#I'm REALLY happy with how alistair's hair turned out

[moonstruckmoony]

A Ravenclaw Lunch 🦅

Drew some of my favorite Ravenclaws on this platform. Although one isn't necessarily a Ravenclaw. (@traceyc-uk I genuinely thought he was a Ravenclaw when I first saw him lol but I saw your comment reply somewhere that your first playthrough was Ravenclaw so I think this counts… a bit? 😂)

This post is basically a peace offering (and a love letter) bcs I want to make more Ravenclaw friends 👀👉🏻👈🏻 definitely not because I'm obsessed with you guys' MCs

I swear it was supposed to be a silly doodle at first but idk how or when down the line but somehow it turned into this mega drawing. Took me weeks to finish it. I’m not happy with a few technical things especially lights and shadows… and some other things as well but I leave it be bcs I’m aware that I’m still learning 🥲 The rest I’m pretty satisfied with, I’m just happy that I got to finally finish this.

Front row (left to right):

Violet and Pearl Castellar by @vienguinn Omg HAPPY BELATED BELATED BIRTHDAY TO THESE BABIES! These 2 are some of my favorites and everytime you post I always open my phone real quick, your short comics are my comfort 🩵

Clora Clemons by @choccy-milky I cannot not draw Clora?!!?! I consider you a legend in this fandom tbh 👑 also I want to thank you bcs your fic and illustrations literally helped me go through my stressful period when I was at my lowest bcs of my new demanding job that I started half a year ago. I look forward to your post everytime and your Clora and Seb always heals my soul 😭🩵💚

Sally Salamander by @siboom777 Sally is just so wacky and unapologetically herself and I love her for it 🩵 Does she take commissions for toys tho?

Marvin Jerry by @runicxraven MY LOVELY SILLY ADORABLE LITTLE NERD 💗💗💗💗 I need more Marvin in my life honestly.

@najiang ‘s MC - I’m so so sorry I didn’t draw her full face😭, I tried my best to show her face as much as I can while still looking like she’s taking those sausages haha. But anyway please know that I love your art so so much and I kept going back to the curry one and the one where MC came across Amit with beard as adults (that one is hilarious). Idk if your MC has a name or you left it nameless? I assume it was the latter but if she has one I’d love to know!

Faustine Daemon by @faustinio27 Hey, a fellow INFJ! Winter is the same 🩵 I really love her story and especially her personality character sheet, you drew her expressions really well and I’m a fan!

Back row (left to right):

Oliver Lennox by @pixie-dustss Handsome boi 🥰 We’re friends already (I hope I’m not the only one who thinks that way 🫢) from TikTok and you made me a video for Secret Santa last year and I just found out recently that you’re on Tumblr too so I want to say thanks by drawing Oliver! 🩵🩵🩵

Aurélie Collins by @morelikeravenbore I loove this look for Aura, she just looks so chic with the hat and scarf 😭🩵 Sassy Ravenclaw bebe 🥰 My Winter has some French heritage (the lore is still rotting in my notebook bcs I haven’t had the chance to draw her family members 🥲) so I do hope they can be friends and Aura would teach her French bcs she can’t speak much of it 👉🏻👈🏻

Alistair Dusk by @speedysart Surprise! You commented on my last speedpaint on Tiktok yesterday and I want to spill this art so bad but I was almost done so I kept my mouth shut haha. I love the pretty boi’s hair and piercings, and the fact that you chose this blazer for him, I just love it he looks so dapper in that 😣🩵

Eleonora Russel by @zordanna I love sweet Eleonora and her fascination with the moon and stars 🩵🌌 Oh and I kept coming back to your “I feel like an orange” Tiktok bcs it’s so fluffy and it heals my stress… also I adore your art it’s super soft and painty and delicate 🥹💗

@traceyc-uk ‘s MC - YOUR MC. I SWEAR TO MERLIN HE’S ON MY MIND 24/7 LATELY. Not sure why, it’s probably bcs I kept re-reading your comics. Also bcs he’s an adorable little golden retriever (but also a fierce cat!😼) You’re super talented in drawing comics and facial expressions, I have a lot to learn especially in terms of layouting… last time I made a comic I hated the layout and the fact that it looks stiff to me, so your comics has been such an inspiration!

[green-ray-blog1]

The Prince

It's 1-1, now, between Harrowmont and Bhelen and hardcore supporters of both are now jumping Darrian and his party in the streets of Orzammar. For his next errand, Harrowmont wants Branka found. Oh, right, the paragon who invented smokeless coal (which sounds straight up magical), then took her house to the Deep Roads, and didn’t come back. Well, if Darrian found the Urn of Sacred Ashes, he can probably find Branka, or what’s left of her. But now, Bhelen wants to talk face to face, since we did his dirty work, and oh he is one slimy bastard. It's like he can’t even be bothered to put up appearances. And that’s the guy who’s gonna help the casteless ? He wants Branka found, too, but he only wants her back if she supports him. The guy definitely murdered his dad. Well Darrian’s not doing the killing political opponents (wait, did the Carta count ?), so he’ll improvise when he’ll get there, and, again, Branka might be dead already.

First, though, Alistair and Wynne apparently have a lot to ask Morrigan about her love life. Several things : First, Darrian is right there, so it’s a bit hurtful when you guys are talking like he’s just Morrigan’s thrall, now. Second, looks like neither of you have seen how much of a dork she is, and thus how funny that makes you sound. Now, to be fair, Darrian did agree to kill Flemeth for Morrigan, and it is possible she might have been lying about the whole body-jacking thing, but honestly, it’d be a really good act. Ah, whatever, you know what, this is fine, it’s all part of the plan. See, when Darrian has retired in the Korcari wilds, and he goes grocery shopping in nearby villages, there’s bound to be some dumbass shems that’ll be all like “Hey fuck you knife-ears !”, but then their buddy will be like “Dude, shut up, that’s the Wicked Witch of the Wild’s boyfriend ! You wanna get turned into a spider ?” It's perfect.

Then we meet Oghren, Branka’s husband, left behind when she took the rest of the house. He really wants to come along and, uh, well, sure. He seems pretty on edge about the whole thing, which is fair. Shale is also here. Their mage had mentioned finding them in a place related to dwarves, so maybe we’ll see something interesting. Now, it’s off to the Deep Roads

***Bonus content!!!***

Hi my name is Darrian Tabris and I have short black hair and pointy ears and a lot of people tell me I look like Shianni (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Zevran, but I wish I was cause he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a grey warden, but that’s just until the Blight is over. I’m also a rogue and I got Isabela to teach me how to duel. I’m an elf (in case you couldn’t tell), and I wear mostly light armor. I love Wade’s Emporium and I buy all my clothes from there. For example, today, I was wearing the felon’s coat. I was walking outside the Alienage. It was like everywhere in Ferelden, smelling like wet dog, which I was very happy about. A lot of city guards stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

[barbex]

sneaking in a bit late for DADWC this week, but happy friday!! how about ❝ i’m right here. i’m always here right in front of you but you never see me! ❞?

Thank you for this @dadrunkwriting prompt! It felt like a zevistair night tonight.

---

Alistair watches Zevran slipping out of the circle of light around the fire. Like the capable assassin he is, nobody notices it. Nobody but him, and only because he is watching him as often as he can. He glances back at their strange group around the fire. Leliana laughs at something Tabris says, Sten cleans the new hatchet he picked off from someone and Morrigan — Morrigan watches him. It startles him, feeling trapped in her gaze.

Of course, the Witch knows how he feels.

She looks over her shoulder, into the darkness where Zevran disappeared, and then back at him. He holds her gaze until his cheeks burn and her expression turns bored. Alistair stands up to escape her and maybe find Zevran. He blinks, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A few steps away, Zevran's hair shines bright in the moonlight. It's obvious that he wants to be found, he wouldn't be so easy to see otherwise.

Alistair closes the distance and sits down next to Zevran, watching him. He looks different tonight. Alistair realizes with a start that what he has seen of Zevran so far has been nothing but a mask, a projection he put on for the world. Here, next to him, is the real Zevran. His eyes are wet and he looks exhausted. 

"That man we met today," Alistair says, not sure how to finish the question and leaving it hanging.

"Taliesen." Zevran's voice is very quiet. "He was... a friend. Taliesen and Rinna and me, we were a team. We were... friends."

"Lovers?" Alistair blurts out, immediately trying to swallow his tongue, but it's too late.

A smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes spreads on Zevran's face. "Yes, we loved each other."

When the silence stretches longer, Alistair asks, "What happened?"

"I killed her." Zevran's hands clench in his lap. "Taliesen told me that she betrayed us and I believed him. Very stupid of me."

"Why would that be stupid?"

"Crows don't have friends, they don't trust." Zevran's head whips around and he looks at Alistair. "A Crow doesn't love."

"That's nugshit." Alistair crosses his arms and stares back at Zevran. "You deserve love, just like anybody else." His heart beats up in his throat, so loud that Zevran can probably hear it, but he holds Zevran's gaze.

Something softens in his expression. "You really think so, my dear warden? That someone could love me? That I could love someone and it wouldn't end with blood on my hands?"

"Yes." Alistair scrapes all his braveness together and grabs Zevran's hand, probably harder than necessary. "I mean, it doesn't have to be me, even though I’m right here. I’m always here right in front of you, but you never see me. But even if it's Tabris, or Morrigan, or Sten, or someone we haven't met yet, you deserve —"

Soft lips press against his. Zevran brushes his palm against Alistair's cheek and kisses him. It's soft and warm and Alistair just melts. When Zevran lets go of his lips, Alistair nearly topples over, only Zevran's hand on his shoulder holds him upright.

"My dear, my Alistair," Zevran says with a soft voice. "I see you. I very much see you."

"Really? Because I watch you a lot, so much that Morrigan needles me for it and you never..." It dawns on him that Zevran is probably well trained in the art of watching someone inconspicuously, unlike him. "I'm not good at this."

Zevran's thumb strokes over the skin under Alistair's eye, as if he sees an invisible tear there. "Shh. No more of this. You are good and I see you, mio caro. I just didn't dare to dream... that I could touch someone like you..."

Alistair leans into Zevran's hand on his cheek. "Well, you're already touching me, so you can't chicken out now." 

Laughing, Zevran pulls himself closer to Alistair, straddling his lap. "I will not, my dear. I will not."

[casspurrjoybell-24]

The Alpha's Boy - Chapter 1 - Part 1

Book Two In : The Alpha's Trilogy

*Warning Adult Content*

Alistair 'Star' Claymore-Phoenix

My whole world changed while I was still a toddler.

I couldn't tell you the colour of my mother's eyes, the sound of my father's voice, who my childhood best friend was but I could tell you all about my brother.

I could tell you his hair colour, his voice, how he has freckles marking his nose, how he was left-handed.

How deep he cut my throat thinking it would kill me after stabbing our parents over ten times each.

Lucca Miethke was a monster and deep inside it made me wonder if I was a monster too.

If he could kill his whole pack without a second thought, was I really any saner than he was?

I mean, I had done some fucked up things in my nineteen years of life.

For example, I tried to poison my adopted father before I knew who he was and I'm pretty sure half the things I did just this week would have broken a law or two.

Lucca stole my voice from me for the simple fact that I was a stronger wolf than he was.

He said I was the 'family's favourite' and honestly, I didn't know if he was wrong or not because he stole that from me too.

Any memory I had of my parents was clouded with blood and darkness, smoke and screams. Was I loved? I could remember our father taking me to the lake once.

Did that mean he loved me more?

Was Lucca there that day too?

I didn't know but since that night, life hadn't gotten much easier, even after I was adopted.

"Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Star. Happy Birthday to you."

I stared at the cake as it was set down in front of me, nineteen bright candles lit up the chocolate cake and the words underneath it.

'Happy Birthday Star.'

I sighed, knowing full and well my face was glowing from the candlelight, all eyes on me, ready and waiting.

For the past six years, I was told the same thing.

"When the song is over, make a wish for the perfect gift and blow out the candles."

And every year I wished for the same little things.

When I turned thirteen:- I wished for a bike and got a bike.

When I turned fourteen:- I wished for a new 'Hollywood Undead' hoodie and got one.

When I turned fifteen:- I wished for three tickets to see ''Fallout Boy' for Ivan, Rule and myself and I got them.

At sixteen:- I wished for a car.

At seventeen:- I wanted a night at a hotel, for me and my friends.

At eighteen:- I wanted just to be left alone, for five fucking minutes but I was done with trivial gifts for a wish.

I wanted something more, something money couldn't buy.

I wanted my mate, it sounded cheesy and stupid but it's what I wanted.

I wanted to finally feel happy, to feel whole.

I wanted someone who'd love me like my father and dad loved each other, like how my friends all loved their mates.

I watched everyone around me fall in love and I wanted that, I wanted to be loved.

I didn't want to be looked at like a broken toy anymore, I hated the looks on people's faces when they found out I couldn't talk, that I had no voice.

'Pity.'

I fucking hated pity.

I know it's half the reason my two Fathers 'Dad and Papa' kept me, they felt bad for that poor starved pre-teen that couldn't talk.

Darren even went out of his way to learn ASL, before I was even his responsibly.

I ground my teeth together before I blew out the candles and listened to the whoops and cheers of the people around me, the loudest being my Dad's shout.

I turned my head to the side to see Maddox my smaller, black-haired, blue-eyed brother, with a big grin on his face as he openly eyed the cake.

Malachi, whose face was the same as his brother's but instead of a grin, he wore a face of pure consideration, as he watched the smoke from the candles float into the air.

"Let's eat," a voice cheered and I looked over to my other side, to see my best friend.

Ivan

[squidmayo]

✩‧₊˚  King Alistair and Queen Jolene Cousland  ˚₊‧✩

‘tis finally done _(:3 」∠)_

Click for quality   (｢• ω •)｢

[sulky-valkyrie]

my asks keep breaking! I swear if you get three of these I'm very sorry lol. A happy welcome to dadwc! and I'd love to see [ TILT ] from the actions prompts!

The tilt is somewhere in here, I swear! Have some DAO absurdity with Tabris and Alistair and Dog!

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tabris couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t breathe and something was crushing her and she was going to die and -

“‘Ris?  ‘Ris!  I got you, I got you.”  Alistair’s voice sounded worried, but calm.

The pressure on her chest let up and suddenly it was all way too light out and she was exposed and confused.  “I - what happened?”

“Tent collapsed.”  He tossed the canvas aside carelessly.  “I think Borkin stole some of the pegs.”  

She snorted.  “Ugh, of course he did.”  She whistled and the mabari ran up to her, wagging happily.  And holding her tent stakes.  “Why?”

Borkin cocked his head, dropped the pegs, and pawed at Alistair’s foot.  The human started to stammer, “Don’t blame me for this, I didn’t know he would take me seriously.”

Tabris raised an eyebrow.  “Are the two most devoted boys in my life conspiring against me?”

Maker, how could a human get that red?  “No, I was -” he stopped and sighed.  “I’m an idiot, okay?”

“And I’m cold and you just tossed my tent across the campsite.”  She held out a hand for Borkin to lean into her.  “I’m not angry, just confused.  And cold.”  She looked up at him and fluttered her eyes.  “Did I mention I was cold?”

Alistair’s eyes widened.  “Flames, you’re naked.”  He spun around.  “I didn’t even - sorry.”  He tried to grab a blanket to wrap around her, touched her bare leg in his fumbling, made a choking sound, and scooted away, still not looking at her.  Maker, he was so sweet that it hurt her heart.  She patted Borkin’s head and pointed toward Zev’s tent.  The mabari gave her a quizzical look and she pointed again, more firmly.  

Borkin huffed at her then did as he was told with all the enthusiasm a dog the size of a pony could muster, accompanied by a muffled “Brasca!”

Tabris rolled to her feet and tugged the thinner blanket around her chest before poking Alistair’s shoulder with her foot.  “You should be safe from my radiant bosom now.”

He looked at her sheepishly as he stood up and rubbed the back of his neck.  “Some hero I am, right?”

“You want to tell me what was supposed to happen?”

He sighed, snagged the stake mallet from its usual place near the fire, and went to pick up her tent.  “What was supposed to happen was it wasn’t supposed to happen at all.”  He wrestled the canvas back into position and started hammering the stakes back into position.  “What was supposed to happen is Borkin shouldn’t listen to me any more than you should.”

“You told my dog you wished my tent would fall on me?”

“Not exactly.”

She waited expectantly.  He finished putting her tent back up and sighed again.  “Did you learn that look from Wynne?”  He sat down and tossed the mallet back toward the fire before pulling one leg up to lean on while he ran his fingers through his hair, clearly flustered.  “I took Borkin to help me get firewood and . . .” he smiled softly.  “He’s a good listener.”

Tabris knelt next to him.  “Telling him your deepest darkest secrets?”

“More like telling him . . . about you?”  He looked away.  “It’s stupid, I know.  You’ve known the dog as long as you’ve known me.”

“What did you tell him?”  It didn’t really matter, but he was warm and close and she really wanted to know how this had turned into a collapsed tent.  “Just pretend you’re telling Borkin again.”  An idea popped in her head that was probably terrible, and she pulled his hand to the back of her neck.  “Here, you can scratch behind my ears and everything.”

He made a surprised noise in the back of his throat but did as he was told.  As usual.  On the one hand, it was just another adorable quirk of his to already trust her so completely, but on the other, she worried for what it must’ve meant about how he’d grown up.  Sure, alienage life was shit, but her family had at least cared about her.  “I, I just really like her, Borkin.  A lot.  Maybe too much?  I wish I was good enough at something that I could, I don’t know, do something for her?  She doesn’t need saving, she’s the one doing the saving.  The best I could manage is to help untangle her if her tent collapsed or something.”  He slid his hand to her chin and tilted her head so she’d look up at him.  “And that’s how I accidentally told your dog to sabotage your tent.”  He gave her a crooked smile.  “Sorry for ruining your night.  You okay?”

“It was probably just going to be nightmares anyway.”  She leaned forward and licked his cheek.  

Alistair blinked at her a few times then touched his face.  “Why?”

“Well, I assume that’s how your chat with Borkin ended, figured you needed the closure, else we’ll never get some sleep.”

He turned pink again.  “Actually he tried to pee on my boot.”

“Is that a request?” she chuckled.

“Maker, please never say that again.”

“Just don’t drop any more tents on me and I’ll call it even.”

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Two: Truth

Author's note: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person's relationship with his son. You've heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You've felt his pain and anguish and you've never been able to relate to anything more. But things don't come easy for you, and they certainly don't come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: allusions to sex, mention of trauma

Word count: 4,400>

Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Two - Next

"Can I help you?" you jumped when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You spun around on your heel, diverting your attention from the man on the television to the petite blonde girl who was doting a pale pink pant suit. Her blue eyes seemed friendly enough, but her expression of bewilderment and slight disdain was enough to make you uncomfortable. Your lips parted slightly as you tried to gather your words.

"I'm… I'm looking for someone," you said hesitantly. You turned back around to watch the television, pressing the palm of your hand against the screen and watching him with awe. You weren't sure if you were more flabbergasted by this brand new technology, or by the handsome man who was attempting to sell you oil.

"You're going to have to be more specific," the woman placed a hand on her hip and quirked her eyebrow.

"My friend Alistair…" you said slowly before shaking your head and smiling. "Do you know this man?" you pointed at the television.

The blonde woman looked completely and utterly perplexed. "Mr Lord?" she asked. Her mind was racing: everyone knew who her boss was. She pondered for a moment, questioning who exactly you were and where did you come from before shaking her head profusely. "Wait, I’m sorry. Did you just say Alistair?" she pinched the bridge of her nose and began to circle around you, taking in your appearance; judging your native Amazonian outfit and muddy skin.

"Yes, Alistair. We met in the park earlier," you explained. "Please excuse the dirt on my body."

"Mr Lord’s son…?" the lady said, speaking her thoughts out loud. No woman had ever come to Black Gold Cooperative requesting to see Alistair, note even his own mother. "Who are you?"

You smiled politely, taking the lady's hand. "I'm here to help. Where can I find Mr Lord?"

"Do you have an appointment with him?" the lady in pink asked, walking around the main desk and checking the computer. "I'm his secretary by the way. My name is Raquel." she mumbled as she pressed a few keys.

You introduced yourself and shook her hand, admiring her beautifully manicured nails. "An appointment?" you repeated. "No, not really. He doesn’t know I’m coming.”

“Mr Lord is a very busy man,” Raquel sighed, tapping her manicured acrylic nails against the oak wood desk. “He doesn’t do surprise visits.”

“That’s okay, I wish to see Alistair anyway. I must know if he’s okay.” your body was still rife with concern over what you had witnessed happen to the little boy earlier at the playpark, and how he had disappeared.

“There is no way for me to contact Alistair, he’s just a child… but uh, let me see what I can do.” Raquel sighed, knowing she wasn’t easily going to get rid of you anytime soon. “I can give Mr Lord a call and let him know you wish to see him,” she told you, ringing in his phone number. “Can I ask what your business with him is?”

“I’m here to help him,” you repeated with an eager grin.

“Right,” Raquel said slowly as you turned back to the television, admiring the man with the dark blonde hair, sporting the three piece designer suits. “Help him with what?”

You blinked momentarily, watching this Mr Lord drone on and on and on. “Oil.” you practically squeaked out.

“Oil?” Raquel questioned, not believing you for one minute. She had every right inkling to believe you were dangerous, but it was her job to contact Maxwell in this type of situation, no matter what. You squeezed your eyes shut almost sensing her disbelief when you heard her speak again. Her voice had changed completely, high pitched and almost articulated. “Oh, yes, hi! Mr Lord! There is someone here who wishes to see you.”

Thank the Gods he’d picked up the phone before Raquel could quiz you further.

Maxwell had answered from the car phone. He’d just dropped Alistair off at Julianna and Theodore’s home. It was never fun, having to go see his wife. He wanted to be strong, and he certainly wanted to keep his promise to Alisitar, about spending the whole weekend together - but there was too much at stake. He knew that deep down, Alisitair would understand one day. Maxwell cursed himself for messing up so quickly. The phone rang just as Maxwell slid back into the car. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Max huffed a sigh and held the phone to his ear. “Who is it?” Maxwell asked wearily. “If it’s the FBI or the FTC…”

Maxwell was nervous. He was even confused that Raquel was still at Black Gold, still happy to work for him after he did commit what potentially could be classified as war crimes. Maxwell was a realist and he knew that with every action, came a consequence. The world had never been kind to him, and he looked down at the envelope that Theodore had handed to him. His name, Maxwell Lorenzano, was written on the front in Julianna’s perfectly inked calligraphy. Max hated it. He didn’t have his name legally changed fifteen years ago just so his ex wife could throw his old identity back in his face. He hated his real name. It was a constant reminder of his past life. But now he didn’t know what was worse, being a Lord or a Lorenzano. The name Lorenzano had been tainted for him, by his family, and years of bullying. But the name Lord? He’d tainted that himself. A conman. A stupid, messed up loser. Julianna hadn’t wanted to see Maxwell, and instead sent her new boyfriend to collect Alistair from him.

“Julianna wants you to have this,” Theodore said with a frown, taking Alistair’s hand and pulling him away from Maxwell. “When you read through it, give her a call.” was all he said before slamming the front door in Max’s face. Max didn’t know what was inside the envelope, but he knew it couldn’t be good.

“No, it’s not the FBI or the FTC. It’s a woman,” Raquel said hesitantly. “She… she’s a bit odd,” Raquel whispered, but not quiet enough for it to go unnoticed by you. Nevertheless, you pretended to ignore her comment. Perhaps you were odd, and perhaps that was okay. The world of man was not something you were used to. But you were here for a reason. The delay in Maxwell’s response prompted Raquel to say more. “Mr Lord… I don’t think she’s going to leave without seeing you. Would you like me to call the cops?”

“No!” Maxwell practically barked. He turned on the engine of his car and held the phone between his ear and shoulder, reversing out of the driveway. He didn’t know what was going on, it was too early to tell - but Maxwell couldn’t have the police anywhere near Black Gold. There was a good chance the police might be looking for him anyway. There was a good chance Max believed he might even have to go into hiding. “I’m on my way.” Maxwell promised before putting the phone down.

You turned back to Raquel when you heard the phone click back onto the hook. “Well, he’s coming,” she shrugged. “Just take a seat please. He won’t be long.”

You walked over to the centre of the lobby where there was a long circular velveteen sofa with a silver foiled surface. You ran your finger over the material, savouring the soft feeling. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before. You let out a small gasp when you noticed your gladiator sandals had trailed in mud and made a mess of the pristine marble floor. You knew it wouldn’t take much to clean, but you still felt bad.

The lobby of Black Gold Cooperative was large, with pillars similar to what they’d have in the Themysciran palace back home and vases of white roses decorating every corner. You wiped down your skirt and tunic, not wanting to be responsible for any more mess, and sat down on the sofa. You groaned as the velveteen plush engulfed you. You couldn’t help it, Raquel was gone and you were exhausted after spending the day looking for Alistair. You hummed in contentment, unbuckling the leather straps on your shoes and laying down on the sofa, curling up and closing your eyes.

Everything was dull. The sky was grey, dark and rainy clouds casting a cold shadow over your shoulders. This was weird. Normally your dreams would be utter and complete blackness - the inability to see anything, only hear the chaos that surrounded you. Only hear the cries and pleas for help and terror - and his voice. The man you were soughting for. You wondered if upon venturing to the world of man, your premonitions had stopped. But that didn’t make any sense. You were one step closer to finding this mystery man.

In the distance, you saw a group of kids tormenting and teasing another little boy. The image reflected what you had seen earlier at the playpark with Alistair, but it was different children this time. “What are you wearing?” you heard one boy mock as you ran closer. “Look at your shoes! Little Lorenzano can’t even afford new shoes!” a different girl cackled.

Lorenzano. You stopped dead in your footsteps, your eyes widening as you watched the group of kids disband, leaving the little boy with glazed brown eyes and ripped clothes shaking with fear. Lorenzano was the name of the man you were looking for - the man you had to help. Your mother Hestia had helped you learn that, but you had never seen him before. This Lorenzano was just a child. There was no way he could have a son.

You took a deep breath and reached out. “Sweet boy?” you called, taking a cautious step forward. Little Lorenzano didn’t even flinch. “Hello?” you asked again. You got as close as you could to him, walking around in circles and taking in his appearance, but he didn’t even notice you. It was almost like he couldn’t see you.

That’s when you realised you weren’t in a dream. You were in a memory. And suddenly everything made sense. This broken little boy was in fact the same person you were looking for. But now, he was a broken man who was desperately trying to make things right. Desperately trying to turn his life around. You’d seen a fleck of his past and you wondered if he was anything like that now. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you had to find him.

There was no way of telling how long you were asleep for, but when you heard Maxwell Lord’s voice, you couldn’t distinguish it from your dream or reality. It was so familiar, so rich and articulate.

“Jesus Christ,” Maxwell muttered, pacing backwards and forwards before turning back to you and prodding a finger into your bare arm. “Wake up.” he said sternly, his voice a little louder than before. You yawned, bringing your hands up to your eyes and giving them a gentle rub before sitting up and looking at the man.

It was him. The same man you had seen on the television. Only there was something not that right. You couldn’t put your finger on it. You grinned, your eyes gleaming with delight as you stood up and cupped your hands around his face, squeezing his cheeks and getting as close as you could. You touched him and maneuvered his body in different ways, lifting his arms up and brushing down his shoulders. He was broader than any Amazonian woman, and that said a lot. Surprisingly, Maxwell became putty in your grip. He would’ve never have expected it, but he just let you mould him and sculpt him in any which way you pleased. You traced his skin with your fingers, taking in every detail. It was certainly the man from the television - but this version of Maxwell Lord looked more tired and disheveled. His hair wasn’t perfectly styled and he wasn’t fitted into a perfectly pressed suit. But he was still just as remarkable and there was something about his presence that simply took your breath away.

He could say the same about you, too. He was completely stunned by you. Your beauty was incomparable to anyone else he’d ever seen. You almost looked out of this world. He was quick to shrug off his fascination with you, boiling it down to the fact you were covered in dirt and dressed in the strangest costume. He had more important things to worry about… like Alistair and whatever was in that damn envelope Theodore had given him.

“You’re a man,” you whispered in disbelief.

“I- what?” Maxwell asked, furrowing his eyebrows together.

“A real man,” you gasped, running your fingers through his dark blonde hair. Maxwell had to push back a longing groan, as your touch went straight to his semi-hard and already throbbing manhood. He gulped, diverting his gaze from your beautiful eyes.

“Do I- do I not look like a real man?” he asked curiously, ignoring the shudder that felt like it was swallowing him whole.

“Themyscrian depictions of man illustrate a strong, tall, muscular fellow who carries a sword and shield,” You explained, biting your lip and placing the palm of your hand over his chest. You could feel his beating heart under your touch and it almost took your breath away. You dragged your hand down to the curve of his tummy and Maxwell felt his cheeks heat up with insecurity. He never let anyone touch him like this. “They were naked too.”

Maxwell practically choked on his own tongue. That comment alone was enough to get him to step back and raise his hands up defensively.

“Well princess, I won’t be getting naked for you anytime soon, that’s for sure.” He chuckled nervously.

You smiled. “Princess? No no, I’m not a princess,” you giggled before introducing yourself. “I’m the goddess of home and hearth.”

Maxwell gulped before bursting into a fit of laughter. He looked around the office lobby, his movements quick and stressed. “Right, where’s the camera?”

“The- the camera?” you asked, confused.

“Is this for TV? Come on, tell me quickly. It’s a practical joke… right? You’re here, in my office, covered in dirt and in the most ridiculous clothes I’ve ever seen. And you say all these weird words like Themysciran - whatever that means, and you’re telling me you’re the goddess of home and… hearth?” he said almost quizzically. “You’re the crazy woman who stole Alistair away from me at the playpark earlier.”

So Raquel was right. He really was Alistair’s father. “Hey!” you frowned at his accusations. You hadn’t lied to him once. “You weren’t where Alistair left you. You disappeared and I was helping him find you!” you shot back, feeling an anger bubble inside of you.

“I don’t know where you come from princess, but here in America, you don’t just go round stealing people’s kids. That’s like, a federal offence.” Maxwell shouted, wiggling his finger in the air. “Jesus, where do you come from?”

You defensively crossed your arms over your chest, his yelling making you feel vulnerable. You could tell that he was clearly already under a lot of stress but he had no reason to take it out on you. “Themyscira.” you told him calmly.

He scrunched up his face in disdain. "There it is again. Them-a-what-now?"

"Themyscira." you said, this time making conscious effort to say it slower and clearer.

"With all due respect darling, I've travelled the world. I've been to many different places. I spent my adolescence studying a map of the world and never in my life have I heard of such a place." Maxwell shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm not here to prove anything to you, Mr Lord. But I find your attitude towards me to be quite upsetting." you revealed, looking back at the revolving doors you came in. There was a deafening silence that filled the room.

"Why are you here?" Maxwell snapped eventually with a huff. You swallowed as he stalked over to you, his gaze not breaking from you once. There was something primal in his walk. "Why… are you… here?"

He wished he could ignore the distracting erection in his pants. He didn't even know you. You were just a random girl who had come into his office demanding to see him, refusing to leave until he came. You were just a random girl who had got close with him, who had touched his face and dragged your hand down his body. Who… talked about naked men. Truthfully, Maxwell had never been with a woman who was quite like you, but things were starting to make sense for him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he were to just take you up to his private office.

Your throat felt dry and for the first time, you couldn't fathom words. His honeyed brown eyes were now dark and lust blown as he raised his hand to caress your cheek. You didn't even realise the way you subconsciously moved your face further into his hold and a wicked smirk crossed his lips. His hand was large and warm and his touch filled you with a sense of protection you didn't even think you needed. "Oh," Maxwell chuckled darkly. "I know what you want from me."

"You do?" you asked timidly, not even realising the hold he had you under. For a second, you'd forgotten why you were even here. You were so taken in by Max. You were feeling things you had never felt in your life for this man who had been haunting your every thought. He was so close to you, his breath fanned over your skin and you felt a sensation erupt between your legs. His presence was intoxicating, and he could say the same about you.

"But I can't," Maxwell shook his head, his gaze falling to your lips before dropping his hand from your face and taking a step back. He cleared his throat and looked away awkwardly, moving his hand down to his crotch trying to hide his arousal from you. "I… I should go."

There was an immediate feeling of guilt that washed over Maxwell. He'd gained reputation in the past for sleeping with women, namely his assistants and secretaries, and not shown them a slither of affection or care. He was a selfless lover and he could get away with it because he was rich, famous and attractive. But now he was none of those things. When he looked at himself in the mirror before heading to the playpark, his own appearance knocked him sick. The stress wrinkles setting in his forehead, the dark circles around his eyes… and he hadn't showered in a week. His hair was a mess and he couldn't even bring himself to check a whiff of his underarms. He didn't know you, but he sure as hell knew you deserved better than a man like him.

You were bright eyed, polite, and curious about the world around you. Not only that, you had demanded to see Maxwell just because you wished to check on his son and make sure he was okay. You had gotten very close to Max and not said a word about his bad hygiene or his tired eyes, instead, you looked at him with hope and admiration. Almost as if you believed that he could become a better man.

"Wait!" you called, reaching your hand out before Maxwell could walk away. "I'm sorry if- I'm sorry if this wasn't a good conversation for you. I've never spoken to a man before."

Maxwell titled his head and quirked an eyebrow. "You intrigue me," he admitted, pursing his lips slightly. His gaze fell from your face to the circle of rope attached to your belt. It didn't take long before he realised what it was— but no, it couldn't be. "What is that?" Maxwell asked, pointing at the rope as fear dripped from his tongue. He even took a few steps back.

You unravelled the rope and held it out for him to see. "This is the lasso of Hestia, it was my mother's. She gave it to me before I left for the world of man. Only two were made and this— this is the last one," you smiled a tearful smile at the memory of your mother. Diana had taken the other lasso, as well as the sword of Athena, back in 1918. "My mother Hestia is the goddess of Truth. And the lasso of Hestia compels any individual it uses to see the truth, or speak it," There was no telling what the expression on Maxwell's face showed. You frowned. "You still don't believe me, do you?"

The lasso had initiated a trauma response in Maxwell as you turned it on. He watched it glow yellow, the same yellow that Diana's lasso had glowed when she wrapped it around his ankle in the island bunker. He remembered her words; "See the truth." and his heart sank into the depths of his chest. That's when he saw Alistair.

Maxwell had always thought Diana Prince was strange. Ever since she told him she didn't own a TV— because who in the 1980s didn't own a TV? And who would deny a free 19 inch TV from Sears? But when she had followed him to Cairo with her pilot boyfriend and caused nothing but chaos in her red, blue and gold superhero outfit, he knew she was special. That she possessed powers. This was later reaffirmed in The White House, and then in the bunker as Maxwell tried to plot world domination and grant wishes to every citizen.

He looked at you behind all the mud and dirt, and he looked into your eyes. Could it be true? Could you be telling the truth? What if you were like Diana? Would he really want to be around someone like you?

Maxwell took a huff of air and wrapped the lasso around his wrist. You watched him, letting him do so. "Prove it." Max swallowed the lump in his throat that he hadn't even realised was there. You looked at him with hesitancy before nodding your head. If this worked, he has no reason not to believe you. A magical lasso… and it wasn't the first he had seen.

"What do you wish to see?" you asked Maxwell, your voice quiet. You didn't detach your gaze from his eyes once.

"Do you see what I see?" He asked, and you nodded your head in affirmation. Maxwell thought for a second, before remembering you had come all this way to Black Gold Cooperative just to see Alistair. At first, there was something deeply unsettling about it… but your presence made Maxwell feel safe. "Show me my son."

You closed your eyes and Maxwell followed your actions, and it wasn't long before your vision was clouded by the image of Alistair in his bedroom at Julianna and Theodore's house. Sitting at a desk, he was humming a song. Maxwell couldn't help but smile, recognising the song from the video game Alistair played with him earlier in the day. With an array of colourful crayons, he intricately sketched a drawing of a man with messy yellow hair and a tie, holding the hand of a smaller boy with black hair holding a teddy bear. He labelled the drawing ‘me and daddy’.

"Alistair sweetheart," Julianna called, peeking her head through the door that stood slightly ajar. "Dinner is ready," Alistair didn't look up once, continuing to rub pink crayon into his paper. "What are you drawing there?" Julianna asked, slipping into her son's bedroom and peering over his shoulder and the drawing.

"Me and daddy," Alistair mumbled, only half listening. He was too busy concentrating on adding the purple detailing on his daddy's socks.

"Oh sweetie, I told you that maybe, sometime, you could draw yourself and Theodore? You know, since he's your father too. He does so much for you Alistair, he takes you out to the movies, takes you to your piano lessons… he's a good guy," Julianna smiled, ruffling her son's hair. She pressed her finger into the yellow haired stick man wearing purple socks. "He's not a good guy."

Alistair furrowed his eyebrows, dropping the crayon to the paper and turning to face his mother. "My daddy is my hero." Alistair told his mother, his brown eyes wide and full of love.

Julianna didn't say a word. She stiffened up, standing tall and glared at her son's drawing. Her stare was so intense, you wondered if she was about to eject lasers from her eyes and set the paper on fire.

"Go eat your dinner." She finally said coldly, her words dripping with malice before barging out Alistair's bedroom.

The lasso of truth unravelled itself from Maxwell's wrist and you curled it back into your holster, clipping it in place on your belt. You looked up and noticed the tears that were pricking Maxwell's eyes.

"You- you probably shouldn't have seen all of that," Maxwell admitted, his voice croaking slightly as he tried to hold himself back from becoming a sobbing mess. "I'm not a hero."

You reached out and took the hand of the big-name businessman who was standing before you on the verge of tears. His hand was big, cold, and his fingers were calloused. You took him in both of your hands and rubbed soothing circles into his skin, desperately trying to provide him with warmth and comfort. His glazed brown eyes looked up at you with bewilderment as he wondered why you were being so nice to him. He was a monster, he deserved every bad consequence that would be coming for him. And yet, you treat him like a human. Even at the height of his career when he lived in riches and luxury, nobody had treated him with the politeness and love you were currently giving him — and you were a stranger. A stranger who was covered in mud with a magic lasso.

"Maybe you are a hero."

—-—-—

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie

I Believe In Love: @mrschiltoncat @thebloodrobin @bxxbxy @marydjarin @the-feckless-wonder @typicalnerd98 @thwiso @julieteagk @starsandmando @kishie8 @supernaturalcat7 @galaxypox @cocastyle @welcometothepedroverse @galactic-rhi @honestlystop @walkerchick007 @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @criminalmind1927 @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thesadvampire @wonder-jedi @eternallyvenus @way-too-addicted-to-anime @spacedaddydinn

[dwarrowdams]

21 and 56 for Liv and Garrus AND the OG sexies, Tirzah and Alistair

21 - listening to someone's heartbeat

Tirzah/Alistair

Tirzah awoke with a start, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She gripped the bedclothes and blinked away the sleep from her eyes until she saw that she was on her bedroll in the tent.

No darkspawn, no Archdemon: just Alistair, who was looking at her bleary-eyed.

"Nightmares?" he asked.

She nodded, he throat still too choked to speak.

He pulled her closer, tucking her against his side. "They've been getting worse for me too," he admitted.

Tirzah wished she could say something to comfort him, but even though the tightness in her throat was gone, she couldn't seem to find words.

"'s all right," Alistair said as if sensing her thoughts. "C'mere."

He motioned for her to lay her head on his chest, which she gladly did. It felt good to have something solid beneath her, to feel the muscles of his chest, to hear his slow, strong heartbeat.

Before long, her eyelids began to droop, and the steady thud of his heart lulled her off to sleep.

Liv/Garrus

It was the sound of Liv's heartbeat that convinced him that this was really her.

He'd been sure his eyes were deceiving him when she'd been close enough to make out her features. She'd been declared dead months ago—hell, he'd attended her funeral himself. Even as she'd stepped into the room and greeted him with the biggest smile he'd ever seen, he hadn't been sure. Maybe he shouldn't have murmured his consent as she opened her arms, asking for an embrace.

But now, with her arms around him, he heard her heartbeat slow slightly as she squeezed him tighter: just as it always had before.

That erased any doubt he'd had. He'd enjoyed Liv's embrace enough times to know exactly how it felt, and he was certain that no one could fake it with this level of detail.

"Shepard," he murmured, pulling her tighter. "You're...you're here."

"I'm here, Garrus," she said, the words spoken like a promise. "It's me."

He knew he should let her go—they both had a good amount of explaining to do, after all—but he couldn't resist holding onto her just a little longer, listening to the steady thud-thud of her heartbeat.

56 - playing with their hair

Tirzah/Alistair

"It's so..."

Alistair trailed off as he toyed with one of Tirzah's curls, twirling it gently around his finger.

"...fluffy," he finished.

She couldn't help but laugh at that. He hadn't seen her with her hair down before, but he'd been intent on touching it this morning, and she'd been happy to oblige.  She’d missed this sort of casual intimacy after her exile, and even though they needed to get moving, she allowed herself to revel in the feeling of his fingers twining in her curls.

She leaned back and rested her head against his chest, drawing a surprised laugh from Alistair.  “You like that?” he asked.

“Mmhmm,” Tirzah murmured.  “I always like it whenever you touch me.”

She didn’t have to turn around to know that she’d made him blush, and the satisfied smile that curved her lips only widened as he buried his face in her hair.

“Does that mean I should do this more often?”

Tirzah barely stifled a giggle.  “It means you should do this every morning.”

Liv/Garrus

Liv awoke to the familiar feeling of Garrus nuzzling against her hair: something that had become a constant in the past few weeks. Part of her still marveled at the fact that she could sleep next to someone—and, by extension, wake up next to them—feeling so safe and content.

Then again, she'd thought herself incapable of a lot of intimacies before she'd gotten close to Garrus.

She sighed contentedly, reaching out to touch his thigh so he knew that she was awake.  He reached out to give her hand a brief squeeze, his face still buried in her hair.

“Morning, love,” she said.  "Rolling over.”

She paused for a moment to give him time to move away.  They’d both learned the hard way that it was all too easy to get Garrus’s mandibles caught in her hair, and it wasn’t an experience that Liv cared to repeat.

Once she was facing Garrus, she leaned down to press her lips to his neck, enjoying the way his breath hitched as she kissed the sensitive flesh there.  He buried his face in her hair again, a contented sound escaping him as he did. 

“I love that you love my hair so much,” she teased.

Garrus hummed in agreement as he brushed a lock out of her face.  “You always look so content when I touch it,” he said.  “I can’t imagine not loving that.”

Liv’s heart swelled at the comment.  She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this kind of casual intimacy, and even as she and Garrus had gotten closer, she hadn’t expected it from him.  There was no way to convey what that specific intimacy meant to her—no way to tell him how good it felt to be able to trust someone like that after years of being too scared to do so—but she hoped something more general would suffice.

“And I can’t imagine not loving you,” she said as she pulled him closer.

He laughed softly, carding a hand through her hair.  “Neither can I.”

[siribear]

8a

8b

"Twin! I need your help with something."

The door to the war room swings open hard, cracking against the brick wall. Amell and her three advisors turn to stare at Alistair, who stares at them sheepishly. Leliana covers a laugh, Josephine grins, amused, and Cullen pulls away from just handing her a report. Amell rolls her eyes with a sigh and leafs through it. "Cullen, have your people keep travelers away from the valley."

"Of course, Inquisitor."

"Really," Alistair draws out the word to the brink of annoyance, "need your help."

"If you made Elissa mad somehow, that's your own fault."

"I didn't! Well, okay, maybe, but not really?"

Amell finally looks up from an update out of the Hinterlands: a high dragon has moved in to the valley near one of the Inquisition camps. Alistair shifts on his feet nervously, as if he'd rather face that dragon than have this conversation. With another sigh, she calls the council to a close. Cullen leaves with a kiss to her cheek.

"You two are adorable," Alistair says dryly.

"Don't start with me." She tucks the report under her arm. "Are you okay? I heard about Fiona."

Isolated as Skyhold is, gossip travels quickly within its walls. That, and Elissa hadn't exactly been quiet with her dressing down of the former Grand Enchanter. She and Vivienne heard it all fun the upstairs balcony.

Alistair ceases his fidgeting and closes the door only to lean heavily against it. "Oh." He stares at the floor. "Yeah."

Amell jumps up to sit on the edge of the table. "I know you've been hurt, Alistair." She remembers Goldanna, a handful of hungry children, their arms open for coin and not comfort . "But Fiona's a mage, and we don't... you remember Wynne telling us her child was taken from her? That's the only thing we've ever known, until the war happened."

"So you want me to just forgive her?"

"If my mother showed up now and asked for forgiveness, I wouldn't give it. But she had options. Fiona... mages don't usually get a future, Alistair."

She touches her cheek. If it weren't for the Grey Wardens, the war, and the Inquisiton, she wouldn't have one. And not everyone can be so lucky.

"Future..." He blinks. Suddenly his entire demeanor shifts as he goes from contemplative back to buzzing with nervous energy. "Fiona isn't why I wanted to talk to you."

She cants her head sideways. "What then?"

"I, uh." Alistair runs his hands through his hair, the sun catching the highlights in the blonde. One of the more superficial reasons they call each other twins. "I want to ask Elissa to marry me. You're her best friend, and her sister, and I wanted to ask you first."

Amell throws herself at him in a hug to rival his in the smuggler's cove. "It's about time. I was beginning to worry."

"I know. I don't want to wait any more." He pulls her off him by the shoulders. "So that's a yes?"

"It is. But remember," she presses a finger gently to his chest, right over his heart, "I loved her first. If you hurt her, there won't be enough left of you to sweep off of the floor. Am I clear?"

Alistair takes her hand and twines their pinkies together. An old ritual, not forgotten. "If I hurt her, I'll deserve it."

"Good. Now, what do you have planned?"

-

Cullen stands next to her, after the ceremony, his fingers barely touching hers. They're still feeling their way around how affectionate to be in public, even if everyone here knows them. Old habits that need to die hard. She laces their fingers together and leans into him.

"You did well," Cullen says, and she watches his gaze sweep across the crowd of guests to land on the arch.

"It wasn't all me. Josie put a lot of it together." Really, all Amell did was hand her a guest list vetted by Alistair. And stop Josephine from making it a huge affair instead of the small garden party it is. "I'm happy for them."

Cullen clears his throat. "Have you ever thought about...?"

"After a few nights in the Tower, I dreamed a prince would come rescue me on the back of a dragon and we would get married and live in a castle." Amell rests her head against his shoulder, thankful he decided to forgo his full armor. "Then I met Alistair and now I think princes are overrated."

Cullen laughs, and Amell thinks she could listen to that sound forever.

"What about you? Do they even let templars marry?"

"Some do, yes, with Chantry permission. But me? Ah," he grows quiet. Across the garden, Elissa laughs loud at a crude gesture from Sera while Alistair turns a furious shade of red. "I hadn't considered it."

"That decides it then," she says, and he looks down at her, confused. "We're doomed to die unwed, together."

"Ah. Poor us." He hums a contented sigh. "I wasn't going to ask if you would, by the way."

"No?"

"No. I want to do this right."

"Are you going to court me, Commander?"

"If you would have me, Inquisitor."

This is why she's glad she's never been to a wedding before now, she thinks as she settles more heavily against Cullen. He shifts to accommodate her. It would have broken her to know it was something she could never have.

"I'm sorry to interrupt Inquisitor, Commander."

Cullen chuckles. It's their own inside joke, at this point. "Cassandra."

Her eyes are still red rimmed from tears. Worse than Amell's, she thinks. How far Cassandra and Elissa have come from drawing steel at Haven.

"Could we speak, Inquisitor?"

Amell pulls away from Cullen's shoulder reluctantly but nods. Thankfully, Dorian sweeps in to take her place. The last she sees is the two of them sitting down at a chess table before Cassandra leads her around the corner of a hedge row.

Cassandra invites her to sit next to her on a bench, shaded by the trunk of a large tree. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to start a scandal."

The corners of Cassandra's mouth twitch into a smile. "Don't think I haven't grown used to you and your friend's teasing." She folds her hands in her lap. "I believe I have been... unfair to you."

Amell needs more than two hands to count the number of times Cassandra has saved her life. "Unfair?"

"I've been chasing Elissa and Hawke for years, hoping that maybe they could have done something to prevent all of this."

Not unreasonable, Amell thinks. People are more likely to listen to Heroes and Champions in times of strife.

"After the Conclave, I wondered if they were there they could have saved the Divine. But you were there. If you could have saved her you would have. I know that now.

I am trying to focus on what I can change, instead of dwelling on what I cannot. The Maker chose to send you when we needed you most, and you answered. I could ask for no more."

Where there was doubt, Amell feels something else begin to replace it: worthiness. "Thank you. I... That actually means a lot, coming from you. I just hope I can live up to the title."

Cassandra claps her on the back, and they rise. "You are."

-

"Cassandra and Inky sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. Better watch out, Cully-Wully!" Sera dances away when Amell half-heartedly swipes at her.

"Oh good," Dorian says from the chess table. "Distract him for me, would you?"

Amell wraps her arms over Cullen's shoulders and places a kiss to his temple. "I'm afraid you're a lost cause, Dorian," she tells him as she inspects the board. "Two moves, tops."

"Commander, have you been toying with me?"

Cullen chuckles, and she feels it rumble against her chest. "I had to kill time until she returned."

Dorian throws up his hands after Cullen moves his last piece. "Alright, alright." He points to Amell. "You're going to help me beat him one day." At her nod, Dorian finds and follows Bull out of the garden.

Cullen absently traces a finger along her arm. "You and I should play some time."

Elissa calls the both of them over. Almost everyone else has left, and those that remain only do so to enjoy the garden. "I owe you a game, and you owe me a dance." She draws him up from his seat. "Let's go see what the newlyweds want, hm?"

-

There's no time for a game, or even for them to spend much time together, with her lessons in etiquette and dancing and learning exactly how to speak to the nobles without giving anything away.

It's exhausting. Worse than tiptoeing around templars. It's a relief when she's called to clear a rift or deal with an offshoot of Corypheus's army elsewhere, but even that comes to a stop the closer they come to the ball.

And then there's the dress.

Cobalt blue, like Elissa suggested, with a neckline that plunges down to her navel. A leather band cinches it at her waist and hips, with cords to keep the light, sheer fabric defined around her legs. A shawl, powder blue, drapes over her shoulders, held in place by more leather cords, to flow down almost to the floor with the rest of the dress. The back of it is wide open, an easy target for an arrow or blade, metaphorical or otherwise.

"Josie, what if we're drawn into combat?"

"Don't," says the ambassador as she pins up half of Amell's hair. The rest tumbles down between her shoulder blades.

Her mask, the top fashioned to look like Andraste's  crown, hides the blush on her cheeks but the cut of the dress gives the rest away.

"Even speaking at Halamshiral will be like combat, my dear." Vivienne adorns Amell's hair with sapphires. "This will be your armor. The rest of your accoutrement we will have ready should you need it, of course."

When they're finished, Amell turns to look at herself in the mirror. The shawl hides the scars from Redcliffe still lingering on her arms, and the faded white on her hand without the Anchor she can pass as defensive scars. Without those, she hardly recognizes herself.

Leliana sweeps the dress away from her slippers, strapped at the ankles and the only practical part of the ensemble. "These should be easy to move in. And a small dagger can be slipped in here," she points at a small sheathe hidden in the straps, "and here," another sheathe tied around her thigh and anchored at her hip. Both hidden in the waterfall of blue fabric, even if she does have to dance.

"And you were worried." Amell looks over her shoulder, back to Elissa in her own formal dress. "You're gonna knock them all dead before they even get to Celene."

Amell takes a deep breath, watches her chest rise and fall with it. "Right." She steps down from the short stool in front of the mirror. "One dance in this thing, Josie, just so I know how it'll move?"

Josephine smiles and takes her hand while Leliana counts her into the steps. By the end of it, she feels only slightly lightheaded but, honestly, from the quick glimpses she caught of herself in the mirror, beautiful. In the mask, she can pretend she's someone else entirely, and maybe that's the point.

Though she still feels most comfortable in her casual tunic and pants that makes up her Skyhold attire.

Elissa claps her hands together once they're both changed and all the jewels have been removed from their hair. "Great. Varric's hosting a game of Wicked Grace soon, and I'm not missing it."

His idea of preparing their poker faces for The Game, he said, but sometimes she thinks he just misses everyone he met in Kirkwall. He and Leliana share in their big hearts and using their connections to watch over those they care about.

Or maybe he just wants to have a good time and take everyone's gold while doing so.

Elissa grabs her hand. "Come on. Varric said he talked Cullen into playing. Let's go!"

-

"The poor recruit ran out into the dining hall in nothing but his knickers," Cullen laughs at the memory. The poor man standing in shock as mage and templar alike turned to look at him. The slow roll of applause as everyone began to realize exactly the kind of dare he had taken on and fulfilled.

"What did he do after?" Elissa asks with a wicked grin after Alistair coughs heavily into his drink.

"Saluted," he continues. "Turned on his heel and marched out like he was in full armor."

The table bursts into laughter. Alistair tries his best to hide behind his mug, and Cullen grins. It grows into a full blown smile when he hears Annwn laughing harder when she puts together exactly who the recruit was.

"Now there's an idea," Dorian posits, eying the dwindling piles of silver around the table. "We can always bet our clothes when the coin runs low."

-

Cullen shouldn't have agreed to play Wicked Grace that night. Should never have agreed to Varric's "lesson in deception and trickery and maintaining a poker face while getting shit-faced."

He realizes this after he's down to only his breeches, staring at yet another terrible hand through his fingers. Two knights. The lowest hand anyone could possibly have. He sneaks a look around as the others add their gold to the growing pool, drawing and discarding as each turn passes.

Varric, Elissa, Josephine and, surprisingly, Solas haven't lost a hand yet. Blackwall, Bull, and Alistair have split wins and losses. And Annwn...

Annwn has spent the last few hands staring determinedly at the wall.

In the distraction of another round of drinks bought, Cullen feels the light tingle on his skin that can only be a mage pulling at the Veil. He looks up from his hand that hasn't gotten any better to see Amell holding a conversation with Varric and the barmaid while also bending the light around a second card she isn't supposed to be pulling. He finally catches her eye when she discards two cards, again against the rules.

Her wide eyes tell him she forgot that he'd notice that little use of magic. It's up to him then. Call her out on it, force her to fold so she's forced to lose an article of clothing, or...

"Pay attention, Curly. Your turn."

She smiles, resigned. No one else noticed, apparently, Alistair too preoccupied with Elissa and the others concerned with their own hands.  If he doesn't call her out on his turn, he'll surely lose. One more lost hand would put him out in the cold, more than half naked.

Cullen calls and says nothing.

Annwn's surprised gaze goes from his face, to his chest, and back to the wall as they both turn a matching shade of red. Elissa whispers something in her ear, staring at him the entire time, her malicious grin not entirely hidden behind her hand.

"I will hex you. I'll find a way to turn you into a toad, I swear."

"You wouldn't. That would be proving Alistair right."

Cullen, unsurprisingly, loses quite badly. Elissa whistles sharply when he's forced to divest himself of his pants. Annwn can no longer look at him.

"I believe that's me out of the game for the night," he says. Cullen stands, using his discarded clothes to cover what he can of himself. He isn't as embarrassed as he thinks he should be. Not after telling his earlier story and remembering the equally embarrassing things he had to do himself. And the failing way Annwn pretends not to look at him between her fingers only bolsters his confidence.

That is, until Bull rumbles, "Why? You've still got one more piece to lose."

Elissa and Bull high five when Annwn begins to choke on her drink. "Okay, enough. Let him - "

Sera, quicker than he can react, snatches the clothes from his hands and flees the tavern. He nearly trips over his chair chasing her out. Light blinded, he can hardly see into the night. But he can hear Sera cackling and tripping over crates in the distance.

He won't be able to look his people in the face once this gets out.

It's a few minutes he spends stumbling through the dark, searching through crates and barrels, that a lone wisp comes to his rescue. The little mote lights the way and even directs him to his clothing, haphazardly stuffed into storage crates. Once he gets his shirt back on, it bobs up and down excitedly.

"Uh. Thank... you?"

It bobs up once and flies away, toward a woman walking in his direction. "A little spirit of curiosity. It thought it might be fun to help you search."

Annwn, with the little wisp in her palm, approaches, smiling. "Oh. Thank you. Did-did you leave the game just to come out here?"

"Actually, I lost after you did. I just found my clothes a lot sooner." She strokes the core of the wisp, and, like a cat, it leans into the touch.

He never thought he'd be jealous of a wisp, of all things. "Really?"

"You shouldn't have lost first, then you'd know." She takes his hand and walks with him back to his tower.

A quick drink is all it was supposed to be. They're to be leaving early in the morning for the ride out to Halamshiral. But when she puts her cup down on the edge of his desk and asks him why he didn't call her out for cheating all while worrying her bottom lip, he finds himself more interested in that than the time.

"Not that I minded the view after you lost, though."

He coughs. "Maker's breath, that's not how I wanted you to see... well."

She stands, leans forward with her hands on the arms of his chair, bracketing him between them. "Cullen," she breathes, and his heartbeat increases enough to make him lightheaded. "How did you want me to see?"

He doesn't know how he got them up to his loft, only that she's there beneath him, cheeks flush in the moonlight streaming in through the hole in the roof he doesn't know if he'll ever get patched after this. Not when it highlights the blue of her eyes, what little there is with her pupils blown wide as she stares up at him. She calls to him and he answers in the only way he knows how.

He's felt something like this before. Tainted and twisted, and every time he woke he felt sick with it, stomach roiling until he'd empty it on the bloody floor. Demons taking what little he had left, scraping his insides when he thought himself long empty, to find the scraps of his soul he'd hid away. And then the cycle would continue until she finally found him and saved him, and her reward was he barely thought she was human.

Cullen opens his eyes with a gasp and an empty bed beneath him. He buries his face into his pillow and thrusts forward in a desperate beg for friction. When he finishes, it's with a groan of relief and a sigh as the sky above him grows light behind the clouds.

He's exhausted, but it doesn't feel like the same bone-tired emptiness it used to be. The only sickness he feels in his stomach is from hunger, and the following headache doesn't pulse behind his eyes. It's a welcome change from the usual nightmares and their after effects.

Compared to those, the pit of vipers they're about to throw themselves into seems, at least, survivable.

-

Once they reach Halamshiral, Cullen doesn't see Annwn until the ball. Josephine has them stop in the High Quarter before heading into the Winter Palace proper, both for them to change into their formal wear and for him to begin moving his people into the Palace before the others arrive.

Sera, along with a Red Jenny contact within the city, helps to sneak most of his men into position to watch for any sign of Venatori. "No hard feelings, yeah?" She twirls an arrow between her fingers. "About your clothes and stuff. You found them eventually. Know that. Also saw you walking with Inky. So - maybe some Hard feelings."

"Have you seen anything yet?" he asks, ignoring her comment.

She blows a raspberry that he has to cover with a heavy cough when the nobles in the courtyard turn their way. "Been five minutes. Calm down, Cully-Wully."

"Sera, this is serious - "

She swings her feet from the branch she's perched in, narrowly missing the back of his head. "I got it, sheesh. Hey, Briala's the other one here, right? Ambassador or whatever." Another kick whiffs next to his ear. "Whatever. But there's a lot of elves moving around here. Too much purpose to just be serving people, yeah?"

"Keep an eye on it," he advises. One of Gaspard's men begins to move his way, and already he sees Josephine and Leliana heading into the vestibule.

"Sure, Cully. More fun than watching these snobs," she says and disappears into the tree just as the other soldier makes it to him.

"They're waiting for you inside, Ser."

He nods, pretends he doesn't notice the shadow crawling along the garden wall, and heads inside.

-

Cullen has just enough time to wonder what's taking Annwn and Elissa so long to enter before the Grand Duke swings open the ballroom door. Behind Gaspard is Elissa - beside Cullen, Alistair's breath catches - and then...

He understands now why Josephine and Leliana ensured he never saw her before the ball. Alistair nudges him and points, as if he hadn't been watching. As if his eyes weren't drawn to her the moment she entered the room.

He could be walking the gilded streets of Val Royeaux, its buildings adorned with golden statues of the prophet Andraste, and he would always notice her first.

"I believe our commander needs help picking his jaw off the floor," Josephine whispers behind him.

"Breathe," says Leliana.

He does, clearing his head in time to remember to greet her with a polite, "Inquisitor," when she passes by him on the stairs. And the back - his mouth goes dry and he prays to the Maker he makes it through tonight from that dress alone.

"Lady Inquisitor Annwn Leigh Amell, of the Ferelden Circle of Magi. Daughter of Lady Revka Amell of Kirkwall. Veteran of the Fifth Blight. Seneschal of Soldier’s Peak."

She steps down onto the floor and approaches the Empress with a grace he didn't know she possessed. Perhaps the nights away with the others were worth it. He can barely turn his gaze away from her to watch the balcony for any signs of a threat.

"Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, crusher of the vile apostates of the Mage Underground."

Her hand twitches. Alistair leans once more to him and says, "You saw that right?" The warden grins. "If we were anywhere else, he would have gotten a face full of fireball."

"Champion of the Blessed Andraste Herself."

She turns the twitch smoothly into a bow once she reaches the platform below Celene. From this distance, he can't hear their conversation, but something must have pleased the Empress because she smiles and waves her further into the party.

Elissa is announced next, and Alistair leaves his side to join her. Then he and the other advisors, followed by the remainder of Annwn's inner circle. Sera and Cole's names are absent, even though Cullen can see the boy wandering the vestibule.

When he reaches the top of the stairs after greeting the Empress, Annwn and Leliana are gone.

-

"You're telling me Morrigan's here? As Empress Celene's... occult advisor." Alistair and Elissa are not going to be happy. "Leliana, you have to start telling us these things sooner."

"I didn't suspect her until we arrived. Amell, she has powerful friends now. I'm not sure if we can still trust her."

Morrigan always hated when Elissa chose to help someone when she thought it was unnecessary, but to assassinate the Empress on behalf of an old Tevinter Magister? "I won't believe Morrigan would be subservient to Corypheus."

"Maybe not Corypheus, but perhaps she or one of her allies would benefit from Celene's death."

They still know nothing of what she could do with a child with the soul of an old god. If that child is even still alive and the soul not within her. But with the worry she came to her and Elissa with, when she suspected Flemeth would possess her... it doesn't add up. "Have you seen her at all tonight?"

"Not yet." Leliana smiles behind her mask, a less intricate version of Amell's own. "But with the entrance you and Elissa made, I don't doubt she'll find her way to us soon. Until then, all our leads point to the guest wing. Start there."

She finds Sera - or, rather, Sera finds her - and directs her up the trellis to the second floor. The presence of Alistair and Elissa in the courtyard provides enough distraction for Sera to scramble up without drawing attention. The nobles are too invested in their recent nuptials and why, oh why, didn't they have a grander party, and why wasn't this person and that invited.

Three ladies representing Empress Celene inform Amell that the Empress will support her once Gaspard is dealt with. Amell simply smiles and acknowledges the offer, promising nothing.

A low whistle sounds across the courtyard. Amell pretends not to notice, speaking in nonsense to Dorian, and watches Sera motion for her to meet her back in the vestibule.

"Well, she certainly got the fun part of the job, didn't she?" Dorian retrieves another glass of wine from a passing servant. "I suppose I'll be here, drinking the night away. I almost expect my mother to appear."

Amell laughs. "Don't drink too much or I'll just have Bull drag you out of here."

Dorian takes a too-long sip. "Do not tempt me."

-

Easy to find in the ballroom are Varric and Josephine, stood with the ambassador's younger sister and one of the members of the council of heralds. Leliana and Cassandra are with their own group of attendees. Vivienne stands on the other side of the ballroom, pointedly ignoring Cole who has been tasked with listening to Celene, Gaspard, and Briala. Solas trails behind her, playing the part well of the elven manservant he was so poorly announced as. But it works for him, apparently, moving through the crowd as invisible as their boy-spirit.

Everyone accounted for, except...

"Are you married, Commander?"

There, stuck in the middle of what she can only describe as a murder of nobles, is Cullen. Arms folded, creasing the formal suit in the way Josephine warned the rest of them not to, looking as unapproachable as he possibly can. Not that any of the nobles surrounding him seem to notice, or care.

"Rescue him," Solas says with a discrete touch to her arm to get her attention. "I will meet Sera."

Thankful, she nods, and watches him disappear into the ballroom.

"No, I'm not married."

"Oh, then are you single?" A woman reaches for him, and he flinches away from the contact. It doesn't stop her from trying again.

His roiling sea of admirers parts at her approach, with only a few hangers-on vying for his attention. He doesn't give it, relaxing by degrees the moment she comes to be next to him. Close, but never touching per decorum.

"Inquisitor." His is a sigh of relief. He turns his attention fully toward her, much to the annoyance of the woman that reached out. With a scorned huff, she storms away, leaving them alone as they can be in the crowded ballroom. "How are things going?"

"Sera might have found something. Solas went ahead to meet with her." She stops a passing servant with a polite excuse me and thank you as she retrieves a flute of wine from the tray. It's sweet on her tongue. "How are you? That was quite the crowd of admirers you had there."

Again, that defensive posture, but her hand on his arm brings them back down. "It's frustrating. I don't know where they're coming from."

Oh. He has no idea, does he? "You're handsome, of course." She very deliberately reaches past him to put her half-full wine flute on the table behind him. "Very distinguished titles. Is it any wonder?"

This close, she watches his eyes rove down her dress. He leans toward her before he stops himself. "Maker's breath, that dress," he sighs.

She curtsies, and his gaze follows the movement. "You can thank Josephine and Leliana. I'm beginning to like it, myself."

His voice drops an octave lower when he says, "As am I. You look... You are beautiful."

"Thank you." She turns away, conscious of how little her dress hides of her growing blush. "As for your admirers, I could always place a glyph beneath you. Make sure they don't get too close?"

Cullen laughs, still a little throaty. "Don't think I'm not considering it. I can bear it, however."

She wiggles her fingers. "If you're sure. They're already aware I'm a mage." How none of them were aware before, she has no idea. Denial, likely.

"No need to scandalize the court on my behalf, my lady."

My lady - Maker’s breath is right. Though, it’s too late for that, by the looks his former crowd is giving the both of them. "Save a dance for me, then? You do owe me one."

His face goes hard behind his mask. "No."

"Oh." She tries not to visibly deflate. "I'm sorry."

"No, I - " He tries to pinch the bridge of his nose, but the mask prevents it. "I'm sorry, I've been denying requests all night, I'm doing it automatically. If-if there's time, maybe."

"If there's time. I should go find Sera and Solas - "

He takes her hand, brings her knuckles to his lips. "Please be safe."

Before she leaves the ballroom, she whispers in Leliana's ear, "Look after him for me?"

"Jealous, Amell?"

Amell eyes the lords and ladies slowly creeping closer in her absence. "I wish that was all it was."

-

From Solas, she receives a handful of missives. Some scandalous secrets, others negotiations between Gaspard and Celene. Servant movements to Briala. A letter to Morrigan. Blood on the marble floors, and all anyone can say about it is someone else isn't playing the Game very well.

Shoes click down the stairs above them. The first bell chimes, beckoning them all to the ballroom. "Take these to Leliana. She needs to see them."

Solas bows and departs, and Amell can't help notice he seems to be enjoying himself more than she thought he would.

"Must I always catch you snooping around places you don't belong?" Amell looks up at the stairs to see Morrigan descend. She hasn't bothered with a mask, herself, but her dress mirrors the Empress's. "It's good to see a familiar face here, Annwn."

Amell takes her hand and leads her the rest of the way down the stairs. "If it was somewhere I didn't belong, I wouldn't be there, now would I?" She squeezes her hand before releasing it. "I'm afraid I might be the only friendly face here."

A sadness crosses her golden eyes. All of them became close over the course of the Blight, but Morrigan's deal was a shock. And a profound betrayal. The wedge between her and Elissa paling in comparison to the valley now between Elissa and Morrigan.

"I understand. Know my duty is to protect the Empress, just as it is yours. And take this." She presses a key into her palm. "I cannot leave Celene's side, but it seems you have people enough to investigate."

Another bell chimes.

"Enjoy your dance, Inquisitor. Grand Duchess Florianne has been waiting for you all night."

-

Amell survives the dance, just barely. She only stutters near the end when Florianne suddenly switches to lead. But she learns that Florianne suspects her brother of planning something, and that Amell doesn't trust Florianne at all.

Lelianna suggests perhaps they should let the assassination take place. That all Orlais needs is a leader to subvert that dark future, and as long as that leader is willing to lend them troops, does it matter if it's Celene or Gaspard? It does, because Amell won't stand idly by and let someone die.

Bull, Sera, Solas, Dorian, Vivienne, as well as the new Cousland-Theirins meet her at the entrance to the servants' quarters. Vivienne helps Amell out of her dress, and Dorian carefully strips Elissa of hers, to be even more carefully stashed away once they're back inside the Palace.

"Could you guys, I don't know, turn around... or something?" Alistair whines as he not so subtly steps in when Dorian tries to help Elissa with her armor.

"Alistair, I've seen you both in your undergarments before," Amell reminds him. Though all three of them were mottled with bruises and near-broken bones from torture. Still. Solas clasps the last buckle on her breastplate before she turns and helps him with his. "We don't have time for modesty right now."

"Yeah, but - " he pouts. Quieter, "It's not you I'm worried about."

-

The emissary to the council of heralds lies dead in the garden, blood pooling in the grass and a dagger sticking out of his back. The fountain next to him runs red, a servant caught in the crossfire floating face down in the water.

"Gaspard isn't dumb enough to leave his weapon right here to implicate him, right?" Elissa turns the dagger over to reveal the Chalons crest. "That would be too easy. Who tipped you off?"

Amell sighs. "You aren't going to believe me."

"If you say Gaspard, I might just. It's ridiculously Orlesian enough." Alistair grins.

The Venatori sneaking through the gardens are unorganized. Uncoordinated compared to the three that once spent a year straight fighting assassins and worse. It makes talking while they chase a masked harlequin through the gardens easy.

"It was Morrigan. She's an advisor to Celene."

Alistair strings together a colorful series of curses he could have only learned from Oghren. Elissa gets that same sad look in her eyes before calming Alistair. "We'll deal with it later," she says, though Amell knows there's more on her mind.

It's with brutal efficiency that they cut down the remaining Venatori. When Briala arrives the assassin is already dead and she points the finger once more to Gaspard.

They don't bother returning to the ballroom. Briala already knows they're moving about the Palace, and Florianne already told her about the royal wing. It's their last place to check.

-

"I found these." Cole holds up an armful of decorative halla statues. "They missed their herd. I wanted to bring them back together."

They place them in little nooks around a locked door and find more blackmail in the form of one of Gaspard's men tied spread eagle on a bed.

"That's too good," Sera snickers. "Idiot."

"He didn't want to be tied up, so why...?" Elissa covers Cole's eyes while Sera works on the man's bindings. "He would say yes if you asked."

She looks to Alistair. "I'm not going to."

He sighs with relief. "Oh, good."

Amell groans. "This is far more than I need to know about the two of you."

"C'mon, boss. It's all good fun."

Cole turns to her, his head shifting under Elissa's hand. "He wouldn't like it."

"I know!"

-

They follow the sound of a man yelling further into the royal quarters and the Jardin de Rêverie. Through a door, a man in a mercenary’s outfit tied to a pillar, and a dozen archers all with their arrows pointed toward the party. On the upper balcony, Grand Duchess Florianne walks out to greet them.

“I had no idea if you’d taken my bait. The others in your Inquisition hid your absence well, but I have been watching.��

Solas takes one step toward her. A Venatori draws his arrow back in warning. It’s close enough. “Do you see it?” he whispers in her ear. A weakening in the Veil, a precursor to a rift, shimmers in the air between them all. None but he and Amell seem to notice it. She nods, slightly. “The chaos could be what we need.”

“You made it too easy to place the blame on your brother. What’s your game here?” The Anchor sparks in her palm. Amell makes a subtle gesture to Elissa - be ready.

“Celene’s death is a stepping stone on a path to a better world.” She grandstands up on the balcony, spreading her arms wide. “You have no idea what Samson and Calpernia have planned, do you? Poor you, if only you could be there to see it.” Florianne snaps her fingers, and the other archers pull back their bows. “I keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike, and Corypheus gives me the world.” She turns, takes two steps away from the balcony, and snaps again. “Kill them.”

“Now!”

Chaos erupts in a quick flick of her wrist. There’s a scream - pain, rage - then more as demons tear through the Venatori archers. From her place where she threw herself down to the ground, Amell spares a second to think, in horror: I did this. I summoned demons into the world.

Solas pulls her up to her feet in time for her to see Elissa rip an arrow from her shoulder. Alistair goes to his wife, but Elissa waves him off and continues to fire arrow after arrow at the demons. The Venatori are dead, body parts scattered across the grass and blood splattered on the white marble pillars. The demons finally defeated, she closes the rift just as easily as it opened.

The mercenary promises to testify against Gaspard if necessary, and, with the elven servant she sent to Cullen for safety, it leaves them with enough evidence to implicate everyone in tonight’s attack. “Politics,” Solas says, almost to himself, with something like a fond smile.

Amell presses a healing spell into Elissa’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“She ripped it out of her shoulder!” Alistair’s pitch rises high enough for his voice to break. “Right out of her shoulder. Did you see it? She was…”

In that moment, she understands Loghain all too well. Amell rolls her eyes. “Can you please let me heal her before you forget yourselves again?” He restrains himself for a whole thirty seconds, enough for her to heal most of the damage, before she considers them a lost cause.

“Come,” Solas holds out his hand and once more helps her to her feet. “Sera and The Iron Bull have cleared the way forward. Now, all that is left is to save the Empress.”

There’s something in the way Cole stares at Solas and Solas at her. “You’ve been… comfortable here.”

He drops her hand and walks forward, hands behind his back. “I have seen many of these events in the Fade. It has simply been interesting to experience one myself.”

-

In her dress once more, hair only slightly tousled, Amell walks full into the ballroom and stands just long enough for Florianne to notice her entrance. Against the white powder of her makeup, Florianne goes ghostly white.

“You’re safe,” Cullen breathes, approaching her at a jog. “I - you were gone so long.” He looks to Elissa nursing her arm and Alistair hovering around her protectively. “What happened?”

“It’s Florianne. She’s the assassin.”

“What? The Empress is beginning her speech soon. What do you want us to do?”

Amell takes a steadying breath. Just one last thing, and then it’s over. “Be ready. I’m going to have a word with the Grand Duchess.”

“There’s no time!”

She turns to him with a tired smile. “Trust me."

[jacklyn-flynn]

I'm so excited to be posting the first of the three prizes from my mini-giveaway! This one is for @noire-pandora and it features her Warden, Arissa. This was the HDJ she picked:

Alistair starts writing a journal when he realizes he’s falling in love with the Warden. It chronicles both his feelings for them and the events going on during the Blight. He puts in it his fears and aspirations, his dreams of them and their life together. How beautiful they look when they’re sleeping or laughing and how he feels about being intimate with them. Sketches and poems. Whatever comes to mind about them when he opens the journal that day. He gives it to them on their wedding day.

FAIR WARNING: I cried writing this. Twice. And once when I was planning it out in my head falling asleep one night.

TW: Death

Alistair settled onto the soft grass, leaning back against the cool stone that shaded him from the summer sun. “Good morning, my love.” He untied the bindings of a worn leather journal and opened it to a random page. Smiling fondly, his fingers traced over a drawing. It was a rough sketch of his beautiful Arissa sitting on a log next to a fire, though the upper torso and face had far more detail than the rest.

“Mmm, I like this one,” he said conversationally, bringing his knees up to prop up the journal on them so it could be viewed over his shoulder.

“I caught you staring at me today. I didn’t give away that I knew though because I was afraid you would stop doing it. I love it when I’m the only thing those stormy-sea blue eyes care about.” He sighed softly, running a finger along a jagged edge where a page was missing.

“I tried to draw them once, but I hated it and tore the page out so you wouldn’t laugh at me. Now I wish I’d kept it.” He turned the page and pushed the regret to the back of his mind with all the others.

He laughed aloud when he found the specific entry he was looking for. “Andraste’s toenail clippings, look at how shaky my hand was when I wrote this. I was so nervous. Which was silly I suppose. Maybe I was just worried that you wouldn’t want to sleep with me again.”

“I can’t believe it happened. With you!” he read aloud, “You’re so beautiful and I never dreamed you would pick me. To share our first time together. You were so perfect like I knew you would be. Like you always are. Nothing else mattered. Just you. Darkspawn could have overtaken our camp and I never would have noticed. The only thing I wanted to do was make you happy.”

Alistair shifted positions, crossing his legs in front of him. “All these years later and that’s still the only thing I want in the world. To make you happy, Arissa.” He looked up at her face over his shoulder, smiling at just the sight of her. “To return even a tenth of what you’ve brought me.”

Flipping to another random page, he opened the journal wide. He read the first line on the page silently, skimming the contents of the entry. “I think this one is my favorite,” he declared, cheeks flushing as the memory came rushing back to him. He cleared his throat before reading it aloud.

“My dearest Alistair, I promise I didn’t read anything! I just found the next blank page in your journal. If you want something to write about in your next entry come and find me in that spot you showed me when we got here…”

A shiver ran down his back. It was the exact sensation that he’d gotten the first time he’d read it and every time after that. They’d just arrived at Eamon’s and he’d given her a quick tour of the place where he’d spent his early childhood. At least, those areas he’d been allowed to enter. Before he continued reading what he’d written below her words, he took a moment to admire her handwriting. The only piece of it he knew existed. Her letters were fairly tight together but long and flowing with beautiful curves and flourished angles. Made to be able to fit tight notes in the margins of books.

“I don’t even know what to write, Arissa. Seeing you waiting for me in that beautiful black dress (if it could be called that) with your raven hair free and that nervousness in your glorious green eyes….it was as if all of those missed named days and Satinalia’s had come together in one perfect moment for a single present that I will cherish forever.”

“The best part was watching you relax when I told you how beautiful you were. It made my heart sing to realize that you believed me when I said it. How you went from nervous and shy to that uninhibited and enthusiastic lover I’ve come to know. You are, without a doubt, the best thing to ever happen to me. You had no idea this journal was for you when you wrote in it, but I definitely want you to know exactly what I thought about it…”

Alistair flipped a few pages over, chuckling. “Sweet Andraste’s belly button lint. I went on for three pages? I wonder how long it took me to write it. Probably a lot longer than it felt. I wrote everything that happened that night.” He paused, eyes skimming over a few sentences in the middle. “In great detail, Zevran would be impressed.”

He thumbed through the remaining pages until he was looking at the inside of the back cover. In Denerim he’d sewn in a small leather pocket. He carefully untied the waxed cord and pulled out the delicate ring wrapped in silk from inside the crude pouch.

Alistair’s vision blurred and he crushed his palm against his left eye, wiping away his tears before brushing roughly at the other eye with the sleeve of his tunic.

“The only thing that I regret was not asking you. I told myself I wanted to until it was all over but really I was afraid you’d say no. Maker, that was so stupid! Sometimes I wish I had been the one to do it, to become the Hero of Ferelden. How selfish is that? Not for the title, but so that you’d be alive. And yet, I am relieved I didn’t. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. This…emptiness. I would rather have you than a martyr but I would also rather carry this burden so that you can rest in the peace you deserve.”

“I almost didn’t come here to leave these for you. I feel like they’re all I have left of you but they were always for you. One to ask you to marry me, the other for the day you did. So you could see how I felt about you from the moment I knew I would marry you. I just never got the chance to give either of them to you.” Closing the journal and clutching the ring tightly in his palm, he stood and looked up at the white granite monument of the Hero of Ferelden.

“I wished they’d made a statue of you smiling. It was so rare that you did it and I’m afraid the world will forget how beautiful it was. But, Leliana said that your smile was a gift to the people you loved most and that all of us who were graced with it will keep that memory. I guess she was right. Every time I close my eyes and think of you, which is every time I close them, I see that smile.”

He knelt in front of the epitaph at the base of her monument and set down the journal, placing the ring on top. He pulled a cord from around his neck over his head and slipped the key into a hidden slot in the “I” of Arissa. Once it was turned, he pressed the “O” in Hero. With a small click, a lip popped out of the base. He slid his fingers into the gap and gave it a quick tug to pull out the small hidden drawer.

Placing the journal into it next to a dried rose, he laid the ring on top after a few moments of hesitation. With a sigh, he pushed the hidden drawer closed until it locked into place and the “O” popped back out. He withdrew the key and slipped the cord over his neck again before tucking it under his shirt.

Stepping down, he backed up to get a good look at her. “I’ll see you again,” he promised, struggling to talk past the lump in his throat, “should the Maker allow me to get close enough to your hallowed countenance at your place by His side.”

“Until then, I’ll see you in my dreams at night and do my best to make you proud when I am awake. To do as much as I can with the life your sacrifice has granted me and the people of Ferelden. I lo-” his voice caught and he had to take a moment to compose himself.

“I love you, Arissa.” He got the words out on his second try though they were barely more than a whisper. “I’ll see you soon enough.”

[kitweewoos]

Not everything is sunshine and rainbows; sometimes it just sucks. Fitzdaisy

We love moments of intimacy in this house!

16. Not everything is sunshine and rainbows; sometimes it just sucks.

Fitz dropped onto the bed with a groan and then fell backwards onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. 

"What's wrong?" Daisy asked from where she was taking off her rings and jewelry at the dresser, setting them down in the jewelry box one by one. She'd already kicked off her heels, and let her hair down. 

Fitz only groaned in response.

"Leo, you gotta use your words, babe," she replied. 

"I should be really happy," Fitz said. "Today should be great. We got to see our friends, you're wearing that dress, and we had a really nice day, but there's just this, this cloud."

Daisy walked over and sat on the bed next to him.

"Yeah," she said. "I know."

"I'm sorry," he said, sitting up and rubbing at his forehead. He felt foolish enough as it was, he didn't need to add dumping this weight on her too. "I'm fine. Everything's fine."

"Yeah, that's definitely a lie, baby."

"I'll get over it."

"You don't have to."

"What?"

"You don't have to get over it, Leo. You can be sad and burdened and storm cloud-y. I'm here to pick up that weight."

"I shouldn't."

"Why not? Is this - is this a Dad thing?"

He couldn't make himself respond.

"Well, let's try something else other than talking. Let's get your mind off it. Can you undo my dress?"

Fitz watched her turn around and lift her hair to expose the smooth skin of her back. He trailed his fingers from the clasp at her neck down her spine to the zipper at her midback. She let out a sigh and peeked over her shoulder at him.

"Fitz?"

He moved his hands back up to her neck and started on the clasp there, and then he started talking, unable to stop himself.

"A lot of things come down to, to my dad. When I was a kid, he used to say I was a stupid and worthless and if I wanted to exceed expectations, I had to be better. Whenever I have a bad run at work, or on a project, it keeps coming back to him.” 

The clasp came undone and he let the halter of her dress go. She let out a quiet breath, as he leaned in to kiss her neck where it was left bare. 

“I feel like a failure if I don’t produce something, and I haven’t been producing anything in the last few weeks. I keep running into walls, and it’s been really tough. And, I thought I could relax tonight with you, but I can’t because sometimes I’m sure my dad was right.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Daisy said. 

He lowered his hands to her zipper, undoing the little hook above the zipper first, and then started on the zipper. 

“Your dad was a dick. He wasn’t right about anything in his life. You shouldn’t feel bad about having some off weeks sometimes, because we all go through it. You were there for me when I was stuck at a wall with that code for weeks, and when I got frustrated, you didn’t tell me that I was worthless for not figuring it out.”

“Of course not.”

“Of course not,” she echoed, “because you are a decent, loving man who I adore so much, Leo. You’re good to everyone, except yourself. You should be softer than you are to yourself. Not everything is sunshine and rainbows; sometimes it just sucks. You have to give yourself leeway when things aren’t great, and you’ll get back on your feet faster if you let yourself relax and recoup than if you’re harsh on yourself.”

She stood up and the dress tumbled to the ground, pooling around her bare feet. 

“I know it’s easier to beat yourself up, especially with the way Alistair raised you,” she continued, leaving the dress on the floor as she turned around to face him finally. She pushed at his chest and he scooted back, letting her sink down into his lap, and wrapping him in a comforting hug. “Why don’t we do nothing tomorrow? How does that sound? We can lay in bed, and talk, and order some take-out, and watch some bad horror movies. Do you want to do that?”

He sighed and rested his forehead against her chest, feeling her breath and hearing her heartbeat so close to him. She delicately ran her hands through his hair, a soothing motion over and over, and he finally said, “yeah. That sounds great. That sounds really great.”

[even more dialogue prompts]

[saltlordofold]

I have too much work to be doing this but i couldn’t resist this lovely little prompt from the “non-sexual forms of intimacy” prompt list. Thank you so much @mhandersmyheart !!

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

Pairing: Zevran/Alistair/m!warden

Genre : Romance, Modern Au

Rating : G

Warnings : none

Words : 867

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

There was a dainty bounce to Mimo's step, there had always been. Ever since she had been capable of walking, the smaller Mab' had done so with her back held straight, her nose raised high, and that darling up-and-down bob to her trotting gait. As a result it seemed that everywhere she went, she did so strutting, and that day on the banks of the Drakon was no exception.

Dog's pace was heavier, slower, closer to a sway. Sure, he was older, but it couldn't more clearly have been a question of temperament rather than of fatigue: as far as Aedan remembered, he had told Alistair, Dog had not been the kind to prance.

It came as no surprise, then, how funny it was to see them walking side by side. Mimo's head was like a wind-vane, always swirling around to catch new scents and sights, while Dog's gaze diligently stared straight ahead, like that of a parading officer. They looked like an aloof teenager and his exuberant little sister, and they were adorable.

“So I ask her, “what have you put down in that report?””Aedan was saying, while Alistair still silently smiled at the mismatched pair ahead of them, “And she – I swear I'm not taking the piss – she says, “well, exactly what I've just told you, Senior Warden: that the whole thing was a right proper cock-up.””

How good it felt to just laugh together.

“Can't wait for Duncan to read that one,” Alistair said, and Aedan's fit only worsened at that.

“I am begging you,” he said, “call me when it happens. I need to be there.”

Always eager to be in on the joke, Mimo turned a curious head their way. The high sun made the lighter spots of her coat look sparking white, and she narrowed her eyes to the light summer breeze, nose twitching at the many smells of riverside it carried. When Aedan, still stifling a chuckle, leaned into him with a happy sigh, Alistair welcomed the touch gladly. Their fingers intertwined as Aedan wrapped his arm under Alistair's, hands resting together on top of his forearm. Shoulder to shoulder, skin against skin, sharing space in that warm, sunny day. After all those years of having known each other, Alistair probably should have stopped getting emotional over something so simple, but it didn't seem like that was going to happen anytime soon.

Exactly one thing in all of Thedas could make breaking the touch up acceptable, right then, and it just so happened that he was there with them.

“Look at this.”

A phone, first, beautiful ringed hands holding it, then an elegant up-do of blonde hair appeared in their vision, as Zevran leaned forward between them.

“You guys are just the cutest,” he declared, painted nail tapping the screen to show them the picture he'd just taken.

As Aedan took the phone Zevran handed him, the elf hooked his arms under both of theirs, squinting at the sun with a satisfied smile. His eyes never looked more golden than in direct sun-light, so it was no surprise to Alistair when he caught himself staring. Zev's skin was cooler than Aedan's, and while on his way down to peek at the screen, Alistair couldn't resist the urge to stamp a kiss on that fresh temple.

The lighting in the picture was stark, the colors bright: green of the poplar trees, brown of Dog's coat, white of Alistair's t-shirt and Milo's fur, blue of the sky and of Aedan's jeans. With nothing but a thin cotton shirt to conceal it, Aedan's back still had that ever-so-light right-way crane to it, but even Alistair could barely notice it. There was way too much else to look at, really.

“You are so beautiful when you laugh,” Alistair said to Aedan, and the man wiggled his brows at him, never one for bashfulness.

“Right back at you, love.”

Zevran let out a satisfied little hum.

“Very handsome, yes,” he nodded, “Another great snap from yours truly.”

Still using his fingers to zoom in the frame, Aedan stopped, letting out a short laugh.

“Maker, Al’,” he said, “Your back looks twice mine.”

“Not twice,” Alistair protested.

“Barely short of, then.”

“You love it,”  Zevran said, very matter-of-factly.

“You know I do,” Aedan agreed.

There was already no room left for Alistair to dwell on how absurdly triangular he found his own shape to look. It was all light-hearted talk, from then on, boyish giggles, bumping shoulders, lingering touches. Zevran's hand on his arm looked prettier to Alistair than any song-bird perched on any tree-branch. He loved the weight of it, the elegant shape, the surprising toughness of the skin on the underside. Zevran was smiling at something Aedan had said, so Alistair could feel that hand at his leisure, cup it, drag his thumb across each and every little scar criss-crossing its surface.

Dog shook his head, short ears flapping with a sound that caused Mimo to turn and look at him with curiosity. The air was warm, the breeze steady, and Alistair let himself shamelessly indulge in the simple pleasure of walking arm in arm with the loves of his life.