missingnozw

[missingnozw]

I've been a bit... off, lately.

But I'm alive and kicking and... back :)

Hope you enjoy these chapters!!! ❤

(And yeah, my monster fic it's also been on hiatus but I'm writing again!! So everything's good and all that!!!)

"The Firefly Contract" 3 & 4 are up!

FINALLY! @missingnozw and I just posted the 3rd (Viago POV) and 4th (Saeran POV) chapters of our collab fic "The Firefly Contract".

Summary: Viago de Riva has accepted a contract from Minrathous: a mage has murdered several Magisters and must be taken care of. Along with Alecto, they head to Tevinter, but they do not expect the Viper himself to get involved in the matter.

Small snippet after cut!

The altus gestured down the street. Saeran jumped off the crate, tightened his sword at his belt, and stepped into pace beside him as they began to walk side by side through a crowded district where the scent of spice and smoke hung thick in the air.

“So, what’s the plan now?”

“I’ll go after the Talon. Try to speak to him. See if we can avoid bloodshed,” Viper said, his voice low enough to stay beneath the market's noise. “You follow the mage. Even without lyrium, your templar training could give you the upper hand if things go south.”

Saeran raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t someone like Tarquin be better? He can still nullify magic.”

“Tarquin doesn’t have as much at stake as you do,” Viper replied. “He’d get the job done, but... no. I’d rather not involve him.”

You don’t want anyone else knowing how deep you’re in this, Saeran thought, but he didn’t say a thing. No point rubbing salt in wounds. Instead, he nodded. His job was clear: follow the woman and keep an eye on her. Learn more about her.

[missingnozw]

I wanted to keep writing the Ashur x Mel one-shot today, or work on the long fic, or finish editing chapter 5... but my dog isn’t feeling well, and I just can’t focus on anything... :(

[missingnozw]

when a dragons wings are too small to realistically fly thats fine its reasonable i think to size them down to allow them to fit in a space better and be more readable as a character. but outside of really specific circumstances (like cartoonishly small wings) when a dragons wing webbing stops way too far up? punishable by death. in seymourworld.

[missingnozw]

@postcardsfromheapside mentioned wanting to reblog this separately and, honestly, i agree that i would rather have it as an analysis of tevinter and the slavery depicted in it. so i'm going to delete the other post and put this up instead.

i believe that veilguard has the most accurate depiction of slavery in all four dragon age games. probably because the writers actually read up on what slavery looks like in a world that has mostly abolished it and realized that we live with that reality right now and most people don't even realize it.

i am going to talk about slavery pretty frankly - but not graphically - beneath the cut, and about why the government of tevinter fights so hard against abolishing slavery.

when people think of slavery, most of the time what they think of is what is called 'chattle slavery'. this is when people are legally owned in a system as property and are treated as property. just like how vandalizing someone's house or shooting a horse would be considered as a crime against the owner, killing a slave brought the same sort of repercussions. the thing about chattle slavery is that slaves bought in this sort of environment were extraordinarily expensive. around the same cost as a modern day vehicle. when people purchased slaves, they were weighing the amount of profit they would make vs. the cost of the purchase. it's why many slave owners in the american south often sold their slaves to other farmers and land owners when their businesses were failing.

chattle slaves of history were rarely killed by their owners. they could have been, but slave owners always thought about their money. it was more profitable to break a person than to kill them, because a broken person would work and, eventually, be an investment.

this is the type of slavery that fenris describes. the minrathous markets, the fact that he was turned into a lyrium knight, how he was supposed to serve 'a greater purpose' until he managed to escape. the problem is, if tevinter participates in chattle slavery why are magisters able to kill so many of them for blood magic rituals? well, there are multiple reasons.

krem in inquisition describes his father's fate as a tailor, how his father was not able to make enough money competing with the governmental slaves, and so sold himself into slavery so that his food and board were taken care of and he could escape poverty. this is called 'governmental slavery'. it's normally enacted in war on prisoners who are forced into labor camps and in prison systems that lend out criminals to local businesses to do work. it is very possible that a rook laidir falls into this category, as galley slaves historically were prisoners working off a debt owed to the public due to some sort of criminal offense. sometimes these people were able to work off that debt and became free again. lof rook never goes explicitly into how they got into that situation or why, just that they 'had to survive' and then 'the lords of fortune took [them] in'.

we do, however, know that tevinter has a system for freed slaves. they're called liberati and, much like lorelei is doing, they can pick up a trade, join a circle of magi, and own property, but they do not have any say in the government nor can they join the military. maevaris brings this up multiple times. she repeatedly says that tevinter is more than just mages, and that everyone deserves to have a say in their government and even sit in the magesterium. she, ashur, and dorian are well aware of their privilege, but they're also the only ones in power that can actually do anything. lorelei even brings this up when you're leaving the shop. she has a whole conversation with bren about how there is a power imbalance but how she - nor anyone who is not a mage - can do anything about it.

however, think about lorelei's position. she is an elf living in tevinter. the shadow dragons have given her a position as a shop owner to make her own money. if she wasn't, who would take her in? how would she get a job? she was a city elf, untrained, possibly very young. did she know how to read when she was first taken? because if she didn't, a slave owner wasn't going to pay for her to learn. knowledge is power, and keeping people ignorant, broken down, and desperate is how the cycle keeps feeding itself.

without the shadow dragons, lorelei would have had no choice but to sell herself back into slavery or try and escape tevinter all together. this is the cycle that tevinter runs on. not kidnapping dalish elves along the border, though i'm sure that feeds into it, but by using poverty to continue the cycle. a liberati is a free person, they go to find a way to make money, no one will take them on whether because they were a slave, they were a criminal, they're an elf/dwarf/qunari, and, without the funds to travel anywhere, that liberati sells themselves back into slavery just to survive.

this is called debt slavery. it is also the most widely spread slavery in the world today. people in debt slavery could have made your lunch today. your dinner. they probably made the components in your computer, the stone of the building you work in, the coal used to make the steel of your car. they are in prisons, they work as dishwashers, they are farmers and quarry workers and butchers. in a city as big as new york? you could have easily passed by ten slaves during an hour walk and never even known it.

this is the type of slavery that tevinter has.

it is not chains lashing people's wrists together, it's not some person being carried in a carriage with mostly naked elves, it is people doing work. because that's what slavery is; it is work. without profit, there would be no slavery. but tevinter makes a profit because slave labor is dirt cheap and so the government can sell it for dirt cheap. they probably pay for a room for the slaves, some food, and that's it.

since they have this circular cycle of the poor selling themselves into slavery, it goes a bit beyond the chattle slaves that are seen as expensive and luxurious property. when slaves are dirt cheap (because they sell themselves to the slaveowners reducing the costs of travel, transport, and other materials) and their prices are fairly inexpensive, you begin to see what is called 'short-term slavery'. this is what happens when people are slaves from an approximate six months to ten years. not because they're freed, but because they die. there's no point to keeping a cheap slave alive. not when there are others that can readily take their place.

dorian himself mentions this in the codex 'minrathous: capital of the imperium' where he says:

Instead there was poverty and desperation. Hands that reached for the coin I offered, the scrap of uneaten food—nothing to me, and everything to them. I've lied to myself about it, made excuses for it, but I've known for a long time that Minrathous is not one city, but two.

the slaves are worth less than the labor they provide and, with so many people in poverty, one slave can easily be replaced by another. zara can kill a hundred slaves for a ritualistic bath because the cost of their blood was less than the market price of lyrium.

this is why blood mages can easily use slaves to fuel their sacrifices. it is also why aelia targets dock town; the people there are poor. to the rich, they might as well be slaves already.

after all, it's only a matter of time.

---

if you liked this miniature essay and are interested in ways that you can help fight against modern day slavery, please consider looking into free the slaves. there is also end slavery now, which has dedicated a portion of their website to searching for charities located around the globe working to abolish slavery.

books about human trafficking/modern day slavery:

human trafficking around the world: hidden in plain sight by stephanie hepburn and rita simon

human trafficking: the complexities of exploitation edited by margaret malloch and paul rigby

migrant crossings: witnessing human trafficking in the u.s. by annie isabel fukushima

blood and earth: modern slavery, ecocide, and the secret to saving the world by kevin bales

[missingnozw]

The Gents 💚

Part III: Halsin

[missingnozw]

Ooooh!! Rook time!! I saw this is from a few days ago, but can I still join in??

Melara is the daughter of a Tevinter slave. When she was 7, her mother (and her) were sold to a new owner, a blood mage, who killed her mother in a blood ritual. Other former slaves (some... proto-SD??) helped Mel escape, and that’s when she got the scars on her face. She ended up in an orphanage, but when she was 10, she manifested magic, and that’s when the Mercars adopted her.

She got military training; Charon Mercar trained her to be a leader and a force on the battlefield, she was his "project" (or that’s what she thought for a long time). But that made her arrogant (not bad, just arrogant). When she joined the SD, she had her own team and got the nickname The Firefly because of the light of the electrical magic she usually uses. She pushed for a more aggressive approach to fighting slavery, which sometimes, put her at odds with Ashur, who’s more pragmatic. And in the end, she really screwed up because she thought she was smarter than everyone else, so they kicked her out of the SD. Fenris, who had worked with her in the past, introduced her to Varric and... well, what happened after that is in the fic I'm writing!! 🤣🤣🤣

It’s so cool to read about all these different Rooks and the stories we’ve given them!!

I’m having a day.

Tell me about your Rooks. Show me your Rooks. Anything, everything. I want to know.

Have other OCs you want to talk about? Tell me about them too.

Instead of all the negativity I’ve been dealing with the past two days I want to hear about characters you guys love.

[missingnozw]

Mine was Unpacking, so... I'm gonna go to jail for... uhmmm... unpacking a box wrong and putting... putting the frying pan in the wrong place...

[missingnozw]

doing some magic

[missingnozw]

This... this is perfection ❤❤❤❤

Synopsis: [Astarion x Reader/Tav] Wilful, witty, vulnerable and endearing, Astarion blossoms slowly under the ever-present sunshine of your love.

CW: Explicit sexual content, mentions of past trauma.

Banner art: by Steven Nederveen

Dividers: @aquazero

" ... time and again

No fire where I lit my spark

I am not afraid of the dark

Where your words devour my heart ... "

~ lyrics from Distant Sun (by Crowded House)

His scent infiltrates your dreams, the dry floral notes and the rusty tang of old blood, the unique underlying essence that never fails to bring his face to the forefront of your mind.

When he falls asleep, back pressed to yours, it is merely a prelude to how you wake the following morning, with his head tucked into the crook of your neck, or pillowed between your breasts, the soft white curls grazing your cheek as you keep your breathing light and even, so as not to interrupt his slumber. You know the gentle scent of his scalp better than anyone has a right to.

There is something that goes far beyond the pleasures of the flesh when you are together like this; two easily doused candle-flames that reach for each other, flickering, across the distance of bleak memory, pain and loss.

Such a tenuous connection, so easily fractured. Yet, even through all the trials you've faced thus far, losing him had somehow transformed into an idea you simply would not countenance.

The land might burn, your enemies might dance on the ashes of the people you had failed, but Astarion's fingers winding uncertainly through yours would be the only sensation you wanted to experience at the end of the world.

You thought about it now, as rain pattered on the roof of your tent, the inside dry and warm from the heat of the enchanted lamp. He had joined you a short while earlier, wordlessly, as was his habit. To give voice to the immensity of what he had to overcome, every single time he entered your tent of his own free will, would be more than he was capable of fully processing at this time.

He lay beside you now, with his chin propped against the top of your head.

He was awake.

"Astarion?"

"Darling."

"What kind of weather do you like best?"

He was silent for a while. You lay still, relaxed. Sometimes, pauses in conversation could stretch out for ages, because time ceased to place its shackles on either of you. Even the most mundane topic was up for discussion. Words filled space with comfort. Stolen time was sacred time.

"Hmm. Weather like this, I suppose. It makes being inside feel ... somewhat better."

"You certainly weren't born for the outdoors."

He raised his fingernails for you to inspect.

"Absolutely not! Look at these beauties. Imagine if they became stained with grass, or earth, or worse still ... chipped."

"That would be grievous indeed."

A low rumble of amusement made its way up through his throat.

"What about you, my dove? If I could guess - "

"Cooler weather. Maybe breezy."

His touch skimmed, feather-light, up your arm. In times past, such an action would have been a clear provocation, an invitation to something more intimate. You acknowledge it in your mind, absorb it, like a plant takes in sunlight. Astarion is your sun, small and fitful, burning you down to the bone when you least expect it, fighting for his place in your universe.

You reached out, fingertips brushing his. He paused, allowing your hands to connect, palm to palm. His fingers are longer than yours, strong, clever. You've seen him take apart complex locking mechanisms with such ease, the same ease with which he'd unraveled your body the first time you'd been together.

"Where did you learn to pick locks?"

He lowered his hand and lay back, staring at the roof of the tent. You splayed out at his side, two children watching the imagined turn of the heavens.

"I ... think I learned it from a criminal. One I represented in a case, long ago. He was talkative. Couldn't shut him up, really. Told me how he had cracked a simple safe. I followed his instructions on a similar safe, as a demonstration."

"And you succeeded?"

You could almost sense the curve of his mouth.

"On the first try. He was so proud. Ha. Called me a natural."

You turned your head, smiling slightly. He looked self-satisfied, in that manner of a cat that gets into the choice cream.

Gods, he was lovely to look at, here in your tent, with you. Your gaze traces the impossibly artful tangle of pale curls, the elegant bridge of his nose, the sharp corners of his scarlet eyes and the movement of his perfectly curved lips.

He cocked an eyebrow, expression growing predatory, knowing.

"Darling, you're staring."

You laughed.

"Do you blame me?"

"Honestly? No."

He propped himself on an elbow, playfully prodding at your face until you were forced to swat at him. He sobered suddenly, hands falling away. You suspected you knew what he was about to ask. It was never far away from his thoughts, after all.

"Is this enough for you? Just talking? Just falling asleep together?"

You also knew by now that words weren't adequate to allay his fears. Turning over on your side, you faced him, fingers tracing softly over the profile you'd admired a few moments ago. You smoothed out the worry lines on his forehead, the skin cool and smooth as marble beneath your touch.

"This is more then enough. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because these are the things I've always wanted."

Your index finger trailed down to the tip of his nose, where you decided a kiss needed to be placed. He leaned forward, unknowingly.

"You wanted ... this? How we are now?"

"Yes. A lover is nice and all, Astarion, but I've always wanted a partner. Someone to laugh with. Someone to grouse to. Someone to sit with their back to mine in the cold and share my bread with me. Someone to whisper to when the darkness grows closer."

He was silent for a bit, hesitating. You passed your thumbs across the high cheekbones, watching as he fell slowly into the comforting familiarity of the contact. When he spoke, something bitter caught in his throat.

"But I'm not ... capable of some of those things, you know. I can't keep you warm with my body. I can't laugh like others do. I can't eat with you, nor can I claim that darkness hasn't found a permanent home inside me."

You stroked across the corners of his mouth, avoiding his lips and then tracked upwards once again, along the delicate point of his ears, into the feathery silk of his hair.

"That's all right."

"It is?"

"It is, because I say so. Astarion, very few people actually end up inhabiting the castles they build in the air. Sometimes, they find a real home. A home that's so much better. A place they belong."

His voice had now sunk to a whisper.

"Am I ... that to you?"

"Yes."

He was silent, and you didn't press him. Sometimes, it was better to inform him of the way you felt, and to give him time to mull it over. He shifted, restless, before planting a sudden, rather solid kiss on your lips.

There was no artifice behind it, no coy seduction. It was surprisingly factual, a statement of feeling, of earnest intent.

"I'll have you know," he stated seriously, "that I won't have you comparing me to some homely log cabin. Oh no. I'm nothing short of a stately, luxurious home, built on the side of a sharp precipice, overlooking the most glorious snd treacherous sea."

"That's a rather precarious position to be in, don't you think?"

He sat up, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, eyes now animated and captivating.

"But that's half the fun! Will a terrible tempest come along and sweep us away? Will a sea monster rise up from the depths and capture us in its jaws?"

His feral grin was now infectious. You straightened and faced him.

"You're only thinking in terms of disasters! That's poor planning. What about the subtle magics of the air that work directly against rock over time? Erosion is as dangerous as any sea monster, you know. Just a tad less showy."

"And what, darling, do you suggest we do about this mortal peril we find ourselves in?"

"We do exactly as we've done so far. We hammer the walls furiously into place, then drink wine and dance and stamp our feet to see how the repairs hold up."

He threw back his head and let out a laugh, warm, heady, the kind that roughened around the edges and brimmed with the wicked delight that you knew had kept him alive, for all of this time. Unable to help yourself, you placed a gentle kiss to the curve of his throat, moving away again, until he grasped your chin firmly and tugged you back.

His mouth was a stark contrast to the way his fingers sunk almost desperately into your cheeks, a gentle mapping out of teeth, tongue, sealed with the exquisite drag of his fangs across your lip.

Forehead pressed to yours, he breathed out the words, as if they'd been chained in the heavy confines of his chest.

"I want to ... I want ... you. I want ... this."

He had said something similar before, under different circumstances. You knew what he was referring to. Gently, you pushed him back. The dim light turned the red of his gaze to the flesh of a pomegranate, tempting, yielding, so easily crushed between your fingers.

"Astarion ... you don't have to - "

"I know. I know you'll wait for me for God knows how long, and I don't know why, because I - "

He bit his lip, but changed tack.

"The reasons ... are important. I know that better than anyone. But I don't want to think. I want to feel. I want to be able to just do this without - "

Worldssly, you drew him towards you, cradling his head against your chest, a return to the familiar. It's the only message that's ever mattered, at least, to you. That he always had a place, whether in your open arms, or across the breadth of the world, or in another realm altogether.

He'd occupy a space that can be filled by no other, with his easy charm, his bruised smile, the bitter twist of his spirit and every sharp edge that sliced you open and infiltrated the furthest corners of your heart.

"What do you want, Astarion?"

"To feel you."

He spoke into the hush of your tent, his breathing laboured. If you had been anyone else, you might have mistaken it for sheer arousal, nothing more. You knew better.

He was nervous. He was letting you see it.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and he lowered himself, propped on his palms on either side of you. You considered him, warmth and sorrow blooming simultaneously in your chest.

"You'll tell me? If anything I do makes you feel ... "

"Yes, my love. I'll ... yes. Right away."

"Stay still. Keep your eyes on me," was the soft command you gave him.

You undid the laces of his shirt, sliding it from him. His skin gleamed with otherworldly pallor, and the knowledge of what had been carved into his back filtered into your mind. You coudn't make him forget, but you could remind him that touch could be tender too.

Such was the way you handled him, as the shirt was pulled away from his torso fully, the ridged planes of his lean abdomen fluttering slightly under your fingers. He was hyper-sensitive to the sensations you brought, a temporary spike in his breathing.

This was nothing like your previous encounter, when he had confidently displayed himself, instructing you on how to please him. You watch the lift of dense, dark lashes, the hesitancy in his glance, the way he raised his head and arched his neck to gift you the same vulnerability always granted to him when you let him feed.

You kept your palms flat against him, grounding him, as you ran them over throat, delicately traced collarbones, stroked down over the curve of his pectorals, down, down, until you stopped right above the buckle of his belt before repeating the process.

His breathing evened out. He leaned down to capture your lips, a little more steady and with more of his old flair. He nipped lightly down on your chin, playful.

You didn't want him to inhabit the persona he'd worn for so long as some kind of defense, and this definitely felt different. As fraught with nerves as he was, he was regaining some of the self he only showed when you were safely ensconced away from the world.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, and he let out an involuntary groan, low and wanton, a sound that spiked jagged heat all the way down the front of your body.

Before you have time to register his actions, Astarion lowered himself, pressing you into the bedroll. There was no art to the way he rolled his hips against yours, no finesse to the way he clumsily mouthed your neck, eager, warm.

"Astar - ahhh - slow down, you - "

"Can't, my sweet - oh yes - I feel - want you so much. I - "

He tugged down your trousers, dragging your underwear away with it. As much as this seemed far more organic that anything he'd done before, the heated throb of arousal didn't distract you from the fact that he was rushing things, perhaps in a frantic bid to prove that he could do this.

You clamped your thighs together, temporarily denying him access and he sat back on his haunches, panting. The raw hunger with which he regarded you made you as slick as melting ice. You had both gone so long without sex, something you were more than happy to accept. You knew all too well, however, the cost of succumbing to pure lust when there was something far more significant at play.

"I know what you want - "

"Then let me have it. I'm no fragile bloom, my sweet - "

"Astarion."

You stifled a smile as he huffed and folded his arms.  

"Fine. I'm listening. But don't delay. I need you."

The ache in his voice almost has your legs falling apart again, but you hold firm.

"Can you take everything off?"

In reply, he stood and unbuckled his belt, but then paused and shot you a mischievous look.

You knew that look. Your mouth twitched.

"What are you up to?"

"Giving you a show, that's all."

"Oh Gods, is now really the time for - "

"Well, since you're being so stiff, let Hortensius help you along."

"Please, not Hortensius."

"But darling, he's already here. Now, be nice."

He sucked in his cheeks, in the manner of one of the high end fashion models of the Upper City and wagged his hips from side to side, lips projecting in an exaggerated pout as the pants slid from his body. Your smile turned to a helpless quiver of suppressed merriment as he kicked the offending article away and then grasped his rigid member, advancing on you without ever losing the expression.

"My name is Hortensius Dickanthropus and you, my dear, are about to be subject to a most thorough porking."

You lowered your voice, soft and breathy.

"Oh my, Hortensius, I don't know how my poor little flower will take all of that."

Astarion dropped to a predatory crouch, crawling over to you. His grin was wide, canines toothily on display.

"Ah, my blushing maid, don't be shy! I may have a horse's cock, but I'm going to be as delicate as a pixie."

You covered your breasts in false modesty as he sidled down alongside you.

"A pixie? I saw a pixie in my bushes last week. They're so ... naughty. And fast. Are you going to piston me into the middle of next week, Hortensius?"

"With pleasure. I'm going to piston you like the Steel Watch itself is between your legs - "

Your composure gave way and you slapped at his shoulder.

"Not the fucking Steel Watch, for God's sake - "

"Why?" His fingers danced over your hips. "Maybe create another little Foundry down here - "

You're now shaking with laughter and Astarion watched you, the cheeky smirk slipping by inches, eyes kindling with an infinite warmth and adoration that only you are party to. You realised, as your mirth faded, that you had been carrying a great deal of tension too, and that he'd effectively dragged it away from you, deconstructing the last barrier; your fear of hurting him.

In spite of your earlier fervour, you clasped his cheeks between your palms and pressed his forehead to yours, staying like that for a while. He did not object, nose nudging sweetly against yours.

"Astarion, I want to try something."

"Go ahead."

In truth, you'd learned this minor illusion from Gale, whose knowing smile had almost had you running for the hills when you'd first asked him to teach it to you.

Fingers extending upward, you closed your eyes and focused on the Weave, drawing it closer to you, shaping with precision. Astarion exclaimed softly and you dropped your hand, ready to behold your work.

A fall of many-hued petals, delicate as snow, drifted down from the roof of the tent, each disappearing as they settled on the bedroll and your reclining forms. A pleasant scent, earthy and reminiscent of a forest clearing in the springtime, permeated the air. Soft golden motes danced between you, each emitting a delicate luminosity.

Astarion was watching the display with amused delight, allowing you to catch him off guard. Tipping him over onto his back, you took in the sight of him, fully nude, satiny skin and curls dusted in the remnants of illusory wildflowers, indigo, variegated red and yellow, rich royal purple and the dusky blush of dawn.

"You're so lovely. And free."

You banished petals with your caress, all the way down to the perfectly carved valley of his pelvis.

"I want the world to stand still when I look at you because there's no room for anything else in my mind."

He stopped you with a finger to the lips, rising so that you were both lying on your sides, facing each other. He wore his composure well, through long habit, but there was something wild and desperately cast in his eyes.

"And I'm free because of you. Don't you forget it."

This time, nothing interrupted the slide of his skin on yours, the crushing, breathless intimacy that knew no bounds. There was no artifice here, no subtle trick or sly gleam of eyes watching you beneath hooded lids.

Astarion kept your faces close together, watching every contortion of your features, drinking you in and opening himself to you entirely. He raised your leg onto his hip, still facing you as his fingers slipped down, down, between your bodies.

You gasped as he stroked over your folds, his mouth coming down on your throat. His fangs sunk in, only breaking the surface, right at the moment his fingers breached you. Crying out, you clung to him, drawing answering moans as he rocked against you.

His lips brushed yours, un-coordinated, wet against the sides of your mouth. You tasted the slight metallic tinge of your own blood, lost in heady ecstasy as the heat of his exhalation mingled with yours, rough and uneven. He nudged you when your head tilted back, keeping your eyes on him.

His fingers were now coated with the dewiness of your arousal, and he dragged them up between you again, surprising you with just how wet he had made you in such a short time. You watched, breath hitching, as he slid them over his own hardened flesh, tracing pearly fluid down from the tip, coating himself.

You turned to lie on your back, but firm fingers grasped your hip, holding you in place. He tugged your leg further up on his waist, earning a soft gasp. You're more accessible to him like this, more vulnerable.

"Darling, I can't wait any - "

"Astarion, please."

Your soft plea triggered an almost animalistic movement from him, as he ground upwards, pushing against your entrance. You were almost sobbing now, clutching at him, begging him. At his mercy, you bit your lip hard when he worked himself in, sliding into the tight grasp of your heat.

He was trembling, you realise, ecstasy and agony in equal measure, chasing each other across his face as he pushed deeper, burying himself within you, staying with you. Even with the intensity of what you were both feeling, he kept you in place, the hand that had stroked you now holding your thigh over him.

He began a measured pace that quickly devolved to one of instinct, slowing down so that you clenched around him, speeding up until your back arched, swallowing your disjointed whispers as he watched you come undone, and in doing so, came apart himself.

In this golden time, you understood that you have never been more completely aware of another, of the muscle that rippled under alabaster skin, of the rapidly cooling sweat on his chest, of the way his scent wound around you, the way his body moved against and inside yours. He had taken your blood into himself, so many times, consumed you in so many different ways, and yet, this was wholly new.

Astarion wasn't teasing you endlessly. He wasn't bringing you to the brink, and releasing you, which was his specialty, as you're fully aware. He's throwing himself headlong into the passion of a true union, every thrust bringing you both closer to the dazzling precipice.

He was reckless in his lovemaking, somehow striking that balance between base urgency and shattering tenderness. You could see the building euphoria when your eyes met his, the knowledge that this moment belonged to both of you, untainted, spun out in indestructible threads that bound you to each other.

You were close. You let him know, through the pale crescents your nails left on his shoulder and side, through the way your voice rose, the way your hardened nipples pushed into him as your whole body stiffened and prepared for mind-numbing, white-hot pleasure, the way you took his fingers into your mouth with hedonistic abandon.

He drank it all in, tracking every movement, every glimmering bead of sweat, every minute crease between your brows. Fighting back years of conditioning, he held you impossibly closer, your body a shield against the memory of every meaningless, sordid encounter.

Your eyes dragged open, tears glistening where they had gathered at the corners, slipping down across the bridge of your nose, bringing the sight of his face to sudden clarity.

You let him see it, all of it; the moment your climax crashed like a wave over every sense, that most secret of faces. You let him see that he was the only one who could bring you to this place, this endless horizon that curved across your vision like a shard of jacinth.

Astarion was now gasping endearments. They fell from his lips in a litany, one declaration melding into another. You held onto him as your own mind slowly cleared, senses thrumming with the aftermath of the pleasure he had brought you.

He was close.

You surrendered complete control to him, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hips lifted from the bedroll in fitful abandon, his teeth sinking into your shoulder and releasing.

"My ... my sweet, I'm - ah - you're so - don't know what you - "

At any other time, seeing Astarion, with his mastery of seductive words that bordered on legendary, in this barely coherent state, would have been cause for wonder indeed. As with all else, however, you took things as they were, treasured them.

Here, with you, he didn't have to be that. Here, he needed no flowery phrases and practiced gestures. Here, he was yours, in wiry strength and hidden fragility, in biting humour and those rare moments of stark realism, when he did his best to protect you from a world who's cruelty he had experienced all too many times.

When he finally reached his peak, lips drawn  back from teeth, brow furrowed in supreme pleasure, tendons standing out on his neck as a series of guttural sounds escaped him, you smoothed your hands up and down his back, bringing him slowly back to you.

You pressed soft kisses across his nose, along his jawline, his body giving one last shudder as your lips ghosted over his ear and you nuzzled into his hair. Regaining focus, his gaze fixed on your face, a slow, radiant smile gathered, a stray ray of sunshine burning through overcast skies.

Something bubbled up in his chest, overflowed into the almost non-existent space between your bodies. A peal of laughter, so bright, so free of pain, lancing through you like the keen point of an arrow, the barbs lodging somewhere deep in your chest.

You could listen to him laugh like this forever.

He finally released you, rolling over onto his back, that same giddy smile refusing to diminish. One of his arms extended, drawing you close so that your head now rested on his chest, your shoulders encased in the solid curve of his arm.

"My love, my light, that was - "

His chest heaved again, and his head moved from side to side in cheerful disbelief. You couldn't help the grin that broke across your own countenance.

"Careful, Astarion. You sound happier than the first time you drank from me."

"But this is better! This is - "

His enthusiasm cut off, faster than words escaped him. Something choked him, held the rest of sentence prisoner until he took a heavy breath, released it. The catch in his voice added strength to your grip on him.

"This is perfect. This is ... everything I want it to be."

You remained silent, not trusting your own voice now. When he spoke again, it was so soft that you almost missed the words.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Never for this."

Later, as the outside intruded once again into the sanctity of your tent, when the rustle of the wind in the trees, the crack of new firewood given up to the hungry flames of the campfire and the distant song of nocturnal birds echoed back to you, you placed your hand over where his heart should beat.

It had been somewhat disconcerting, the first time you'd felt the lack of that steady rhythm beneath your fingertips. Now, however, you felt something entirely different.

This was no empty void, no echoing palace of yesterday's torment. Astarion had come so much further than that. He was here, beside you, of his own free will. There was no such thing as true emptiness, not in a life as rich as this one, that of a man who had given up so much to walk, just once more, in the sun.

No. This space where vitality should make itself known was threaded through with so many scars, but from that barren landscape, verdant new growth came, tended carefully. You could see how it stole over him, and you, in every shared touch, every wound bandaged, every battle fought side by side, every new delight you found in each other.

It came like a thief, robed in night, and laughed as it took the title of queen, enthroning itself in your hearts. It had taken up the sceptre, usurped your earthly kingdom and banished all notion of loneliness.

Such was the nature of love, and so it would remain, until that final red sunrise came to claim you both.

@tattoo-of-a-bird Finally got the courage to write this one.

[missingnozw]

WIP Wednesday

AAAH!! So excited!! Thank you so much for thinking of me @becausedragonage and @pixiedurango!! I'm late (yesterday I couldn’t post it because I had a 24-hour shift at work and didn’t have access to my WIPs), but even if it’s not wednesday, I’m posting it anyway!!

I started working on this a few weeks ago. The idea came from a collab I'm working on with @alystrin03, and… I just wanted to explore things a bit more. Specifically, Mel and Ashur’s relationship!! This would be the first of a series of one-shots I have planned :)

Hope you like it and... more under the cut!!

______________________________________________________________

In Tevinter, nights like this were rare. The sky was clear, allowing the dim light of the waning moon—or the even fainter glow of Satina—to bathe everything in an almost ethereal sheen, making the stars shine brighter than usual. It was unusual for this time of year, even more so in Minrathous, where rain seemed like an inescapable fate for those who were lucky—or unlucky—enough to live there.

Still, Melara wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. On nights like this, she liked to climb up to a rooftop, put some distance between herself and the world, and spend hours studying the sky and its constellations: Eluvia, Fenrir, Solium… she knew them all. Her mother used to tell her about them when she was just a child, and after the worst had happened, she had kept sneaking out of the orphanage at night to watch the stars, just as she used to do with her.

She took a sip from the wine bottle resting beside her, popping a couple of almonds into her mouth—just a small snack to keep her going for the hours she planned to stay there. Lazily, she lay on her back, stretching without noticing the presence that had been watching her from across the rooftop for some time now. Acting on impulse, the man silently made his way closer from the side. She only became aware of him when he was just a few steps away, forcing her to prop herself up on her elbows as she recognized him.

"Ashur."

He kept walking toward her, his slow, deliberate steps carrying a certain predatory air—one she might have found unsettling if she didn’t know him better. His voice was deep when he finally spoke, his expression obscured by the shadow of his hat and the veil covering the lower half of his face.

"If I were an enemy, you'd be dead"

The woman let out a soft laugh, sitting up with her knees bent and nodding in acknowledgment.

"I was counting on a certain mage to be doing his usual patrol…"

He chuckled, sitting beside her, and for a few minutes, neither of them spoke. It was odd, really, how she never felt the need to fill the silence when he was around. She enjoyed those moments when she didn’t have to make the active effort of being—when she could simply exist. And Ashur never asked anything more of her. She could tell he felt comfortable in her presence as well, and over the past few months, she had noticed how he sought her out more and more. Even if it was just to sit in silence—to be.

And yet…

"You do know only an idiot wears a hat when there’s no light to shield from, right?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Have a nice day!!! Mwah!!

[missingnozw]

I was debating whether to post this or not, because that would mean talking about Ava. Ava is my oldest character (YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS), and she has a… rather complicated story—one that’s been shaped by some tough situations I’ve been through as well.

She was the character I used in BG3 and I’m really attached to her. So attached that this was the first thing I wrote in 20 years (before that, the last thing I wrote was an incredibly bad DMC fanfic when I was 15, so yeah, that's the level xDD)

But I don’t know… I just felt like sharing it. I really like how it turned out, especially considering it was the first thing I wrote as an adult.

And even if you don’t know her, I just want you to know that Ava is amazing. She’s made some horrible decisions, but above all—no matter how much she struggles—she keeps trying. Because that's what we do, we keep trying :)

So... here it is. Hope you like it.

TW: This is a dark piece. It implies a lot of things—none of them good, so… just a heads-up.

[missingnozw]

- Thought you could use a hand! - You're late! - Didn't want to arrive without a gift.

[missingnozw]

10 people I want to get to know better - tag game!

Aaaaw!!! @pixiedurango @alystrin03!! Thank you so much for tagging me!! ❤❤❤

Super excited about it, first time doing one of these in here :)

So, here are my answers!

Last song: I'm So Tired by Fugazi. Literally playing as I write this. I’m always listening to music :)

Favorite color: Black, burgundy, and… brown. In most of its shades, actually. Love earthy tones

Last book: The Way of Kings. I know, I know... I’m super late to it...

Last movie: Uh… I don’t remember?? OH!! Wait, I do!! Descendants!!! Sorry... just needed something to have on while drawing (and ended up watching the whole thing 🤓)

Last game: Does Unpacking count?? If not, DATV (like, what else would it be?!)

Last show: The Office. Again.

Sweet/spicy/savory: Savory. Not a big fan of sweet stuff…

Relationship: In a committed polyamorous relationship with my job and the bank (no, but seriously; single. I’ve been on the other side, and I’m happier now)

Last internet search: Just checked and it was “why does my dog fart so much” 🤣🤣🤣

Alright, that's it!!

Now I'm tagging @lizziemajestic @nathaira-draws @silmaryel @becausedragonage @maybeejunebug @rookinthecrownest @ofcrowsanddragons @mar42 @skullypettibone @weaveandwood

No pressure at all, do it only if you feel like it!! And have a nice day! 😀

[missingnozw]

[missingnozw]

astarion 🤝 me

[missingnozw]

reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions

[missingnozw]

The world is in great peril, and you are the unlucky protagonist who must save it! Spin this wheel three times and get your Dragon Age party that you're stuck trying to save it with.

Feel free to reroll repeats. Most are companions, but there are also a few companion-adjacent possibilities. You can assume that you as the protagonist have a basic level of combat competency even if you don't in real life, so don't worry about yourself