#IT IS SO HARD TO FIND CASSANDRA AND INQUISITOR CONTENT

[a-gay-bloodmage]

i know this can't possibly be accurate to the wider fandom (like i know i have just curated tumblr to be highly specific), but the ONLY dai content i see on tumblr anymore is cass/adaar and it just makes me feel like after all these years of male adaar being forgotten about now its our time to be appreciated.....out of the way solavellans.........here comes a special boy...........

[ellana-lavellan-official]

Why so much Solavellan hate?

Whether I was blissfully ignorant or simply lucky before, but I never have seen so much negativity towards people, who romanced Solas in all eleven years of being a part of the fandom as I did in the last weeks.

"Solas doesn't care about her", "It's been 10 years, they moved on", "You are not default Inquisitor, stop asking for much", "Stop asking for solavellan content in DATV", "This story was never about Lavellan, Solas woudn't spare her", "Stop being delusional - Lavellan isn't special, his friendship ark has the same impact".

First of all, why the fuck do you care? It's a single player game. Everyone has the canon they create. My choices does not impact yours in any way.

Secondly, who are you to tell me what my character is feeling? What can and can't I hope for?

Thirdly, it's you who are delulu, if friendship and love is the same thing in life. While friendship with Solas still impact his view on modern people, Inquisitor isn't the one solely responsible for it. To get "You showed me that I was wrong" line in Trespasser, you have to have 1 approval from Solas. Again, one. His banter with companions (Cassandra, Varric, Dorial, Iron Bull, Blackwall, even Sera) - all of it shows how gradually he opens up. He is ready to challenge his views. He does change them. In Teviwnter nights or comics taking place after Trespasser, Solas doesn't want to hurt people. He tries to minimize the risk. He talks with Varric ffs in DAV prologue. All of it exists even if Inquisitor and Solas hated each other. So no, neither Inquisitor, nor romanced Lavellan is the reason why Solas decided not to be cruel. It's in his nature.

The romance is not about "loving her convinced him not to kill modern people". It's about respect, patience, kindness and being gentle with each other. It's about understanding and accepting that trust is hard for Solas. It's about understanding and accepting that Solas has to hurt Lavellan by leaving her to spare further, much bigger pain of realizing men she is with is a persona. It's about forgiveness and love persevering. It's not about his plans for the veil/evanuris/spirits etc. It's about Solas and Lavellan as two people who fell in love.

Solavellan as a group kept this fandom alive during years of silence. It has gathered numerous fantastic, beautiful and talented people who made art, researched lore, shared fanfics. Why does it bother you when someone finds something to enjoy and isn't hiding it?

ffs

those haters didn't even listed to Solas and Lavellan banters, and they think of themselves as judges of truth, smh

[secretly-a-catamount]

Which couple from another text, narrative, and story most reminds you of Anidala and why?

(This prompt was posted by @skywalkr-nberrie in the wonderful Anidala Forever Support Group.)

I’m sure this was a hard question for others, but for me there was no contest. There was one fictional couple that immediately came to mind for me and trumped all others. In fact, I already made a post saying that I thought they were similar to Anidala here, although I didn’t really go into specifics.

That couple is none other than Malcolm Fade and Annabel Blackthorn from Cassandra Clare’s The Shadowhunter Chronicles.

Malcolm and Annabel first meet when they are both eight and Malcolm is bought by Annabel’s family to be their unpaid servant/slave. The Blackthorn family even go so far as to add their last name to his.

Despite the fact that he’s a literal monster in the eyes of her people, Annabel quickly befriends Malcolm, comforting him when her brothers and the servant children bully him for his demonic heritage and magic powers. Annabel is mentioned by name on the first page in the first of a series of diaries Malcolm wrote while he was growing up.

As Malcolm and Annabel weren’t allowed to speak to each other and spend as much time together as much as they wanted to, they often communicated by leaving letters in a statue of a boy with a raven in the Blackthorns’s garden.

They grow up and they fall in love.

He wrote her funny and amusing stories; she sketched and painted him.

Malcolm built Annabel a cottage far away from her family that was protected by magical enchantments and charms and overlooked the ocean because he knows Annabel loved it so.

As he grew up, Malcolm grew worried that he won’t be strong enough to protect her if their relationship comes to light, so he goes looking in the Downworld for something or someone he can make a deal with.

He finds the Unseelie King, a faerie ruler of immense power who’s willing to make a bargain. If they can bring him the Black Volume of the Dead from the Cornwall Institute he’ll protect them from the Shadowhunters.

Malcolm agrees, wishing against all hope that they’ll never have to.

He doesn’t get his wish.

When they’re somewhere between nineteen and twenty, Annabel’s family discovers their relationship and throws Annabel out, not wanting to have a “tainted daughter”.

Malcolm and Annabel spend a few days together in their home before Malcolm decides he has to take the King’s offer, he has to do whatever it takes to protect her.

He doesn’t tell Annabel about what he or the King plans to use the Black Volume for. She goes with him anyway.

They get captured, separated, and imprisoned within the Silent City.

Malcolm is broken out of prison by a faerie loyal to the Unseelie King.

Annabel is tortured into insanity by the Inquisitor for information she does not have. She does not want to believe that Malcolm has abandoned her. They make her.

Annabel is delivered to her family. They bury her alive in her family tomb, intending for her to die there for her crimes — literal and societal.

She does.

Annabel’s family spreads the rumor that she willing chose to leave Malcolm and become an Iron Sister due to her shame of loving a Downworlder.

Posthumously, Annabel becomes the basis for the Shadowhunter fable and ghost story about the tragic love between Lady Midnight (a nickname that Annabel held in life due to her long, dark hair) and her forbidden lover. According to the story, Lady Midnight fell in love with some she wasn’t supposed to love so her family sealed her in a castle of iron and left her to die. The story say that when the wind’s just right you can still hear her screaming, sobbing for her lover to return.

It breaks Malcolm’s heart when he hears of Annabel’s supposed decision, but over time he comes to accept this as her choice, content with believing that she’s happy as an Iron Sister. But he never truly moves on, planning to sneak into the Adamant Citadel when she eventually dies and laying next to her for all eternity or until he dies too, whichever comes first.

In the early twentieth century, Malcolm becomes the High Warlock of London and has to work with the inhabitants of the London Institute although he largely distrusts Shadowhunters and thinks the Shadowworld and the Downworld should remain separate.

(And then I got really tired of typing so I just started screenshotting wiki pages, sorry 😭)

[mercysought]

❝ there's one thing i know in my bones. there is no force in this world that can control you. ❞ - dealer’s choice

arcane season 2 // @hoboblaidd // accepting

There is much that we have forgotten. I have come to accept that, one way or another, we - the dalish - are not the last of the elvhenan. How could we ever be if such a place (A place for Our People) was broken so long ago? I think a lot about something I was told, upon first discovering that some of the People still walked and protected those same spaces that we had tried so hard to recover.

They never sought us out, they knew were lived in forests and in Clans and yet simply watched on, thinking of us like Shadows wearing vallas'lin. Shattered pieces of a past that had once been their present.

Despite the oath at the Dales, the reality is that whatever empire the elvhen once had - it is not something we can recover; nor should we. I have had enough time to think about it and, truthfully, while I believe the vallas'lin no longer carry the meaning of old, if I were to be asked once more, I wouldn't be able to carry it, to keep it. Not after learning what I have. It is an uphill battle that every dalish person will have to reckon with: to preserve the past and poison the future, to remember what has happened with nuance of knowing how fickle memory can be.

Or perhaps, to allow ourselves the nuance and the grace that comes from change. In the end, however, it should still be each of that Dalish person's choice: To keep it with its changed, new meaning, with a shameful past but a brighter life. Or to leave it behind and allow memory to destroy it too.

The Vallas'lin were markings with which the Evanuris branded their slaves, both high and low. But they are no longer. The Evanuris are dead and we are not.

   "You came here to help, Solas. I won’t let them use that against you." She had said, almost in disbelief when he had spoken almost as if he had seriously been considering leaving. This new title, Inquisitor, still felt like a fresh wound against her. Raw and impossibly larger than any life that Asharen had ever known. Solas was the only person that had seemingly cared whether she lived or died regardless of the anchor in her hand. However, this much she knew, understood: Cassandra, Leliana and Cullen, they listened to her. She wasn't sure how far she could push it. But three humans, non mages, listened.    "How would you stop them?" she hears him ask and his eyes are on her. Her brows arch as if she doesn't understand the question. And perhaps she doesn't. How did you defend the younger ones of the clan when you knew templars were marching in the surrounding clan areas? He was bare faced, but so were many in Antiva City, many that had come to her defense too.    "However I had to."

The First Inquisitor of the Chantry's Inquisition was a dalish elf - a mage - who worked alongside humans in Orlais. He died holding another world shattering threat, hoping that would keep the dales safe. It didn't.

It should not surprise me how frequently history repeats itself and yet we stand at the closing of another cycle: I too am dalish, a mage and Inquisitor during the fight against Corypheus. It does not escape my thoughts that this too is likely to be my fate. Even as I write these in the hopes of clearing my mind, I know that one way or another they will likely find themselves in hands that are not mine.

While I know that is outside of my control, my wishes, I instead find myself hoping that while it will be the interest of my title (and, hopefully, name) which will draw eyes to the writing, that it will be its contents and the History within that will keep it being repeated and passed on.

Those who hold the records of History, true or not, are the same that will control the new path the Dalish will take moving forward. The Oath of the Dales has promised that we shall never submit again. We are more than our aravels, our halla, our arlathven. We are more than our oath. We are more than our loss, our grief.

Do not forget the lessons of old, but do not allow them to destroy the joys of the present.

[antigone-ks]

Spoils of the Avvar

Summary:

After visiting the Avvar, Quiz shyly admits to Cullen that she'd like to see him in nothing but his furry mantle and a loincloth. He opts to surprise her with a full-throttle, bride-stealing Avvar roleplay one night.

Originally written for dragonage_kink, 2015

Warnings: consensual dub-con roleplay

Tags: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan; Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford; 

Roleplay; Sexual Roleplay; Virginity Roleplay; Explicit Sexual Content; Established Relationship; Avvar Cullen; Sexual Fantasy; Roleplaying dubious consent;  But not actual dubious consent; Furry Mantle fetish; Cullen is game for anything apparently; really cliched speech; sex is better with barbarians; Oral Sex; some people are better at roleplaying than others; dominant cullen; 

Chapter One

“They’ve read his books?” Josephine looked delighted.

“Well, one of them has,” Evelyn said, grinning. “He only mentioned Hard in Hightown, though. Nothing about . . . the others.”

“They’d hardly need something like Swords and Shields, though, would they?” Josephine asked. “Somehow the Avvar have always seemed so, so naturally bodice-ripping.” The women ignored the sotto voce “Maker’s breath . . .” from the other side of the war table.

“There is more to romance than tearing off one’s clothes,” Cassandra objected. “And they wear so much fur, it cannot be easily done.”

“Oh, the Avvar understand romance, Cassandra,” Leliana replied, a little smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. “There may be less bodice-ripping, but there’s enough dashing warriors and swooning maidens and bride-stealing in any good Avvar tale to satisfy even you.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“I can picture the dashing warriors,” Evelyn said, thoughtful, “they’re all very tall, and their weapons are massive; I – “ she broke off at a choked sound from the final advisor.

“Can we decide on a strategy for this issue, or should we table the discussion?” Cullen asked, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

Leliana turned to the door. “Some scouts have recently returned; I’ll see if they have new information. Josie, find out if we have anything useful to trade. They do enjoy Orlesian spices; it could open another door for us.”

Evelyn leaned against the war table as the three women filed out, Cullen fiddling with one of the map-markers. He looked up suddenly as the door shut. “Massive weapons?” he grinned. “How did you see any of their weapons?”

“Well, they wear them right out in the open. Big hammers. Swords made for just the right sheath.” She smirked at him. “Your ears are red.”

“You’ve been gone for two bloody weeks, and before you even say hello you’re talking about hammers and, and bodices. And ripping bodices.” His arm snaked around her as he bent his head. “I never knew you had such a filthy mind,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers.

“I missed you,” she whispered against his lips, when at last they parted.

“Surrounded by dashing Avvar warriors, and you thought of me?” His lips traced a path down her neck as he slid a steadying arm around her waist.

“I thought of you a lot,” she confessed, sighing against his cheek. “Especially you in your furry mantle. Sometimes in nothing else.”

His warm breath huffed against her neck as he chuckled. “What, really?” She made an affirmative sound and he straightened, looking into her eyes. “Just the coat?”

“And maybe a loincloth. Sometimes paint.”

“I only wear loincloths on very special occasions.”

“We could go to my chambers and see how special today is . . .”

The blare of a horn signaled the return of Bull’s Chargers from their latest task. Evelyn sighed. They would want to debrief as soon as possible and move on to their celebratory drinking. “I think we’ll need to make it special very quickly.”

Chapter Two

The water hit her aching muscles, almost too hot to bear but instantly relaxing her. The scent of crushed embrium filled the steamy air, and Evelyn leaned back against the tub. Another long journey, nearly a month this time. A month of cold splashing baths and no tea and no Cullen.

Still no Cullen. He’d stood beside her at the war table as she gave her report, his fingers brushing against hers (quite brazenly, she’d thought, which was unlike him when he was on-duty), and hadn’t done more than murmur “that sounds like a good idea” when she’d mentioned going to the baths. She’d rather hoped he’d join her, but she was turning red and wrinkly and there was still no sign of him. Sighing, she wrapped a robe around herself and headed toward her chambers, hoping it was late enough to shortcut across the Great Hall without being noticed.

The Hall was utterly empty; not even Varric sat by the fire. Evelyn stared down the length of the room, a tense feeling creeping over her. Even in the evenings Vivienne would often be up researching and crafting, usually – if it wasn’t too late – with a young courtier dancing attendance on her. But all was still, as if the world held its breath.

Unsettled, she pushed open the door to her corridor and closed it decidedly behind her. A prickling feeling at the back of her neck made her spin around, peering into the shadows. Her heart pounded painfully as she heard a breath, a movement, a –

“Cullen?” She collapsed against the door, pressing a hand to her chest. “Andraste’s flaming hairy damned . . . things, why are you lurking in the dark?”

“I was waiting for you, lady.” His voice was different, deeper, darker, with an edge and an accent not his own.

Evelyn pulled her robe tighter and tried to look indignant. “I . . . I waited for you, in the baths.”

“Your men might have seen me, lady. I couldn’t let myself be thwarted beforetimes.”

“Um.” He stepped out of the shadows, the pale light from the windows shining on his hair, twinkling off the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. Strapped to his back? He wore it at his side. She’d made him choke on a frilly cake once, running her fingers over the pommel during an endless meeting with nobles. But now he had it – the sheath was – her cheeks flamed almost painfully as she realized that his sheath was missing because his trousers were missing because he wasn’t wearing trousers because he was naked – blessed Andraste, was that a loincloth? – under his mantle. His furry. His mantle. The mantle with the fur. The furry mantle she wanted to see him in and nothing but a loincloth and

“Paint?” she asked tentatively.

The light struck the side of his face and she saw swirling kohl markings down his cheek, around his eye. He looked wild, and dangerous, and somehow bigger than usual and oh, Maker, he moved like a prowling lion as he approached. If she pressed any closer to the door she’d leave an Inquisitor-shaped hole in it, and anyway this was Cullen, and she’d asked for this. Something like this, anyway.

His breath whispered across her face, his eyes hooded as she looked up at him. “Is this for me?” she murmured.

“I would do anything for you, lady.” His body pressed against hers, his hands sliding to her waist. “Let me claim you. Let me have you.” Her breath hitched as his lips traced the shell of her ear. “Submit to me, my pretty lowland maid.”

Evelyn felt giggles, unbidden, threatened to erupt from her throat. It wasn’t funny, she wasn’t amused, she was – she was nervous, just as if this were real. Well, two could play at this game.

Wriggling ineffectively, she threw her head back (a bit too hard, it bonked against the door and Cullen winced for her) and exclaimed “owOh, oh no ser, no! I must not!”

Even in the dimness, she could see his grin. His hold tightened. “Don’t fight me, lass. You shall be mine.”

“Unhand me, you barbarian!” His mouth twitched, then he swooped down and claimed hers. His lips, usually so soft, were hard against hers, demanding. He pulled her body tight against his, his muscled thigh slipping between hers. She mewled against his mouth as he rocked them together.

“Barbarian, am I?” he growled, tangling his hand in her hair. “A barbarian would take you here, against this wall, and let your people hear you scream. Let the men who want you hear your pleasure and know that a barbarian has given it to you.” Stooping, he swept her up into his arms. “I am no barbarian, lady. You will beg me lay claim to you.”

He started toward her chambers, stopping at the first flight of steps to rearrange her weight while she tapped her fists against his chest, protesting quietly. “No, you mustn’t! Let me go! Put me down – No, really, Cullen, put me down, these stairs are tricky.”

Setting her down, he looked momentarily stymied, then – “Will you walk to your fate, lass, or must I force you?”

“I needn’t be carried like a babe, ser. But, but you will not have me, brute!” she flung at him, marching up the stairs. As he followed, Evelyn was certain she heard him snickering.

Chapter Three

The fire was blazing, furs were piled into a nest before the hearth, and Evelyn took a moment to appreciate how much effort Cullen had put into this night. She gazed at him warmly as he approached, skin golden in the firelight. He smiled lopsidedly and reached for her, brushing the hair from her face and gently pressing his lips to hers.

“All that I have is yours, lady.” Cullen leaned his forehead against hers, eyes softening for an instant, before turning predatory. “If I may have all that is yours.”

“I have nothing, ser,” Evelyn said, looking down modestly.

He pulled her closer, provoking a gasp as his hardness pressed against her stomach. “No, lass, you have everything I desire.” One finger traced the line of her throat down, down, following the edge of her robe and dipping between her breasts. Evelyn squeaked and pushed at him, drawing a grin as he held her tight.

“I warned you not to fight.” Cullen��s smile turned hungry. Evelyn had only a moment to brace herself before his leg swept behind hers and he bore her to the ground atop the furs. His body radiated heat, and the scent of him, the warmth of the mantle cocooning them, made her feel as if the world had disappeared and there was nothing left but the two of them. She craved the caress of his naked skin against hers, the slick of their sweat as they moved together. Her legs parted, cradling him in the center of her being. His eyes glazed as the heat of her brushed his still-covered cock.

Pinning her wrists in one large, calloused hand, Cullen raised himself enough to force open the robe. “Conquering you will be so sweet,” he murmured, cupping her breast with his free hand. She arched beneath him as he flicked his thumb against her nipple, her cry swallowed by a punishing kiss. Trapped beneath him, she could do no more than gasp when his mouth followed his hand, suckling at her, nipping and teasing. Pleasure arced through her veins and she struggled against him, needing to touch him, to stroke him, to pleasure him as well as he did her.

“Please . . . please, Cullen-“ she gasped, and he released her, lifting her enough to pull the robe from her body. Evelyn wrapped her arms around him, fingers running through the fur at his neck and up into his hair. Her lips sought his, and she felt him tremble and for a moment thought the games were over and he would take her then, hard and needful.

Instead he nuzzled at her neck, seeking that sensitive spot below her ear, murmuring softly as he unwound her arms and laid her back into the nest. The fur beneath her was soft, smooth against her bare skin. She wanted to writhe against it, against the fur and against him, trapped between them until she could feel nothing else. She reached for him as he leaned over her and he caught her hand, brought it to his mouth.

“Lowlander,” he whispered, her pulse jumping as his lips brushed over her wrist. “Open yourself to me.” He kissed the tip of each finger, then guided her hand down his chest and lower, lower to the straining hardness still hidden in the loincloth. “You see that I need you. Let me give us both pleasure, my sweet maiden.”

“Ser, I cannot.” Evelyn gazed at him through her lashes, schooling her face into what she hoped was a wide-eyed innocence (but feared was just simple-minded). She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. “Please, ser. My maidenhead is all that I have, and it belongs to my husband.”

She wasn’t sure how he would react – was it too much? – but she got her answer when Cullen ground against her, eyes black with desire. He was so hard, and he knew exactly where she was most needy. She gasped and arched beneath him as he thrust again, then loomed over her.

“Your maidenhead,” he scoffed. “You writhe like a cat in heat, lass; you’re ready to be taken. You need it. And,” he lowered himself until his weight pressed her into the furs, his lips against her ear, “when I’m inside you, you’ll call me husband.”

How could something so staid and . . . and socially acceptable sound so unimaginably filthy? Evelyn whimpered and bucked helplessly against him as he sucked and bit at her neck, his hands leaving trails of fire as they roamed her skin, cupping her breast gently, then giving a bold squeeze. He swallowed her gasp, stole her breath with his kiss, and descended lower. He stroked the tender flesh of her thigh, watching her face with heavy-lidded eyes. As his fingers brushed through her curls, Evelyn gasped and reached for him.

At once, he gripped her wrist. “Be still, lass,” he whispered. “Let me please you.” She pulled against his grip, twisting against his strength, needing to touch him, to stroke his hair, to show him how very much he did please, but she could not break free. “I said lie still,” he said, his voice harsh. “Else I will bind you, and you will be at my mercy. Do you want that?”

“Oh Maker, yes,” she whispered. “But not now.”

“Not now,” he agreed. “Later, I’m going to fuck the air from your lungs. But for now,” he kissed the back of her hand, “be my good girl and let me love you.”

“Yes, ser,” she breathed, as he dropped her hand and slid both of his along the crease of her thighs, cupping her mound between them. He pressed a kiss, almost chastely, to her plump mons, then his thumbs parted her lips and he gently kissed her hooded pearl. Evelyn held her breath, held herself still, as his breath ghosted over her, his thumbs stroking along her lips. If she’d thought herself wet before, it was nothing compared to the moisture gathering as he toyed with her. He kissed her again, and she sobbed in need.

“Like a cat,” he whispered against her, so softly she didn’t hear it, couldn’t hear it, but she felt it crawl inside her skin, sparking against her nerves and setting her aflame.

“Please. Please, ser.”

“Please what, darling?” He kissed her again, just a touch of his lips to her, and her thighs quivered.

“Please kiss me there,” she whimpered, lifting her hips to show him.

Cullen chuckled. “I am kissing you there. Do you want more?” Before she could respond, he licked a long line up the seam of her lips, dipping deeper to flick against her clit, and she wailed.

“Yes, yes, Maker, yes please pleasepleaseCullen!”

He buried his face between her thighs and devoured her. His lips closed around her clit and he sucked, hard, as his long fingers teased her entrance, opening her gently. The contrast made her writhe. Evelyn covered her face with her hands as he stroked her slowly, invading her patiently, inexorably.

Cullen pulled his mouth from her with a gasp. “Maker’s breath, you’re so wet,” he said, sounding awed. “You’re dripping.” His finger curled inside her, and she mewled as he added another, sliding in a little more quickly, curling to match the other. His thumb pressed against her nub, the tips of his fingers found that perfect spot, and as he lowered his mouth to her again Evelyn sent up a prayer of thanks for this man and his hands. And his mouth. And his – and his – his hand thrust harder, his tongue flicked against her, and suddenly she was bucking and shaking, sounds like a trapped animal coming from her mouth. Cullen pushed her through it, not stopping until she twisted away and closed her legs. He chuckled as her thighs trapped his hand; he cupped her gently and let her ride him until the final throes dissipated.

Chapter Four

A warm drowsiness spread through her, limbs too heavy to move. Her eyes blinked slowly at the shadows on the ceiling, hazy and sinuous. Cullen gathered her into his arms, nuzzling her ear, his lips moving slowly along her neck. She could easily fall into sleep in this moment. She might, actually. It would take huge incentive to keep her awake. She shifted against Cullen.

Ah, there it was.

Evelyn cuddled close and rocked her hips, smiling lazily at his hiss. “Oh, ser, what have you done to me? I have thrown away all modesty for the sake of a few kisses!”

She felt his lips press against her temple. “Sweet maid,” he murmured, voice achingly low, “how can modesty stand against such delights of the flesh?” He seized her thigh, pulling it up over his hip, rocking hard against her. A bolt of pleasure shot down to her toes, and she gasped. His thumb caressed her lower lip. “And now you shall show me the same delights.”

Evelyn gasped theatrically, as heat spread through her body. “I cannot!”

Cullen smirked at her. “You don’t fight like an outraged maiden any longer, lass. Do not speak like one.”

Evelyn jerked out of his grasp and sat up, drawing a fur close around her body. “How dare you! It’s not my fault that a barbarian has kidnapped me and ravished me – “

“I haven’t ravished you yet.”

“ – threatened to ravish me, and made me feel such unmaidenly things – “

“And squeal such unmaidenly things.” Cullen was grinning outright, his grin, not his Avvar-predator smirk. Evelyn leaned forward, pecked her lips against his scar, and gave him a shove. It was like pushing a boulder.

“You beast!”

She surged upward, almost reaching the stairs before he caught her in his unyielding arms, pulling her tight against his chest. “Unhand me, or I will call the guards!”

“Do you want them to see your shame, lass?” He tugged the fur loose, baring her to the cool night air. Her nipples hardened, her skin flushed. “I will have you. I do not care who sees.”

“I could have you here where we stand,” he whispered, his hands moving down her body. He thrust against her, his heart thumping unsteadily against her back. “Would you like that, sweet? Do you want me to mount you, here, like a stallion covers a mare?”

Oh, Maker’s fucking breath yes.

Maker, he was still clothed. Well, still loinclothed. And furred.

His hand slipped between her legs, through the dampness that lingered, and parted her folds with an obscene sound. “That is no way for a maiden to be claimed, but I will do it unless you yield to me.”

Evelyn shook her head, gasping as his fingers drew circles around her bud. His other hand pressed against her back, gently but inexorably bearing her down against the railing. She rested her cheek on the cool stone and rocked against him, against his hand and against the thick weight that thrust against her core. He could almost push into her, just enough to make her thighs tremble and head swirl, and her breath caught on a sob when he removed his hand from her and pulled away.

“Cullen. Cullen, please,” she whispered as he caressed her back. “I need you. Maker, please fuck me.”

A rustle of cloth, and his cock slipped between her folds. Evelyn braced herself to push back against him, to take him deep, but he held her in place with more control than she’d known he possessed.

“Sweetheart, if you do what you’re thinking our evening will be over far too soon for my pride to bear.”

Her answering chuckle turned into a groan as he thrust so very slowly into her, shallowly as he would a true maiden. He was so careful with her, so gentle she felt overwhelmed with it, overwhelmed with the fullness of him moving inside her and with the fullness in her heart. He stroked her tenderly, running his fingers through her hair, whispering soothingly to her, until at last he was buried completely inside her. Bending over her, Cullen kissed her shoulders, her back, the hair at the base of her neck.

“Cull . . .” her voice choked off, unable to squeeze past the feeling of her heart lodged in her throat.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his own voice thick. “Darling. Evelyn.”

At last he moved, pulling back until he lay just within her, thrusting forward slowly until the tip of him touched her womb, repeating until she writhed beneath him. She felt him smile against her shoulder.

“Lass, are you ready?”

“Oh yes . . . yes.” Evelyn braced herself as he straightened and began to move in earnest, his hips beating out a quick rhythm against her buttocks that matched the pulsing in her blood. She began to arch against him, and his hands pressed her down again, against the railing, holding her a still vessel for his lust.

“That’s it, sweet, take me deep, let me fill you, let me – ah – let me have you,” his voice broke and he gasped, hips stuttering. Evelyn gripped the railing and pushed back, forcing him deeper, to the barest instant of pain. Her breath came in sharp staccato moans, her cunt aching with need. She was so close, Maker, give her only a moment more and she’d –

She jumped as his hand swatted across her backside, then squealed in outrage as he withdrew from her.

“I did warn you,” Cullen said, more teasing than reproachful.

“You absolute bastard,” she hissed, turning on him. He laughed and caught her hands, pulling her against him and capturing her mouth with his.

He spun them toward the bench that rested by the railing and sat, pulling her into his lap, guiding her legs to cradle him, his cock nudging her entrance. “I need you like his,” he whispered against her lips. “Need to hold you.” She shifted against him and took him inside, took him fully as he took her mouth again. “Need to see your face as you come apart on my cock.”

His hands fell to her hips and lifted her, guided her, settled her into a rhythm that had them both crying out. His hot breath ghosted across her breasts, his mouth suckling her until she arched back, running her hands through his golden curls to hold him against her. She had no words now, only mindless mewls that fell from her lips with every thrust of his hips. One arm wrapped around her hips, moving her quickly; the other hand slipped between them. At the press of his thumb against her bud, Evelyn hissed and Cullen raised his head to look in her eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered, pulling her hips down hard. “Look. At. Me. I need – “

Her body quaked.

She saw only his amber eyes,

felt her cunt clench,

heard an animal moan,

(is it me? Is that me?)

felt warmth filling her,

bathing her core.

When at last she returned to her body, her own body, the body on Thedas and not in some desire demon-wracked corner of the fade, her head lay against Cullen’s chest, his heart pounding in her ears.

She smiled and cuddled closer. “That was the nicest welcome-home-from-a-bog gift anyone has ever given me.”

“I certainly hope so.” His voice was rough and breathless, his lips soft as they grazed her forehead. “I’ll carry you to bed in a moment. Or, no, we need to. Um.”

Maker’s breath, that he could blush after what he’d just done to her.

“We need to clean the barbarian seed from my freshly-ravished thighs?” Cullen made a noise, half-laughing, half-choking.

“Just so, my pretty lowland maid.”

[the-true-nug-king]

Post DA Inquisition Yap Fest

(Just talking about my overall thoughts on the main companions and gameplay below the cut vv)

It took me around 124 hours but.. I'm finally done with Inquisition + trespasser!! Seeing Veilguard content was my introduction to the dragon age series as a whole, but I'm so, so glad I started off with Inquisition. It had a lot more content than I originally thought, and it was such an enjoyable experience! Since I especially tried to go towards the completionist route, all the extra content was a treat as well.

Some points I want to touch on:

★The cinematics were probably one of my favorite parts of the game, I thought they were storyboarded very well!! Especially the big post adamant fight where everyone sang 'the dawn will come' is ultimately what made me really care about all the NPCs and companions.

★Gameplay wise, I found very few flaws with the combat system itself. I absolutely loved how it was designed! I didn't think I'd like it as much as I did, so now I'm wayy more open to playing similar games. I usually play a lot of 2D platformers and rougelike games, so this was an interesting change.

★The shard quest was a bit annoying I'm ngl.. the little bottles of alcohol quest felt like it was enough. I do like the fact that you at least get some stats added up from the shards, but the amount of trouble to get them didn't feel all too worth it. Some of the puzzles were pretty frustrating, and it was hard to find a few objectives, but I digress; even with its flaws, the gameplay was overall very fun! It's got incredible re-playability.

★Inquisition made me so utterly obsessed with the world of Thedas and its characters, I've gotta yap about them in detail... soooo...

The Companions (I may have to give the advisors their own post, this ended up being pretty long)

Cassandra

I always thought Cass was such a cool character since the beginning, but I didn't really appreciate her till mid-game. Her little quirk of being into romance novels was so cute, that it made her all the more likeable to me! To me, she's a great example of how to write a strong female secondary lead. She's not just her strength, she has her own ambitions and hobbies. Cassandra is definitely one of my favorite characters in the series <3

Solas

Solas is such an interesting character and I honestly wish I hadn't gotten spoiled for his dread wolf reveal. Now knowing what I do about him, his distant personality makes a lot more sense. He also seemed wiser than anyone else, but I never understood why. I think my favorite interactions with him were in Haven-he had a curious vibe to him. I will say though, his odd comment on my Qunari inquisitor did irk me, but other than that, he's a great choice for a final antagonist. Whenever I get around to playing dai again, I definitely want to have Solas on my team more often since I feel like I missed out on interesting dialogue!

The Iron Bull

Absolutely loved the silly guy... I did go into the game with the intention to romance him, but honestly? He's a great friend to my inquisitor! He's sometimes the comedic relief, and sometimes the voice of reason. His voicework is also one of my favorites; it has so much personality to it! I don't have a whole lot to say about Bull, but I thought he was written very well.

Dorian

I briefly looked at who was romanceable and made a Qunari (Vashoth) specifically to romance bull, but then Dorian came out of nowhere and derailed that plan... I lowkey thought he only showed up in DA:TV, so his importance to DA:I came as a pleasant surprise to me. Dorian is wonderfully written, and I could tell his outright queer aspects were treated with care. Although, I do wish we could've seen more of his development-a lot of it seemed to happen off screen. For a game being made in 2014, it made me so happy to see a lot of queer characters in the cast/background. Dorians romance was also delightful to me. It was sweet, and had a complex aspect to it! All in all, absolutely loved Dorian and I hope to see him more in the next game (I'm coping ik he's barely there...).

Varric

The dwarf needs to be romanceable. That's it send post.

No but for real, Varric was a really nice comedic relief at most points. On an artistic standpoint, analyzing him was great to help me understand how to write complex characters-he's charming but an absolute nerd, great at being a rouge but an amazing writer, etc. etc. I'd be here all day saying everything I love about him lol. I'm glad he's become one of the characters that keeps coming back in the series!

Blackwall

Blackwall absolutely broke my heart after the winter palace mission… that's when he decided to reveal his true identify. At first I thought his whole betrayal was too rushed writing-wise, but now thinking back, it makes sense why it felt this way. It was realistically a spur of the moment act, so yeah, it does come as a shock. But honestly I was pretty intrigued with the secrecy he kept up, it added something interesting to his character (as it did with Solas). I personally don't think he's redeemable BUT I still do like him!! I did like how serious yet silly he acted during party banter as well, it gave him another layer! I'm super curious how others feel about him though, especially those who went the romance route…

Cole

COLE WAS SO COOL AND I HONESTLY WISH HE HAD MORE SCREEN TIME!! During my next playthrough, I really want to have him more on my team so I can hear his dialogue more often. He's got an air of whimsy, of course since he started off as a spirit. I love the way he's written and the way he speaks as well. Cole is hands down one of my favorites out the cast.

Sera

Sera is so annoying BUT I mean this in the best way possible! She's such a loveable character to me, and only annoying in a sweet sibling way. She keeps the inquisitor grounded, in a way, and reminds them to have a bit of fun in the face of... well, the end of the world. I wished to see more 'red jenny' stuff from her, but otherwise, I really liked her values and dialogue! I'm so glad my inky ended up being good friends with her :]

Vivienne

Vivienne ended up being one of my favorite companions! I absolutely loved her personality and design!! I do wish we got more content of her though… something feels missing, and I'm not sure what exactly. Perhaps more codex entries were needed? And maybe one more companion quest? Overall though she's an absolute diva and I love her for that.

Finishing thoughts

All in all, I knew da:i captured my interest when it became a super strong hyperfixation of mine (I thought about a lot of aspects of the game so often!). I become more attached to my inky than I originally thought, and I definitely plan on making more content of him when I've got the time :] So, thank you to all the wonderful minds who came together to make such a special game. And thank you to the fans who keep making such cool content <3

If you've made it this far, please feel free to share your opinions, or just yap about your inky in the comments!

[seigephoenix]

A Taste of the Divine

So I wrote this for a DADWC prompt but then realized I misread the entire fucking thing. I swear next week I'll do this whole thing sober, maybe then I won't make a mistake again. XD

Ship: Ashwyn Lavellan x Leliana Content Warning: oral, teasing, unedited smut for your reading pleasure Length: ~2k

“Hey Inquisitor, did you see this?”  Ashwyn looked up as Bull held a piece of paper in her face, disturbing her meditation.  She grabbed it from him and studied it.  “When did you learn to read Common?”

“My clan wasn’t as isolated as many other Dalish clans.  I learned from a passing merchant that traveled with us for a season.” Ashwyn narrowed her eyes at the words and her eyebrows shot up.  “How did you get this Bull?”  She handed him the paper back.

“The papers appeared mysteriously under everyone’s doors this morning.  I wonder if they’re just not charging us for this one before extorting us once we’re hooked.”  Ashwyn laughed at how disgruntled he looked.  “If you want to hear my opinion?”

“Please tell.  I love some good gossip, especially about the nobility.”  She grinned at him as he leaned down to whisper his theory in her ear.  “Huh, are you certain?”  He nodded.  “Why would they write about your nightly escapades with Dorian?  Almost the entire castle can hear you two, it’s not exactly a secret.”

“Don’t go telling Dorian that.  He’s all up in arms and grumbling about how we have to find a new spot since someone wants to write about us.”  Ashwyn’s shoulders shook from her laughs that she muffled with her hand.

“By everyone do you mean?”

“Everyone in your private circle and you advisors.  The Commander nearly choked on his coffee this morning thinking he had a report.”  Ashwyn doubled over at the thought.  Poor Cullen.

“Well, at least it hasn’t reached outsiders unless someone shares.” She studied the handwriting before gasping.  “I didn’t receive one of these.”

“You didn’t?  Why send it to everyone else except you?  Unless you wrote them.  Did you boss?” Bull leaned against the tree as he grinned down at the elf.  She glared up at him with those lavender eyes of hers.  He grinned in answer.

“Honestly, I’d have written about my own escapades rather than yours,” Ashwyn informed him in a prim tone that reminded Bull of Chantry sisters.  He chuckled and straightened as she rose from her spot against the tree.  “I’ll see if I can’t find who it is.”

“We think it’s Varric.” Bull looked at her as she gave him a lopsided grin.  “What?  Even the Seeker says it’s him.”

“Have you asked?” Bull opened his mouth before he shut it and shook his head.  “Let’s go ask.”

They made their way into the grand hall and saw Varric surrounded by Dorian, Cassandra, and Vivienne.  “I’m telling you, it isn’t me!”  Varric held up his hands as Dorian crossed his arms.

“I find that incredibly hard to believe Varric.”  Ashwyn stepped around the three and stood next to Varric.  “Inquisitor, will you please tell Varric to leave my love life out of his notes?”

“And I’m telling you Sparkler, it wasn’t me.”  Ashwyn placed her hand on Varric’s shoulder.  “You gotta believe me Inquisitor.”

“I do.  The person who wrote the letter isn’t Varric.”  Dorian drew up in outrage.  “Come off it Dorian, you read Varric’s attempts at erotica.”

“Oh.  That, that is true.”  Dorian grasped his chin as he recalled how Varric wrote the sex scenes in his smutty book.  The two didn’t add up at all.  “Then who could it have been?”

“Thank you for believing in me Inquisitor.  Honestly, whoever did write this is a better smut author than I am.  Maybe I can contract them out to finish my series.”  Ashwyn gave him a sardonic smile and he shrugged in answer.  “A guy can dream can’t he?”

“If it isn’t Varric, then who is it?  Are all our love lives available for this person?”  Vivienne asked quietly as she stood with her hands clasped in front of her.  She appeared regal but Ashwyn noted how tense her shoulders were.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this.”  Ashwyn promised.  “Now, I need the rest of you to have a little faith in me.  Can you do that?” Ashwyn gave them a broad smile.

“I suppose we can.  You wouldn’t let something like this go after all,” Cassandra admitted and the small gathering broke up with only Ashwyn and Varric left standing there.

“You know who it is don’t you Inquisitor?”  Varric demanded and Ashwyn gave him a serene smile.  “Hah, I’d love to be a fly on the wall for this confrontation.”  He laughed as she walked back towards her quarters and summoned all her advisors at one point during the evening.

“You wanted to see me my lady?” Leliana asked quietly as she passed Josephine who was giddy at the prospect of the letter.  She arched an elegant eyebrow before turning and moving towards Ashwyn’s desk.

“Is Josephine gone?” Leliana looked down the stairs and saw the door shut.  She nodded.  “Good.”  Ashwyn turned and gave her a stern glare that melted into a fit of laughter at her incredulous look.  “Come off it Spymaster, I recognized your handwriting.”  Leliana froze for just a fraction of a second and Ashwyn tilted her head with a smile and hands clasped behind her back.

“I see.  When did you figure it out?”

“When Bull shoved it in my face.  Did you know that Dorian believes you wrote about his and Bull’s escapades?” Leliana looked so offended that Ashwyn almost broke into peals of laughter.  “I have to know why you decided to publish it.”

“I didn’t.  One of my pages must have dropped down from the rookery.  I do not part with them so easily my lady.”  Ashwyn leaned back against her desk as she crossed her arms.

“My next question.  If you did not choose to write about Dorian and Bull, then what were you saying?  To me the two lovers had no gender in the story.”  Leliana wrung her fingers together as she listened to Ashwyn speaking.  “It’s beautifully written.  I can see the love shared between the two.”

“I did not write about Bull and Dorian.” Leliana spoke quietly and Ashwyn leaned in to listen closer.

“Then who?”  Ashwyn hastily straightened when Leliana stepped closer to her.  Her heart thudded in her chest as Leliana leaned in close until their noses were touching.

“Did you not recognize yourself in there Ashwyn?”  The flush crept up Ashwyn’s neck at Leliana’s words.  She had suspected but didn’t want to say so, it seemed like something so far out of her reach to think about.  Leliana’s hand came up and gently cupped Lavellan’s cheek.  “I wrote about us.”

“Us?  But, you said there could be no us.” Ashwyn grasped the edge of her desk as she braced her weight against the sturdy wood.  Ashwyn remembered the day she’d confessed to Leliana, and had been casually brushed off.  It cut her deep but she continued to try and make Leliana take her seriously.

“I was a fool.  A fool determined to get my revenge on the people who took someone I cared deeply away from me.”  Leliana tilted Ashwyn’s face towards hers when she tried to look away.  “I can’t deny that I feel the same way about you.  It would be inappropriate for us to become involved, given our positions.”

“Like I give a.”  Leliana touched her finger to her lips, silencing the rest of her words.  A devilish idea came to her and she parted her lips only to close them over Leliana’s fingers.

“You are incorrigible.”  Leliana chuckled as she pulled her finger away, but not before she suppressed the shiver down her back.  It had been years since she’d been so close to someone, nerves danced along her belly as she looked into Lavellan’s pale purple eyes.  The color of a lavender blossom.

“So I’ve been told.”  Ashwyn lifted her hand and wrapped her fingers around Leliana’s wrist, bringing her palm to her lips to press an open mouthed kiss there.  “Are you going to accept me?  All of me?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure Ashwyn.” Leliana whispered as her lips brushed against hers.  A whisper soft caress that had Ashwyn craving more.  Her lips parted on a trembling breath and Leliana merely smiled and touched her tongue to that plump bottom lip.  “What’s the matter?”

“You’re evil,” Ashwyn whispered as Leliana leaned back leaving her a quivering mess.  She whined before Leliana intertwined their fingers and tugged until Ashwyn followed to her bed.

“Evil implies I am merely teasing you my lady.”  Leliana’s hand cupped the front of Ashwyn’s throat when she leaned in to nibble along her jaw.  “I fully intend to follow through with my promises.”  Ashwyn swallowed and Leliana smirked against her warm skin.  Her free hand reached between them and tugged at the clasps in front of Lavellan’s shirt, until her hand rested between her breasts.  She glanced down and saw the freckles decorating her skin and wanted to trail kisses all over them.

“How did?” Leliana leaned in until her lips brushed across Ashwyn’s in a whisper soft caress.  “Leliana.”

“I’m not holding your hands hostage my lady.  If you wish to touch, you have my permission.”  Leliana chuckled when Lavellan’s hands reached up and pulled.  She released her throat to help her lift the overcoat off her body.  Their hands did not stop moving until they stood in front of the bed with nothing hidden from each other’s gaze.

“You are beautiful,” Leliana whispered as she sat down on the bed.  Ashwyn grinned and in a lightning quick move, shoved Leliana to the bed.  “Ashwyn!”  Leliana propped herself up on her elbows as Ashwyn knelt on the floor in front of her.  Her lips nibbled on the inside of her thigh.  Leliana let out a slow breath as the heat pulsed low between her legs.

“Yes?”  Leliana reached for her but Ashwyn swatted her hand away.  “Did you lock the door behind you?”

“Ugh, no.  I forgot to.” Leliana groaned as her head fell back against the mattress.  She would never forget again.

“Hmm, so I can’t take my time.  That’s perfectly fine with me.”  Ashwyn smirked as her hands pushed her thighs apart to settle between them.

“It is not alright with me,” Leliana huffed as she looked down at her.

“Well, next time lock the door behind you.”  Her lips trailed down Leliana’s stomach, nibbling at the trembling there.  She passed over her soaked and aching folds.  She heard the slight curse from the Spymaster and smirked against her skin as she nibbled on the inside of her thigh.

“As if it’s that simple.” Leliana hissed as Ashwyn nipped at her skin.  “Now who’s being evil?”

“As you said, evil implies I don’t mean to follow through.”  Ashwyn left a trail of nibbling kisses up the inside of her thighs until her lips settled over her sensitive bundle of nerves.  She groaned as she felt how hot her body was underneath her tongue.  Leliana tangled her fingers in Ashwyn’s dark hair.  Ashwyn teased her clit with the tip of her tongue before sealing her lips and relishing in her hips bucking against her face.  Leliana’s voice sang out through her room, Ashwyn didn’t even care if they heard them outside.  She just wanted to hear more, wanted to taste more.  Lavellan slipped two fingers into her hot body, smirking against her clit when Leliana clenched around them.

Leliana arched her back as the burn coiled low and tight between her legs, pulsing in a slow ache.  Her heels dug in the mattress as she reached for that pinnacle.  “Ashwyn.  Please.”  Leliana’s head fell back as the coil burst in languid waves of heat.

Ashwyn groaned as she felt Leliana’s body spasming around her fingers and her thighs squeezed her head.  She eased her through the waves until her legs stopped trembling.  She placed a gentle kiss just above Leliana’s still throbbing clit and slid up her body, trailing gentle kisses up until her lips met Leliana’s in an achingly sweet kiss.

Lavellan let out a startled laugh when Leliana flipped them and straddled her waist.  Her fingers trailed down between her breasts, spreading her fingers out over the soft curves of her breasts.  “Now it’s my turn dear lady.” Leliana whispered with an impish gleam in her eyes.

They both paused when they heard the swift intake of breath.  They turned their heads to the side and saw Josephine holding her clipboard in front of her face.  “I saw nothing!!  I promise!”

Ashwyn dropped her head back onto the mattress and Leliana sighed before looking down at her again.  “I will lock the door next time.  I forget how popular you are.”

[melisusthewee]

uhh Solas/m!Trev/Cass??? From the throuple prompts: A gets hurt on mission/adventure/fight whatever, and B is the grumpy type of worried, while C is the caring and soft type of worried.

I think I played a bit loose with this prompt... particularly the "gets hurt on a mission" thing. Does the Inquisitor contracting malaria in the Fallow Mire count? It does now. I abandoned this fic idea to mere head canon lore a while ago, but maybe this will get me working on this bigger fic again. Maybe.

Bedside Vigil for @dadrunkwriting

As Solas summited the last of the stairs, he could hear the beginnings of an argument.  One voice was Cassandra, the other unfamiliar to his ears, but he could hear the exhaustion in both.  Each voice had the forced whisper of someone trying very hard not to raise their voice.

"The surgeon will want to examine it," said the deeper voice of not-Cassandra.

"I do not see the point," replied Cassandra.  "He either purges the illness or he does not.  Inspecting the contents of a chamber pot will not lead to any revelations on what's wrong with him."

"You don't know that, Seeker."

"I know that filling his room with foul air like this will not make him any better.  If it is so important then go deliver it to her."

Solas had barely time to puzzle over the words when a figure appeared in front of him at the top of the stairs, stern-faced and broad-shouldered.  The Templar Trevelyan cut an imposing figure even outside of his armour, and the tired and dulled look in his eyes only seemed to make him appear more dangerous.  He looked at Solas - or rather through him as if the elf wasn't there at all - before descending the stairs past him, a copper pot full of something foul-smelling tucked under his arm.

It was a sour smell and it lingered long after the man was gone.

The Inquisitor's chamber normally smelled fresh and warm and inviting.  Solas had lingered for many an evening in it, surrounded by the smell of firewood in the hearth, and the sharp smell of incense mingling with the sweetness of tobacco that heralded the presence of its occupant.  But there was none of that now.  The air was thick and stuffy, and a sour smell of sickness seemed to linger on everything.  Solas caught only a brief breath of fresh air as he saw Cassandra close one of the balcony doors with a frustrated sigh.

The Seeker looked tired.  There were shadows around her eyes and the frown lines around her mouth looked deeper than before.  That they softened slightly when she caught sight of him standing with his hand still on the wooden bannister did not do much to ease Solas' concern.

"How is he?" he asked, although he knew the answer would be less than satisfying.  The sharp medicinal smell of herbs and poultice mingled with the sour smell of illness and decay told Solas everything he needed to know.

"He was lucid about an hour ago," Cassandra replied, and there was a sadness in her voice that made Solas ache.  "They are trying to purge the illness from it.  But I don't know that it is working."

She gestured to him to take a seat.  One of the Inquisitor's high backed armchairs had been dragged over from its usual spot by the fire.  Solas looked at it, but hesitated.

Illness was something he didn't understand, and it was impossible for him to communicate why.  He was a healer, he should be at the Inquisitor's side until the man was on his feet again, but Solas could heal magical maladies that he knew intimately, or soothe inflamed muscles and bruised or battered skin and bone.  In the days of Arlathan there were no fevers, no malaise, no imbalance of the humors.  And while he might normally find this all a fascinating challenge met with a detached curiosity for the mortal world, he instead had grown increasingly frustrated to see his friend bedridden and delirious and the Seeker who watched over him burdened with such concern.

It was not Blight sickness, Solas told himself as he approached the Inquisitor's bedside and took the seat offered to him.  He had overheard Varric insisting adamantly on it.  Solas knew the dwarf to be telling the truth.  Whatever Quinn Trevelyan had picked up in his journeys across the south, it was not Blight brought back from the Western Approach.  Solas had seen what the darkness from the Void did, how it twisted and corrupted all that it touched.  It had driven Andruil mad with every journey she had made across the worlds until she no longer looked like the champion huntress he had once known.

Quinn still looked like Quinn.  He seemed to have lost weight and his cheekbones seemed sharper and more defined as if bits of him had withdrawn upon themselves.  His cheeks were flushed with fever, kept to a manageable level by the damp cloth someone - he assumed Cassandra - had laid across his forehead.  Solas knew he could reach out his hands and cup the man's face to whisper cooling magic across his skin, but it would only be a temporary relief and not enough.  He seemed asleep, though it was not the peaceful expression of a man wrapped within the Fade's embrace.  He seemed to stir when Cassandra took his hand in his, but Solas noted that his eyes remained half-lidded and unfocused.

He watched in silence for a while, not knowing what to say.  Truthfully, Solas felt a bit like an intruder, inserting himself into a moment of soft care and intimacy that was not meant for outside eyes.  Cassandra showed affection in a way Solas wished he could, towards Quinn… towards both of them, perhaps.  That she allowed Solas to even be present in her space seemed like it was too much, that he took too much and gave very little back.  And that he could do nothing to mend the loved one between them made it all the more painful.

As if in response, the mark on the Inquisitor's hand gave a weak pulse of light, shining green within the Seeker's grasp for a moment before winking out into nothing.  As it did, Quinn stirred and Solas could see his fingers give Cassandra's a gentle squeeze before he sank further back among his pillows.  He mumbled something, but it seemed tired and incoherent and Solas could make out neither the words nor the tone.

Cassandra did, however, and responded in kind.  "I am still here, I promise.  Solas is too."

[notebooks-and-laptops]

Fears and Comfort

So, I was wandering around the Hissing Wastes and the dialogue where Cole thanks Sera for calling him ‘he’ rather than ‘it’ triggered. He sounded so earnest and genuinely thankful, it broke my heart. It also inspired this fic. It’s part of a series, but can be read on it’s own too. You can  also find it (as well as the rest of the series) on AO3 here!

-///-

It had never bothered him, before.

He was compassion. He was a spirit. He wasn’t a person, and that was okay.

And then he was Cole, and there was Evangeline and Rhys. He was a person. He was human.

It wasn’t okay anymore.

It was difficult to reconcile, all the tangled knots of himself; not human enough, not spirit enough, a shadow in the background, a solid presence in a room. He meant it when he told the Inquisitor and Solas that he did not matter, that only his actions were important. Help the hurt, save the small; if he became a demon, cut him down.

So why did it hurt so much?

“My dear inquisitor, please restrain your pet demon. I do not want it addressing me,” Vivienne said in the exalted plains, her gaze skipping past him as if he wasn’t there.

“Why does it keep talking to me?” Sera growled in the Emerald Graves, her frustration dancing hot in her head.

“The thing in the rafters, whatever the Inquisitor says, it gives me the creeps,” a soldier muttered to a friend in the tavern, hunched over his ale like someone would steal it away.

It. Thing. Freak. Creepy.

It should not be important. Cole wanted to help, to heal, to fix. Everything else was meaningless. It was like water on a bird’s wing, sliding off without touching the skin. That’s what it had always been like, before.

But he couldn’t erase himself now. He couldn’t remove himself from people’s minds. Not even when he wanted to. They saw him for all he was, drooping hats and too-big eyes and tattered clothes.

They saw him for all he was, and they hated him.  

He was not helpful to them. To them, he was poison, like a slow infecting wound. He festered in their thoughts; a nagging worry they could not rid themselves of.

He watched Sera and Vivienne and Cassandra try so hard not to like him, even when they did. They wanted to stop. They didn’t trust. They were afraid. He was a liability. He could destroy the inquisition. Why did the inquisitor trust him? Why did they let him stay?

He made them afraid.

They thought of him as a not-person. As a thing.

And it hurt. It hurt him. Like an ache he couldn’t undo, a hurt he couldn’t heal.

He could fix other people’s pain, that was who he was. But he’d never learnt how to fix his own.

-///-

For the first time in over a month, the Chargers were drinking in their corner on the bottom floor of the Herald’s Rest.

They had been away doing work for the inquisitor, destroying Adamant fortress and the lingering demons that clung to the stonework there. It was important work. Good work. It made Cullen happy to see it gone and made everyone safer. It was good they had gone.

Cole was glad they were back though. The gladness crept in despite himself, pressed to close like Krem when he hugged him at the gates. Like when Krem handed him more flowers he’d picked on their way up the mountain, blushing through the Charger’s wolf whistles in the background.

The Herald’s Rest was brighter with them here. People liked the Chargers. They laughed at their songs, made up their own words, danced out of tune. When the Chargers were back, they made it feel more like a home, like safety, like people didn’t have to be so on edge all the time. It reminded the man who sat upstairs about taverns in Starkhaven, and the women who served at the bar about the taverns in Denerim. It made them not at war anymore. It filled the room up to the brim, made Cole float on the happiness of those around him, content in his inability to do anything to fix what was already healed and whole.

Cole had taken his place on the floor by Krem’s right. This was where he often sat now, becoming as much his space as the rafters upstairs. Cole didn’t like the alcohol, but Cabot had sweet juices that he squeezed for the kids down in the camps and sometimes he’d let Cole have some too. The sugar made his teeth ache but in a good way.

When she’d arrived, Skinner had sat down opposite him, an old deck of cards in her hands. The deck held her past, a treasure from home, her mother flipping the cards on the table. Skinner only smiled when he whispered so, handing over the stack. She didn’t get scared like the others.

None of the Chargers did.

She was trying to teach him how to use his stealth to cheat, which didn’t seem fair but did seem fun. Not fair but fun was how Varric liked to work, how Sera did. “Like this,” she showed again, the subtle flick of a card from her wrist to her hand and back.

“Like this,” Cole mirrored the action, “but people get mad when you cheat. It ruins the game. It makes people sad.”

Skinner grinned wide enough to show her teeth, “only if you get caught.”

Cole hummed. Yes. He understood that, “like stealing honey from the kitchen for the left hand. Careful, only little drops, so that it pleases her but doesn’t upset the cooks.”

“Exactly! See, Ghost, you’re a natural.”

“You corrupting the kid again?” Stitches raised a brow, he’d just returned with more drinks, the tray balancing precariously on one hand.

“Not corrupting. Helping,” Cole corrected.

Cole swayed back a little, and the motion let him lean against Krem’s leg. A hand fell on his shoulder, holding him steady and Cole reached up to take it. He liked Krem’s hands. They were rough from years gripping his sword and his shield, but they were gentle in the way he wielded them. They were gentle when they handed Cole flowers. Sometimes, Cole could feel the way that Krem thought about touching Cole with them, more than just holding his hand. The idea made Cole warm all over, a secret that was just his. Something he didn’t want to share. It was strange, not sharing. Privacy, Varric had tried to tell him about once. It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted before he became more human.

“Yeah, yeah, just wait until she’s got you running tricks in the gambling dens in Antiva,” Rocky warned, but he was smiling. Prodding and poking, but out of love. It was the Charger’s language, confusing at first but beautiful too. “You should have seen her last time we had a job that way, she almost got the crows set on her.”

Cole tilted his head slightly, “I don’t go on your jobs, Rocky, I won’t go to Antiva,” he reminded. But the thoughts came after, Rocky’s feelings bundled up and easy to reach, “sometimes you think about asking me to. After. When the sky is healed and the inquisition is finished and everything is back to normal.” That was…confusing. “You want me to…stay?”

Nobody had ever wanted him to stay before, not for a long time. Evangeline and Rhys had sent him away when they realised he wasn’t a person. Cadash had let him stay at Skyhold, but only because he was useful. Would he be useful to the Chargers if he went with them? They healed hurt, though sometimes just for money or fun. Maybe he could be good with them. He did not know.

“Something to think about,” The Iron Bull cut in. His eye was trained on Cole, and Cole could feel the fondness budding in his chest like it did for the rest of his ‘boys’, “wouldn’t want to lose my lieutenant because he was busy following you around with his puppy eyes.”

Cole frowned, “Krem isn’t a puppy.”

Bull laughed, full belly and loud. Krem squeezed Cole’s hand.

Cole felt safe.

Maybe he didn’t just like the Chargers coming back to Skyhold for how it made everyone else in the Tavern feel.

Maybe he liked them coming back for himself too.

-///-

Eventually, Krem dropped Cole’s hand in favour of running his fingers through Cole’s hair. It was a new habit he’d picked up. It required Cole not to wear a hat, but Cole rather enjoyed the pay off of that. Dorian kept pointing it out and smirking.

In the lull between the Charger’s drinking songs, Maryden had started singing her regular repertoire, the music humming in the background gently, soothing people. At least until—

An arrow, shot from the top floor, lodged in the woodwork. Never lethal, never fearsome, just for fun, just to show off, just to get their attention. Always get their attention, always be loud, never be quiet. Quiet was for snobs. “Creepy song is creepy!” Sera shouted, jumping over the railing to drop down onto the ground floor below.

“But a much-requested favourite,” Maryden responded, pausing her song, but not her fingers, not her lute. The tune played on, even while she exchanged words.

“Creepy!” Sera shrieked, accusing, but she was laughing too, wild, and bright, so bright, old songs in her veins. People liked her here too, liked the pranks, liked the normality. She was right, people needed something to laugh at. She helped, in her own way, even when she pretended she didn’t. Cole liked that about her, “Making a racket, nobody can sleep.”

“Yeah, well not all of us were up all night with the inquisitor,” The Iron Bull shot out from his corner.

That caused Sera to cackle more, her face lit up all joyful and red.

She sauntered over after sticking her tongue out at Maryden, who grinned and picked up the lyrics again right where she left off.

“Didn’t invite me down for a round?” Sera pouted, pulling up a chair and clambering onto it. She sat on it crossed legs. She was always moving, fast and quick and needing to rock, couldn’t sit still but that was fine, nobody telling her to do so anymore, nobody telling her to sit properly or be anything but herself.

Cole was glad for her. Glad her hurt was healing. Glad she could be who she was.

“Ugh, it’s smiling at me again,” Sera had noticed him at last, sat at Krem’s feat.

It.

It made the warmth in Cole’s chest feel like ice, a sudden drop in temperature, a sadness. Sera liked him sometimes, until she reminded herself that she didn’t. It was confusing and painful and mixed with old fears and hurts. It wasn’t her fault.

He forced himself to keep his smile, waved a hand, “hello.” Sera liked it when he announced himself. She found it less off-putting.

“Piss off, creepy, worse than the song you are.”

Less off-putting most days.

“But you don’t really find the song creepy,” Cole spoke, “It makes you feel brave and brash, warm and full up, like you’re who you’re meant to be. Tadwinks humming, under her breath as she gets ready, thinking about you, her hair tumbling down her back in pretty curls you want to hold in your hands and—”

“Stop! Get out of my head, freak,” Sera spat, “leave that alone.”

Cole looked down. Too much, too much, he’d made Sera scared. His shoulders felt too tense, where he’d been relaxed before. He wasn’t—this wasn’t— he’d only wanted to help. Sera with her old songs in her blood that she couldn’t sing and her happiness and her dancing even though she couldn’t. She’d be happier if she couldn’t remember him, but he didn’t know how to do that anymore. He couldn’t take himself away.

It hurt. It hurt that he couldn’t unpick himself, and it hurt that she wanted him to. He didn’t know how to deal with the hurt, a bundled-up cord, snagging on the human parts and tearing at the spirit, not sure who he was, where he ended, how to fix himself when he was supposed to fix other people—

Krem’s hand slipped from his hair to his shoulder and tightened, just fractionally. Holding him back? Or holding him up?

“Sera,” The Iron Bull’s voice was casual, but a warning. Protect, protect, it was what The Iron Bull did. He didn’t carry a shield, but he was one. To Cadash, yes, and Krem. He had stood in front of Krem once and shielded his body. He protected. He protected by rushing in, and by standing back, by making people like him and by defusing situations until people were laid back and satisfied rather than riled up and scared.

“What? You’re just as freaked out by it as I am, just because your boy is shagging him—”

Tension, too much tension, in every shoulder, not just his. It sparked in Krem, in The Iron Bull, in Skinner, in Dalish, in Rocky, in Grim, in Stitches. The brightness of the tavern, the fun, replaced by weight, by eyes between Krem and Cole and Sera and The Iron Bull.

Because of him.

Cole hated it. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go. He didn’t want to be the reason why they fought, because The Iron Bull loved Sera, and she loved The Iron Bull and the Chargers found her fun and he was ruining it and—

The door to the tavern opened, revealing Cadash’s short stature, her hair tied up in its regular braids.

“Tadwinks!” Sera almost tripped getting up off the chair, rushing to her side.

The tension dropped.

Still.

His fault.

Cole couldn’t make people forget anymore. He couldn’t remove himself from others' minds. But he knew how to slip away, how to vanish, how to be there one second gone the next. He had to open doors now, and he could be seen, but he could move quietly and softly, so that most people didn’t take notice.

It would be better if people didn’t take notice.

Then he couldn’t make them upset like he did with Sera. With Vivienne. With other people around Skyhold who saw him and were afraid.

He left the Chargers to their drinking, the Tavern to be bright. His own pain was like a dagger, too sharp, too much. It would ruin this. He didn’t want to ruin this. He didn’t want to be too much. Thing. It. Freak.

Sometimes things were better when he was only around others when he could help.

-///-

He was back up the stairs and to his place in the rafters when a hand caught his shoulder.

He knew the hand. Knew the person. But he didn’t want—

There was pain. Anger. Anger was always like smoke in people’s lungs, it curled around all the other things, blotted them out, damaged, bruised, so that even when it was gone the scarring remained.

Cole had never felt anger like that from Krem.

“Cole,” Krem murmured, and the anger was real behind his eyes but his tone was soft. It didn’t fit, the anger and the softness. If Krem was angry surely he was angry at Cole. Cole had ruined it. Cole had looked into Sera’s mind and said the wrong thing; always the wrong thing, and no more do-overs, no more forgetting so he could make it right.

“You should go downstairs,” Cole said, pulling out of Krem’s grip and continuing up the stairs to his usual spot in the rafters. It used to be enough for him, up here. Why couldn’t it still be? Why did he have the urge to join in now? To be a part of the world rather than on the edge?

He couldn’t go back to the fade anymore.

He was stuck. In the world, wanting to be here, but not fitting. He didn’t fit. He didn’t fit and people got scared and they ran and they lashed out and he couldn’t make himself more human even though he tried and—

“I’m not going downstairs unless you come with me. You think Skinner wouldn’t kick my ass if I let you run off hurt without trying to help? She’s really fond of you, you know. That’s rare for her.”

Cole could feel the frustration building.  That was a new thing too. Frustration. When people didn’t understand before he just made them forget. When people didn’t understand now it itched under his skin and he couldn’t make them see. He could pick thoughts out of a mind, but nobody could pick thoughts out of his.

“I help.” He tried to explain. His heart was beating too hard in his chest. Krem was angry, and maybe so was Cole, or maybe he was just sad. It was so hard to tell sometimes, “I’m supposed to help. It’s who I am. It’s what I am. But I don’t. I don’t help. I make them afraid. Demon, demon, thing, it. They used to call me ghost, but now they know me, they see me, they remember. They think it’s not enough that I let the templar remember, they think I’ll change, they think I’m like the demons at Adamant and someone will bind me. Solas and Varric say I can’t be anymore, but I’m still spirit enough to make people afraid,” Cole wrapped his arms around himself. He wanted to be smaller. He wanted Krem to go back downstairs and stop looking at him and trying to help when it was supposed to be Cole’s job to help people, not the other way around.

Krem was watching him carefully. “That’s a load of bullshit.”

Cole frowned. No. No, it wasn’t, he could feel their fear and Krem couldn’t. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that he made Sera afraid, that Sera couldn’t help it, that he snagged on chantry stories and buried hurt. Krem didn’t know how long Vivienne had spent clawing herself upwards, ever upwards, never giving anyone reason to doubt, never letting herself be a danger. He didn’t know how the people at Skyhold saw things like him crawl out of rifts, couldn’t tell him apart from the other spirits that tried to bite and snap their way into this world.

But Krem wasn’t stopping, “Cole. I’m serious. Whatever thoughts you’ve got in your head – whatever other people’s thoughts you’ve got in your head are bullshit. They don’t matter. You think the chief cares about that shit? You think Skinner finds you creepy when she’s trying to teach you cards? Do you think Rocky wants you gone when he talks about pulling you along on missions? You think I want you anywhere but down there with your head resting by my knee?”

Cole scratched at his arm, looked down. He couldn’t always look at Krem, didn’t always know how. Because Krem did things like this. Krem surprised him. Krem got angry, and he should be angry at Cole, but he wasn’t. He was angry on Cole’s behalf. He was angry because someone hurt Cole.

Nobody had ever taught Cole how to respond to that.

So he focused on the other things, the easier things to respond to, “The Iron Bull hears the tamassrins warnings. He separates it out. Me and them, different, I’ve never given him reason to doubt, I make you smile,” Cole swallowed, “but—”

“No, Cole, no buts. You have everyone’s voices inside that head of yours, and they tell you all sorts of lies about yourself. And it’s wrong. I’ve watched you make this place better, and I’m happier when you’re near me. You can see that right? In my head? You see that you make me happier just by being close?”

Krem had stepped closer, and now his fingers curled against Cole’s cheek, stroking a thumb lightly over his skin. Cole should step away. Should stop engaging and making things worse. He would only upset Krem. Even if Krem was angry for him, he was still angry and angry was never a nice way to be. If Krem didn’t care about him then he wouldn’t have to worry when people called Cole creepy or freaky or a thing.

A lot of people called Cole those things.

Krem shouldn’t have to worry.

But Cole…didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want Krem to stop. Krem cared. He cared like no one else ever had. He cared so much it almost burned, but in a good way, the best way.

Cole never wanted Krem to stop.

“It…made you angry when Sera thought the chargers would only protect me because you wanted to fuck me,” Cole said seriously, finally, searching Krem’s face. “But you do sometimes, want to. You want to do what Sera says. With me. And the Chargers do want to protect me because they want to protect you.”

Krem looked suddenly rather awkward for a second, “uh, well. Yeah, I think about that sometimes,” Krem murmured, “but that’s— The Chargers think it’s cute that I’m sweet on you, sure, and maybe they let you stick around the first few weeks because they figured it’d make me happier. But that’s not their reason now. They like you.” Krem stepped closer, pressed a kiss to Cole’s forehead, “I like you,” he whispered against the skin there, “You, Cole. Everything about you makes me— well. Makes me pretty damn happy you seem to enjoy spending time with me too. Of course, I want to protect you when people shout insults at you. You deserve better than that.”

Cole didn’t know what to do.

He did what he wanted, which was sagging into Krem’s hold.

That was okay, because Krem caught him, wrapped arms around him.

“I don’t want to be an it,” Cole whispered, admitted. He hated having these thoughts, his own thoughts. They felt selfish, wrong. He was supposed to only think of others, only think of what made other people happy. Thinking of him like that could bring them comfort. He shouldn’t care. But he did. “I don’t want them to be afraid. I want to be a person. I’m trying. It’s hard. I don’t know all the lines.”

“You don’t have to,” Krem murmured, “and you’re not an it, Cole. You’re a person. You’re a he. If that’s what you want to be, I mean. You don’t have to be what other people think you are.”

“Like you,” Cole murmured, “shouts and whispers and people calling you the wrong word, calling you she, and it doesn’t fit, it feels wrong on your skin, but you don’t need to be that anymore. You can be him no matter what they say. The Chargers have never seen you any differently,” Cole pulled back, “you are a him, Krem. That’s what you are, inside. I don’t see how others don’t see.”

Krem nodded, “right. But people don’t see. Because they’re stupid. Just like they’re stupid about you. If I’m a him no matter what they say, you can be a him no matter if people call you ‘it’.”

It…made sense, Cole supposed.

It made sense.

He let out a breath. It was overwhelming, being human, trying to be human. It was a constant back and forth, and so many intense emotions, “I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“Do what?”

“Be a person. Learn to be human. It’s so exhausting. You make it feel better though,” Cole swallowed, “I wish they could let themselves like me. Sera. Vivienne. I want to protect them, I want to help them. I want them to like me.”

“Maybe one day,” Krem reached for Cole’s hand, intertwined their fingers, “but you don’t have to go chasing their approval. I like you enough for pretty much all of Skyhold, and between the Chargers, I think we like you enough for all of Thedas. We protect our own, Cole. We won’t let people chat shit or hurt you.”

They wouldn’t, either. Cole saw that. He could see it in Krem, in the way he looked at Cole now, in his want to keep Cole close.

Cole wanted to stay close.

“You want to come back downstairs? We can go somewhere else if that’s easier.”

Cole hesitated. It would be nice to just be alone with Krem but…

“I can go downstairs. I like being near the Chargers, they make everything brighter.”

Krem grinned, “yeah? We think the same about you.”

[voracusrdr]

(Dragon Age) OC Questionnaire

Well nearly two months later but I've done it @fade-and-loathing-in-thedas sorry I took so long

THE BASICS:

Character’s name: Eirlin Lavellan

Role in story: Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste

Physical description: Freckled albino, the main difference being his ice blue eye color due to his magic, with gold Mythal vallaslin and roughly mid back length wavy hair that's usually up somewhat haphazardly (or an undercut I'm torn). Build wirey (think Linda Hamilton in terminator 2) with an average elvhen height.

Age: 34

MBTI/Enneagram Personality Type: no clue, haven't thought about it

INTERNAL LIFE:

What is their greatest fear?: depends on where he is in life. Pre Inquisition it's being taken advantage of, during for the most part that those he's grown close to aren't genuine, after losing them. Them being Dorian, Cassandra, Cole and Cullen

Inner motivation: to be better than what others see and expect.

Kryptonite: his guardedness (and pricklyness)

What is their misbelief about the world?: That no one can be trusted and just tolerated at best (he figures out he's wrong during Inquisition though)

Lesson they need to learn: it's really hard to say since his story isn't quite over, however for a majority of his life the lesson he needed to learn was that both people can/do care about him and conversely that he can/does care about others.

What is the best thing in their life?: The people he cares about and loves. Pretty much all of his life until Inquisition he never had anyone that truly cared so when he does find and becomes close to Dorian, Cole, Cass, and Cullen he treasures each of them more than anything.

What is the worst thing in their life?: other people honestly, he is ostracized by everyone even by his own people be it because of his magic, his appearance or his race.

What do they most often look down on people for?: Being judgemental

What makes his/her/their heart feel alive?: small things, finishing up a training session, the quiet early morning before he starts the day (and deal with people), time spent with Dorian even just sitting together, things like that.

What makes them feel loved, and who was the last person to make them feel that way?: Being truly seen, as to who was last.. likely Dorian.

Top three things they value most in life?: Those he's closest to, his skills, and quiet whether that's through silence or, no one scrutinizing him/having to be on guard or something similar.

EXTERNAL LIFE:

Is there an object they can’t bear to part with and why?: The sending crystal Dorian gives him the why I think is obvious, it's vital for their communication when apart.

Describe a typical outfit for them from top to bottom: keepers robes to put it simply with a lighter version when at Skyhold.

What names or nicknames have they been called throughout their life?: Amatus, Husband (does that count?), and a few derogatory ones from his clan mates/others since they viewed his albinism as a negative.

What is their method of manipulation?: He isn't really a manipulator, he's blunt and brutally honest much to Josie's distress. You could say his sharp intellect but it's usually used to call out someone's bullshit (the winter palace was hell for him)

Describe their daily routine: When at Skyhold Eirlin will usually wake at dawn (or slightly earlier) he enjoys the quiet/solitude and will meditate before running through training exercises. Then it fluctuates between necessary Inquisitor duties, magical projects with Dorian Viv and Solas, and reading. After he and Dorian became a couple Eirlin would often spend his evenings with Doran.

Their go-to cure for a bad day?: Toss up between meditation and/or solitude.

GOALS:

How are they dissatisfied with their life?: If we're talking post Trespasser having to be away from Dorian and feeling like he doesn't quite have a place in the world anymore.

What would bring them true happiness or contentment?: To be by Dorians side for good no more back and forth.

What definitive step could they take to turn their dream into a reality?: I… don't have an answer it's really out of his hands since .

How has their fear kept them from taking this action already?: Again don't really have an answer

How do they feel they can accomplish their goal while still steering clear of the thing they are afraid of?: Only thing he can really do is be as supportive as he possibly can for his husband.

[fancytrinkets]

Library

Note: Silly follow-up ficlet inspired by a comment on Sparkler (Gossip). This ficlet is intended entirely playfully. I agree with Varric, writing romances is tricky and word choices are so difficult. No shame to anyone who, like me, struggles with this.

"So, tell me something, Sparkler," Varric says. "Are you interested in a proofreading job? It pays well."

He's not sure how well this will go, but hey, it's worth a try. So he sits down at the library table across from Dorian and places a stack of unbound, handwritten pages between them.

"I don't need your coin, Varric," Dorian says as he sets aside his large, important research book of Tevinter Surnames Which Might Belong to Corypheus. "But I am curious. Is this your latest manuscript? The next terrible chapter of your Swords and Shields for Cassandra?"

"No, but you're almost right," Varric says. "It is another romance."

"Oh?" Dorian asks, looking vaguely puzzled. "You've said those weren't your forte."

"I know, I know," Varric says. "I don't usually write them, but let's just say I've been feeling inspired lately — particularly after a couple of heart-to-heart chats while having a few drinks with your dearly beloved."

"You little rat!" Dorian says, looking shocked, but also grinning. "Have you been plying Trevelyan for details about us? How clever of you — now let me see this."

He reaches for the manuscript and immediately starts flipping pages, scanning the content until he arrives at the juicy bits. He finds what he's looking for on the eleventh page. As he reads, he makes a vaguely concerned-looking face — his nose wrinkling, brow furrowing, all that.

(Varric's never quite sure how to describe facial expressions in a way that doesn't sound weird. If left to his own devices, he ends up with stuff like, "He made a face like he'd just eaten a rancid grape, which tragically no one had peeled for him, since he wasn't in Tevinter anymore." And sometimes that works, but other times it's just distracting, you know? Ah, you know what, never mind...)

The Tevinter mage's devastatingly handsome brow furrows as he reads. But the text can't be entirely terrible, because then Dorian chuckles. And he doesn't stop there. His chuckle turns into a genuinely mirthful laugh — or possibly a mortified giggle, who can say? When at last Dorian looks up, his eyes are watering with tears of laughter as he starts to read a passage aloud.

"The Tevinter mage's devastatingly handsome brow furrowed as he laved his careful ministrations upon the Inquisitor's very enthusiastically engorged tumescence..."

He has to stop reading to wipe a tear away.

"Varric, I'm sorry, but nobody talks like this," Dorian says.

"Look, Sparkler, writing is hard. Romances are hard–"

"The Inquisitor's engorged tumescence is, I promise you, also hard," Dorian says, and offers a playful wink.

"Yeah, okay, that part's a little over the top. I can change that. 'Cock' just seems so crude though, you know? I mean, come on, I'm writing a romance here. It's all about feelings. Body parts are just incidental."

"In that case, what about a tasteful fade-to-black?" Dorian says. "Those never go out of style. You could put it here–" He points to a spot on the previous page. "Right after this part."

Dorian clears his throat and reads the part in question.

"The gorgeous Tevinter man eased him backwards. 'Care to inquisit me again?' he smirked romantically."

Dorian laughs again as he puts the manuscript down.

Varric sighs.

Writing really is hard. Romances are the worst. And some days it just feels like everyone's a critic.

[dragonagecompanions]

hi there, so in love with your works. Seriously *bows head* thank you all so much. If its not too bad, I wanted to know how everyone in DAI from the advisors to the companions would react to a teen inquisitor who is brilliant at cooking? Yet the inquisitor has no idea about people from Leliana's agents to everyone else pinching her food.

Cassandra: She thinks she is being sneaky and subtle, insisting that because of their age and responsibility it is better for their young herald to stay close to camp and not take a watch when they leave Skyhold. There will be time for that when they are older, and bearless of a burden. If they will take on the difficulty of closing the rifts, then the most they should have to do is help around the camp, and after a long day nothing is appreciated more than hot food.

No one contradicts her, and the Seeker is left to silently congratulate herself on enjoying the absolutely divine way that their young leader has with rabbit and Hinterland herbs without making the Inquisitor feel worthless.

(And if everyone else lets her take a lead on that because she has mattered the speech, well...it’s really good stew.)

Varric: Damn, this is the stuff. Its like being back in the Hanged Man, except the bread is trying to actively strange him, and the pies aren’t staring back and.. 

It’s nothing like the Hanged Man, really, but the sheer comfort of phenomenal food at the end of the world? The same kind of warmth as sitting with your friends as the city goes to shit and laughing at a joke no one else gets. Their young protagonist has a good skill set on their hands, and If Varric’s writing table moves a little closer to the door into the kitchens, well.

Keeps the ink from freezing.

Solas: It had been a passing comment about the frilly cakes in Val Royeaux,  some exchange of banter with Varric about time passing and philosophy and the unending banal that one takes on to keep the miles from turning monotonous. He’d had no idea the Herald was listening, and so it makes it all the more touching when- after waqving to them as they take on the climb to the library- he comes down from his painter’s perch to find three petit fours waiting for him on his table. 

It drives home that they are a thoughtful young person, so different from the rest of this world, and if he uses the sweetness of the frosting and cake to drive away the twinge of guilt that his plans still move at speed....it does not take away from their talent, or their kindness. He will be content with that.

Blackwall: Food is food, particularly on the road. Hard tack and sausage has kept many a soldier alive, and he is the last person you’d hear complaining that he can’t put his pinky out eating meat from a spit. Luxury is for soft handed nobles, not men and women striving to make the world better. Let them have the best cuts-- Blackwall would starve before he robs true heroes of a hot meal.

And yet the first time he comes back from gathering firewood to find that the reason the inquisitor was tying so much string around the side of a wild hog was to make a porketta, and he got a good whiff of roasted pork slowly spinning in it’s own drippings....It would be a harder sacrifice. It made the Inquisitor so happy to watch their work be enjoyed and help people though, that it would the crueler not to take some. 

And if he dreams about the tender meat and crispy skin all perfectly seasoned and roasted for days afterwords, that’s no one’s business of his own. 

Vivienne: She cuts an imposing figure, and for the Madame de Fer is quite proud. It has cowed more than one recalcitrant novice into place with only a long legged stride alone, and for that she is a legend in her circle. Of course the stories do not tell how she would never be cruel or unfeeling to a child, and particularly not one far from home and frightened of every shadow like the ones that the Templars rip from families and depost in a new and strange place.

She expects a similar attitude from the young Herald, particularly after her (rahter stunning) entrance on their first meeting. And perhaps they were a bit overawed, but before it could become something she needs to address Lady Vivienne is pleasantly surprised to find their young leader coming to her for advice from a letter from some minor Orlesian lord. And while surely it will be up to Josephine to craft the response Vivienne is delighted that the Inquisitor wants her input.

That they went to the effort to bring beignet’s with them as a bribe...For that, she will give them every secret of the author’s well kept family scandals. 

Sera: Their Bitty Herald can make cookies better than Sera can make cookies, but they aren’t the kind that you throw at people as a prank or that come out all rock hard and brown and blegh. They are the soft gooey kind that make you want to steal the whole plate and eat them on your roof but also throw the plate at their Quizznitor because....because cookies!

She will trade pranks for cookies, who ever her Jenny in training wants to see doused in water or flour or...or...pudding! Pudding for cookies is the most fair.

Dorian: Southern food is bland and tasteless, and Skyhold’s resident ‘Vint will endure it for as long as he must to help defeat this ancient magister and get things on the right track. And the beer isn’t the worst, much to his own dismay as his delicate palette accepts the swill. But the food is all friend or brown or smothered in gravy, and he’d just as soon not.

So when they finally stop for the night under the endless web of branches that keep the sky from meeting the Fallow Mire, the pond water full of dead people sounds more appealing than one more night of Varric’s nug stew. Which makes the fact their valiant young Herald just ladled him a bowl of Minestrone so much more impressive. Their shrugged explanation of ‘I’ve always wanted to make it and the merchants had actual artichokes on the way here and you can tell me if I got it right’ does nothing to take away the warmth and delight the gesture brings to him. 

It would be like coming home, if anyone had ever made sucha rustic and delightful soup for him without strings and hooks attached in Tevinter, and for the first time on the whole mission Dorian isn’t chilled the rest of the night. 

The Iron Bull: He isn’t sure which one of the Chargers talks to the Herald (lies, it was  Krem), but one night half the fortress is piled into the Rest and the Inquisitor is waiting with four bowls of unreadable origin. The explanation that these are four kinds of curry and each is hotter than the last is the best gift he’s ever gotten, but the wager of a single coin (he won’t steal more than that from the kid) that the Iron Bull can’t finish them for the spice is even better. 

Three hours later finds him chewing on one of Stitche’s poultices for a burnt tongue (and throat and stomach and probably ass in a few hours) but one coin richer and hoarse voiced from the roaring laughter he’d gotten after a straight face convinced Krem to try the last bown and he’d literally wept.

Good times. 

Cole: The nug is made of bread, and it isn’t a nug but it looks like one. And it’s wearing a tiny hat! ‘Roll the dough out, has to be thin so it rises to keep the shape, he likes nugs so much and doesn’t ask for anything and Sera bet me I couldn’t.’ You made it for me. Thank you! He says hello back!

Josephine: When their ambassador hears that not only does the Herald have an aunt who married into a merchant house in Antiva but the inquisitor spent a summer there and learned to make authentic Paella, Lady Montiliyet’s mind is a whirlwind of plans and thoughts of just the appropriate bribe that would spare her from getting down on her knees and begging a fifteen year old to make her favorite dish. Eventually Leliana gets tired of little doodles of steaming bowls on all their meeting notes and sends a raven  three windows over, Josie, really with an ‘anonymous’ request to make it and leave it in the war room in exchange for a trade of equal value. 

And when Josephine finds out that all the Inquisitor wants is the creepy love letters from young  Orlesian nobles to go away, she takes great delight in her strongly worded letters to their mothers in between heaping mouthfuils of white wine rice and shrimp and the warm bite of saffron that will always be home.

Leliana: It is written on no report or schedule, and her agents will go to the grave without speaking of it to another soul, but the Inquisition’s spymaster has a man in the kitchens whose only role is to fetch firewood and water and try to one day recover his shattered after a terrible mission in her service. It’s easy work for a man who gave so much, and somewhere he is able to do good work until the tremors and the nightmares stop. The kitchen staff is kind to him and treat him well, but his true mission is known only to himself and his mistress.

The second the herald starts making  Cassoulet he is to fetch her immediately. She won’t be caught in a meeting and miss her favorite food again, damn it.

Cullen: It’s hard for the Inquisitor’s commander to be at ease with someone who is both a child and at least nominally his leader. They are someone he wants to protect, but also the key to stopping the world and someone who must be on the front lines. That is gift alone to the world, but when the rumors begin to swirl that they will also go out of their way to make things that people like it brings a small smile to his face. The world would be better if had more people like the herald in it. 

Especially if they could all make little crocks of shepards pie like the one that sits on his desk after a day of long meetings and a lyrium migraine. That might make everything right again.

-- Mod Fereldone

[jennserr]

first line game

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

thanks for the tag @cassandra-pentughasst! i'm pretty sure i don’t quite have 20 stories, and most of what i do have is unpublished and unfinished, but i’ll give this a shot ^^

-Well, Shit

Had anyone been passing by this one particular Lowtown alley on this one particular day at this one particular moment, they would have received quite the shock—people appearing from thin air in a flash of light without so much as a “how do you do” was simply not by any means a common occurrence, even in Kirkwall. As it was, Valentina Ledoux was herself more than surprised enough for everyone when she fell from the air and onto the dirty ground of the Lowtown alley. 

-The Tempest - Initiation

Getting ready for a mission was generally fairly straightforward, Leah mused. As was going to see your doctor. Hell, really anything was when you got down to it. So why was it any different here?

-Where Your Heart Is

She liked to be warm.

There were so many things that Ashawyn Lavellan had learned, without even meaning to, about the elven dancer. She knew Elaine liked it when the sun was on her skin and there was warmth in the air. She knew she liked to be as close to the fire as she could get, and didn’t care about the smoke. There weren’t many people that she had been so transfixed by, not in her journeys across Thedas, and there wasn’t much she could do about it. Not really. Because for all of the ways the two had grown close…

-A Tempest of Ink and Scars

The first thing Leah felt when she woke up was an overwhelming and all-consuming sense of contentment—the most at peace she had ever felt in her 24 (824, but that’s just a technicality) years of life.

-A Better Beginning

It’s like a blink; a ponderously slow blink. One second, I’m looking at my family as I’m being sealed into a pod. The next, when I open my eyes, I’m staring up at my older sister’s face, a face clouded by rare concern. I gasp and take a deep, shuddering breath, sitting up quickly, and everything comes rushing back to me. The stasis pods. The Andromeda Initiative. The Pathfinder mission.

-Misery Loves Company

Cora Harper was between jobs.

She was always “between jobs” now, it seemed. Ever since Nisira T’Kosh had dismissed her from Talein’s Daughters and sent her to Alec Ryder, and then the disaster that that was, Cora had been bouncing around the Milky Way with whatever merc group she could join up with for a job or two; she never seemed to be able to stay for longer.

-Hero

Nobody would deny that Leliana was a devout woman, not then and not now. She rose earlier than the other sisters, said her prayers more fervently than they, and threw herself into her duties as a lay sister. The newest Lothering chantry sister was quite vocal about her belief in the Maker’s Will, that nothing happened without reason.

-Mirror, Mirror

One good thing about being in the city, Val thought to herself, was that nobody really bothered you for wearing something out of the ordinary. Sure, they would sometimes give you odd looks, but other than that they left you alone. Something Val was more than glad for as she stepped onto the bus, still wearing her travel clothes that were a much better fit for Thedas than for modern Earth, along with the bow and arrows she carried. The driver gave the arrows a wary look, but she gave him a warm smile that she hoped would convince him she wouldn’t use them while on his bus, and he reluctantly nodded, and Val stepped past him into the passenger area.

-Mermaid AU

Had anyone been passing by this one particular stretch of the Waking Sea on this one particular day at this one particular moment, they would have received quite the shock—people appearing from thin air in a flash of light without so much as a “how do you do” was simply not by any means a common occurrence. As it was, Valentina Ledoux was herself more than surprised enough for everyone when she fell from the air and into the cold waters of the sea off the southern coast of the Free Marches.

-Witcher AU

Smoke, ash, and the stench of death filled the air, and between that and the massive wooden beam crushing her chest and pinning her to the ground, Valentina was finding it incredibly difficult to breathe.

-[Self-Insert Exercise]

I don’t know for certain when I first regained awareness, just that the first thing I remember being aware of was that my legs were sore, particularly my knees. Those felt tender, like they’d been bearing my weight for a while on a hard floor.

-[Inquisitor Liz]

And slowly, gradually, the world around her faded away; the moons and stars in the night sky, the lifeless body of the Archdemon, her friends, until the last thing she saw in this life was the face of her love staring down at her with watery eyes. Then she, too, was gone from her sight, and Eliza allowed herself to succumb to the darkness at last.

—————————

i have. so many wips that will almost never see the light of day as finished products. but damn if i didn’t find some things i’d long forgotten when i was doing this lol. 

definitely see a pattern with some of Val’s stories, which was actually pretty intentional on my part when writing each of them (not pictured: a similar first line for the Witcher AU, but since it's not Technically the first line i didn’t count it). as for my favourite first line, i’d probably have to go with Misery Loves Company’s

tagging forward to @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @charlatron @lostinfantasies38 @dalish-rogue @elveny @kunstpause @jkit45 @jt-boi-n7 @heroofshield @inquartata30 and anyone else who wants to! no pressure on anyone to do it ^^

[psi-psina]

Best DAI romances are Cassandra, Dorian and Solas.

Blackwall has good content and a GREAT personal quest but he requires mods in order to be romanceable (Im sorry, I have no desire to romance a dude who looks like an alcoholic Ron Swanson? WHO made that decision?). Thank god I have hot Blackwall mods now.

Josie is lovely and sweet, absolutely fine, but she doesn’t have much content and it’s all very vanilla, it’s very hard to pick her over the other three when they all have so much more passion and narrative weight...i just never feel drawn towards her. I also don’t enjoy her personal quest tbh, I find it kinda boring. She’s such a sweetheart though, I just wish she had better content.

I don’t like Iron Bull’s romance because it’s a BDSM relationship by default, which I hate. Pisses me off, you don’t even have the option to say you’re not into that and not do the whole dom/sub thing 😩 inclusivity bullshit ruining an otherwise good romance. I prob wouldn’t really go there anyway bc Iron Bull is absolutely hideous but I totally see why some of you girls are into that lmfao, he has some great scenes.

Cullen is fine but is defo just one for the straight girls, and I support them 100%. I like Cullen’s arc and enjoy flirting with him in Haven every play through but his romance just isn’t interesting enough to me to want to commit to. You just get together, then get married and get a dog and that’s it. And like that’s totally fine but the others are better 😂 it also annoys me that you can only romance him as an elf or human female like I have no interest in playing as a human tbh and the only romances I’ll do as a female elf is Solas (as a mage) or Sera (rogue or warrior).

And Sera...ugh. I found Sera really jarring on my first play through and she also absolutely hated me and was an asshole to my inquisitor constantly but she really grew on me during subsequent playthroughs. I find it very difficult to romance her because she is so young and extremely immature but the actual CONTENT of her romance is so good, it really gives the game a completely different tone. It’s also the best romancing her as an elf. I find the way she reacts to dwarven/qunari inquisitors off putting, but the suspicion she has for an elf is more interesting to me. Winning her over as an elf can be quite challenging and makes the romance more rewarding.

BUT I am also annoyed that she is a companion in the first place, because it honest to god should have been Briala..god I can’t believe it...Briala is also a formidable elven rogue rebel-lesbian who is also based in Orlais, has an entire spy network, access to the eluvian network and deep involvement in the political side of the plot? Like...I can’t believe it. Such a wasted opportunity. She’s my favourite part of Orlesian Ball quest and she is SO perfectly set up to be a companion in The Masked Empire...absolutely kills me.

[melisusthewee]

WIP Wednesday - Let’s Talk Music

Thank you to @cleverblackcat @kittynomsdeplume @noire-pandora and @morganlefaye79 for tagging me!

I don’t have any writing to really offer today.  I’ve been trying to work on that Haven fic but unfortunately Aloysius hasn’t been co-operating with me despite all my best efforts to make him speak.  I may take a break from writing and pivot towards completing some art memes, but Wednesday just sort of crept up on me and here we are.  So instead, I’m sharing something that both is but also isn’t a work in progress?

It’s “in progress” because while I’m happy with where it currently is, I’ve said that about playlists and soundtracks before and later changed them.  I’ve worked hard on this and talked several friends’ ears off about songs I’ve heard or artists that seemed to work and thanks to their feedback I think this is a really good one.  It’s gone through several edits as well, and may potentially even go through more down the road.  So I’m saying this counts for today.

If you give it a listen (and I hope you do because I’m very proud of it so far), I hope you enjoy it and maybe discover an artist you didn’t know before.  It clocks in at around 51 minutes and features 13 tracks which span Quinn Trevelyan’s story and important events of the main game through to Trespasser.

If you are interested, below the cut is a list of tracks and a brief blurb or description about who or what they’re meant to represent.  I was going to go into things in more depth and talk about how I built it, why I picked the songs I did, and the B-Sides that were left on the cutting room floor, but after realizing I had written nearly 4 pages about just as many songs, I realized it was too much for anyone to read.  So below is just a very brief summary and I think that most of the music would speak for itself, but I’m happy to expand more on anything that anyone finds either interesting… or confusing.  (There is also Solas content because I knew a few of you love that.)

You have to click on this sentence to go to the playlist because Tumblr’s coding for “Read More” seems to be conflicting with the HTML code to embed a functional playlist.  Because of course it is.

Quinn’s tarot card is the Wheel of Fortune as his story is a series of unpredictable highs and lows.  What the Maker giveth, He also taketh away.  The playlist follows that trend of highs and lows with upbeat songs followed by darker or more mellow ones.  Whenever I create a playlist, I try to think of a general tone or sound that I want to be carried through the soundtrack.  I want the overall genre or sound to tell the story as much as the individual songs.  Because of that, you’ll see artists repeat a couple of times, and when they do it’s always intentional.  You’ll also notice that most of the vocalists are male.  This was again intentional because this is Quinn’s story, and he’s a man.  They are his songs and I wanted the vocals to reflect that.

The Cult of Dionysus - pre-Conclave Quinn

Quinn at his most basic and stereotypical before any character development happens whatsoever - poppish, upbeat, and maybe just a little obnoxious.  He smokes, he drinks, he fucks, and nothing else matters.

The Sound of Silence - Aloysius’ Theme

I like Aloysius as a more practical view and examination of Quinn and the cult that grows around him.  He affords an opportunity to look at Quinn both as the Herald but also as just a person.  He is stoic and mild-mannered, a dutiful soldier, and an excellent foil for Quinn.  This is also absolutely a reference to an Arrested Development joke.

Isle of Dogs - Quinn’s true theme

Quinn is a walking disaster constantly falling victim to his own hubris.  There’s a morose sort of resentment to the lyrics, of someone who is constantly struggling against the tide.  In a lot of ways, this is basically a reaction or push back to all the crap I have put him through.

Providence - “In Hushed Whispers”

There are no Templars here.  The first few lines relate a lot to the dismissal the fledgling Inquisition receives from what remains of the Chantry, but the rest of the lyrics are very much about the mages and Fiona’s dealings with the Venatori.

Seven Devils - “In Your Heart Shall Burn

No male vocals in this one to symbolize the change in perspective.  This is both a bit of an easy and obvious choice for this story beat.  Female vocals for Corypheus might seem strange, but when I created my Warden’s soundtrack I tended to use powerful choruses and female vocals for anything related to Blight, Archdemons, or the darkspawn.  I carried that idea over to this as Corypheus is one of the seven Magisters.

Caesar - becoming the Inquisitor

This is a softer and quiet interlude in the wake of the loss of Haven and struggle through the snow.  If the previous song marks the end of the first act, this song marks the beginning of the second.

King - “Here Lies the Abyss”

In my written world state, Alistair is both the king and the Grey Warden contact (this goes back to that longform fic I am working on).  I suppose it’s a bit unfair because in the end that has a major impact on why Quinn makes the decision he does at Adamant (a rather threatening letter from the Warden helps too).  Think of this as a duet between Quinn and Hawke.

My Type - the love interest

“Here Lies the Abyss” was completed first, then a romance triggered, then “Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts”.  This is that sort of inbetween interlude and is very much inspired by how I may have flirted with multiple characters a little too much and basically triggered several romances at once.  I also went into Quinn’s playthrough having no idea who I was going to romance and just let him shop around.  And it came down to a coin flip in the end, so “you have a pulse and you are breathing” is pretty much the only standards he has.

Boheme Supreme - party at Halamshiral

All I have to say is that I love techno swing, every single lyric in this song is perfect, and I want you all to picture Quinn Trevelyan walking into the Winter Palace with his Inner Circle entourage around him, dressed up in that outfit I drew with that peacock feathered cap and having a drink in his hand throughout the entire night’s affair.

Hell’s Coming With Me - “Doom Upon All the World”

This is the climax of the main game, the rematch between Quinn and Corypheus which I have to imagine is more impressive in concept than it was in game.  I chose the dialogue option when Corypheus calls Quinn an imposter, “I am the Maker’s chosen” as his final challenge.  Sometimes it’s easy to forget that this main is actually very Andrastian.  But he is, and the lyrics, “I am the righteous hand of God/And I am the Devil that you forgot/And I told you one day will see/I’ll be back I guarantee/And that Hell’s coming with me” are the perfect declaration.

Paradise - Jaws of Hakkon & The Descent

Another interlude song.  If the previous one is triumphant than this one is the beginning of a bad turn.  In the interim between the events of the main game and the Exalted Council, things begin to go wrong in little ways.  His relationship with Cassandra begins to break down, eventually ending in the two of them having frequent spats and going their separate ways after returning from the Frostback Basin.  This song is deceptively sarcastic about how good things are.

I Still Love You, Judas - Solas’ Betrayal

Solas… oh, Solas.  Does this song indicate a very complicated and layered relationship between Quinn and Solas?  Yes! Have I attempted to unpack any of this?  Nope!  Have fun with this one!

Tagging for this week: @kita-lavellan @silvanils @nivenor-krosis @drag-on-age @rosella-writes @inquisitoracorn

Battle Cries - Quinn and Cassandra

I saved this one for the very end because it is a story within a story.  It is sad and bittersweet, but also not.  This entire thing feels to me like a duet between Quinn and Cass on what was good, what could never last, and that it’s all over now but that’s okay.  Because “this isn’t a breakup, dear heart, it’s a season finale.”  Does this mean that Quinn sounds like Joey Batey when he sings?  Sure, why not.

[bastionkeeper]

apparently my new thing is having a panic attack every night and managing to distract myself by writing fic I can project on, here’s tonight’s featuring the Dragon Age boys

“It hurts!” 

“I know, kid, I know, deep breaths.”

Varric rubbed Cole’s back, feeling a deep sympathy. The kid was double over as though his stomach hurt, but that wasn’t what was really bothering him. 

“I can’t breathe,” Cole gasped. “I’ve never needed to breathe before, can’t breathe, going to die, can’t breathe-”

“Hey, focus on me, kid,” Varric moved to stand in front of Cole, keeping a hand on his shoulder and trying to meet his gaze. When he noticed Cole dodging his attempts he remembered the kid’s profound dislike of eye contact. “Look at my hand, focus on that.” he held up his hand and Cole’s eyes immediately locked onto it. 

“I can feel myself dying,” Cole choked out. “Darkening, tingling, shaking, pain, mind going fuzzy.”

“It’s called a panic attack,” Varric said. “And we’re going to get you through it.”

Cole suddenly fled to the corner, moving almost too fast to see. He curled up in a ball and started rocking back and forth, humming to himself. His hands were restless, moving all over his body tugging at his hair or toying with each other, they never stopped moving.

“I’m going to die,” he said, and his voice sounded so terrified that it broke Varric’s heart. 

He’d come across Hawke like this on more than one occasion. All that stress, of course it weighed on her hard enough to make her snap. She’d rocked sometimes too, said it helped her calm down, made her feel something good and helped her focus. 

She’d rock or she’d pace, but that was just when she was in control enough to try to help herself through it. Othertimes she just sobbed helplessly while Varric held her. He could see Cole quickly reaching that territory.

“I’m here, and I’m going to keep you safe,” Varric promised him. “Remember in that last battle? When that Freeman came at you with a sword from behind?”

“You shot him,” Cole said, still rocking back and forth and starting to chew on his thumb.

“Yeah, I got him,” Varric said. “I’m going to keep doing that, okay? Anything that comes for you, I’ve got it.”

“You’re going to shoot it?”

“I can’t shoot everything, but I can protect you.”

Cole seemed to consider this for a moment, then he finally looked up at Varric. “Could you get Bianca anyway?”

“Of course, kid.”

“But don’t leave me,” Cole said quickly.

“You can come with me, how about that? Think you can walk?”

Cole made a distressed noise but he stood up. 

Varric took the darkest most least traveled pathways through Skyhold. It was night, so there weren’t many people out already thank Andraste, but he still wanted to keep Cole away from prying eyes. He didn’t want him to be scared by anything new introduced to the situation, and he didn’t want him to be embarrassed later. Hawke would get embarrassed a lot, she would drink and make scathing jokes about herself and apologize as if it was ever a bother for him to watch her back.

They made it to Varric’s room, and he grabbed Bianca from where he’d left her. He kept the safety on, no need to make this a real crisis situation at the slip of his finger. Still, he held her at the ready. 

Cole seemed bolstered by this, whimpering slightly and moving to sit on the edge of Varric’s bed just behind him.

“How we doing, kid?” Varric asked, staying protectively in place. 

“I’m scared,” Cole said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t like it. I don’t like the idea that I’m going to disappear. I don’t want to.”

“I won’t let you.”

“But you can’t stop that!”

“I’ve fought a god and a dragon and templars hopped up on red lyrium, nothing is going to stop me from keeping you safe, no matter what it is. I’d kick a hole in the fade to get you back.”

Cole made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, then he flopped onto his side. His fingers curled in the blanket and his hat went askew. 

“Why do I feel so tired?” he asked. “Like I’ve been fighting.”

“You’ve been hyperventilating, your body thinks it’s been fighting.”

“My body can think on it’s own?”

“Yeah, you’ll keep figuring that out the more human you become,” Varric chuckled. “Bodies are always doing things we didn’t plan on.”

Varric breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Cole’s breathing began to slow and grow steady. 

“What if I stop breathing?” Cole asked. “Will I die? Will my body think it’s dead?”

“I think Solas would tell you that you don’t have to breathe to keep living,” Varric said. “And I think your body just has to figure out that it’s not going to stop breathing in the first place. It’s scared, you’re scared, it just needs to remember it’s safe.”

“And you’ll keep me safe.”

“That’s right.”

Varric was surprised by a sudden weight on him, and almost fell over with an “oof!” as Cole hugged him from behind. 

He was shaking, and holding on tight enough to crack a rib, but Varric didn’t mind. He dropped Bianca and turned in Cole’s grasp to hug him back. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he shushed him. 

“Thank you,” Cole muttered, hiding his face against Varric’s shoulder. 

“Anytime.”

Varric ended up convincing Cole to give sleeping a chance. He looked exhausted after all of that, and he figured it would help his mind reset to switch off the panic. He tucked him into his bed, promising to watch the door with Bianca. Cole hadn’t asked him to, but he looked so grateful when he said it that he figured he’d guessed correctly that he was still pretty shaken. 

“You call me kid,” Cole whispered as Varric blew out the candle on the nightstand.

“Yeah, do you not like it?”

“I really like it. You make me feel safe. I don’t know what it’s like being a kid, having someone take care of you. Even when the real Cole was a kid, he didn’t know what it was like to have someone take care of you.”

Varric once again felt his heartbreak, and a bit of rage at the picture he was getting of Cole’s past.

“Well, I’ve never had the best parents either,” Varric said. “That’s how I learned to find family. It’s not the people you’re related to, it’s the people you love. The people you chose to love.”

“Varric?”

“Hm?”

“Are we family?”

“Yeah,” he didn’t hesitate. “You’ve got loads of family here. Bull called you his weird kid, remember? Sera treats you like a little brother, Cassandra mothers you every time you open your mouth, even her worship the inquisitor herself frets after you like a mother and she’s barely even older than you are.”

Cole was silent, but when Varric looked at him he seemed content. Calm, at the very least.

“You wanna hear a story?” he offered.

“Yes, please,” Cole said eagerly. 

Varric grinned, he knew how to do this part. Helping people was hard, there were so many ways to do it, and he would try every way on the list if he had to but this was the easiest one for him.

“This is one about some of my family,” Varric said. “So, this one day, Merrill wanted my help surprising Hawke with a gift…”

As Varric told his tale, only embellishing a little here and there, Cole’s muscles slowly untensed. Varric could see the smallest smile stretch across his pale face in the dark, and by the time he finished weaving his story Cole was asleep. 

Varric’s face softened looking at him. “Sweet dreams, kid.”

The next morning Varric woke up in the chair he’d pointed towards the door. He was sore, but nothing that wouldn’t be gone at the end of the day. He yawned and stretched, and that’s when his eyes fell on the items he did not remember having on his desk.

There was probably the most gorgeous leatherbound journal he’d ever seen, and then a ring he hadn’t seen in years. 

Hawke’s ring, the one she had made with her family crest when she moved to Hightown.

“To commemorate my transition into high and mighty noble!” she laughed, showing off the ring and lifting her ale.

“I thought this got eaten by an ogre,” Varric mused to himself, twisting the ring over in his hands. He noticed the note next to the items. It was written, as he expected, in Cole’s handwriting. It said simply: for helping.