youāll break through to the rot,ā she replied with a nod.
He snorted at the comparison, and turned a corner down a claustrophobic alley. She spotted a scrap of paper in his hand. One of his letters. With directions?
She smiled a little at the confidence he showed in reading it, and let her mind wander to the night before, on the ship, his voice low and warm as he read to her while she simply laid with her head in his lap.
āHere we are,ā he announced, stopping so suddenly she nearly took a sword hilt to the face as she bumped into him. She glanced past him to see a nondescript nook in the street. Barrels stacked to one side, smelling faintly of old ale, a cat lounging on top as though it belonged there. A tattered awning offering some shelter from the sun and privacy from upper windows. The very strong buzz of a ham-fistedāif Aelinnās opinion matteredābinding ward felt through the nearby wall. Graffiti of a chain broken in the mouth of a serpent.
āAnd here is...?ā Aelinn asked, leaning her arm on Fenrisās shoulder like he was a piece of furniture. He slid smoothly out from under her weight with a roll of his eyes, but she caught his fondly exasperated smirk before he wiped it away under his usual mask of irritation.
Someone dropped from above a handful of feet away, and Aelinn jumped with a little yelp of surprise and the crackle of magic across her fingers, ready to pull on the Fade and slam their attacker face-first into the cobbles.
It took her racing nerves a moment to shut up long enough for her to hear laughing.
From Fenris.
āOh, come off it!ā she grumbled, glaring at him and swiping away the writhing tendrils of green around her hands.
āNo,ā he said, still laughing, his eyes bright in a way she rarely saw and treasured every time, even if it was at her expense.
Their āattacker,ā another elf judging from the build, looked between the two of them in confusion.
Aelinn sighed. āSorry for my husbandās unhelpfulness,ā she said, poking at Fenrisās side and missing by a mile as he twisted out of the way, ābut I think we were meeting someone here?ā
āSomeone with information I need.ā Fenris supplied, trapping her hand in his without looking when she took another jab at him.
āYeah, that.ā
The other elf nodded, still visibly unsure about them. āWe have what you need, but ask your help in return.ā
Fenris muttered an oath under his breath. Aelinn nudged him with her hip. āDepends on the ask?ā
āSlaves that needāā
āDone,ā Aelinn and Fenris interrupted, and the other elf jumped a little at the sudden seriousness in both of their faces. They didnāt say anything else, though, just turned and gestured and Aelinn felt the snap of the rough ward nearby release. Part of the graffitied wall swung open, leading into a shadowy passage lit only by a single glowing lantern.
Aelinn threw a side-eye glance at Fenris, one brow raised. He shrugged. She laughed.
āHelping a mage?ā
He grumbled and started after the other elf into the passage.
āIn Tevinter?ā
His grumbling grew louder.
That only made her laugh all the harder. āYou bring me to some strange places, love.ā
In the shadows of the passage, her fingers found his and threaded together. He let her.
āI wouldnāt have it any other way.ā
Tags to say hi! (Maybe you like reading my FenHawke stuff š)
Title: Stretches for Mental Reach and Emotional Flexibility
Rating: E
Word Count: 7,267
Summary:
Jane and Garrus agreed to have sex. That's all it is, right? Well, they're not really sure. If only one of them could draw up the courage to ask.
But maybe it's better this way. Less likely to interrupt the crew without any feelings.
After all, it's not like the crew has been betting on when they'll get together, right?
. . . Right?
Posted to the Shakarian Mini-Bang 2026 collection on the AO3.
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thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:
the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)
it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.
"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)
as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.
that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.
In with my third FenHawke Week (@fenhawke-week) contribution, and back on art because, like I said, I'm alternating each day.
When I saw the prompt, the first thing I thought of was one of them comforting the other after a nightmare. I love the idea of Fenris being the one offering comfort in this case, and what do you know, I've given Aelinn (my Hawke) the perfect reason to have a night terror: she's a huge arachnophobe. Like, maybe even more than the games indicate.
And what does she help deal with in Inquisition? A massive demon spider in the form of the Nightmare Demon. I'm convinced she was having regular nightmares of that thing for weeks after.
So here we have Fenris with his Blue Wraith hair, comforting her after another nighttime reliving of the horror of facing off against the Nightmare, as they travel together to Weisshaupt to confront the First Warden about Warden-Commander Clarel's actions.
On multiple occasions in the years they've known each other, Shepard and Garrus have been kept apart by space, time, commitments, and on one memorable occasion, death. That has never stopped them from keeping in touch, however.
Be Between Me and Thee records the messages sent between Shepard and Garrus (or from Garrus to Shepard) on four occasions in their lives: after Garrus leaves the SR-1, while Garrus is alone on Omega, during Shepard's house arrest after the destruction of the Alpha Relay, and after the Battle for London. It explores their evolving relationship and what they mean to one another through these significant milestones.
Posted to the Shakarian Mini-Bang 2026 collection on the AO3.
The post going around about how people's parents met has, of course, got me wondering about more fictional variants. So if you feel so inclined, tell the story of how your Shepard's parents met in the tags. Or, for Earthborn Shepards, perhaps the story of how/why they ended up on the streets?
I hesitate to make this a sweeping statement, but I do think that to be a writer, you have to on some level love words as an artistic medium. Words can't just be the annoying limitation that make it more difficult to share your beautiful daydream. They can't just be the storytelling method you choose because you don't have the skills or resources to make any other kind of media.
You have to love the art of words for its own sake. Love the sound of words--how you can make music of a million different rhythms and moods, how the words and sentences you choose can make a million different atmospheres. Love what you can do with words--paint an image, share an emotion, put a person into a scene that only exists in the world of imagination. Love the different ways you can use words--different points of view and tenses, different formats and styles that can each provide a different experience of the story for the reader. You have to love words as your artistic tool and delight in learning new ways to wield them and new effects that you can create with them.
If you don't love words, there are other ways to tell a story. Writing is an artistic medium with it own strengths and weaknesses, and using it as your artistic medium should be a deliberate choice made out of love for this artform.
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I do think the ability to emoji-react is a net win for human communication. not only does it give you an outlet for 'I see and acknowledge this but don't have a verbal response' but it also adds a pleasing alethiometer element to things
my coworker announces that he's off to the dentist. someone reacts with a tooth emoji. is this a statement of dentist solidarity? a wish for my coworker to return with more (or fewer?) teeth than he set out with? simple word association? who can say
I kind of wanted to do a bunch of art for FenHawke Week (@fenhawke-week) like I did for Rookanis Week back in February. On the other hand, I also don't have as much fic stuff written for Aelinn Hawke and Fenris as I do for my other DA ladies. So, I decided that since FenHawke Week is eight days, I'd alternate art and fic. (Also, that way, I don't drive myself absolutely batty trying to jam out eight art pieces on limited time.)
So for today, I decided to go with the "Grief" prompt and write a ficlet for these two. Sorry, this is sad, but it's the saddest fic day for the week, if that helps?
This is set just after Leandra's death. Hawke is grieving. She and Fenris are already in their "Act II breakup" phase of the relationship.
Grief
(1,301 words)
Read on AO3
The oppressive silence in the Hawke Estate loomed over Fenris like an angry ghost, scratching at his nerves with ragged claws.
Hawkeās home should have been boisterous. Warm. Full of life and laughter. Visiting friends. Loving family. Respected staff. A place the people in her circle could call comfort, could call a second home.
Instead, the grand fireplace in the main hall stood dark and cold, ashes scattered across the floor like something had been raked out recently but no one had cleaned after. Letters piled up on the sideboard, beneath a bare spot on the wall where a portrait had once hung. Hawke and her family, when she was younger, Fenris thought, but couldnāt quite recall for certain. Faulty memory, perhaps.
Guilt at not paying more attention to his one-time loverās home, more likely.
The soft pat of his bare feet on the floor seemed to thunder in the lonely space. Fenrisās lips thinned into a hard line. The others should have been there.
He should have been there sooner.
But no, Varric had to prod him out of his own self-pity to even convince him to come, and after all the pretty arguments of who was best suited and who might just make things worse and who Hawke really wanted to see, the only thing that had finally convinced Fenris was the promiseāthreat?āthat if he didnāt step up, Anders would.
And, even though Hawke had thrown out Varric and even shouted at Merrillāand she never shouted at Merrillāand even though Fenris was probably the last person she wanted in her home, he now stood at the bottom of the stairs and hated himself for hesitating.
Orana appeared briefly in the hallway that led to the kitchens, holding a tray of food. Their eyes met. Hers were puffy from crying. Fenris felt his soften, and wondered if he looked as lost as he felt.
To his relief, Orana said nothing. She simply inclined her head and disappeared back into the shadows. Relinquishing the task of reaching out to Hawke to him.
The stairs felt cold underfoot as he climbed to the upper landing. The silence continued to lean in as though it could smother him too.
Hawkeās door mocked him in its steadiness. The last time heād laid eyes on it, heād left Hawke behind, her eyes dark andāheād thought thenāaccusing. Only, heād come to find after, heād misunderstood. Heād broken whatever fragile, fledgling thing had grown between them, and sheād blamed herself for it, not him. Had continued to speak in his defense against Anders even though he didnāt need it. Had continued to treat him as a person even though he didnāt deserve it.
Heād driven in the knife, and twisted it, and she still called him friend in spite of it all.
He considered knocking, and instead tried the handle. The door creaked as it opened.
āI told you I didnāt want any,ā Hawkeās broken voice quavered from the far side of the bed. It cut right to Fenrisās heart.
The room was a mess. Bed linens rumpled and tossed aside, clothes strewn about, Hawkeās glaive propped against the half-open wardrobe like a drunkard. A tray of uneaten and congealed food sat on the desk. The curtains were drawn as though to shut out the outside world. The fire in the fireplace guttered under a thick cloak of ash. Shadows coated everything as the lone lantern on the nightstand struggled to illuminate anything. The room smelled stale and musty.
Hawke huddled on the floor as far from the door as she could manage, hunched over her knees, head hanging between them, her hair a disheveled mess. She still wore the clothes Fenris had seen her in the day herā
Well, the day everything fell apart.
He rounded the bed, cautious. Hawkeās mabari, leaning against her like his weight alone could bear her up, lifted his head to whine plaintively at Fenris. And around Hawkeās feet, scraps of black spilled like wool leavings in the weaverās quarter.
Oh.
Hair.
Hawkeās hair.
The knife sheād obviously used lay just out of her reach, strands still clinging to the blade. He could see now the rough hack-job sheād done of the cut, hear the shudder in her breaths of emotions long wrung out.
She turned her head slightly as he approached, one tear-swollen, red-rimmed eye watching him warily. If she was surprised to see him and not one of the others, she didnāt show it. Her breath hitched again as he settled next to her, a polite distance away. It might as well have been a chasm.
A half-choked sob that seemed to die in her chest, and she rubbed her arm across her face with an ungraceful sniffle that sputtered into fresh tears. āI take it Varric sent you,ā she said, hiccuping on the words.
He couldnāt meet her eyes. āI know I....ā He swallowed. Searched for the words. Found only helplessness that galled him. She needed more than he was. More than he could be. And yet he was the only one at her side at the moment, aside from her dog.
Because a certain dwarf thought he might succeed where the others had failed.
āIām...not sure Iām the one you want to see right now,ā he finally managed.
She shrugged listlessly. He swallowed down his knee-jerk irritation at the implied dismissal and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to try again.
āYou were right.ā
The defeat in her voice, muffled against her knees, brought him up short.
āYou...and the templars....ā Her shoulders shook with her next breath, and she kept her face buried between her legs. āMages ruin everything they touch.ā
Ice lodged in his stomach as effectively as a blade, and he felt the prickle of the lyrium markings along his shoulders and spine flaring up in response.
What has magic touched that it does not ruin?
To hear Hawke, fiercely proud of her magic and yet kind and caring and protective of those she loved, who put up with him and his mess and his sharp tongue, say those words....
To agree with him....
His heart clenched around the damage he had done.
āWould it...help you? Thinking that?ā he murmured.
She tried to laugh. The sound snagged in her throat and squeezed out as a sob. āI failed her, Fenris. I failed Carver. I failed Bethany.ā Hawke hugged her legs closer to her. āWhat good is magic if all I do is fail the ones I love?ā
He had no answers. He knew what he wanted to say, but shouldnāt. He thought he knew what he needed to say, but couldnāt. All he could manage was an awkward hand on her shoulder. Too light. Too heavy. It felt like both and an intrusion all at once.
āI donāt know,ā he forced out. The closest to truth he could find to give her. āMaybe...itās better not to fill these moments with unnecessary words.ā
She did manage a laugh this time, bitter like stale beer. āEloquent as always,ā she sighed.
He bit back the harsh words that tried to spill loose.
āBut thank you,ā she added. āFor being here.ā She took another shaky breath. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. āI know itās...itās hard, and...Iām not the best right now....ā She choked.
He pulled her to lean into his chest without thinking. She didnāt protest. Her fingers clutched at his armor leathers, holding on as though he was her only lifeline, and she buried her face against his chest and sobbed.
When she finally cried herself to sleep an hour later, he carefully moved her to the bed, stroking her raggedly shorn hair out of her eyes, and left her there with an inadequate apology and all his regrets.
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Title: Hypothesis Testing aka Humans and Turians and Blowjobs, Oh My!
Rating: E
Word Count: 9,208
Summary:
When Mordin gives Adrienne Shepard a very dubious piece of medical advice regarding the ingestion of turian bodily fluids, Shepard immediately calls bullshit ā and Garrus is more than happy to help her prove the hypothesis wrong.
Posted to the Shakarian Mini-Bang 2026 collection on the AO3.
Not putting it in tags because four OCs. Too much to leave down there.
Castelin and Alistair get the unfortunate outside opinions that she's just in it for power. To many (especially Loghain and Anora supporters), the Couslands failed at one political takeover and now here's their daughterāa newly-minted Grey Warden, who should be politically neutralāpropping up the dead king's bastard half-brother in a bid for the throne, and marrying him for "legitimacy." It doesn't help that to people who don't know her, Castelin is intimidating, clearly diplomatically trained but with a bit of a temper hiding underneath. Many see her as cold, calculating, intruding and taking charge where she's not wanted, and don't see the softer side that Alistair is madly in love with.
Luckily for the two of them, their friends (who are the ones who really matter) see the softer side, that there's love in both directions there and Castelin is in it for Alistair's sake, not her own.
Aelinn and Fenris would probably get some "power imbalance" criticisms, at least until people see them both in action and realize there's no imbalance there. Some who know Aelinn's romantic proclivities prior to Fenris might assume she's just after another pretty face and good-looking body, but Maker help anyone who voices that out loud around either of them. If they're lucky, they're just getting punched.
Other than that, anyone who can at all read the writing on the wall can see the two of them are head over heels for each other, even if they try to play it casual. Also frighteningly effective together. And the only person in the friend group who outright disapproves is Anders, and Aelinn hasn't seen him since the Chantry explosion.
Tyria and Cullen definitely get quiet, discontent rumbles of power imbalance, though everyone assumes the imbalance is in Cullen's favor (former templar, human, tall and strong, favor with the Chantry) even though Tyria (mage, Dalish, slight of build, apostate) is actually the Inquisitor. Many disapprove of the match, either because they feel the Inquisitor should not be romantically entangled with her own Commander, or because they dislike human-elf relationships, especially when the elf is a "Dalish savage."
At least among the inner circle, most are in full support, and those who aren't keep it to themselves because it's none of their business. Honestly, Dorian is probably their biggest fan in this regard.
Saadrah and Lucanis get a mix of results. The whole Veilguard is in support, thankfully. Many people in Treviso, on the other hand, initially assume that Saadrah is an Antaam interloper and Lucanis her "pet" Crow. Illario dismisses her as "not a threat" initially. Caterina is unhappy with Lucanis's choice of partner but takes her time before voicing it. Teia is wholly on board while Viago is cautious, as expected. On Saadrah's side of things, Tarquin is bitter because "of course Rook would side with birds before Dragons," but eventually comes around. Saadrah's mother is wary (she spent so much of Saadrah's childhood trying to dissuade her from emulating the Crows), while Saadrah's brother is much more accepting.
Most people, though, can't argue that they don't care about each other. Even when they're at public functions and keeping things on the down-low, there are small touches, small looks, that are obvious enough to anyone with eyes.
