ccremisiusacclassi - Tumblr blog

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early chargers rp? pirate au? krem/bull/dorian? absolutely

hurt/comfort is great. kink is great. drama is great. fluff is great. ideally a mix of all these things is ideal, but I don’t mind doing without a couple. 

I would love to play krem to someone’s bull, but I’m definitely up for playing bull instead. whatever role you want to play, please take initiative with moving the rp forward, and suggesting ideas ooc. 

I think that’s it for now, so yeah. 

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😉 😀 🤕 👿

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Krem

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you ever have aesthetics you’re so hooked on you really wanna rp them, there’s no actual story in mind, you just wanna enter that world?

cause that’s me and rping krem in a old timey train hopping au

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Krem’s milkshake brings all the girls to the battle ground

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Krem, I love you a lot too <3

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Krem is my very, very special boy. And all thought I know Bioware won’t give it to me, I’d love to romance this perfect bean in Dragon Age 4, so here’s his head canon. 

 “At seventeen, I started to starve myself I thought that love was a kind of emptiness”

“And it’s Friday night and it’s kicking in And I can’t dress, they’re gonna crucify me”

“We never found the answer but we knew one thingWe all have a hunger (we all have a hunger) We all have a hunger (we all have a hunger)”

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Birthday present for the waif @practicefortheheart​ !!!

this is her inquisitor Myra Lavellan and Krem being cute and bashful in a regency au bc i promised her a loooong time ago i’d draw it and now here we are. happy birthday waif ❤️❤️❤️

(This whole thing is heavily referenced from “Spring, The Fence” by Vaclav Brozik btw)

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If you don’t do Demands of the Qun, the Chargers live, but Bull remains loyal to the qun. If you leave him behind, he’ll arrive through a side door to fight you on Viddasala’s orders anyway.  

Consider Krem.  

Consider Krem, who sits in a chair on Bull’s bad side, to be his eyes, so the chief can relax when he’s off-duty. Consider Krem, who trusts Bull with his life, but knows he can get up to some truly hair-brained shenanigans when left on his own, and watches him as often as he watches the room.  

Consider Krem seeing Bull slip out of the tavern, silently, without a word to anyone, with his jaw set and his eye sharp. Consider Krem feeling unease in the pit of his stomach, an unshakable feeling that something is up. Consider Krem following, quietly. 

Bull is good at what he does, but he’s focused on his mission and he’s taught Krem well. Consider the Iron Bull and his shadow passing unseen, both driven by a duty and loyalty of very different kinds. 

The Iron Bull arrives to join the fight, on the wrong side, on the right side, to prove himself a traitor and a loyal soldier. 

Krem knows Iron Bull is a qunari, knows he is Ben Hassrath, but it’s one thing to know a fact and another thing to know. The Iron Bull does not act like a qunari. He sings dirty songs and he drinks and he laughs too loud and he fucks like it’s going out of style. 

Consider Krem, for the first time, seeing Hissrad. 

No hard feelings, bas.

In this version of the story, Iron Bull’s loyalty was never tested. He never had to make a sacrifice, one way or the other. This is the story where Iron Bull could have it both ways, where he could continue his knife-edge dance between Tal Vashoth and Qunari. 

But in being both, he is also neither, and when Krem charges in and places himself between Hissrad and the Inquisitor, there is no certainty for the Iron Bull to lean on. The qunari sees an obstacle to be dealt with, but the tal vashoth sees Krem. 

“What are you doing, Chief?" 

Do the words come? I am doing my duty. Anaan esaam qun. Or do they stick in his throat, hot and raw, because without certainty, the orders made his head swim and his stomach tie into knots, made the faces of the men and women he’s fought beside flicker like nightmares in his mind. The qun has been so far and so distant for so long. To have it this close again, is it a comfort? Or a cage? Does he know the difference? 

"Get out of the way, Krem." 

”No.“

Krem is loyal to the Iron Bull first and foremost, but in this world, the tal vashoth world, loyalty is not blind obedience. It’s Krem’s job to push back, to question schemes, to be the voice of something like reason. 

"Don’t do this, Chief. This isn’t you." 

But it is. But it isn’t. An order was given. One that Hissrad is compelled to obey. One that the Iron Bull is incapable of obeying. 

"You have to go through me first,” Krem says, angry, determined, defiant, unflinching. Consider Krem, loyal beyond death, who found a friend and a purpose and a home with the Iron Bull. Whose last thoughts, in another story, were of certainty and trust. He’ll come. He’ll call. He won’t leave us. Horns pointing up. In every story where he stands between Hissrad and Iron Bull, he is not afraid.   

There is no version of this story where he dies. When the ax falls, it is from numb fingers, and it rings bloodless against the stones at their feet. 

As long as Krem draws breath, Hissrad will always become Iron Bull.

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I need to resize the bajillion rp icons I made for krem ages ago but my touchpad clicker is broken and so is my mouse hhhh

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krem has a gap in his front teeth

sorry I don’t make the rules

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A Report, Of A Kind

Ao3 Link

Three months ago, Optio Aquestus decided he liked my penmanship and began calling me in to scribe his reports, especially when he’d overdone it on wine the night before. 

I was worried at first. I’ve seen soldiers caught between the commands of their direct superior and the whims of a far outranking officer, but Decanus Martinus found no issue so long as I fulfilled the rest of my duties without delay. Earning the Optio’s favor, more than my good standing and competency in battle, was probably what put me up for promotion. I guess it chaps my ass a bit that my mother’s obsession with giving me a “lady’s education” had any positive effect on my military career, but I’m not about to whinge about it. 

On the other hand, that promotion was what required me to undergo that Maker-damned medical examination.

This is all a long way to say that I got into the habit of writing reports. Since everything’s gone to shit, my ribs are still healing, I don’t want to go out to the campfire when I can’t bind my chest, and I can’t sleep, I thought I’d write a report, of a kind. What things are like now, what I observe, you know. Only there won’t be a “you”, no one’s meant to read this. I’ll probably just burn it all as I go.

Anyway, I’m stalling. 

I’m going to describe The Iron Bull.

He’s one of those Qunari, first of all, and you have to understand: unless the Qunari slaves I’ve seen all came on the small side, he’s massive. With things... as they are, I’m not a very tall man, but I’d eat my hat if I even come up to his tit! He’s got to be 20, 25, maybe even 30 stone and he’s covered in scars. Like his name suggests, his horns protrude straight out from the sides of his head and then bend up into points. By the way, unless he and his mercenary company (called the “Chargers”) are really committed to taking the piss, he truly goes by that entire name. 

Intimidating, right?

I was stationed so far South, I’d never fought any Qunari, but there’s not a Tevene soldier alive that hasn’t heard stories of the ox-men. We all heard how they know no concept of family, no emotion or passion except for war and loyalty to the monolith of the Qun. 

I suspect The Iron Bull isn’t from those tales. 

He’s a fearsome warrior, I saw that myself, but besides that? He talks loudly and endlessly of his love of good food and redheaded barmaids. As I gritted my teeth through my second medical examination in as many days, this time by the Chargers’ company medic, Stitches, The Iron Bull stood outside the tent and attempted to distract me with tales of Nevarran dragon hunting. The distraction actually worked far better than I expected, if only because I was caught up trying to decide whether he was actually making innuendos, going on about thrusting his axe into “thick, hot dragonflesh”, or if it was all an unfortunate coincidence. Even now I can hear his booming laughter outside this tent. 

He isn’t even like any Captain I’ve seen. One of the first things one of his men said to him when he brought me to his camp was, “Andraste’s tits, Captain, we can’t leave you anywhere!” There was no punishment given for his disrespect. He encourages their input, without expecting some drawn out show of lowering themselves to preface it. He even pitches in during camp setup and breakdown– less at the moment, I’m told, but that’s my fault.

You see, the Iron Bull lost his eye saving my life. I’m a stranger to him. A Tevinter stranger. I still don’t understand it. 

...I don’t want to write about deserting, and what happened three days ago during the fight doesn’t matter. The Tribune and his men are all dead. But I’ll write about afterwards. 

I saw The Iron Bull kneeling in front of me. I was so dazed, I thought he was going to kill me now that he was finished with the others, but enough of the spots cleared from my sight and I saw that he was hunched over, holding his eye as blood poured down his forearm. 

He asked if I was ok. It made me laugh, which, if you didn’t know, hurts like a howling bitch when you’ve got a cracked rib. 

“What about your eye,” I said.

“That’s why we’re made with two of them,” he replied, like it could’ve been a chipped tooth, for all he cared, “Plus, I’ll get to wear an eyepatch, now.” 

He took a tunic off one of the dead, gave it to me to cover up. I gave him my torn shirt, which he wound around his head to soak up some of the blood. He introduced himself and asked what I was called. 

I said I was Cremisius Aclassi, and when he raised an eyebrow I was braced for a sneering remark like, “What’s your real name.” I had abandoned the life I’d worked for since I was fifteen, the life that freed me, and I was sick to death of being mocked. I admit, I was ready to pop the guy right in the face and likely vomit from the pain of it, wisdom be damned. 

But all he said was, “That’s a mouthful. Do you have a nickname?” 

“Says the man called ‘The Iron Bull’,” I said. I’m not blessed with an overabundance of self preservation, but it just made him laugh. 

He wanted to call me “Krem.” I accepted. I intended to walk out of that tavern alone and find a place to hide and recover, so it didn’t much matter to me. But just as soon as I was on my feet I was toppling over, so when The Iron Bull caught me, he insisted that he take me back to his camp, where “Stitches can patch us both up.” 

I accepted that as well.

As he took me to the outskirts of Hunterfell, and later, when I was laid out on this cot, waiting for the medic to determine if his Captain would ever see out of his left eye again, I wondered when The Iron Bull was going to bring it up. 

He must have heard the Tribune reading my charges, and there’s no chance he didn’t see what I am. I wanted to gauge what sort of lie I needed to tell, how much of my pride I was expected to swallow until I was healthy enough to leave. I’d already learned that there was no place for me once people knew the truth.

It… hasn’t played out how it ought, which is becoming a theme with The Iron Bull.

He came in before Stitches did and sat down on the ground in front of my cot with a remorseful groan, like he’d already realized that he wasn’t going to like the process of getting up again. He’d been outfitted with a proper bandage around his face, and I could see the swelling and the dark bruising against his silver skin peeking out from it in the dim candlelight. I was too exhausted to fill up with defensive anger when he looked me over now. We began speaking at the same time.

“Look, it’s been a long fucking day, so just ask what you must and be quick about it–”

“I’m going to brief Stitches on how to approach this, but I need to ask some questions–”

We stared at eachother. 

“What?” I said.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, kid. You’ve gone through a lot, so I thought I’d follow your lead, make things simple, but I’ve probably been scaring the shit out of you instead.” 

“...What?” I said again, getting tired of the cryptic act, fast. The Iron Bull nodded, like he could see exactly where my head was at. It’s not the first time I got that sense, and I don’t suspect it’ll be the last.

“You’re a man,” he said, “Is that right?” 

“I– What?” ...Really! I was so bloody airheaded that the first fucking time someone saw what I am and still called me a man, I don’t even confirm it right away! As soon as my mind caught up to my mouth, I waved my hands and sputtered something painfully stupid like, “I mean– yes! That’s right! You’re… you’re right. I just didn’t think– I didn’t expect–”

He nodded again, which shut me up, and he stared at me with this strange look in his eye. It didn’t piss me off like it did before, but it made me uncomfortable enough that I looked up at the shadows on the ceiling of the tent.

“How did you know?” I asked. It was a little easier to shape my mouth around than ‘Why do you believe me?’

That’s when he told me about a word in Qunlat. I don’t think I can spell it, “a-qun” something or other, but he said it meant someone “born one gender, but living like another.” 

“What does the Qun do with these people?” I thought it was an insult. There’s no word for me in Tevene. There are descriptions of fraud, at most. For there to be an insult in Qunlat told me I’m not alone. Believe me, I’m still reeling from that. But it put me on guard again, all the same. 

“Whoa, kid, back up,” he said, “There’s no punishment, if that’s what you’re thinking. The [a-qun somethings] are treated exactly as they are– real men and women. The Qun’s practical that way.” 

I must have given him a really skeptical look then, because he laughed really loud. 

“You think Tevinter is threatened by the Qun because it’s torture?” He waved the topic off with his hand and straightened out his legs with a groan. “Point is, running off a perfectly good soldier because his insides and outsides don’t match is stupid. Shouldn’t have happened.” 

“You really think that?” I asked. 

“I do,” he said.

After that, he talked to me about Stitches, asked me what I wanted him to know, how I wanted the examination to happen, whether I wanted company. He started telling me that unless I started foaming at the mouth or something, Stitches would be instructed to stop at any time, etc, etc, etc.

It was a lot. Too much. The pain in my ribs was making me sick, all of a sudden.

“I just want to get this over with,” I told him, and he got that same weird, intense look, so I scrambled to summarize, to prove he could stop, “Stitches can know if he doesn’t call me a girl and doesn’t talk about it to anyone, I want to be as clothed as possible… Maybe company outside the tent would be good.” 

“Ok,” he said, surprising me with how quickly he responded after dragging things out so long. He got up stiffly and said, “I’ll go give him the heads up.” 

“If you’re Qunari and not Tal-Vashoth, why are you running around Thedas with a mercenary company?” I blurted out as he started to leave. If you think I had a really good reason for asking that when I did, I appreciate your faith in me, but you’d be wrong. It just popped in my head… and maybe I was getting nervous about him leaving.

“Long story,” The Iron Bull answered, but he formed a toothy grin when he looked back me, “Mostly to hunt dragons, though.”

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btw ya’ll

I have like over a decade of rping, but noooot very much tumblr rping experience. so if I’m not really following the rp searching norms here, that’s what’s up.

so yeah, I’m gonna put my fair share of effort into plotting/writing/etc., and I’m excited to start some threads c:

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|| K R E M  P U F F || another mug design for a friend! now the girlfriends have matching dorian & krem mugs like god intended  (available on s6 as a krem puff coffee mug and other things)

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I think it’d be fun to rp with an oc who joins the chargers. Like this post if you wanna brainstorm about that.

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Reblog if you play a canon character in the Dragon Age Fandom.

Likes will be ignored.

Updated every Sunday.

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could you do me the favour of  LIKING OR REBLOGGING  this  ,  if you’d be interested in interacting with an  ORIGINAL CHARACTER  with her own  ORIGINAL LORE  .  i’m selective but i’m everything friendly  !!      —–  love fox oxox