aetherflowers

[aetherflowers]

WIP Whursday/Last Line Written

I got two WIP Wednesday tags from @in-the-drowning-deep and @silent-words and then a Last Line tag from @aetherflowers sooo… alright, I’ll bite. I won’t be a chicken shit this time, lol.

Have some awkward pre-relationship DoriRo.

Dorian exhales a quiet breath, tapping the side of his thumb against the wood beneath it. “I seem to have misread your intentions,” he says, in his typical, flippant sort of way, though he doesn’t succeed in masking his disappointment. “If I’ve crossed a line, offended you somehow, please know I didn’t—”

“You haven’t.” Rowan blurts the words out once he finally gets his vocal chords working again. “You haven’t misread anything.”

He lifts his eyes to meet Dorian’s, and all the man’s stormy gaze seems to say is then, what?

[aetherflowers]

Last Line Tag

Thank you @chaosherald @davrinsleftpectoral @fenrelmercar for the tag

Whenever I get tired of writing secret projects I slowly chip away as my side hoes. Few sentences here and there. Let's check in with Riley, Lucanis, and Spite

And now just two men drinking coffee. With a demon of course. A reunion of old friends. Who had to pretend there wasn't something more lingering in the tension of Rook's hand flexing around the cup.

Gently holding in my hands @mythals-whore @serensama @jenn2d2 @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @whispersleo @waxlyricalmoon @antivan-sprig @in-the-drowning-deep @aetherflowers @nirikeehan

And whoever else wants to join

Side note I'm currently in a tattoo shop with my Yu Yu Hakusho shirt on waiting to get my septum pierced

[aetherflowers]

Wip Wednesday but I’m always late/last line

Yesterday and today I just got swamped with work and never got around to actually posting so here’s a little blurb for my Thursday banger aka someone put Zalan back he’s lost and afraid

Thanks @davrinsleftpectoral @woundedsoul12 @chaosherald @pixiedurango @grand-crow @thatgaymerguyb @aetherflowers @draco-illius-noctis for the tags everyone’s been working on so many cool things keep tagging me!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Interesting…” She tilted her head and stared hard at the two of them as though she could see something they could not, “To what do I owe this visit?” Zalan looked to Neve, not sure what he’d do if Morrigan told him he was just sick or cursed or wrong about his two sets of memories. He’d told Neve that he would drop it, of course he would. But could he go back to simply loving her when someone else in his head kept calling to him?

A rock joke, the tingle of lyrium, wanting to protect and be protected. The soft sigh before a kiss. He shook his head sharply, forcing himself back into the present and instantly felt guilty again but crossed his arms, hugging himself and ignoring the look Neve was giving him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

I don’t even know who to tag but since it’s also last line written let’s go with that’s what I’m tagging

@bronzieinthedas @sandcastlekings @therivercrow @seaglassmelody @kabsey (sorry if you’ve done last line, tag me in it if you have)

[aetherflowers]

Last Line Written

Thank you for the tags, @biowaredisasterbisexual and @davrinsleftpectoral! (And @woundedsoul12, who tagged me right as I was about to post this!)

I'm, uh, still working on something I never intended to write, but I'm almost done and then I can work on Thursday Bangers.

“Elle…” There was just enough awareness in him to utter her name in warning. “I’m gonna–get messy.”

And I'm not the only one almost finished. (I think I'm so funny sometimes.)

Tags for: @hedwigoprah @maagisterpavus @handsignals @picathartidae @jenn2d2 @in-the-drowning-deep and

You!

(As always, like/comment here to get on or off the tag train.)

[aetherflowers]

Last Line Written

Thank you for the tag @biowaredisasterbisexual

I got some comments over on ao3 that absolutely made my day today, and it inspired me to start working on Nug E Cheese chapter 5. This isn’t the exact last line I wrote but it made me laugh, so I choose this one lol.

Turvi stood for a minute, trying to process the words she’d just strung together. He’d never put chocolate with eggs before, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t be good. He and Taash shared a look. He certainly wouldn’t be rude to his friend, but he was pretty sure he could not eat that omelet and fake it either. Taash narrowed their eyes and subtly shook their head. He just couldn’t do it though. He had to make an excuse.

Harding’s making breakfast y’all, and it’s a doozy lol.

Don’t feel pressured to share anything. I’m just too lazy and am using my full tag list lol.

@blackwall-my-tiny-husband @chaosherald @seaglassmelody @serensama @woundedsoul12 @mythals-whore @kabsey @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @jenn2d2 @hedwigoprah @cute-ellyna @therivercrow @thedissonantverses @thatgaymerguyb @biowaredisasterbisexual @jukkaricity @aetherflowers @aldisobey @brennacedria @basedonconjecture @dragonagegayz @emmg @himluv @jouskaroo @operative-arrow @pixiedurango @postcardsfromheapside @master-of-the-elements @fireheartedpup @wolfmoonwildflowers @leota-nexus @captainmagpie-risha @tkwritesdumbassassins

[aetherflowers]

Last Line Written

I was tagged by @the-sparrohawk (thanks friend), who posted up some spice in preparation for Neve Week 2025. It was good; highly recommend.

Makes what I was working on most recently that much funnier, too. Because…well, you’ll see.

He looked like a single touch from her and he’d give in, and that she could so easily undo him with nothing but her presence sent a pleased shiver down her spine.

She could have him, if she wanted him.

And right now, for once, Neve could admit that she did want him. Badly.

Some low-pressure tags to: @aetherflowers, @thatgaymerguyb, @himluv, @seaglassmelody, @operative-arrow, @mageofquandrix, @basedonconjecture, @bygonesigh, @davrinsleftpectoral, @mythals-whore, @grimrevolution, @hyperions-light, and you! If you’re reading this and want in, go for it and tag me so I can come use way too many exclamation marks and emojis!

[aetherflowers]

Just a little writing warm up to get back into the swing of things :) Inspired by the sleep dynamic tag | 1.9k words | M | not available on AO3

The hour was late when Emmrich rolled over in his sleep. He wasn't at all surprised to find the other side of the bed empty. The sheets were untouched, cool against his fingers as he absentmindedly sought out something that was never there. He had been forming this habit for the last several weeks and he didn't know why he still expected it to change. 

At first, she would avoid his bed altogether, preferring to keep their trysts to tables or convenient seating, perhaps the odd wall or two. Oh they played and toyed with each other, and every so often devolved into mindless rutting that satisfied their hunger for each other and still, often, ignited a passion so unrestrained that it left them both with primal evidence of their activities. 

After several weeks of consecrating every available surface, Emmrich had made a few small remarks about his back and joints. He was perfectly fine, of course, but he had noticed a few new bruises along her legs and ribs. A wincing when she planted her knees on either side of his thighs. In a predictable fashion, Veryl had done everything should could to avoid certain comforts until it physically pained her. 

Emmrich rolled over on to his back in the bed, contemplating the ceiling of the small hidden room off his laboratory. The first night, after a particularly long day of field work, he had coaxed her to the bed with a promise of release. Of tension, of stress, of the hounding rigidity with which she was forced to contain herself to on a daily basis. 

His fingers had traced the toned muscles in her back, slick with a fragrant oil. Her breathing became deep and choppy as he had dug nimble fingers into her Latissmus Dorsi near her ribs, and worked out the knots formed along the rhomboid around her shoulder blades. On particularly nasty cramp along the top of her shoulder, she had gasped and moaned gutturally. The sounds and the tensing of her hips under him, had him clearing his throat and readjusting his focus. 

First with kisses along her spine, touching ever vertebrae. Then along her hips and pelvis. He had flipped her over with controlled fervor, and relishing in yet another glorious noise ripped directly from her lungs. The rest of the evening had been spent with his attention firmly on chasing those sounds from her. He lapped up the evidence with a greedy hunger, making her squirm while he held her in place. 

Under the guise of his own manipulation, 'saving his knees', he laid on the bed with her, face buried in what he had become intimately familiar with long before ever seeking his own pleasure with her. It was one of the first things he had been allowed to partake in with the assurance it came from a place of mutual affection and proof of his own devotion. A gift he would never take for granted. 

They spent as many evenings as she would permit in such a fashion. Emmrich would often find himself moving with her, breathing through his own crescendo of pleasure as he chased hers for her. And after, when she was well and truly spent, he would clean both of them and pull her into his arms on the bed. That's when her laughter was the easiest, the most carefree. When she sank into the delirium of gratification and lack of sleep. Emmrich would watch closely as her eyelids became heavier and her body lax. That's when he gave himself over to the relaxation earned through security and dedication. 

That same night was when he learned exactly what Veryl battled every evening. 

He had awoken with a start, high alert when he felt her move underneath him. The sheets were long forgotten heap on the floor; they were a mess of intertwined bodies, seeking warmth in each other. She shifted from under his weight, and he groggily asked what was wrong while igniting a small flame of veilfire in his fingers. When she still kept moving and no verbal response came, he watched her. She moved absently, the long night shirt she wore falling to her thighs as she removed herself from the bed. 

He thought he heard humming as he asked again is everything was okay. A second failure of communication and the vacant look in the stare she turned on him told him what he needed to know. Sleepwalking. He extinguished the flame in his fingers and vacated the bed, moving to open the doorway into the lab. He spent several minutes watching her, and moving things out of her way as she made to exit the lab. Blessedly, she had gone no further that the library that night. But even now, the anxiety of knowing she could wander about like this, in the never ending fade, where one step was all it took to cease existing entirely, plagued him. 

When Veryl had come to her senses, suddenly aware of where she was, she had groaned and apologized for her unconscious behavior. They sat there on the couch together for a long time, silently. He held her hand but didn't dare request to hold her. She didn't come to bed often after that.

There were occasions, of course, where she gave into him and let Emmrich lull her to sleep, but these were almost always plagued by bouts of sleepwalking and nightmares that made her cry in her sleep. Sometimes it would be simple whimpering that had Emmrich trying to soothe the pain away, other nights were wretched wails that he could not rouse her from. Those frightened him the most. 

After a while, he stopped pushing, afraid of the distress his request put on her psyche. He privately wondered if it might make things worse for her. So he locked away his desire to have her splayed out in front of him like a fine meal, on a plush surface, intended only for comfort, in favor of keeping her free of the horrific deluge of turmoil she lived with. He could no indulge such a selfish desire if it triggered something so deeply within her. 

He sighed as the ceiling of the room remain unchanged with all of the memories that flashed behind his eyes. Tossing the blankets that kept him company aside, he reached for his house coat and cracked open the bedroom door. Light from the fade announced her location in the laboratory, up on the landing, drawing her shadow against the wall. He could hear the faint turning of pages every so often as he tied his robe and slipped into his slippers. 

Veryl was tucked onto the window seat, barefoot and folded up into the pillows that threatened to consume her. There was a light in her eyes when she looked up to greet him, but the lavender hollows under her eyes were what haunted him. 

"Couldn't sleep?" She jested quietly as he sank down onto the cushioned bench next to her. She moved her feet to accommodate, pushing them under the pillow behind his back. 

"Unfortunately, it would seem so." He sighed and placed a hand on her knee, running he thumb lightly across the skin of her leg. He watched her sullenly, the worry for her well-being battering at his skull.  "I'm sorry." The smile that she had greeted him with flickered out of existence. A heavy silence blanketed them. Veryl softly closed the book she was reading. He recognized it as one of the worn copies that lived in nook beside her seat. An old romance, about a woman and the ghost she falls in love with, she had explained some time ago. A familiar comfort. 

"I do wish…" He started, his mouth pinching as he tried to search for words that wouldn't make things hard on her. "… there was some way…" She caught and held his hand, stopping the small motion he repeated. "I've lived a long time like this, I'll be okay." But the reassuring smile didn't return to underscore the sincerity of her platitude. It wasn't that she was lying, he knew that. She had lived many lives in her few years, more than he would ever be able to comprehend, or begin to understand. There could be no doubt restless night were her most consistent companion. 

He gently twisted his hand out of her grasp as he reached for her face. She melted into it. It made him want to weep.  "I just want you to be well, my love, that is my most sincere wish." He didn't want her to just make it through this ordeal that they faced. He wanted to see her survive and thrive beyond whatever purpose the world had decided to give her. Without the the burden of salvation on her shoulders, would she be able to cope? When she no longer had to make decisions that fell absolutely to her sole judgment, what would hold her together? Sleep was just the surface of it; the things that latched on to her life force were what concerned him the most. 

She contemplated him before sighing and shifting her position to lay her head in his lap. He knew then that this weighed on her more heavily than she let on. Veryl wasn't arguing, wasn't trying to plead her case or convince him not to worry. The swelling in his heart grew under the encouragement of the consummation of this knowledge. 

Emmrich's fingers worked across her scalp as he tried to capitalize on her willingness. His other hand came up to rest on her shoulder, brushing gently in small revolutions. He felt her breathing become more deep, but it still lacked that even indication of sleep. Settling in further into the pillows, he resigned himself to the new title of pillow. 

Emmrich observed her quietly, noting the little translucent nicks and scrapes that dotted her skin, almost all completely faded with time and healing. He studied her lashes from this angle, the length of them dusting the tops of her cheeks. Those that were consistently wind bitten and rosy, an indication of the vibrancy of her vitality. All the delicate parts of her came together to create a lovely thing worth the attention of even the greatest master. It was a wonder she hadn't inspired an entire artistic movement within Nevarra. 

Emmrich would never claim to have a creative bone in his body, but the things she brought out in him had him wanting to indulge in the most elegant prose. Or to find the colors that could capture her complexion. How many pairs of her eyes stared back at him from the margins of his notebooks now? Further still, how many times had he found himself sketching her likeness into an empty page while he observed her?

The most consistent thing that abstracted him, was the music that followed her. He could hear it, somehow. Old Nevarran piano pieces that he hadn't played since his younger years were suddenly at the forefront of his mind, recollected with startling clarity. It wasn't until her heard her playing in the music room that he realized the nearly inaudible music was sourced from her. Every time she swept into the lab, the wispy notes followed her. He latched on to one, there on the window seat, his brain syncing itself to the old lullaby.

Veryl's breath finally eased into an even rhythm as Emmrich filled the silence with a hum of a reposeful song. 

[aetherflowers]

Photos Tag Game

Thank you for the tag, @draco-illius-noctis 🥰

describe yourself ONLY with pictures you have, you CANNOT search or download new pictures

I don’t keep a ton of memes on my phone but I do take silly pictures for Pikmin Bloom so hopefully those will suffice!

It was hard to choose 10 but uh, yeah, I think this encapsulates my vibe.

Passing tags to: @woundedsoul12 @handsignals @in-the-drowning-deep @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @davrinsleftpectoral @jenn2d2 @picathartidae @king-of-swords @biowaredisasterbisexual @maagisterpavus @hedwigoprah and

You!

I’m doing this on mobile so I don’t have my tag list. If I missed you, I’m eternally sorry.

[aetherflowers]

“Men and women from every race; warriors and mages, barbarians and kings… the Grey Wardens sacrificed everything to stem the tide of darkness… and prevailed.”

Made a little DAO tribute to pay homage to my favourite game ✨

[aetherflowers]

[aetherflowers]

Good night my sweet prince Alistair

[aetherflowers]

Thursday Bangers: Dr, Who?

Thank you for this game and wicked lyric prompt @woundedsoul12- love you to bits <3

I've been wanting to write this scene for WEEKS, full transparency, it's based off a scene/clip I saw of a K-drama "My Father is Strange" - now I know nothing else about this series but this scene stuck with me, and I thought... yeah... why not have another meet-cute type of scene with these two giant idiots?

Read on Ao3

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

"I don't know why I didn't trust you to be on my side"- What It Sounds Like by Huntr/x from Kpop Demon Hunters

---

The coffee machine was making death noises. Lilya was no expert, but it definitely did not sound healthy, nor did her assistant sound happy, yelping every so often when the machine gurgled louder. 

“It's sputtering again,” Bellara groaned into the phone, followed by a dramatic gasp. “Okay, no - it's bubbling. That’s a death rattle, Lilya. It’s singing the song of its people, it’s not long for this world, I just know it, Boss. I’m not trained for this.” Lilya shifted the phone to her other ear, nudging open the door to her apartment building with her hip. “So go get coffee, Bell.” “I would, but I’ve already put the client folders on your desk. And the psych forms. And the intake reports. And Mr Stephens is first up this morning, you know he’s going to be here insanely early because of his anxiety, so someone has to be here to open the door. We don’t need a repeat of last year’s summer breakdown. Besides all this – listen to me, I’ve been attacked by machinery, I’m too fragile this morning. Can you please swing by the café?”

“You’re unbelievable. You’re my assistant, remember.”

“Yes, but right now I’m also a victim. Also, Illario has already called.”

Lilya paused mid-step. “He did? I mean.. He... he what?” Smooth Lilya. Way not to sound over-eager or anything.  Bellara cleared her throat innocently, but it sounded too much like laughter for Lilya to brush off entirely. “Relax. He was just calling to make sure you got in safe. He said something about, and I quote, ‘just heard there was a bad traffic accident in our part of town.’ Which is apparently code for I miss your boss and need to know her heart still beats for me, please and thank you.” “Maker,” Lilya muttered, picking off a piece of lint from her dress. “He’s-...” wonderful, thoughtful, delicious “-... relentless.” “Well, I think he’s sweet. In a... very Illario sort of way.” “So what, you’re friends now?” Lilya snorted inelegantly, checking both sides of the street before shuffling across, smiling at a gentleman who passed by her with a smile.  “Well, he did threaten to replace me before he knew I was magic,” Bellara said, not even pretending to sound offended. “But he did it thinking it was to help you. So I can’t stay mad.” There was a moment of silence and Lilya could almost hear the other woman’s brain ticking through her headset. “So... this thing with Illario... is it serious? Is he as charming as they say he is in the gossip columns? Oh, you have to tell me so I can live vicariously through you-” “Oh, but you and Irelin-” “Over. Tell me already before Mr Stephens’ shows up and starts counting everything in the office again!” 

Lilya scoffed at her, trying to keep herself from smiling and getting pulled into a conversation she wasn’t ready to have yet. “There’s nothing to tell you, Bell. We’ve just talked a little. On the phone.”

“Sure, talk,” Bellara snorted. “That’s what you kids are calling it these days, huh?” --- She took the scenic route to work, taking the time every second day of the week to detour through the quieter side streets where the buildings in her neighbourhood wore ivy, and the mornings smelled like warm sugar, fresh bread and clean sheets from the people hanging their laundry on their fire escapes. Viago always groused at the quaint ‘little village’ feel of where she chose to live and work, but she wasn’t going to let his doom and gloom deter her from the place she loved. Sure, she adored the Villa, and she was born into a life most would kill for, but it took living differently to see how fortunate she was... that and if she stayed at the family home under the same roof as her brother, she’d have been taken in for fratricide years ago.  Her phone buzzed when she stopped at the lights. Good morning. I’ll see you soon. From the sound of it, your assistant is seconds from declaring a national emergency.

Lilya shook her head at the text message, her thumbs already flying, trying to ignore the smile that pulled at her mouth. It’s really not necessary. I’m already on my way to get some.

Too late. I’m not far at all, he replied all too quickly, as if he had been watching his phone for her response. 

She groaned, dramatically and out loud, for no one’s benefit. He hadn’t seen her since the gala more than two weeks ago. That night, she’d had a full team of professionals turning her into someone glossy and statuesque and worthy of his tuxedoed smirk. Today, she’d barely made it out of the house with two matching shoes. The past fortnight had been consumed by paperwork, licensing board meetings, and her conscious decision to ignore all contact from Viago. She was exhausted, but also, finally at peace. The kind of peace that was necessary before she and Illario went any further. Lilya knew that her brother would rear his moustached head sooner or later to talk at her, but he was the least of her worries in the grand scheme of things.   By the time she reached the corner of the street in front of her practice, panic had seeped in.

She marched up to the nearest parked town car and used the tinted windows to assess how unsalvageable her appearance was. Her reflection blinked back with puffier eyes than she remembered, a faint smudge of her lip gloss on her bottom lip and her hair clinging onto its last shred of dignity after two days of dry shampoo. “Okay,” she murmured to herself, smoothing her dress. “Not a complete disaster. Just... mild chaos chic. It’ll be fine... it’ll be fine.”

She was mid-lint inspection of her skirt when her phone buzzed again.

Bellara said the coffee situation was dire. I just wanted your morning to feel a little easier. Even if I couldn’t be the one to make it that way. She rolled her eyes and smiled despite herself. She was going to hate the coffee; she typically avoided the stuff whenever she could. But she was going to drink it like it was spun sugar from the Fade itself and be grateful for every bitter drop, because it came from such a sweet place.  Andraste’s ass- she was starting to sound like the heroine from Bellara’s novel.  --- He had been watching for a while.

Marcel, his driver, hadn’t said anything since they had parked the car five minutes before. But the silence was heavy with the kind of judgment that came from watching your employer lean forward every thirty seconds like a teenager at a school window passing his girlfriend’s school, hoping for a chance to see her, even for a moment.

“She always walks this way?” Marcel asked finally.

“Every Tuesday,” Illario murmured, not turning to look at him. “At least that’s what her assistant told me.” 

He caught the first glimpse of her when she turned the corner, half-hidden behind a streetlight, tucking her phone into her coat pocket, already fidgeting with her hair like she knew he was watching. And she did fuss. Maker, how she fussed. Checking her reflection in the window of his town car, she unknowingly looked him in the eye as she fretted about her looks. Lilya smoothed her dress, tugging at her sleeves as if she were meeting someone important and not just some idiot with her coffee. She could’ve walked through traffic in a dirty burlap sack and still looked divine, but she wanted to look her best for him... and that realisation made his chest go tight.

He’d have to remember to get something nice for her assistant; if he hadn’t managed to get her on his side, he’d never have had the chance to see Lilya like this. He had to admit that Bellara had played her part beautifully. “So we’re like spies now?” Bellara had whispered into the phone the afternoon prior. “Or two people ensuring your caffeine delivery,” Illario replied, amused at the young woman’s excitement. He heard her scoff on the other end of the line.  “Same difference. I’m still choosing our code names.” “...Are you writing a novel or something?” “Wha—no. No! W-who told you that? Bye.”

If Lucanis were there instead of choosing to work from home like the hermit that he was, he’d have jabbed him in the ribs just to distract him from the beating of his heart. But the last thing his cousin would have wanted to see was his ex-therapist and his cousin making eyes at each other, he was thankful that he was absent for this particular excursion. Still, Illario almost missed him.

But then Lilya checked her phone again, and smiled, as if she meant it, her eyes soft and her fingertips just touching her lips in quiet shock or wonder or awe at something he had written... and suddenly, he didn’t miss anything at all.

--- He rolled down the window at the perfect moment.

She started and nearly stumbled backwards, but his hand shot out, catching her wrist before she could fall into the stranger behind her.

“You alright?” he asked, voice warm and amused. “Would’ve caught you sooner, but I didn’t want to ruin the dramatic reveal.”

Her mouth parted in surprise, and then her eyes flared with outrage. “You... You have been sitting there this whole time?!”

He let go of her wrist once she was steady. “Technically, yes. Practically? That depends on how you feel about loitering on your stoop with only the best of intentions.”

She couldn’t answer him. There was not one witty rejoinder up her sleeve at all. Not with her brain still stuck on the fact that he looked like he’d walked out of a luxury brand campaign and she... well. She was wearing the lintiest dress in existence. Added to the fact that she probably looked like a love-struck teenager staring at her phone as if she were waiting on his every word. Of course, she was, but he didn’t need to know that! 

“I brought coffee,” he said, stepping out of the car with a full cup tray. “Or an assortment of caffeine, anyway. I didn’t want to guess what you’d like and be wrong.”

She looked at the tray in his hands and blinked. “You know, I don’t even drink coffee.”

“Well then, Bellara will be a force of nature after drinking all four coffees on her own, forgive me.” Lilya bit her lip to stop from grinning. “I appreciate the effort. Truly. And I will drink these, it is just a pity I prefer hot chocolate.” Illario bent at the knees like he’d just been shot. “I knew it. Someone as sweet as you? Of course you’d want chocolate.”

She made a face. “Don’t say that. It sounds like I should be frolicking through a meadow with pigtails, a flock of sheep, singing songs with birds while woodland creatures gather to darn my dress.”

“You’d look cute in pigtails,” he laughed at her horror. “Luckily, I anticipated this and brought backup.” Illario pulled out another cup tray and placed it into her awaiting hand. “There’s a hot chocolate there. And a fruity tea. And a strong espresso in case you change your mind halfway through drinking either option and decide to be a good Antivan after all.”

“Okay,” she said, cheeks starting to warm from his attention. “Now you’re just showing off.” “This counts as showing off to you? The bar must be subterranean. Now, I fear what will physically happen to you when I actually try.” He glanced at his watch and swore softly, missing the way Lilya’s eyes widened as she thought about what his effort would actually do to her. “I’ve got to run. I’m late to a meeting I don’t want to go to. But... I’ll call you later?”

Lilya nodded, rearranging the tray in her hand. “Sure.”

And then, without thinking too hard, she leaned in. Her free hand rose to his cheek as she kissed the other, soft and warm, a brush of lips and skin to start her morning right. He caught her hand before she could drop it and pressed a kiss to her palm. No heat in the action, but it still made their next breath halt in their chest. He let her hand go, quickly, before either of them could undo the moment with words or fall over a line they really weren’t ready to cross - not yet, not so soon.

“I’ve got to go,” he said again, more as a reminder to himself than a farewell to her. “I’ll- I’ll call you!” He placed the other tray into her other hand, and she gave the world’s most awkward wave, juggling all the drinks. “You sure you’ve got all that? I can run them upstairs with you, if you want?”  “It may surprise you, Illario, but most women have developed ungodly hand strength from years of surviving without pockets. I will not be defeated by eight drinks. Not today. Now off with you, don’t be late!” 

He grinned. She was adorable. She was perfect. He was going to go to hell, ruined by a girl and her smile, and he was booking a one-way ticket there. 

Illario slipped back into the car and watched her go until she disappeared into the building.

She smiled because of him. That was what undid him. And it would, each and every time, he just knew it.

He should’ve known from the moment she smiled at him across that bar. Should’ve trusted his gut - the same gut that never failed him in business - that this wasn’t just a phase or a fling or some clever game to win.

She wasn’t like the other people in his past. She never had been. She saw him. Really saw him, all sharp edges, splinters, and shadows that clouded over him, and somehow, she still smiled as if she liked what she saw. Like it was easy to do it. Like he was already good (already enough).

And he had her grinning at her phone like he’d handed her a miracle in a cardboard cup.

He leaned back into the seat as Marcel pulled out into the traffic, and smirked at his own damn reflection in the window. He was smug and stupidly happy, like he had found the cure for cancer or been nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize, something much greater than the small kindness he’d shown... just to be able to see her, even for a moment. 

Huh. Guess he was just like a teenager passing his girlfriend’s high school after all. 

Yeah.

It was going to be a good day. Hell. It might even be a great one. 

--- Softly tagging: @davrinsleftpectoral @jenn2d2 @rookamell @kabsey @thedissonantverses @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @mythals-whore @selennes @serstolas @aetherflowers @hightowerqueen @himluv @jukkaricity @redheadsramblings @brennacedria @the-sparrohawk @hedwigoprah @gingervitus and anyone else who may want to play! :)

[aetherflowers]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tags, @aetherflowers, @grand-crow, @woundedsoul12 and @silent-words! Very very gentle, no-pressure tags for @maagisterpavus, @babydinosaur930, and @serjory (+ tagging @themildmahariel since u asked so nicely <3)

Have a snippet from the Bull/Dorian/Lucien get-together fic:

“You don’t think we might have done that together?” Bull shrugs. “Maybe. D’you think you'd have said yes, though? Not just to a night - to a whole long term, three way thing with a Ben-Hassrath and the Inquisitor?” Dorian's throat clicks as he swallows. No. No, he would not. He had been too far south, in too much danger, surrounded by enough wagging tongues and suspicion already. Lucien noses at his shoulder. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel safe then,” he says, like the chivalrous idiot he’s always been. Dorian gives him a gentle poke in the side. “Ah yes, I forgot that the Anchor allowed you to control the thoughts of everyone in our vicinity,” he sniffs. “Quite the oversight on my part. I ought to have asked you to simply make them all trust me unconditionally.”

[aetherflowers]

do you have any sort of family tree or anything like that with your DA OCs? i think that would be so cool to see! <3

Great question! Thank you so much for asking. It's convoluted so I whipped this up.

One has the Couslands, the other has the Hawkes, both have Amell/Trevelyan.

Headcanon-y TMI below:

In canon, Revka Amell just disappears at some point after 9:10 when the Amell family starts to crumple under a wave of unfortunate events. World of Thedas also states that her husband took their remaining children (the first was taken by templars after developing magic) and left Kirkwall. It's curious to me that Revka is just noted to have disappeared and not died, and it let me headcanon a few things.

According to World of Thedas, she was extremely distraught after her first child was taken to the Circle. Between that, her whole family collapsing/dying, and severe post-partum, she had a mental break that led to her abandoning her family and starting over as a new person and devoting herself to the Chantry in the hopes that the Maker won't continue to "curse" her children with magic. The devout Trevelyans fit well into her new hyper-religious life.

Revka's husband is never named, and it's strange that she and her children keep the Amell surname. Since the Amells were very influential at the time Revka would have been married, and Kirkwall is on the Waking Sea, a marriage to one of the Banns along the Storm Coast seemed plausible enough. Eleanor Cousland is from the MacEanraig family who were famous for their navy and defense of the Storm Coast during the war with Orlais, and she had three unnamed siblings, so I took advantage of that.

Those are my fun mental leaps that led to my special little princesses/Amell family dynasty, heh.

[aetherflowers]

DA100: 37

DA100 Challenge prompts are here!

#37: Siblings

Word count: 425

On a dock overlooking Lake Calenhad, Elona and Arran sat side by side. It had been a few years since they had seen one another last, and they were both beginning to show their age. She teased him about the strands of grey at his temples, easy to see amongst his chestnut hair. He still wore it long, but at least he had it tied back. Ever since he had followed Morrigan through the Eluvian a few years ago, their visits had been brief. Letters were easier to exchange, but she insisted on seeing his face every few years just to be sure he was still alive.

“Do you remember Nan’s chocolate cakes?” Arran asked, his shoulder leaning against his sister’s.

“Of course,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder. “I always looked forward to them on nameday.”

“I bet you get better now, at the palace,” he mused. 

“Better than Nan?” She hummed in thought, her brows drawn with skepticism. “I don’t think so.”

“I wish I knew the recipe so I could make it for Kieran. Did I tell you we have another on the way?”

With a gasp of surprise she leaned away from him, her dark eyes sparkling with joy. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“You know how she is with secrets,” he sighed.

“Is it…” Elona trailed off, not quite sure how to delicately ask if it was another child conceived from a ritual. Morrigan’s dark spells had saved their lives and she was grateful, but she still had trouble pinning down the woman’s motives. So long as her brother was happy, she didn’t mind their relationship, but she didn’t always understand it either. “I don’t know, natural?”

A bark of laughter burst from Arran, and Hamish’s head lifted from Elona’s lap for a moment. “As far as I know.”

“And Kieran,” she pressed. “Is he really just a normal child?”

“As I keep telling you, and Fergus, yes.” He didn’t try to hide his exasperation. “He’s a smart boy, a touch serious but he hasn’t grown scales or horns yet.”

Fergus had remarried and had more children, too. It seemed the Cousland line was well in hand. Losing their parents the way they had lost them had been hard and not even vengeance had eased the sting. At least they still had one another, when time would allow.

“Alright, alright,” she said, trying to placate him. “I’m happy for you, Arran, really. Pass on my well wishes, if you think she’d accept them, and tell me all about your smart son.”

[aetherflowers]

[aetherflowers]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @babydinosaur930 @woundedsoul12 @nirikeehan @davrinsleftpectoral @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @notyourmamasdeerbat. Thank you so much, lovely friends! I'm so honored 🥰

Sending tags to: @hedwigoprah @maagisterpavus @handsignals @picathartidae @jenn2d2 @in-the-drowning-deep @biowaredisasterbisexual and if you're writing something and want to share:

You!

(Tag list here if you want on or off the tag list ride.)

I started working on a morning after follow-up to Love is Just a Word. Here's the beginning! Before things get, well, handsy. I need to go do my DA100 now, oops.

Word count: 400

Fingers traced his brow, down his nose, along his jaw–he loved the way she woke him up, slowly and gently rousing him. She’d learned that most other ways ended with him panicking, worried that they were under attack. Sleep had been a difficult thing for him after Ostagar between the nightmares of the battle and the archdemon’s siren song, but having her near had helped. At least if he jolted awake from dreaming of her dead on the floor of Ishal, her warmth against his side calmed him.

“Morning already?” He groaned and tried to bury his face in her hair without opening his eyes.

“Not quite,” she said, guiding his head to her shoulder instead. “You were dreaming.”

He hummed in acknowledgement. “Sorry.”

“It sounded bad,” she continued, her fingers combing through his hair. “Are you okay?”

“I couldn’t find you.” 

The dream - nightmare, really - was only a vague recollection, but he remembered running through Ishal and terror clawing its way through his veins. The bodies of people he knew, Darkspawn, faceless soldiers, and the sound of her voice, calling for him. He’d never heard her so afraid. Elona needed him and he knew, deep inside of himself, that he wasn’t going to make it on time. Some horrible fate would snatch her away and he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

With a shaky breath he pressed his face to her shoulder and breathed deeply, reminding every one of his senses that she was right there. She held him close in turn, pressing her lips to the top of his head. Gently she traced the rim of his ear, the thin scar along the top of it, the shell and lobe; her touch anchored him, her breath in his hair a soft reassurance.

“I’m right here,” she assured him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As much as he wanted to believe her, they were up against so much and anything could happen. Against great odds they had found one another, but imagining a future together sometimes felt like a futile task. He hated it. All he wanted was to give her the world, but he couldn’t even give her a day without violence.

He reached up to take her hand, guiding it along his cheek until he could press his lips to every fingertip, her palm, the inside of her wrist. Beneath his lips her steady pulse picked up speed. What he needed was a distraction from his dark thoughts, and there was nothing he liked thinking of more than her–the way her skin flushed, the sound of her breathing quickening, the feel of her pressed against him.