#all at once is just far too many lavellans

[shivunin]

🙤 Unusual OC Associations 🙧

(this is not just an excuse to show off this lovely bust by @star--nymph but it is a nice side benefit since we're here)

Emmaera Lavellan

Seasoning: Green Goddess seasoning; herby with a slight tang

Weather: Slightly overcast, but in the puffy white cloud way that makes for a perfect picnic

Colour: The last green of spring in the deep forest, when the logs are covered in soft moss and the plants are growing strong. The soft purple of lavender fields, fragrant and sweet. 

Sky: Violet sunsets over low-hanging clouds

Magic power: The junction between abstract and physical; magic that reminds wounds to be whole again, but also manifests stone from thin air. 

House plant: One of those little counter herb gardens, both practical and beautiful. 

Weapon: A staff that is more iteration than object; it is tested for its strengths and weaknesses, appreciated for its skill, and passed respectfully on in favor of a finer-tuned version. 

Subject: Archaeology. The junction of abstract history and physical remnants, reconstructing what must have been based on the evidence of what was. 

Social media: Tumblr; she runs a history blog and meticulously sources all of her images and facts. She has seven followers and refers to them all by name. 

Make-up product: Sunscreen. Above all else, Emma is practical.

Candy: Baklava. Time-consuming and meticulously layered, but infinitely worth the final result. 

Fear: Being abandoned/disappearing. Never recovered from her father disappearing through an eluvian when she was a child; she fears being left the same way again and also disappearing without a trace in equal measure. The worst thing, for Emma, would be for something to happen to her and leave no evidence of any kind, so nobody ever knows what became of her. 

Ice cube shape: Ice cubes with mint and honeydew melon frozen in them, to flavor your water as they melt

Method of long distance travel: By foot, so she can collect herbs as they go

Art style: Art deco; neat, geometric, and angular, but still mimicking the shapes of nature

Mythological creature: The Brazen Head, a semi-oracular automaton/animated statue that could answer any question put to it, but only with yes or no answers

Piece of stationery: A neatly trimmed and smooth piece of parchment intended for letters

3 emojis: 🧐 💐 🧳

Celestial body: Jupiter; beautiful and complex from a distance, but has the greatest gravitational pull of all the planets. 

Tarot Card: Strength; representative of all kinds of strength—not just physical, but mental and emotional in harmonious balance

Again, if anyone would like to be tagged in this lmk, and otherwise consider this an open tag :)

[dalishious]

My Five Biggest Fears for Dragon Age: Dreadwolf

Dragon Age: Dreadwolf is highly anticipated by BioWare fans. At one point, I would consider myself to be excited for it too, however, unfortunately the long wait with zero information about the game has only wrecked my personal anticipation. Will my hype return once we actually start to get some regular news about the game? Most likely. But until that time comes, all I find myself doing is just… worrying.

These are the five biggest things I worry about.

5. Big, beautiful maps of nothing

In both Dragon Age: Inquisition and Mass Effect: Andromeda, most of the open world maps are very… empty. Instead of creating an adventurous feeling of excitement to explore, it just makes travelling those maps a tedious task. Games like The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim or the new Baldur’s Gate 3 have open maps too, but those developers actually made use of their space with level designs. Skyrim is full of caves, ruins, etc. content to stumble upon. So is BG3, as well as introducing new dynamics to a fight depending on which direction you approach the encounter from. These games prove an understanding of how to best equip an open world concept that BioWare has only executed in a few maps across both their most recent RPGs. I do not want to see Dragon Age: Dreadwolf be yet another case of luscious forests where developers spent far too much time making look visually beautiful, and not enough time actually filling with game content.

4. Shoddy attempts at retcon

For those of you who don’t know what “retcon” means, it is short for “retroactive continuity”, and refers to the phenomenon of fiction introducing new information that is inconsistent with past information. The purpose is to revise old material. Dragon Age: Inquisition had more than one attempts at retcon that were terribly executed. For example, the player is told not once, not twice, but three different times—as if repeating it enough will erase all the extensive lore up to that point saying otherwise—that the Dalish get rid of their mages if they have “too many”. This is despite the previous games and extended materials showing that the Dalish practically revere their mages.

Now, not all retcons are bad. For example, in Marvel Comics, the superhero Karma’s real name was recently retconned to be Xuân Cao Mạnh, a real Vietnamese name, after spending years and years with the made-up Vietnamese name, Xi'an Coy Man. This is an example of how retons can be used for a good purpose, like fixing a long-lasting mistake. But what exactly is the mistake in saying the Dalish are good people who don’t hate mages like most of Thedas? That was just a cheap, transparent excuse to villainize both elves and mages further.

Cheap, transparent excuses like that make me lose faith in BioWare’s writing. It concerns me with what other lore they view as needing “correcting” in order to reinforce their idea of Grey Morality™ where it doesn’t belong.

3. Imposter characters

One of the biggest grievances I had with Dragon Age: Inquisition, was how the Hawke written in that game was in no way the same Hawke I played in Dragon Age II. I understand that it would be impossible to capture the exact customized character, but the Hawke in DA:I was placed into the game with an anti-blood magic agenda, and wouldn’t shut up about it. This is hilarious, considering how many players chose to make their Hawke a blood mage personally!

With this in mind, I am terrified that my Inquisitor, who will very likely make an appearance in Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, will be used for whatever new agenda needs to be pushed. I better not hear a single anti-Dalish comment from my Lavellan, is all I’m saying.

2. Whitewashing ahoy

For all the talk about #diversity values, BioWare has a very extensive criminal record when it comes to whitewashing their own characters. Almost every single one of their most prominent visibly non-white characters have had their skin lightened or completely washed out, as well as ethnic features erased, at some point or another. This is why I cannot share any excitement or desire for existing characters to make a return; the fear that we’ll have to see Zevran next looking like Chris Hemsworth next haunts me too much.

But this particular fear runs even deeper than individual characters. Why? Because we know that Dragon Age: Dreadwolf will be taking place in northern Thedas, which up to this point has been consistently depicted as having largely non-white demographics. I’m not saying there are no white people in Tevinter, Antiva, etc., but I am saying that if I see the same mix of 80% pale tones and 20% “everyone else” we’ve gotten from the last three games, I will absolutely flip shit. White characters should be in the minority for a change. Otherwise, what is the point of shifting focus away from the dominantly white countries in the first place?

1. This will end of the Dragon Age franchise

Is this the most likely to happen of all fears? No; it is probably the least. But after the pathetic failure that was Anthem and the lacklustre response to Mass Effect: Andromeda, I would not be surprised if BioWare is on thin ice in EA’s eyes. (Which is ironic, considering the demands made by EA to chase after multiplayer fads and micro-transactions are what got BioWare into such a mess in the first place.) Electronic Arts is a garbage company run by garbage people. That much has been proven time and again. The executives behind BioWare itself aren’t clean, either. Unfortunately it will be average employee that suffers the most punishment and blame if the game does not meet the likely very high standards set out for it. In some ways, they are almost set up to fail.

It’s not fair, and there’s not we can really do about it, because the gaming industry is run by selfish idiots. It’s because of this that if events come to pass that the Dragon Age franchise was put “on hold indefinitely” so BioWare can work on clunking out an Anthem sequel, I would be very upset, but not very surprised.

-----

Times are really tough for me, and all my patron supporters are greatly appreciated! If you like my work, please consider becoming one yourself, and I'll be forever grateful!

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

WIP Wednesday

I'm still trundling along over here... my biggest project right now is the Hermit embroidery. Which I have been avoiding by doing all the other, smaller pieces I've posted lately, because I put WAY too many annoying tiny sections in this pattern 😭

Luckily last night I finally finished those two loopy blue sections , which I started like a month ago. Honestly I regret my shading/color selection here a bit in several ways, but it's too much to redo (and I'd rather die probably) so I will just stick it out. I don't think it will look BAD but not perfect. Oh well. Once the rest of the colors and thread are in it will look better, though it'll probably be another 30-40 hours of stitching even though what's left will hopefully be a lot faster.

I don't think I've posted any WIPs of this yet in part because I tried a different spray adhesive to attach the stabilizer to the back, and it left these gross looking dark spots on the front of the fabric. They won't be visible when it's done or anything but it annoys me greatly to look at them as I stitch. I'm so sorry ProStick Textile Spray Adhesive I will never forsake you again in favor of another 😭

Second thing I'm working on/avoided all my real work to hyperfixate on today, is I wanted to join in that flower-face trend... i thought since the original inspo image had the kintsugi-esque look plus cracked off parts it'd work really well translated to my stained glass images hahaha. I vectorize'd my Lavellan's whole face from a screenshot (so I can have an intact stained glass portrait of her too), and my intent once I've colored/textured/etc it to look like glass, go in and draw on top to look like it was broken/fell down/has plants growing through it now. I do very much suspect my artistic vision FAR exceeds my actual artistic talent here but yknow whatever, i'll see how far i get.

(Jacinth's screenshot was taken by the wonderful @i-a-w-v ♥︎)

[thedinanshiral]

Meet my Inquisitor(s)

While i wait for a release date, editions details, just anything really..i decided to talk about my beloved Lavellan(s).

I did this really fun thing where i just took what Thedas had to offer and played with it, so i made Lavellan twins and made them both the Inquisitor but in different timelines.

First there's Gallia Lavellan, First of her clan, sent to spy on the Conclave who becomes the Inquisitor, romances Solas, becomes best friends with Dorian, and decides to disband the Inquisition after the Exalted Council to save the love of her life.

But in a different timeline the Keeper of their clan decided not to endanger their First and only other mage and sent a hunter instead, and that hunter was the First's twin brother, Adrienn. The events unfold as they were meant to and Adrienn becomes Inquisitor, romances Dorian, becomes friends with almost everyone and also disbands the Inquisition to save his friend from himself.

Now, they both have a life outside of the events of the game when the other is Inquisitor.

When Gallia is Inquisitor her clan survives the attack in Wycome, but life in the dalish clan always felt too small to her brother Adrienn and soon after, inspired by their close encounter with annhilation, he decided to go out and see the world, to live his life to the fullest. His journey took him many places but he ended up settling in Rivain for a while where he decided to join the Lords of Fortune and try to make a name for himself.

When Adrienn is Inquisitor a few unfortunate choices at the war table end in the destruction of Clan Lavellan, with very few survivors eventually rescued and taken in by Adrienn. His sister was fortunately away at the time making deals with another clan in the region. With what little remained of their people under Adrienn's protection and having learned what he shared with her of certain revelations about their people she decided to go on a journey of her own, to find more of their true but lost history. This journey takes her north, to Arlathan Forest, where eventually she joins the Veil Jumpers to explore the ancient elvhen ruins and uncover all their secrets.

At some point along the way both twins in their respective timelines changed their names and identity to both protect their sibling and themselves; what the Inquisition's enemies could do with the knwoledge that the Inquisitor had a twin, or how their personal life choices could affect the other's reputation was something neither wanted to find out.

And so time passed until Solas was finally located, and a new group of brave people was formed to stop him, the Veilguard. While the Inquisition was no more, the connections and reputation the Inquisitor amassed throughout the Inquisition years and beyond was considerable, and so when Varric and Scout Harding went on to search for people Solas wouldn't know, the Inquisitor had at least one person to recommend for the task: their twin.

I designed them based on Abelas, i wanted them to be somewhat closer to what ancient elves looked like (as far as we knew back then) and he was the only reference. Both have the Mythal vallaslin mainly because it's my favourite but Adrienn has the full version while Gallia has a partial one. As Inquisitor however she gets it erased by Solas once she learns vallaslin are slave markings. Her commitment to knowledge, truth and their true heritage is one of the things that make her her, no matter what path she ends up taking.

If it's possible to romance Solas as Rook in a worldstate where Solavellan never happened, i intend to make use of the twins' alternate timelines so former Inquisitor Adrienn asks his sister "Rook" join the Veilguard ..where she'll meet Solas, and the inevitability of their fate manifests once again, as this would be another world.

They're both good and just, but Gallia is definitely the scholarly type and certainly more polite, but not so warm after certain events in her life. Meanwhile Adrienn is definitly more chatty, on occassions shameless, one could argue more fun to be around and more inclined toward earthly pleasures. Being twins and looking alike didn't mean they had the same upbringing; once Gallia's magic manifested they were led through very different paths, with Adrienn learning to hunt and track, being told his duty was to provide for the clan and protect it, as he spent most of his time amongst their people, while Gallia had to spend hers in lectures from their Keeper, reading scrolls and books, learning how to control her magic, oftentimes in solitude mastering her powers and discipline, and with the weight of their clan's leadership on her shoulders from too early an age, the voice of their Keeper always echoing in her mind, "you will become Keeper one day, you must be ready".

As is the case for many of us, i'm quite attached to my Inquisitor. Gallia is my canon Inquisitor, she's about 37 or 38 years old by now, and she let her hair grow longer than ever and often wears braided to the side. I hope the new CC in The Veilguard allows for something like that.

[spicywarl0ck]

Happy Friday! “Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you.” for whichever pairing you feel like writing ✨

Happy Friday <3 I managed to finish this one too. Thank you for giving it to me, I enjoyed it a lot x3 @dadrunkwriting Pairing: Dorian/male Lavellan Length: 709 Rating:G

He got asked to dance by many tonight, each of their faces exchanged by another before he could even memorise them. 

Revassan did his best to follow the steps, but both the boots and the unfamiliarity of the dance had him stumbling more than once. He apologised to Josephine in his head, knowing she had tried her best to instruct him on Orlesian court dances, but they were just so different from the Dalish dances.

His surroundings swam out of view before it fell back into place, yet only for a second before he got whisked away by another charming man or woman. It was tiresome.

“I’m sorry, but I need to catch my breath for a second.” He addressed the next guest politely, or at least so he hoped, before he dashed to the balcony. The fresh rush of evening air against his skin and a glass of wine was what he needed most right now. 

But it turned out he wasn’t alone.

Dorian Pavus was leaning over the railing, holding a glass of wine. His moustache twitched when he regarded the elf briefly, and there was a gleam in his eyes that Revassan didn’t recognise.

“Done with the dancing?” The Tevinter mage asked, sounding unamused. 

“They just wouldn’t leave me alone.” Revassan shrugged, eying the man with a cock of his eyebrows. “What has your feathers in a ruffle, though? You seem unpleased,” he observed Dorian closely.

Yes, there was something off about the Tevinter mage this evening.

He looked splendid as usual. There wasn’t one hair out of place nor any wrinkle on his uniform. As far as he could say from outer appearance, Dorian was nothing but perfect, yet he couldn’t help but feel something gnawed on the mage.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” Dorian huffed, sounding more stern than he wanted.

“Ah, I started to sound like my dearest mother now,” he added swiftly with a sigh. “She’d be having a field day with me now, sulking on the balcony and drinking wine.” Dorian chuckled. “Oh, she’d hate it so much.”

“Is that it?” Revassan asked softly as he got closer. “Do you miss your family?”

“Not really. No.” The mage shook his head. “I do think about them. That’s what happens when you attend events like this. It’s all so close to home, but no. That’s not it.” Dorian eyed him intensely while taking a moment to think.

“Seeing you dancing with all of them felt strange,” he admitted, holding his hand up before Revassan could interrupt him.

“I know that you got no choice. You are the Inquisitor, and they expect it from you.  It’s the same for me when I’m at home, but I can’t help but feel a little jealous over it.” Dorian sighed. “Now that I spoke it out, I feel like a lovesick fool.”

Revassan couldn’t help but grin at the Tevinter Altus. While he usually was viewed as sassy and cocky, the mage could be very vulnerable and deep.

It was what he loved about the man so much. The added jealousy made him a tad more attractive, and he couldn’t help but regard the man with a grin. 

“So, what are you going to do against it?” Revassan dared. “Are you going to pull me onto the dance floor? Make everyone see?” he added, not bothered to be seen by anyone. He was already an outcast for being an elf at the Winter Palace. It couldn’t get any worse. His breath hitched when Dorian pulled him closer, the scent of his aftershave washing over him.

“That would be something they’d never forget.” Dorian’s moustache twitched slightly as he leaned in, their lips so close to the touch. “They probably wouldn’t stop talking about it,” he added.

“Then, what are you waiting for?” Revassan breathed out before two heartbeats passed.

“Maybe I want to do something else instead.” Dorian closed the last few inches between them, his lips crushing against his as he ravished him. 

The elf’s arms moved to wrap around Dorian’s shoulders, one of his hands softly stretching over the back of his head as he melted against the Altus’s arms. This was even better than dancing, and Revassan couldn’t care less about the nobles awaiting their turn.

“Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you.” Revassan chuckled against the man’s lips, following up with a small peck.

“We should do this more often,” he added, his hand brushing over Dorian’s uniform affectionately. “I could get used to me just kissing me, but I’d also hoped for a dance. That is if you don’t care about me stepping onto your feet?”

“As long as you carry me to the Hinterlands next time, I don’t mind.” The mage chuckled before he made a curtsy. “But for now, would you give me this dance?”

[ell-vellan]

12, 28, and 38 from the oc relationship asks!

Thank you for asking! <3

I'm just gonna do every relationship I currently have rotating in my mind, lol.

OC Relationship Asks

12. What is something their S/O does to make them flustered?

Ellawyn/Bull: Anytime Bull flirts or touches her in public. She's not used to it - since their relationship started as a secret - and doesn't know how to react in a way that's still becoming of the Inquisitor. But she likes it anyway, and Bull likes unraveling her sense of decorum. Bull would've figured the ability to get flustered had been surgically removed from him at birth - but when El uses her abilities as a mage to ease his pain, or her command role to take care of him in ways that isn't necessary to the war effort, he doesn't know what to do or say.

Anera Lavellan/Solas: I think anytime Anera touches him, Solas finds it unexpected. For her, it's so easy, but it's been so long that he's let anyone this close. It takes him by surprise each time, and he can't hide how much it makes him melt.

Alistair/Auriel Cousland: It's too easy to fluster Alistair; Auri finds it endlessly amusing. She's far more confident in her seduction skills than Alistair. He hates it when Auriel and anyone else - but especially Zevran or Morrigan - talk about their romantic experiences so easily. But, in private, Alistair has a way of saying the most gentle, genuinely beautiful words of love to her, and it stuns her into speechlessness at last.

Zevran/Lathlen Mahariel: Mahariel is un-flusterable. He's a rock. He never smiles, never blushes. Zevran tries to rile him up by being outrageous in public, but...nothing. Mahariel doesn't care about other people and can't be embarrassed. But he enjoys making Zevran flustered with subtle touches. Because Zevran acts so suave, but he's unused to real, intense affection that zeroes in on him and claims him entirely. So Zev might flirt poetically, grandly, for all to hear - then Mahariel will grab him by the belt or his chest plate, pull him close, and murmur something possessive with low, quiet confidence in his ear. Zevran makes a half-hearted attempt to laugh it off but he's shocked, actually how someone found a way to make him blush, after all this time. He's had many people in his life who's claimed to own him, but with Mahariel, he finds he isn't opposed to the idea.

28. Do they trust one another? Are they comfortable discussing their fears with one another?

Ellawyn trusts Bull with her life; she's learning, with some difficulty, to trust that he will stay. They're both very open about their fears, though Bull has a harder time admitting any vulnerability at all.

Anera trusts Solas...about 99 percent. She can tell there's something he isn't saying, but the things he does tell her, she believes. I don't think Solas talks about his own fears at all; if he does, it's very vague and in general terms. Anera freely admits the few things she's afraid of.

Auri and Alistair are completely open books with one another, and trust each other above all others.

Zevran and Mahariel are as well, but it takes them both much, much longer to get there. Neither of them trusts easily, but by the end, they trust only each other.

38. What would be their ideal evening in?

El and Bull - Bull really wants to see El drunk. At least once. Just because he doesn't think she ever has let loose enough. So, a party with the Chargers, where Bull can see El safely back to her room, take care of her, and she no longer feels the need to be so very guarded. But El would probably prefer not to ever drink Qunari booze again.

Anera and Solas would be in front of the fire together, each reading different books, and occasionally telling the other something they've read, either to debate the merits of it or just to share fun facts.

Auriel and Alistair passed out asleep, cuddled together with their dog after a feast and no need to get up early the next morning.

Zevran and Mahariel - probably a target competition (Zev's daggers vs Mahariel's arrows) with some kind of sexy consequence for whichever one loses. Then the nicest room at whatever inn they're crashing at. It likely involves blindfolds and ropes and maybe hot candle wax.

[tsuraiwrites]

✨weekly(ish) fic roundup✨

another round of fics I found especially good reads, as @little--abyss​ and I were talking about secondary curation recently! please check these out and leave a comment and kudos for the wonderful authors.

Assassin’s Creed

The White Aster of Masyaf - alaïr ibn-la’ahad/desmond miles, nsfw complete

And, instead of dying after using the device back in the Grand Temple, Desmond now had first-row seat in the tragic play that was Altaïr’s life in the Levantine Brotherhood.

Oh. And he gets to play the part of the doomed younger brother of Malik Al-Sayf, Kadar Al-Sayf.

BNHA

Oracle - midoriya izuku/shinsou hitoshi wip

Midoriya Izuku always wanted to have a quirk, to be a hero, to make a change.

Until he realizes he did do all that once, a lifetime ago, and paid for it with his life.

(In which Izuku's quirk allows him to remember his past life and it becomes his driving force to become a hero and mend the mistakes of the people from his past.)

Death Note

no man is worth dying for - gen wip with self-insert amane misa

Would there be consequences? Yes. Was it selfish? Perhaps. Did she care? No, because she refuses to lay there motionlessly and let herself die for a man whose God-complex got out of control.

Amane Misa or not, voices in her head or not, she was doing this reincarnation thing her way.

Dragon Age

FIRE IN HER MOUTH - female inquisitor/cassandra pentaghast wip

Former Ostwick Mage Olivia comes from a life of disturbing secrets and devastating loss. Once the daughter of an up-and-coming Orlesian house, her abilities led to a life of ostracized irrelevance to both her nation and her family. Years later, tensions in Thedas between Mages and Andrastian Orders have come to a head. The perfect setting, it seems, for a corrupted Tevinter Magister to stake his claim of chaos. By virtue of rotten luck Olivia finds herself thrust in his path, imbuing her with magic beyond her imagination. Now, she must learn to balance her own hunger for justice with those of the world's most mistreated, as leader of the reborn Inquisition.

Ithelan - male lavellan/omc, oc-insert wip

A struggling college student finds himself dropped in a dungeon in the thick of all things Inquisition with no memory of how he got there.  Now he has pointed ears and too many tattoos and maybe has the chance to help.  He has no idea what he's doing but he loves Thedas, and maybe Thedas will love him too.

Lyrium Addled - anders/fenris soulbond wip

After a desperate healing attempt goes haywire, Anders and Fenris try to get to the bottom of what caused the chaotic reaction. Between the phantom pains from non-existent wounds, and the sudden concern for each other's safety, they find themselves with an abundance of questions and nobody to answer them.

Not Another Dragon Age FanFic (The Lone Wolf Cries) - male lavellan/solas wip

Kieran finds himself suddenly transported to Thedas, and vows to keep a close eye on the Dread Wolf to stop him from betraying them once again.

As he finds out, a 'close eye' unfortunately means actually being close - and it doesn't help that the game's timeline is changing, either.

Over the Sea to the Clouds Above - female cousland-as-inquisitor/leliana wip, an absolute delight to read so far

Because she loved her sister dearly, Niamh set aside her own happiness, watching from afar as Leliana fell for another. However, with Corypheus threatening to cast ruin upon the world, is it possible for her to reveal the truth of her own heart before it’s too late?

Sang a Lady Radiant - solas/ofc, male trevelyan/ofc, oc-insert wip

Ollie doesn't know why she ended up in Thedas, but she wants it to be a better world when she leaves, one way or another. She just has to figure out how to work around Solas and the Inquisition itself.

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Ellana Lavellan, Mage. - solas/ofc, oc-insert wip

Sweat, blood, and tears. Literally years of preparation, and here she was, at the foot of the mountain path that led up to Haven, while an explosion shook the world and tore a hole into the Beyond.

"Fenedhis."

MCU

Adjustments - bucky barnes/tony stark wip

After the battle at the Triskelion, the Winter Soldier is taken into Avenger's custody and brought to New York.  Slowly the extent to which HYDRA had broken the soldier is revealed. Bucky Barnes' recovery will be long and arduous the outcome of which is uncertain.

With his parent's murderer living under his roof, Tony Stark faces an entirely different problem, one he intents to solve his way.

By fixing the broken soldier.

Naruto

bees don't buzz during an eclipse - gen wip

The thing is, the summoning jutsu isn’t actually that hard.

And little academy student Sakura, young and clanless and desperate to prove the world that she’s bigger than her forehead, is also friends with Ino, clan heir with connections to the Nara. She watches Shikaku summon a deer once, and an idea turns in her brain.

It’s not her fault nobody told her the technique wasn’t for pre-genin.

for the caged bird sings of freedom - gen wip

Hyuuga Hinata dies four years after the Fourth Shinobi War, to protect her Hokage.

She wakes up ten years in the past, the day before Graduation, the day before the spar that would seal her fate as the family disappointment and Hanabi's as the next Clan Head.

She makes changes.

One Piece

so much like stars - law/luffy/zoro complete

Stargazing and snow, festivals and dreams, and the quiet change in the dynamic between Law, Luffy, and Zoro during a few cold nights on the way to Zou.

The Sandman

a lucky break(out) - dream/hob gadling, complete

Hob acquires a familiar ruby at an antiquities sale. Said ruby summons something else into his home as well.

[blarrghe]

Time for the annual Twelve Nights update. I almost didn't write this but then I did. It's uh,, 1:00 am just after Christmas so close enough.

Twelve Nights is the gay holiday Hallmark fic that you deserve. This is a big ol' sappy satinalia sequel. Rated E for Extremely soft blowjobs. To all a good night! --

Snow was falling in large, fluffy flakes, adding to the white of Deshanna’s yard that glittered in the glow of dangling white holiday lights across the edge of the old house’s pointed roof. Smoke rose from the chimney, and even from halfway up the long driveway Taren could smell the familiar scent of woodsmoke on the crisp air. 

They pulled Bee up on a sled, alternating turns as she laughed and cheered and occasionally swept up a handful of snow that had to be (unsuccessfully) scolded away from her mouth. She was in charge of guarding the presents, and so far doing a very good job.

“Still have them all, da’len?” Taren slowed a few steps to walk beside the sled as Dorian pulled, looking down at the well insulated bundle of a five-year-old dwarf girl cradling several large, colourfully wrapped presents in her lap. 

“Thing’s heavy enough,” Dorian returned from in front, barely believably grumpy about it. 

“Yep!” cried Bracha, grinning. 

Taren felt himself grinning back, warmth spreading through his cheeks even in the cold. He leaned over to scoop his daughter up into his arms. 

“Light enough now?” 

Dorian harrumphed, still unconvincingly, and dragged the sled the rest of the way over to the porch steps. “Still don’t see why we couldn’t drive.” 

“It’s a lovely evening for a walk,” Taren bantered back, hopping up the steps, babe-in-arms, and adjusting his hold on the child to just one arm in order to knock. 

“It’s a bloody cold evening for a walk.” 

“It’s just up the road.” 

“Up the road — key word.” 

Dorian was still struggling to manoeuvre all the gifts from the sled and up the steps when the door opened, revealing a warm golden glow of light and the tall, grey-haired figure of Deshanna "Auntie Dee" Lavellan. She smiled warmly, a bright gleam still in her eye even as her mouth pulled back against the wrinkled skin and faded tattoos over her cheeks.

“Auntie!” Bracha squealed, wriggling in his arms before Taren let her down. Then she was jumping into the woman with a hug to her legs that stumbled her backwards with a laugh, and then she was hopping down the steps again to help her father unload the sled, shouting “lo Satinalia! We brought presents!” 

Auntie Dee embraced Taren in one of her very secure hugs and left a firm kiss on his cheek before ushering him inside. Then she did the same to Dorian, once he and their daughter had managed to bring the last of the gifts up. Taren hung his coat and knelt to help Bracha out of her snowpants and boots. Dorian rubbed his hands together and aggressively stomped the snow off his feet. He still played at grumpy complains, muttering and grumbling, his cheeks reddened with the cold. 

Within moments, however, they were all well and warm again, seated in Auntie Dee’s living room by a roaring fire and a tall pine tree hung with tinsel and lights and too many ornaments. Bracha tore into presents, Auntie Dee filled Dorian’s cup with mulled wine, and Taren relaxed into the couch beside him. 

The scent of food cooking in the kitchen filled the whole house. After his own mug of mulled wine had been drained, an oven timer began to beep, and Auntie Dee sprang up to attend to things. Taren followed, leaving Dorian to pull Bee into his lap, examining her new toys together with inquisitive eyes and fiddling fingers. He set plates at the table, got himself shooed away from tasting things, helped to fill serving dishes and carve meats and finally popped out again to beckon his husband and daughter over to the table. 

Bracha bounded over, hopping up to her own spot at the table and waiting eagerly for the rest of them. Auntie Dee set to serving her ahead, spoiling her with heaping portions and settling in across from her with a story at the ready. Dorian followed more slowly, not just an adult with an adult’s reasonable pace across a living room, but with distant eyes and a thoughtful smile as he took in the tree, the pictures on the wall, the beaded decorations in the windows, and finally, Taren. 

“Amatus,” he muttered softly, coming close and smiling into a kiss at Taren’s temple. 

Taren tucked an arm around his waist and pulled him along, returning a kiss to his cheek. He smelled of new aftershave and his skin was warm against Taren’s lips, his sweater soft under his hand. 

They ate, filling up on too many courses and too many rounds of stories and sweet mulled wine. Bracha bounced up from the table to play with new toys and returned again for more helpings of pie at least three times, then she nearly fell asleep face-first into one of them. Taren laughed, tipsy now on his wine, and Dorian rose from the table to scoop her out of her chair. Taren followed him down the hall, looking wistfully himself now at familiar walls covered in familiar pictures. 

They set her down in his old room. The walls were different, decorated now in new art instead of his old drawings and posters — though some of it was still his. The bed was different, set tidy for guests instead of strewn with his unmade sheets. The desk was new, the dresser filled with spare linens and summer clothes. But it was still his room, still the same place — sometimes the only place — that had felt safe and quiet when he’d been growing up. 

He hadn’t been much older than her, he thought, touching on bittersweet memory, when he’d first slept here. 

He watched from the doorway as Dorian toppled the little girl into the bed and tucked blankets around her. His heart melted in wine-drunk sentimentality, and just the very true joy of it, as he watched that tall, serious man bend a kiss to her sleeping brow. 

He took a breath and cleared his face as well as he could of his welling tears when Dorian turned to look up at him, and stepped into the room. 

“Goodnight, Bee,” he whispered, brushing back a thick fringe of tight brown curls to kiss the sleeping girl’s forehead himself, and ruffling it all a little extra as he left the bedside. 

Dorian’s hand rubbed a circle against his shoulder behind him, and then he caught him in a close hold as he rose up again. His hand came up to round over Taren’s cheek, then to pull his face close by the chin. They met in a long kiss, sweet wine and deep feeling between their lips. 

It was hours still before the fire in the living room burned down and the stories ran out. Auntie Dee told several embarrassing ones, while Taren shook his head with laughter and Dorian leaned in. She got them blankets from a cupboard as the clock passed midnight. Taren remembered how to roll the couch out into a bed, and he helped to set the living room while Dorian helped to tidy the kitchen. Then Auntie Dee took her yawning leave down the hall, and there they were, left alone with the glowing embers of the woodfire and the dim twinkling lights around the tree. 

Taren sat on the creaky old couch bed, taking it all in. Dorian came slowly to a creaking seat beside him, and for several quiet moments just held his hand. He turned a soft kiss into the side of Taren’s neck, now smelling of the aftershave and the wine on his lips, still soft and warm. The kisses trailed up until they nibbled at the lobe of his ear. Taren laughed, tickled, and turned into him. 

The whole house was so still and quiet. Soft snow continued to fall outside in the dark beyond the windows, while inside the warm air smelled of pine and cooked berries. Quiet and peaceful and perfect, though their every movement sent the bed into creaks and sharp whines.

Taren rose and slipped from his sweater, a heavy holiday knit that Dorian especially liked to poke fun at — and was already tugging playfully up from his waist. Dorian did the same, catching him skin-to-skin in another long kiss before he could slip out of anything else. 

“Vhenan,” he whispered, feeling the prickle of his moustache on his lips and then just his mouth again, digging in hard and full. He pushed his hands up against Dorian’s chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and rubbing down over the hair and muscle and belly of him, gripping fingers down around his sides and bringing him in again. 

He felt right, still. Always. Felt like strength and comfort and home, like a gentle tug of magic on all his too-sentimental heartstrings. Like love, always like love. 

“Amatus,” Dorian said, agreeing with his every sentiment. 

Dorian’s hands slid down, around his back with a playful grab to his ass and then to the waistband of his pants. He pulled them down and backed Taren up with an urgent knee between his legs and a press of his own hips. Taren backed up against the fold-out bed, and it creaked. 

“Careful,” he whispered, practically giggling, like he wasn’t an old man with a family but some teenager with a boy over, still living in Auntie Dee’s house. “Don’t make too much noise.” 

Dorian grinned and bit a feistier kiss into his lips. “You don’t make too much noise,” he challenged, as he pushed Taren down into a slow seat on the edge of the bed and pulled away his pants and the shorts beneath entirely. 

He slid to his knees next, quiet as promised, dragging kisses down Taren’s chest and then his thighs. He sucked spots against his hip bones and into the inner flesh of his thigh, hard enough to make Taren lean his head back and swallow a gasp. 

Taren dug fingers into his hair, pressing against the scalp and letting the soft black locks run through his fingers. Dorian left softer kisses, tempting and teasing closer as he handled Taren’s already rigid cock with teasing care. Taren pulled his face back, leaned forward despite the telltale creaking of the bed, and captured his lips in another long kiss. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

Dorian’s eyes glinted in the ambient light, his smile creased up to their corners. “I know,” he murmured back, “my sweet amatus, I know.” 

It was everything Taren could do not to rock and pulse and grind his hips against Dorian’s mouth in a noisy frenzy of old bed springs and moaned appreciation. He pushed Dorian's head in with his hands and held onto his gasps, letting out light, quick breaths and tensing all over as Dorian’s mouth and hands found his cock.

He felt so godsdamned good. Always had, and only better all the time. His wet mouth and tight hands pulled everything out of him, brought him to the shuddering edge of tension and relief like it was a trick he’d been practicing for years — because he had. Taren stood to finally come, bending his knees and struggling to manage a thrust that didn’t knock his husband right over onto his ass, but managing it. His hand in his hair, another on his shoulder, and then pulling him straight up and into tight, breathless kisses of praise and thanks. 

Taren’s hands slid down, returning the favour of pushing off trousers and wasting no time in finding Dorian’s hard cock between his legs. He pulled at him gently, kissed him tightly, and finally pulled him back and close to him while he slowly made his way back to his careful seat on the bed.

He took less time in working up any teasing gentleness with his kisses or the strokes of his tongue, needed less time. Dorian pressed firm and full against him and did a considerably worse job of stifling his groan as Taren took him in his mouth. His hands gripped harder at his hair, and Taren returned the force of that grip with his own hands over Dorian’s firm ass. He didn’t play with him so much as he fucked him, and helped him fuck back, moving into his mouth with urgency as Taren still managed not to move so much as to set the bedsprings rhythmically creaking.

He loved the frantic need of it, the hard, heavy push of his length up into his mouth and at times all the way into the back of his throat. He moved his hands to help with friction and speed, let Dorian pull his hair back and his face up and grinned at him for a flash while Dorian looked down in blushing, slightly dishevelled wonder. Taren caught his orgasm over the flat of his tongue and wrapped his lips around him to slowly take it all in one last time, sucking and swallowing and coming away with half a stifled laugh and wipe of his lips. 

“Maker,” he heard Dorian breathe as he stepped back. 

They returned to undergarments, took hushed turns tiptoeing down the hall to the bathroom to wash, and finally rolled into the slightly lumpy bed together, arms clinging tight. 

Taren settled his head over Dorian’s chest, curled on his side, his arm wrapped over him while Dorian lay on his back with his own over Taren’s shoulder and back. He closed his eyes and kissed his chest, sleepy with wine and affection and all the warmth and quiet in the world. 

“Thank you,” Dorian whispered as his thumb stroked an idle line over his shoulderblade. 

“For?” 

“All of it.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed, agreeing with the sentiment. 

“I love you. I love our family and our life.” Dorian’s arm around him pulled tighter. 

“I know, ma vhenan,” Taren kissed his warm skin again, “I know.”

[incognito-insomniac]

OC Interview

Saw this on someone's blog at the end of November and thought it looked pretty fun. I've made three but will be posting them separately because they are long! Tagging the standard peeps because i don't want to blast people's inboxes otherwise. But please tag me if you want to make one. It's a really neat exercise! ^_^

@funkypoacher @confidentandgood @socially-awkward-skeleton @captastra @twosides--samecoin

An interview with the Inquisitor by an eager Orlesian socialite during the events of Trespasser

Name?

"Erimenthan Lavellan."

Are you single?

He nodded, "I am very much taken at the moment by vhenan."

Are you happy?

"As much as one can be while other people try to dismantle everything I've built in the name of peace."

Are you angry?

He frowns for a moment then says, "I find anger to be a very unproductive emotion."

Are your parents still married?

"Yes."

Birth place?

"I'm not entirely sure. Most likely somewhere in the Free Marches. Dalish Clans are less interested in place of birth. More the clan and time of year."

"What time of year were you born?"

"Winter. Just before our New Year celebration."

Hair color?

"Red."

Eye color?

"Green."

Birthday?

"Again, I'm not sure of the date in the Andrastian Calendar. But sometime in Haring, I believe during 9:9 Dragon. Our New Year is a bit later so it may be Wintermarch, 9:10 Dragon. Although I would have to consult with the Keeper and the Andrastian annals to be sure. Would you be willing to wait a few weeks for an answer?"

"No. Nevermind."

"Ah, it would have probably taken longer anyway."

Mood?

"Affable."

Gender?

"Why are shems always so focused on what gender people are? I'm male."

Summer or winter?

"Spring or Fall would be a more interesting question. Winter I suppose. It's the gentle repose before new beginnings. The world in chrysalis. And there's my birth celebration of course."

Morning or afternoon?

"Morning. The sweetest birdsong can be heard in the quiet morning."

=EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR  LIFE=

Are you in love?

"I believe I am."

Do you believe in love at first sight?

"I've seen it in action at least once."

"With yourself?"

Erim shook his head lightly. "Oh no. I'm far too cautious for that. My closest friend in my clan was swept away by a man on first glance at him. It was a sight to behold."

Who ended your last relationship?

"I did. It was time for a change."

Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

"I haven't had the opportunity to ask. My past lovers are all beyond my grasp at the moment. I hope not."

Are you afraid of commitments?

"No."

Have you hugged someone within the last week?

"Yes, vhenan…and many of my friends who have returned to support me in the proceedings."

Have you ever had a secret admirer?

"Yes. It was rather unexpected. Although, I guess they always are."

Have you ever broken your own heart?

"Yes. It's easy enough when the you hold the balance of the world in your hand. I have had a lot of opportunities as Inquisitor. And I have made many missteps. I take none of them lightly. Despite what the council which convenes here wants you to think."

=SIX CHOICES=

Love or lust?

"Love."

Lemonade or iced tea?

"Hot tea."

Cats or dogs?

"Cats" A few best friends or many regular friends?

"However many, I am happy to have the friends I do."

Wild night out or romantic night in?

"Is there not an in between? Like a romantic picnic. Or a boisterous luncheon?"

Day or night?

"Daytime. Many things are clearer in the sun's light. The night is burdened by temptation and self-doubt."

=FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS=

Been caught sneaking out?

"Oh many times. But our Keeper was quite sharp. As is Spymaster Leliana."

Fallen down/up the stairs?

"No. But I have stubbed a toe or two on the stairs."

Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt?

"Yes. I was apart from vhenan for a time. And that was…not a pleasant experience. I'm glad he has returned."

Wanted to disappear?

"What an interesting question for the leader of the Inquisition. Let me answer it this way. I have never angled for center stage, but I won't be giving up the catbird seat without a fight. What we have done is too important. What we can do too grand. The council must see that."

=FOUR PREFERENCES=

Smile or eyes?

"Eyes tell you much more than a smile ever will."

Shorter or taller?

"People are what they are. But taller if you must know."

Intelligence or attraction?

He considered for some time an answer then spoke evenly, "Counterbalances of each other. Too much of one diminishes the other. You cannot have the moon without the sun. A man who relies only on his intelligence will surely push those of lesser mind away. And if one relies too much on character, they are doomed to lose their way."

The interviewer paused with eyebrows knit together, "I don't think you grasped the question."

Erim smirked, "I don't think you grasped the answer. Next question."

Hook-up or relationship?

"Relationships."

=FAMILY=

Do you and your family get along?

"I got along with many in Clan Lavellan. I miss them dearly."

Would you say you have a “messed up life”?

"It's different than I expected, that's for sure. But I would not ask for a different one. Maybe…a different choice or two. But never a different one."

Have you ever run away from home?

"In a very real sense my mission to the Conclave in the name of my clan was an act of running away. A sanctioned act, but no less running away. I didn't see it that way at first. But I was avoiding complicated conversations that I now regret not having with those I held dearest to me."

Have you ever gotten kicked out?

"I'm Dalish. What do you think? I was almost kicked out of Halamshiral before Ambassador Montilyet informed the guards of my station. Not the first time nor I imagine will it be the last, unfortunately. Let's hope I am not kicked out of the Inquisition."

=FRIENDS=

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

"Absolutely not."

Do you consider all of your friends good friends?

"What kind of question is that? They're my friends, aren't they?"

Who is your best friend?

"Vhenan, of course. Then Seeker Pentagahst and Ambassador Pavus."

Who knows everything about you?

"I'm an open book to most. But vhenan probably knows the most after the members of my clan."

[varricscrossbowbianca]

Writer’s First Line

Rules: post the first sentence of your last ten fics. If you haven’t written ten fics, share as many first-sentences as you have.

thanks for the tag @whirrlinginrags :))

( i haven't written anything in ages and the only fic i have is one from da inquisition BUT this inspires me to write at least first lines of ff's i've thought about writing ) :)

''I never promised to stay...not after that.'' (DA, Warden & Alistair)

''Whatever title you give me, I do not want it because I am not your herald, your savior or your Inquisitor anymore'' (DA Trespasser, Inquisitor Lavellan)

''What is it like? To come back to a place that was once your home and yet you don't recognize any of it?'' (LIS: True Colours)

Mary thought she knew the end, what was to come and yet she never in all her life thought the love of her life, her partner would choose to push her away and she was alone, again. (DA, Warden Amell & Alistair)

Ellie stepped out of the broken house, leaving her guitar behind, letting go of the last memory of Joel. (TLOU 2)

There was something here, long ago, and he could see the memories of her, how warm and light this place once was, when now it felt like every breath in her absence felt heavy. (DA:I, King Alistair Theirin)

He wanted to tell her, let her know that there was a part of him who would give it all up just to be with her but he was too far in it now and when he tried to step closer to her, she flinched and he knew then and there that the person he loved most was out of his reach now, leaving him to his isolation. (DA: Trespasser, Inquisitior & Solas)

That's the beauty of this world: Everything begins and everything ends, nothing ever stays the same and even your hardships won't last forever, you can always begin something new. (this one his basically Doctor Who, what the 12th Doctor says in his last moments I think, and it's one of my favs so yeah)

People have always said that I am too much in my head, and whenever my mind seems to wander and I get asked where I am, I seem to forget where I was and my surroundings become blurry, as if I was able to go somewhere else without moving at all.

''I miss her. Maker knows I miss her. Every day I go to that ridiculous statue made for her, place fresh red roses there and I--'', Alistair told Leliana, and continued with ''...I pray that she miraculously steps out of her grave, and that she-that she comes back to me.'' (DA, Alistair Theirin)

[thraaaaaaaanduuuuuuuuiiiiiiiiil]

Dalish Week: Prayer

I am Very Behind (but for a good reason, I had a lot of work for school) so we’re getting days 1-3 of @dalish-appreciation-week all posted today. All of these fics are about my Inquisitor Leanos Lavellan or about his family, immediate or a bit more distant.  

Day 3: Prayer

The sky was just barely light, and the night watch guards were slowly making their way to bed, when Leanos stepped into Skyhold’s little garden and made his way to the far back corner.

 This was usually how he spent his mornings. Keepers and Firsts were always up with the sun, or even before it, in Dalish clans. So he had kept the habit up in the Inquisition. Everyone teased him about it, especially Dorian – “What good is being Inquisitor if you can’t have some luxuries, like sleeping in?” he had asked once – but Leanos didn’t mind. It was just a good-natured ribbing, for the most part.

 And far preferable to constant commentary on his people, his culture, and his beliefs.

 He had made himself a little shrine in the far corner of the garden soon after the garden had been cleaned up and made accessible. Nobody disturbed his place here, and at this time of day he could be guaranteed solitude and near-silence.

 Usually.

 “Lysas?” he asked upon seeing the other Elf hovering in front of his shrine this morning. “It’s early for you. What are you doing out here?”

 “Waiting for you,” Lysas said, wringing his hands.

 “Is something wrong?” Leanos asked, tilting his head.

 “I…” Lysas hesitated, his eyes darting between Leanos and the shrine. “I was wondering…what you do here in the morning. You pray, yes?” “Yes,” Leanos agreed. Lysas already knew that, he was sure. Everyone knew. Many pretended not to, but everyone knew.

 Lysas nodded. “Would you mind…do you think…could you teach me?”

 Now Leanos was properly perplexed. “Teach you,” he repeated. “Lysas, you know I pray to the Dalish gods, right?”

 “Yes, I know,” the other Elf agreed. “And…I want to know how.”

 Leanos waved to a nearby bench, and he and Lysas crossed to it and sat down. Lysas went back to wringing his hands, not quite meeting Leanos’s gaze.

 “I thought you were Andrastian,” Leanos said.

 “Yes,” Lysas confirmed. “I was.”

 “…Well, I suppose it’s none of my business what happened, but –”

 “Andraste must have quite the sense of humor. A cruel one, if she picked a Dalish mage to be her Herald,” Lysas blurted. “…You know, given how the Chantry treats mages and Dalish elves. And all the rest of us too,” he added.

 “You don’t believe in Andraste anymore?” Leanos asked.

 Lysas shrugged. “I don’t know. I just…wonder.” He watched Leanos out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then shook his head. “No, this is strange, isn’t it? And I doubt your gods need some city Elf who doesn’t know a halla from a horse.”

 Leanos reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not strange. And they’re just as much your gods as they are mine. You have every right to learn, Lysas. Every right to wonder. The Chantry might say otherwise, but what do they know of Dalish ways? I’ll be a Keeper someday, and I say, if you want to know, then I’ll teach you everything I can.”

 Lysas raised his head, a grin slowly appearing and pushing the nervousness out. He pointed to Leanos’s face and asked, “So when do I have to get…that?”

 Leanos chuckled. “Not for a long time, if ever,” he said. “For one thing, you’ve got to be able to tell a halla from a horse first.” Lysas snorted, and Leanos clapped his back. “Come,” he said. “First lesson – I think you should start by introducing yourself to Sylaise. She’s quite gentle, and she’s our Hearthkeeper.”

 “But why her?” Lysas asked.

 Leanos got up from the bench, and Lysas followed him. They crossed the short space to Leanos’s little shrine, and Leanos knelt on the ground in front of it, motioning for Lysas to join him. “I think…from what I know of the Circles…you have lost your home more than once. First the home you had as a child, and then the home you made for yourself in the Circle. I don’t know if the Inquisition has become a home for you or not, but…perhaps Sylaise can help you feel more at home, or help you find a proper one. It doesn’t hurt to ask.” Lysas nodded. “But what do I say?”

 “Anything,” Leanos said. “We do have some said prayers, for ceremonies and special occasions. But for something like this, just…praying privately in the morning…you can say whatever you want. I talk to them like old friends. You’re saying hello for the first time. Just…how would you do that with any person?” Lysas nodded and took a deep breath, bowing his head and closing his eyes. Some habits died hard, Leanos supposed. He watched Lysas in silence, and after he was sure the other Elf was settled, he began to pray himself.

 Be kind to him, if you can. The world puts Lysas and those like him through a lot. But it hasn’t beaten him down yet. He’s more Dalish than he knows already. So please, Creators, be kind.

[sometimesraven]

@febuwhump Day 13: Forced to Hurt a Loved One

Fandom: Dragon Age Whumpee:  Female Lavellan (and also Solas a lil?)

Summary: Solas becomes an Abomination, and Lavellan is forced to kill him.

AO3 Link

~~*———————————————*~~  

Part of her knew how it would end. Solas himself had always warned her what happened to spirits whose purpose was corrupted, and if he was Fen’harel that made him a spirit, no? The whole thing still didn’t make sense, but part of her always knew he was leading himself to this end.

The Fade was disorienting as ever, the ground shifting and rumbling beneath her, but she scarcely had a second to notice it. Solas was standing before her, his face twisted into a sickening snarl. Extra eyes shifted and darted across her body like he scarcely recognised her, his hands hardening into scaled claws before her eyes.

“Don’t make me do this, Solas.” Though she tried to keep the same firm authority in her voice that she always did as Inquisitor, the choke of her breath on the lump in her throat betrayed her. The shake in her arm’s crossbow attatchment as she pointed it square at his face. The tears blurring her vision.

Her words were in vain. As the green sky shifted above her and the island they floated on shifted below, Solas’ features shifted too. His arms twisted and cracked, skin parting and clothes ripping as he grew and morphed into something entirely different. His face bulged and mutated, bone and scales and spikes tearing through skin; two great horns erupting from his forehead. His legs bent and cracked out of shape, forcing him onto all fours as his spine, too, twisted and elongated; a great spiked tail tearing forth.

A Pride demon. Solas had mutated into some kind of Pride demon. An abomination. Miriel’s heart pounded, staring into so many wild, lost eyes. He seemed almost sad, but his scaled lips pulled back to show his pointed teeth in a furious snarl. He lunged to bite. Miriel closed her eyes and fired her crossbow with a pained yell.

The yell carried, echoing off of stone as the fade shifted once more -- no, wait. Her bedroom. This was her new bedroom in Orlais. She felt for her arm and was relieved to find her stub: the crossbow wasn’t attached.

“Nightmares again?” Adris’ voice. When did she get here? “Heard you crying out in your sleep, came in through the window, sorry,” she quickly explained.

“Again--” How often did she shout in her sleep? She still kept forgetting she didn’t sleep far apart from anyone else, these days. “It’s nothing, just-..”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Adris reasoned, “It’s understandable. Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m-..” Miriel hesitated, drawn to silence by her fellow Dalish’s concerned, soft eyes. “I dreamed of my lover. Ex-lover, I suppose.”

“Solas, right? The mage who turned out to be--”

“Fen’harel, yes.”

Adris nodded slowly. Miriel wasn’t sure how much Sera had said about the Evanuris, but she didn’t seem bothered by Solas’ existence at least. “What happened?”

“I dreamed-.. he was corrupted. Turned into a Pride Demon, I-.. had to kill him.”

Another understanding nod, moving to sit on the bed now that Miriel was awake. She rested a hand gently over Miriel’s stump arm; a soothing gesture that was far more comforting than she was expecting. “I’m sorry he left you like that. I can’t imagine-.. well. I’m here, alright? If you ever want to talk about it. You know where I live.”

“Thank you, Adris,” she sighed. Perhaps new friends were needed after all.

[spainkitty]

The Night Before the Hinterlands (a.k.a. To Whatever Friendship Means)

Lanil's Pieces Masterlist

They sat around the table in The Singing Maiden Tavern. Servers ran to and fro, the minstrel sang and strummed her lute, and people talked and laughed over each other, but the three of them sat in companionable silence. It was...

Nice.

Calm.

A far cry from chasing demons and closing rifts and discussing war table operations with people whom had a hundred times her experience, but somehow waited for her decisions. It was... invigorating, having that much knowledge and control over the board, being more than a pawn in the world's game of chess, but it was also exhausting after waking up without a lifetime of memories five days ago.

Tomorrow they'd head out to the Hinterlands. At last, Lavellan would tackle her first real job as Herald of Andraste--she shuddered at the very idea of using that title with a straight face. She honestly couldn't wait to get away from that damn war table and her three advisors, get her head on straight and remember what she was good at: shooting lightning bolts at fools. She gulped at the mulled wine in her too large mug and choked slightly.

"Slow down, Shortie. The night's not going anywhere," Varric joked, patting her back with a bit too much strength. She wiped at her mouth with the back her hand and glowered at him.

"That is patently untrue, Varric. Each minute that passes means the night is, in fact, going somewhere," Solas disagreed in his most pretentious tone. It made Lavellan snicker as Varric's face contorted through too many emotions to parse.

"All right, Chuckles. Just for that, the next round's on you."

Lavellan winked at Solas. He merely rolled his eyes, so discreetly she almost missed it despite looking right at him.

"So. Chuckles." She pointed at Solas. "Shortie." She pointed at herself. "Any other nicknames for people I know? What about Josephine?"

"That one's easy. Ruffles," Varric raised his mug in a mock toast. Lavellan grinned. "And then there's Nightingale for our spymaster. Not actually my work, that was her codename the first time I met her, but anything else would probably get my tongue cut out."

"Very true."

"And of course, there's Curly."

"Curly?" Lavellan repeated thoughtfully. It definitely didn't suit Cassandra, so who-- An image of Cullen, with his barely tamed blondishreddish curls flashed in her mind and she barked a laugh. "Cullen!"

"Exactly! You should've seen him in Kirkwall. He was more ginger than blond then, and never wore his Templar helmet. I swear he couldn’t put one on over the curls!"

Lavellan's head tipped back, chair rocking slightly as she laughed.

"Doncha wanna pull one? Just a little?" she joked, holding up two fingers close together. "I'm sad it used to be more red. Where'd it go?"

"It must've gone with the beard," Varric sighed, overly doleful. "I don't know what he's doing with his face these days."

Lavellan gigglesnorted into her mug.

"But no nickname for our Seeker?" Solas asked, smirking slightly.

"Bitch."

Solas snorted out loud, his perfect composure broken. Lavellan laid down her head on the tabletop and cried her laughter into the woodgrain. She forced herself up, feeling flushed and floaty, and grinned. Wider and easier than she had in days.

"Come on, Cassandra is great! If I can forgive her for imprisoning me, then you should, too." She sighed and propped her chin on her fist. "The more she disapproves of me, the more I want her to notice me. I got her to smile once and I swear, I heard birds break out into chorus."

"Don't go chasing that dragon, Shortie. She'll turn and burn you before you can blink," Varric advised.

"She's too honest for that. She'll warn me first, then burn me. And I'll thank her for the warning. Do you think she likes women?"

"Please, no," Solas muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"So that's your type, Shortie?" Varric asked, shaking his head. "I thought Hawke's taste was bad. Well... at least the Seeker won't blow up a Chantry. She has that going for her."

Lavellen shook her head, smirking. "Not really. I don't think. It's funny watching Solas get a twitch, though," she admitted, reaching out to poke at the middle of Solas' brow. He grabbed her finger mid-reach.

"You are impossible."

She beamed at him. "Thank you."

He muttered in elvish under his breath and got to his feet.

"I believe I'm supposed to buy the next round." He left the table, shaking his head.

Lavellan watched him go, smiling dopily and chin on her fists.

"So that's your type."

She rolled her eyes and faced Varric's knowing little smirk.

"You love teasing him more than I do. Is he your type?"

"My heart belongs only to Bianca. Everyone knows that," Varric said, hand over his heart.

"And now I do, too. Isn't Bianca your crossbow?"

"She's so much more than just a crossbow."

"She is a very pretty crossbow."

He raised his mug in another toast and downed the last of the wine. Lavellan sipped at the dregs of her own and listened to the minstrel sing. Like so many other songs, this one was unfamiliar, but catchy. Fun. A few of the drunker patrons were even dancing.

"I don't think I have a type. I don't know if I ever had one, or if I just don't remember," Lavellan finally admitted.

"Is it something you think is missing?" Varric asked after a few moments.

Solas returned and handed out the mugs. "What is missing?"

Lavellan waited until he raised the mug to his mouth. "My libido."

Solas paused. Set down the mug. "Lavellan. You'll have to try harder to upset my drink than that."

She and Varric laughed out loud together.

"To answer, no. I don't feel like the urge to..." she screwed her mouth to the side trying to word it right, "to make like a rabbit in springtime is missing."

Varric laughed again. "Isabela wouldn't know what to do with you."

Lavellan ducked her head and smiled. Then, shrugged. "It's stupid to say that when huge swathes of my memory are missing, but I feel like... that's me. This, right here, with you two? That's what's been missing. Probably presumptuous of me, but what I've been missing is... friends. If you wouldn't mind being my friends..."

Lavellan's cheeks flushed amd she shifted uneasily in her seat, her eyes glued to the dark red surface of the mulled wine, her fingertip tracing the lip of the mug. Over her head, Solas and Varric's eyes met. Solas' gaze was merely contemplative, but Varric's was soft.

A large, heavy hand fell on Lavellan's shoulder.

"You don't ask for friends, Shortie." She glanced up through her fringe of messy white bangs to see Varric's crooked smile. "You just get them. And you got me, kid."

Lavellan smiled, truly smiled, nothing sarcastic or forced about it. Despite the scars, the broken nose, the white hair and brows, she looked young with that smile. Barely a toehold in her thirties and the whole world on her shoulders, but in the firelight of the tavern, with that genuine smile, she looked a decade younger.

"Thanks, Varric."

His hand squeezed once. "Yeah, well. We have a Breach to close, and I ain't going anywhere till it's done."

"Very true."

She tapped her mug to his. He tapped back, wine sloshing at the rims. To their surprise, Solas gently tapped his mug to both of theirs. They stared at him, not quite gaping. He did that smile of his, the unnerving and too knowing smile.

"To whatever friendship means."

Lavellan grinned and Varric chuckled.

And then they drank.

[haverdoodles]

Continuum

(Solas & Te’lise)

I headcanon that because Te’lise drank from the Well, her servitude ensures that her soul is now immortal. Her sole purpose is to serve Mythal, and there is no escape from that fate. Even in death she cannot find peace, cursed instead to wander the earth as a nameless vagabond, searching for a master that no longer exists.

—

“It has been many long years.” The male’s voice was soft, steady like his gaze was on hers. She wondered why he seemed familiar, and yet not. It was as if he were an elusive dream that had long slipped past conscious thought. “Do you recall who I am?”

She tried to think, but the spirits swirling around her were too loud. ‘Old One, Old One,’ they chanted as they brushed against her robes and tangled themselves in her hair. ‘Trickster, Traitor, Liberator, Saviour.’

“Fen’Harel,” she said.

He frowned, and sighed. This did not appear to be the correct answer. She felt a swift glimmer of confusion. She was correct in her naming of him, she knew that. What else could he have meant?

“Do you recall your own name?” He asked gently. “Who you were before?”

“I was no one before,” she responded, her confusion only growing. “I am myself now, and that is all I will ever be.”

“What is your name now, then?” He asked her, ever patient.

She opened her mouth, and paused. What was her name? She didn’t know. She supposed she didn’t have one. The spirits had gone quiet. They would not tell her, even if she asked.

“I will tell you your name.” He stepped closer. “Te’lise Lavellan. Do you remember now?”

Te’lise Lavellan. She mouthed the name. It felt strange and alien on her tongue, as if she barely knew how to pronounce it. Te’lise – it was so close, yet so far. Surely that couldn’t have been her name?

“You are a spirit now, Te’lise, and have been for quite some time, though I know not what kind of spirit you are. You have forgotten much of your previous life.” Yet another step closer, this time with a hand outstretched, wounded and pleading. “I should have never left you in the state that I had. It is a mistake that will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

“Have we met before?” She asked him. The spirits stirred.

“I am Solas,” he told her softly. “That is the name you knew me by.”

Solas. Fen’Harel. Which was his true name? Why did both fit in strange ways, like two misshapen puzzle pieces that still somehow merged together? She grew frightened. She felt the urge to run. She didn’t.

‘Old One,’ the spirits shouted and sighed. Fen’Harel. Old One. Solas, here, watching her with shadowed eyes, a solitary figure drowning in a torrent of sadness that she could not quite comprehend.

“Solas.” She whispered.

A sharp glimmer of a memory rose up to greet her, frightening in its intensity. Tangled limbs, the press of a hand. Soft cotton, warm skin, the sound of a beating heart. Laughter, a moonlit balcony, stars swirling about in dizzying circles as powerful music rose to a crescendo from somewhere just out of sight.

Just as quickly as the memories rose up, they disappeared, and she felt herself forgetting once more.

“I don’t understand,” she said. Distraught. Confused. Frightened. What had she been thinking about?

“You remembered, for a moment. I saw the recognition in your eyes.” The male was in front of her now, which startled her badly - when did he get so close?

“I don’t know who you are,” she told him, voice high and pleading. “I don’t know who I am, or who you are to me. Why have you come to this place?”

“I came for you, Te’lise. You deserve better than to wait here for eternity. I can offer you a new life, a better one.” The quiet certainty in his words gave her pause. He visibly softened as she stared. “It is what I should have done, long ago.”

‘Solas. Fen’Harel. Solas. Vhen’an.’

The word sent a searing pain through her skull and she stumbled backwards with a cry. He followed, reflexively reaching out to catch her, but his touch burned. She shoved him away in a panic.

“You were here before,” she said tremulously. “You came here, with me.”

The male straightened with a soft breath, almost as if he were steeling himself for her words. But why? “I did. I was the one who brought you here, that night.”

“I know you,” she whispered. “Why do I know you? Who are you to me?”

Voice heavy with defeat, he said, “No one. Not anymore.” His eyes were so, so, sad.

[spicywarl0ck]

Happy Friday! For DADWC I'm prompting you with: “Come on. I’ll show you how to dance” for a pairing of your choice.

Thank you very much for the prompt for @dadrunkwriting. I had a lot of fun writing this, and I might need to write it out more in the future for a fic, because I love the direction it could go, but no brain after work x3 Pairing: Solas/m Lavellan Rating: T Words: 767

“Not to be rude, but you have been pacing back and forth for an hour now.” His eyebrows were furrowed as his lips pressed into a thin line. Just as they always did when he showed his irritation.

“It is nearly impossible to focus on my studies,” he added with a scoff, his hands putting the papers down he tried to make sense of for about an hour now. “So, won’t you tell me what is troubling you, Da’len?”

Guilt crept onto the younger elf’s face as he stopped his pacing at once, his freckled cheeks flushing in a red hue that almost matched the colour of his hair.

“It’s nothing…” Revassan started, only to sigh in defeat. There was nothing he could hide from Solas. He might have been preferring his solitude over meddling with people in the tavern, but nothing was escaping his sharp eyes and mind.

“Well, there is that Ball…” he slowly continued on a bit sheepishly. “You know, the one we are supposed to attend to save the Empress of Orlais and prevent the horrible future I saw in Redcliffe from happening…”

“As far as I can recall, yes.” Solas voice got softer, the tone of it almost like a warm embrace when he continued. “I suppose, that is a heavy weight on your shoulders and it is possibly only natural that you are restless,” he added as warmth flickered through his stormy eyes.

“It must have been hard to witness such a dark future and to be burdened with the weight of the world. I am sorry.” He truly looked as if he was.

It made Revassan’s heart skip a beat.

“I… yes I guess….” He tried to gather his words, his face and neck feeling hot all of a sudden. “I mean… that was not the reason I was nervous but now that you phrase it like that… Thank you, that makes me feel better.” Revassan followed up with one of his impish smiles.

“Ah, What is it then that has you in such a nervous state?” 

“Now that you phrased everything else out… It’s probably foolish.” He halted for a moment, chuckling at himself. There were so many more reasons to be on edge. Solas was right, when he talked about the weight of the world sitting on his shoulders, or more literally in the palm of his hand. And while he had been in a dark place after the fall of Haven, he was slowly trying to make the best out of it.

It wasn’t as if he could go anywhere else after all.

“So…” Revassan added once he watched Solas gesturing him to continue with an arched brow, waiting for him to finish. “It’s a Ball, right? And I know we are there for political reasons but… I talked to Josephine and Leliana and they mentioned there is possibly going to be dancing involved and…” he sighed deeply.

“Well… I can’t dance.”

Solas was staring at him for what seemed to be like an eternity. His heart raced in his chest as he counted the heartbeats. One, two, three, four… and then it was over as the older elf couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Is that all? Well, that is a problem that can be easily resolved.” Solas stood up with a graceful and fluid motion, extending his hand to him partially in invitation and expectation. “Come. I’ll show you how to dance, Da’len.”

Revassan was caught between chuckling and just staring at the tall elf in front of him. For one part, he couldn’t imagine Solas as a dancer at all. And for a second, he was too occupied with keeping his fast-beating heart at bay, fearing that Solas might hear it otherwise.

“You?” the redhead chuckled nervously.

“I assure you, I am well versed when it comes to courtyard dancing.” Solas arched his brow at him, his head slightly cocking to the side before he took Revassan’s hand to pull him into position with a smirk.

“Just, follow my lead,” he added, the way his voice dropped just making it harder for Revassan to focus on anything but Solas' perfect lips right within reach.

He tried to follow the steps and the pace set by the older elf, his heart beating so fast in his chest that he worried it might jump out of his chest. One, two… he counted in his head to follow the rhythm, avoiding thinking about the warm hand pressed against his back or the feeling of slender fingers holding his.

Damn, he might have been deeper in than he originally thought. 

[musetta3]

Happy Friday and welcome to DWC!! How about "I’m not calling you a liar, just don’t lie to me" from the Florence prompt list for Cullen x Inquisitor? :D

Ahhh! Happy Friday, @nirikeehan ! for @dadrunkwriting, I have:

Rating: T

Words: 720

Genre: hurt/comfort

Pairing: Cullen/Aranehn Lavellan

CW: grief, anxiety attack, mentions of death

I never cared for how DAI handled what happened to Clan Lavellan, it felt far too 'brushed under the rug' for my taste. So here's my take on what happened after my Inquisitor, Aranehn, hears the news. Here's some hurt/comfort

“Fenedhis, Cullen, just… tell me the truth!”

Aranehn Lavellan stood before her Commander’s desk, chest heaving. In her hand was perhaps the most abhorrent, disgusting piece of correspondence she had ever had the misfortune of reading, one she would blot out from her memory, if she could. Instead, the horrific words were branded into her eyes, etched into her heart:

Her clan was dead. Her… entire clan was just. Gone.

Cullen sighed, sorrow clear in his eyes, “Josephine assures me that there’s been a misunderstanding, but—”

“‘Misunderstanding?!’” Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “This? Is a ‘misunderstanding?’ My people are gone, Cullen.” She paced, throat burning from unshed tears. “Don’t lie to me for the sake of sparing me. Please. I beg you, vhenan, not for something so important as this…” sobs cut off the rest of her words, shuddering her slight frame.

Everything that had happened during the past year dragged her down and buried her alive, not unlike the avalanche at Haven. The Conclave, death, blood, demons, loneliness—

Alone. Creators, she was an orphan now; her entire family was gone. No matter how many times Aranehn took a breath, she got no air. Her lungs ached, panic climbed her rib cage, clawing her to ribbons. The Anchor flared in her palm, lightning-hot pain shooting up her arm and turning her stomach. She doubled over the oaken desk, gasping.

A shuffle sounded to her left, the soft scrape of wood against the stone floor as Cullen pushed his chair away. Two strong arms enveloped her, clasping her to an engraved steel cuirass.

“You’re alright,” Cullen whispered, stroking her hair. “You’re alright. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this will pass. Deep breaths.”

The comforting smell of leather mingled with the rosemary and lavender of the Antivan soap he favored. Aranehn leaned her head on his chest, aching eyes sliding closed as she drank in every sensation. Cullen’s tight embrace centered her, anchored her in the present. All around her was a maelstrom, a tempest of fire that threatened to consume her whole and smother her in the ashes of what was once her life. It left her raw inside.

“Why?” she croaked. “Why does everyone I’ve ever loved leave me in the end, Cullen?”

“I’m here,” he replied, “always. I’m here for you—”

“But everything I touch withers and dies. I’m a knife; all I do is kill, slash, destroy—”

Cullen gently let go and held her at arm’s length. “Listen to me, Aranehn of Clan Lavellan,” he said. He took her hand in his, kissing her palm before pressing it to his cheek. “You are not a knife; everything you touch doesn’t die. I’m living proof of it: if everything you touched truly withered, I’d be long gone… or a eunuch, at the very least.”

She scoffed a laugh through her tears. “Half the ladies of Skyhold would have my head, if you… lost yours,” she replied, nodding towards his abdomen. “Not to mention those women at the Winter Palace who wanted to ‘dance the galliard’ with you. Repeatedly, if I recall correctly.”

It was Cullen’s turn to laugh, hearty and full. Aranehn couldn’t help but smile; his laughter was so like him, kind and warm. Golden.

“You’d receive several strident letters from Orlesian noblewomen, yes,” he agreed. “...I want to help you give your clan justice, Ara,” he said after a pause. “I don’t trust the Duke or his words; there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

Aranehn’s eyes filled again, “thank you,” she whispered, gently brushing a stray curl from her beloved’s face. “Thank you, ma vhenan. That means more to me than you could know.”

He nodded, “I’ll ask my men to scour the countryside for clues, and Leliana can investigate the Duke and his men. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I swear. You and me, together.”

Aranehn cupped his cheek and drew him down, kissing him tenderly. Cullen pulled her in and held her close, forehead resting on hers. And it was then, in the arms of her beloved, with cheeks tearstained and body smushed against the hard, cold steel of his cuirass, that Aranehn felt the smallest spark of hope kindle in her bruised and bleeding heart. And she seized it with both hands, and refused to let go.