#oc: isseya

[clansayeed]

The Evening ― a Bound by Destiny drabble

⥼ Summary ⥽

While Nadya is busy making friends among the Ball's other human guests, Adrian and Kamilah retreat to the vampire-exclusive La Soiree. It is there that Adrian meets a pair of vampires with which to spend the evening... and finds himself caught up in the scintillating air of their natural mystery.

note: This piece takes place during Bound by Destiny, during the events of Chapter 10: The Cellar. It is not necessary to read to understand Book 1 or the Oblivion Bound series, but it does provide a fun insight into both Adrian and the original characters Valdas and Isseya.

word count: 4,175 rating: mature content warnings: language, blood drinking, vaguely-described sexual situations find out more: HERE

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

[READ IT ON AO3]

By the third time Kamilah sweeps her gaze across the room he’s had enough.

“You don’t need to babysit me all night. Do you think I’m going to up and retreat the moment you turn your back?”

The look she gives him isn’t entirely unwarranted; a simple arched brow and the kind of breath that shifts her bosom at the top of her corset but serves only to be seen and understood.

For as long as he’s known her, Adrian has been fascinated with Kamilah’s skill of speaking columns without so much as an utterance. Maybe it comes with age. More likely it’s just something uniquely Kamilah.

“Give yourself a tad more credit Adrian.” She curls a single finger in the air; summoning a serving boy from out of his line of sight and plucks her choice of dark amber liquor from his offered assortment. “‘Retreat’ is not a word in your lexicon.”

The same silver tray is offered to Adrian. He declines, and the servant flits away.

“You know what I mean.”

Kamilah savors her drink for a long moment. “Perhaps I did, once. Now, however, I find myself in need of a translator where you are concerned.”

And… well, isn’t that entirely not what he was expecting. “What’s that about?”

“It is about the changes I’ve seen in you over the last few months. I’ve yet to determine whether or not to be concerned.”

“A chan—” But before he can even get the full question out, Kamilah cuts him off.

“Do not play the fool to me. Never to me.”

Eyes sharp as the daggers she collects so avidly; plum-tinted lips curled into a frown usually reserved for literally anyone else. All of her discontent plain to see despite the heady fog of incense that curls around the foyer and its guests.

But it’s not exactly difficult for Adrian to figure out the source of her ire. The unspoken name that’s kept her on her toes.

Only Adrian wouldn’t dare do anything but call Nadya a profoundly positive influence on his life. Not even just his—Kamilah’s, too. How long has it been since he’s heard even the whisper of amusement curled into the corners of her mouth? Or seen a kindness as simple as slipping Nadya her Clan symbol so she wouldn’t have to brave the train ride without them at her side?

One of his great personal tragedies of the last century was being forced into the role of silent witness to the hardening of Kamilah Sayeed’s heart. And yet she sits here in front of him and implies he’s the only one changed by the strange yet welcome break in immortal tedium ignited by their wondrous new human friend.

Alas, Adrian isn’t the least bit surprised.

He’s young (compared to her, anyway), but not stupid.

Before Adrian can speak a word in his own defense a familiar and throaty laugh catches the pair’s attention. It has Adrian looking beyond her shoulder while Kamilah twists lithely to join him in watching Lester’s entrance to the evening’s events.

To no one’s surprise their fellow Council member has arrived with a beautiful woman gracing each arm. Mortal, given the flush in their cheeks — and no doubt a disturbingly small fraction of his presumed age. He postures; he always does. Loud bellowing guffaws and over-exaggerated reunions with old friends he will need plenty of liquor to recall the names of.

By the time he’s made his way across the foyer there’s an entire Castellanos entourage on his heels. And as quickly as they gathered… they all vanish together too. Gone behind one of several doorways draped in maroon velvet.

Attentions turning back to one another, the looks Adrian and Kamilah exchange make his heart feel a little bit lighter. Even when they aren’t eye-to-eye on one thing, they will always be on the same team.

“Well we know which salon to steer clear of.” Adrian muses.

“I would venture caution even to those which share a wall with his den of debauchery.”

That, however, brings up the unspoken discussion neither of them have wanted to set in motion. The one where they discuss their own and each others’ participation in the soiree’s intended purpose.

Kamilah is certainly dressed for it. And Adrian isn’t even the only one around them wearing a simple suit — sometimes what is not revealed is just as tantalizing as what is, after all.

So he sighs, accepts defeat, and politely stops the closest server for his pick of red wines on offer. “I’ll stay—salut,” his raised glass meets hers between them, “but I’ve got too much on my mind to even think about… joining in.”

Knowing it’s the best she’s going to get out of him, Kamilah accepts this and begins to unwind herself from the supple leather sofa.

“One of these days you might want to try not shouldering the world’s every burden.”

“One of these days.”

“And when such a day comes, I might just die from shock.”

“Just don’t resent me for being your demise.”

With a bemused little smile Kamilah bends down to bestow chaste kisses to his cheeks. It’s enough to give Adrian a strange yet fleeting sense of relief. “I cannot make any promises about not holding it against you,” she teases. “But in all seriousness— do try to find something to keep you entertained tonight. You might even find yourself enjoying what opportunity comes along. It does so only once a decade, if you recall.”

Then Kamilah takes her leave. Adrian watches her go for lack of anything better to do… though the sight of her greeting an unfamiliar woman with a coy smile and friendly kisses isn’t exactly easy on him. He’s glad she’s giving into the opportunity to let loose even a little bit — but knowing what Adrian does about Nadya and her feelings towards Kamilah…

Well, he’s frustrated. Torn between two loyalties. But that’s nothing new.

La Soiree is still in its early hours. Eventually the foyer, still bustling with the last wave of attendees under the impression fashionably late has modern relevance, will be no more than an echoing chamber. And Adrian still doesn’t know if he plans on being one of the scant few left behind.

Wistfully his thoughts drift—unsurprisingly—to Nadya and the Cellar party happening below. Maybe he could pop in. Could check and just make sure she’s acclimating and finding friends and doing well. But would the attendants even let him in…?

The other end of the long couch sighs. Drawing Adrian’s attention to the man helping himself in taking up Kamilah’s place.

He gives the stranger a polite nod out of sheer courtesy — already readying himself to stand and take his leave.

“Surely there is enough room to share?”

Adrian blinks, startled. Looking back at the man but unsure of what to say.

“Yes, you,” the stranger offers a small chuckle and a sweeping hand to all of the empty cushions around them. “There’s no need to leave. In fact, I invite the pleasure of your company.”

The pleasure of his company? Words no doubt carefully-chosen here… of all places.

“Unless…” The man shrugs one shoulder before looking up at Adrian through obviously lowered lashes. “You have a prior engagement, of course.”

Something about the unspoken implication rubs Adrian the wrong way; and makes him debate staying solely to prove the man wrong. There’s a touch of the sinner in the glint of the stranger’s honeyed eyes and the almost predatory way he watches Adrian while sipping his drink.

Apparently… he’s doing this. Adrian sits back down… and tries to reassure himself of the feeling that he may not have really had a choice in the matter. Of course he did.

… Right?

The other vampire doesn’t bother hiding the victory lacing his smile. “Forgive me, where are my manners…”

He extends a dark hand… and the moment Adrian reciprocates the other takes it as unspoken permission to snatch up the empty cushion between them.

“You will call me Valdas.”

Oh will he? “Adrian, Adrian Raines.”

Only Valdas doesn’t relinquish his grip so easily. Leaving Adrian watching with growing confusion and unease as he turns over their joined hands with a tender curiosity.

“Ease the tension in your jaw. It isn’t good for such a handsome face to always look so displeased with the world.”

Reluctantly, Adrian does. “I don’t think I look… displeased,” and brushing the barely-concealed compliment aside… “May I have my hand back, Valdas?”

Apparently not. Well-trimmed nails brush along the inside of his upturned wrist. They linger in the same way winter just won’t let the city go in February. The barest touch dragging along the lines of Adrian’s palm in a way only a lover’s should.

Valdas hums as if pleased. “The trained eye can always tell who among us are survivors of the days of old. Indulge me this, Adrian Raines — I would put you at two, three centuries walking?”

“Pardon?”

“You are pardoned. I’m asking for your age, young man.” Which is a strange endearment to hear from someone who looks pretty close to him in physical age at the very least. Adrian can almost imagine a bit of a baby face hiding under that thick and well-trimmed beard.

While asking someone’s age isn’t any taboo among their kind—especially those gathered at La Soiree—Adrian can’t help but feel a little bit uncomfortable; sharing his age with a man he’s only just met. It’s a clear indicator at the very least that he’s not from around New York or the surrounding states. If he was he’d know Adrian by sight. And age has always been an important measure of decorum — among the Council anyway. It’s why the likes of the Baron will always hesitate before crossing Kamilah; or even Adrian himself for that matter.

Kamilah had even explained to him once the importance of age in the old European vampire culture. How it dictated everything from eye contact to forms of address to even whether you could speak to someone at all.

If Adrian’s placing this Valdas’ accent even remotely geographically close… these could be dangerous waters ahead.

Subtly, Adrian tries to coax his hand free. “Is it that important?”

He fails. Earning instead the stroke of a roughly calloused thumb over the top of his palm. “My curiosity has you uncomfortable,” Valdas answers; a statement that leaves Adrian slightly taken aback.

“Well, no, I —”

The other vampire’s grasp tightens suddenly. It’s minuscule, but definitely noteworthy.

“I do not ask the same thing twice.”

That Adrian doesn’t have a hard time believing. At this rate it’s just easier to answer and get it over with. “I’ve never had a reason to count the years off,” he coolly lies, but still offers, “somewhere over the head of two hundred and fifty, though.”

His acquiescence is met favorably; an almost proud curve added to Valdas’ smile while he nods.

“Yes. I thought so.”

“How could you tell?”

Valdas seems glad Adrian asks. He gestures with a sweep of his thumb over calluses so old Adrian often forgets they’re there; no more important or defining unto him than the scar on his foot from the angry end of a horseshoe nail in his youth, or the chip on his bottom tooth he had been forced to wait for modern dentistry to finally get corrected.

Judging by the way Valdas looks at them, too, their permanence is kind of the whole point.

“The evidence is here, do you see? So many of us lucky enough to have survived have telltale marks such as these. Marks from a farmer’s labor or a blacksmith’s skill. Yours, Adrian, are a tad more distinct though. I would recognize another soldier’s hands anywhere.”

There was once a time when Adrian would have recoiled at the assumption. It didn’t matter if it was true or not. But Gaius has been gone for so long, now. Titles like Soldier, like Bloodqueen, have faded into nothing more than words; as mundane as their current occupations of CEO and Council Member.

“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, huh.”

Valdas again shrugs a single shoulder. Then he turns his own hand up and into Adrian’s cupped palm to reveal his own similarly rough hewn skin.

“Deduction has its uses to be sure. But I’ve found experience to be a far more adept means of investigation.”

At least Adrian can take his hand back, now.

“Well I guess my eye isn’t as trained. I hope you’re not waiting for me to guess your age.”

“Why would I, when the time it would take you to do so even close to accurately could be spent in far more amicable ways?”

In the time it takes Adrian to realize his intended insult, Valdas throws his arm over the back of the couch and allows himself to sink further into the pliant leather for comfort.

Well, Adrian thinks, there are worse ways to spend the evening.

He could be in the same room as Lester.

“I take it you are local to the area?”

Adrian nods. “Well—Manhattan, yes.”

“I mean to say that this is not your first of these events.” Valdas gestures broadly to the foyer around them; growing more empty with every passing minute. The intricate and semi-sexual dance of small talk and choosing partners seems to be nearly over.

Ah. “Oh, no then,” he answers. “What about you?” Since it’s highly unlikely his companion is here for someone’s Debut.

“‘Tis our first on this continent. Though the Balls of old hosted by the young Lord Lafayette weren’t so specific in nature back then — they never were.”

There’s… quite a bit to unpack there in a simple statement; and Adrian doesn’t really know where to begin. Maybe that’s a good thing—famous last thoughts—when Valdas reaches forward and cards a surprisingly gentle touch through his hair.

Adrian should be leaning away.

Why isn’t he leaning away?

Because apparently once again Kamilah is proven right — only this time she isn’t even here to reap the spoils of her victory. And because maybe it has been a while since Adrian has… indulged himself with the company of another. It’s not as though Valdas isn’t an attractive man; that’s not it at all. He just isn’t the first person Adrian would have picked out in a room full of equally eligible vampires ranging from casually friendly to just plain horny.

So where does that leave them?

It leaves Adrian speechless; a wordless yet not entirely unwilling participant to the way the other vampire takes slow and purposeful advances. It’s not like Valdas is trying to lure him in falsely with a ruse. They both know exactly what’s going on, what each movement and action mean, and what they could very well build up to.

And Valdas is surprisingly patient as he waits to see if his affections will be reciprocated… or politely refused.

Adrian Raines is a polite man by nature. However he doesn’t refuse.

The rough pad of Valdas’ thumb swipes over Adrian’s bottom lip slowly and with care. Pressing down with the barest of pressure; just enough to feel the tip of his nail on his front tooth.

There’s a point to this brief hesitation. Now would be the time to tell him to stop, if that’s the plan.

Instead, Adrian asks— “Which party would you be referring to, exactly? The Ball, or La Soiree?”

The answer to Adrian’s question lies not in words, but in the way Valdas moves his hand to hold the other’s chin with thumb and forefinger; in the way Adrian follows by allowing his head to cant to the side, welcoming a warm exhale of breath on his neck.

Valdas’ lips tease just shy of a kiss. There’s the tickle of his facial hair that Adrian hasn’t felt in—phew—at least two decades, maybe more? Sensations both familiar in theory and new in specific experience. All that and the air of hunger that hangs over them, sultry and sweet.

Adrian’s half-lidded eyes briefly sweep the room around them in a daze; looking but not really seeing anything from beyond this moment the men have sealed themselves in. Why would he even bother — when there’s still so much to be taken in from the awakening his body is undergoing?

That strong grip winds its way into Adrian’s coiffed hair — clutching at soft strands and digging into his scalp. Like the hand’s owner was born in the tumultuous storm straddling pleasure and pain and has never left it.

“May I?”

Two words given breath and life wet against Adrian’s throat. He isn’t given the chance to answer… but he doesn’t need to when blunted teeth suddenly give way to something sharper.

The lightest twitch is all it takes for Valdas’ fangs to pierce Adrian’s flesh. It’s a carnal act as much as it is a relief; eliminating the need to navigate the murky waters of speech any further.

They sit together, each man’s existence honed in on the other, for what feels like an eternity. The soiree, the Ball itself; everything could continue to move and flow around them and Adrian is quite sure he would be none the wiser.

Yet every time he reaches out to offer some kind of physical reciprocation, Valdas declines. Whether it’s seeking out his cheeks or hair, trying to skirt touches to his neck or shoulders… even when Adrian tries to switch subtle tactics and goes for the buttons of Valdas’ dress shirt with certainty—the other man pushes his hands back in a silent command to simply enjoy. To allow himself to be enjoyed.

The next attempt becomes his last. Rejection joined this time by punishment of Adrian’s hands held bound in his own lap. He really doesn’t have a choice after that.

Somewhere in the din of it all the hairs on the back of Adrian’s arms prickle with gooseflesh. It’s enough to drag him into awareness beyond the heated coil burning in his belly and back to the world that—somehow, like a fever dream—exists outside of Valdas’ extremely talented mouth.

They are being watched.

They are being enjoyed.

One of the staff tries to offer the woman an hors d’oeuvre; just doing her job, being polite. But even from across the room Adrian can see the tension rippling underneath supple olive skin; can sense it in the shift of her lithe body under the dim lighting of the chandelier, and in the way the sheer veils that cover just enough of her skin glide effortlessly along her body and curves.

She is dark black hair in ringlets around sharp cheekbones and a sharper jawline. One eye the color of a tree in morning light and the other an ivy-toned green; both pupils blown wide and black and seemingly endless. And her smile… oh how her fangs catch pearlescent in the light.

He has absolutely no idea who she is.

That doesn’t stop her from staring at them with eyes giving new definition to the word desire.

But the attention starts to unnerve Adrian slightly. Enough to make him twitch and move under Valdas’ continued bloodstained attentions — though his body isn’t sure where to go.

Judging by the tightening grip on his hair… nowhere.

But even through whatever lusting frenzy has him so enamored, Valdas doesn’t ignore the chance of ambiance. Rather than pull back entirely he simply shifts; coyly tucking his face into Adrian’s fluttering pulse in order to cast a subtle glance at what exactly has his new treat ready to flee.

“Ah, yes,” he croons, a familiarity in his tone that catches Adrian off guard, “she can be rather… intense at first. But I assure you darling, she means no harm. Well… none that will go unrewarded anyway.”

Blinking through the haze of Valdas is harder than Adrian expected it to be. “You… know her?” He asks.

Only the second the words pass his lips he no longer needs them. Only then does he remember Valdas’ earlier choice of words—

“…our first time…”

—and it all makes sense.

“She’s your… partner.”

Valdas chuckles lowly; lets his rumbling voice thickened with arousal burrow itself a home beneath Adrian’s skin.

“To call her such a plain term is almost an insult — not that you could have known. If my beloved is merely my partner, then this—here, you and I—is nothing more than a business-like chat.”

Which they both know is an understatement. Point proven when Valdas finally releases his wrists, reaching between their entwined bodies to palm the evidence of Adrian’s enjoyment of even the little they’ve done so far. Finding him full and aching; eager for release against the tight fabric of his suit slacks.

“I can’t recall business ever putting me… here.” Hard, confused; the itch of the role of prey tingling the base of his spine in a way it hadn’t since Adrian was Turned.

And all-too-quickly due to that woman’s unwavering stare.

Valdas wrenches Adrian’s focus back from across the room with a squeeze. Watching and relishing every expression flickering across Adrian’s face with rapt obsession. “I’m gladdened to know you aren’t opposed to Isseya’s voyeurism.”

Any protests that might have been are thus no longer. They die on the tip of Adrian’s tongue; swallowed down so quickly he almost chokes on them in exchange for the moan Valdas pulls from him when he skillfully destroys Adrian’s button fly without a care.

His head falls back against the back of the chaise, his world sent off-kilter, everything distorted at the edges of his sight.

Only to be brought back by the slow and purposeful approach of the tigress called Isseya.

Deceitfully delicate hands fall on his shoulders. The whisper of a soft thumb stroking the juncture where Adrian’s neck meets his shoulder that quickly grows heavy. Effortlessly she is holding him down — pinned and prone.

Isseya leans over him then — fully aware of how her supple breasts follow the curve of her spine to lean just within reach of his parted lips. But the kiss she captures Valdas with becomes a form of distraction all its own.

Humans invented monogamy because to them life was fleeting. Vampires have a very different mindset—and rightly so. There are dozens of ways two (or more) of their kind can define the relationships they have between one another and all together; probably even more than Adrian knows.

But as he watches their tongues tangle soft and exploratory, two of Valdas’ fingers tucking under Isseya’s chin and the control held in such a simple touch… Adrian quickly learns, and understands.

Calling her partner really was a kind of insult. It belittles them and what they are together; what they have. What they let wash over Adrian in building desperation and raising volume wet and eager and only continuing to grow.

What would it be like to kiss someone like that, Adrian finds himself wondering. It’s not an answer, but as if under a compulsion he watches himself lend Valdas a hand by hooking his finger into the rope belt hanging low on Isseya’s hips — like that could somehow hold her there.

The couple press their foreheads together briefly before parting in a silent reckoning. Isseya’s gaze trails lazily back to Adrian like he’s an afterthought.

Oh, yes. You exist.

“You always find me the prettiest presents, My Beloved One.” Her voice rings like chimes on a twilight breeze.

With a chuckle and a nod, Valdas resumes his earlier pursuit — fingers dipping steadily below Adrian’s bespoke waistline to take his arousal in hand. “Who said he was yours?”

“I did.”

“I rather like him for mine own.”

“Cruel, lover.”

Adrian wants to interject; though at the moment his brain is likely to say something stupid about not belonging to anyone, about being his own man. But it’s difficult to think when he’s… like this.

“Strong jaw, good cheekbones… You know I love the cheekbones.” Yet even the bare minimum of a compliment feels, coming from her, like worshipful praise.

His stare is glassy, and he looks up at Isseya with acceptance as well as desire. Another minute more and Adrian worries he might find it impossible to deny them both of anything. Especially the inevitable.

Maybe that’s the whole point.

“Does he suit your vision of the evening, my love?” Valdas asks, words breathed like worship into Isseya’s slender neck. The vampiress hums at the affection and question both, sweeping Adrian up in another of her all-consuming gazes.

“I’d have to taste of him, first.”

Rather than give her an answer, Valdas simply turns to Adrian with a single eyebrow raised.

The unspoken question hangs loudly between them all.

Well? The choice is his.

Well…

Adrian watches his hand cup the back of Isseya’s neck, pulling her in for a kiss.

There are worse ways to spend the evening.

[lvllns]

i got tagged by @rosebarsoap to do this funky fresh oc questionnaire!! thank u bb!! i'm gonna taaaag @malefiicarum @aragorngf @denerims @merry-harlowe @waspgrave @venusmages @kirnet @princesshoneytea and anyone else who would like to do this!!

favorite oc: xavier nicastro (misc) — he's my 6'5 built like a rugby prop baby boy covered in tattoos who rides a motorocycle. he's also a giant fucking sap when it comes to his boyfriend. rosie would know him best, and with the amount of things i have to say about this boy, it's no surprise he's my favorite.

newest oc: ophelia greer (misc) — she's not even that new but she is the newest. my pretty marine biologist turned waitress living in a tiny seaside town. she's sweet, she's soft, she's patient. every time i think i have her mostly figured out, i learn something new about her.

oldest oc: isseya mahariel (dragon age) — your honor that's my daughter. i've had her for...five? years? at this point i think. she's my fierce fighter, my warden-commander with a heart of gold.

meanest oc: lincoln cirillo (original work) — see, it's not that they're mean, per se, it's just that they're sick of eliseo's shit. they can be snappy, short, snarky. sometimes they maybe shoot first and ask questions later but can you blame them?

softest oc: kincaid anderson (misc) — it was a toss-up putting him here or smartest but. he has become softer than xavi is? somehow? an absolute gentle giant with endless patience, and a heart that's almost too big. he's kind, he's sweet.

most aloof/standoffish oc: wren (genshin impact) — wren's backstory is basically "oops! all trauma!" and it's turned them into a very quiet, very observant individual. it takes. a lot. to break through their uninterested exterior, and they would prefer most people keep their distance.

dumbest (affectionate) oc: bas darrow (misc) — this man could not be more of a himbo. runaway rich boy who becomes a pirate and knows......nothing. is he booksmart? to a degree. everything else? no fucking clue. easily flustered, easily taken advantage of when it comes to trading and things. he's......working on it.

smartest oc: sparrow moore (misc) — guess who got yeeted from vampire time and thrown into something better? they're mostly the same. smart, quiet, introspective. still my classics child with an arm covered in mythology tattoos with too many degrees for their own good.

oc i'd like to be friends with: emery caddell (original work) — quiet magical oddities shop employee who dresses like a history professor. they've got a dry sense of humor, a desire to help however they can, and they're just kind. they'd have all kinds of solid book recommendations tbh, and i want to pick their brain.

[red-wardens]

Grey Warden Squad

(click on picture to view best quality)

Super blessed to have been able to have commissioned the talented @gncrezan to draw my squad of Grey Wardens from my Multi-Warden AU. They’ve been portrayed so so perfectly! <3 

Back Row, Left to Right: Kyung-Jae ‘Kieran’ Tabris, Isseya Mahariel, Cassian Cousland, Blue Surana, Alyss Amell

Front Row, Left to Right: Nora Brosca, Ronan Aeducan

[mcousland]

me, holding all my poly ocs: idk i just think they’re neat

[hurl-a-can]

@red-wardens Just two very brief snippets. But I’ve been thinking of Lenn & your squad.

Isseya finds him in the chantry, standing in front of the Prophetess' statue in quiet contemplation. "We are about to set out," she announces. "But we can afford to wait if you need more time." His eyes turn to her, eerily dark in the dim candlelight. "No. I'm good to go," he says, voice soft and gentle, corners of his mouth briefly pulled in an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." "Found any comfort here? Or answers?" she looks up at the statue, studying Andraste's serene face with more than a subtle hint of scepticism in her eyes. Lenn chuckles, but there's so little mirth in it, Isseya's mind conjures up an image of dark water closing over what was to be a gasp for air. "I found some quiet," he replies.

"The alienage is off limits. Nobody can leave – or enter," Zevran announces when he returns from the gate and rejoins them in the inn. "There's been an outbreak of a plague. Probably the Blight sickness. The whole alienage is under quarantine." He steals a quick glance at the two Denerim elves. 

Kieran is clearly on edge, the scowl on his face intense enough to conjure up a storm. Lenn doesn't bat an eye. He would seem composed and collected – were it not for his hands. They often betray him – as they do now. His grip on his tankard with ale is a trifle too tight. He is staring at the table, careful to avoid any eye contact. Zev hesitates before he continues: "I—tried to charm some more information out of the guard posted by the gate." Lennan's voice is too level and too quiet when he asks: "What did you learn?" There's more hesitation as Zevran silently regards Lenn's hands. "Maker’s mercy, just spit it out!" Kieran barks and Lenn winces at the volume of his voice. The Antivan sighs and continues: "The guard said something about elven riots a while ago – and a dead noble. Howe apparently ordered a purge. Led it himself." Blood drains from Lenn's face and tension sharpens the outline of his jaw. The knuckles on his hands begin to gleam bone-white – and as sturdy as the tankards here are, Zevran half-expects that Lenn's will crack. It's hard to say what's more frightening – Lenn's silence, or Kieran's impending outburst – but it's clear which of the two is more likely to get them in trouble. Before Kieran can make a scene and before anyone else can react, one of Lennan's hands shoots for the other elf's forearm, gripping it with almost as much strength as that ale just a heartbeat ago. "Not here," he says – softly but firmly, with only the slightest hint of tremor in his voice. "Not now." Lenn's tone and, more importantly, that implied promise of 'elsewhere and later' take some steam out of Kieran's fury – and as the group slowly eases into plotting their next move, he gets distracted enough to calm down. "It ain't your fault," he mumbles towards Lenn during one of the brief silences that evening. "I appreciate the sentiment, Kieran," Lenn replies, voice flat and face schooled into an unreadable mask. Lenn is less preoccupied with his guilt than Kieran seems to think. It is there for sure, a dull throbbing ache at the back of his consciousness.

But he was barely registering it until Kieran mentioned it. And he'd rather Kieran had kept his mouth shut. "Do excuse me for leaving your company so early," he says as he puts a few coins on the table. "It's been a long day. Have a pleasant night." He notes with some displeasure his vision is becoming blurry as he walks down the hallway towards the door of his and Aeducan's room. The haze doesn't clear as he washes, changes into his night clothes and gets into bed. The night around him is like cold, muddy water and there are dozens of dead faces floating about. He's still awake when Ronan retires for the night. He turns to face the wall the moment he hears the doorknob turning. He listens to the rustling of fabric and soft splashing of water as the dwarf gets ready for bed. Then the room grows dark. "I hope they're alright, Bookworm," Ronan says by way of 'goodnight'. Lenn would respond – if only his throat weren't so tight. He squeezes his eyes shut and hopes Ronan will forgive his lapse in manners.

[thewildmother]

oc aesthetics▸isseya ar’thallan, lore master wizard. ↳ “I've always dreamt of heroics, but I think it's safer I stick to my books.“

[inquisimer]

Send me a prompt!

✨it’s my 2 year DADWC-versary and everything’s open to celebrate🎉Send me any prompt for any listed ship or character✨

Ships, OCs, & NPCs I write for:

Romantic Ships

Tabris/Zevran | Mahariel/Alistair | Amell/Alistair | Cousland/Alistair | Brosca/Zevran | Bethany/Alistair | Andras/Nathaniel | Hawke/Anders | Hawke/Loghain | Hawke/Sebastian | Lavellan/Cullen | Trevelyan/Cullen | Trevelyan/Cassandra | Trevelyan/Barris | Lavellan/Solas | Cullen/Cassandra | Valya/Caronel

Platonic Ships

Surana & Amell & Anders | Tabris & Loghain | Brosca & Loghain | Carver & Loghain | Hawke & Varric | Hawke & Bethany & Carver | Mahariel & Hawke & Lavellan | Trevelyan & Trevelyan

OCs

Ariya Tabris | Sari Mahariel | Solona Amell | Ember Cousland | Nika Brosca | Ciel Andras | Mari Hawke | Léan Hawke | Siobhan Hawke | Neria Surana Lavellan | Acacia Trevelyan | Drew Trevelyan | Irosyl Lavellan

NPCs

Bethany | Carver | Loghain | Nathaniel | Charade Amell | Cullen | Varric | Anders | Alistair | Valya | Isseya

Prompt Lists (please send the whole prompt + a character or pairing):

feel free to send song lyrics or lines of poetry as prompts!

f. scott fitzgerald prompts

unreal unearth prompts

the romance of hands and touch

for the damaged

soft and sweet prompts

for the budding romance

the enormity of my desire (nsfw)

subtle smut prompts (nsfw)

as said by cassandra pentaghast

sarcasm prompts

as said by dorian pavus

it’s all about the yearning

miscellaneous specific scenarios

intimate prompts for slow burns

[felassan]

‘Post Four Songs That Describe Your OC’ tagmeme

I was tagged by @griffonfeathers​, thanku!! this was fun

cut for length/clutter

for my Champion, Logan Hawke:

Radioactive

I'm waking up to ash and dust // I feel it in my bones // Enough to make my systems blow // It's a revolution, I suppose // We'll paint it red to fit right in

Lovers on the Sun

Let’s light it up let’s light it up // We’re burning up, we might as well be lovers on the sun // We’ll keep it moving until we make it to the other side

Jungle

I feel too cold to live, too young to die // I lost my mind, in the city of lights // Won't you follow me into the jungle? Ain’t no god on my streets // In the heart of the jungle

Icarus

Look who's digging their own grave // You’ll drink yourself to death // Acting out all their fears, you feel it in your chest // Your hands protect the flames from the wild winds around you // You're putting up your armor when you leave // Icarus is flying too close to the sun // Icarus is flying towards an early grave

I’m going to tag @wind-on-the-panes and @isseyas !

[isseyas]

QUICK AND DIRTY Get 2 Know Me??

– one / NAME / ALIAS. Neno

– two /  BIRTHDAY.  September 19th

– three / ZODIAC SIGN.  Virgo

– four /  HEIGHT.  5′3″

– five  /  HOBBIES. VIDYA GAEMS, being a good drawer, roleplayin’, being a dog mom

– six /  FAVOURITE COLOURS. purple, HOT PINK, teal

– seven / FAVOURITE BOOKS.  Memory, Sorrow and Thorn series - Tad Willams (but don’t ask me to remember anything that happened in them i just remember loving them when i was reading them and that was years ago)

– eight  /  LAST SONG LISTENED TO. who said - machineheart

– nine  /  LAST FILM WATCHED.  GEOSTORM (don’t watch it, it’s  r e a l l y  dumb. but i’m a sucker for global disaster movies.)

– ten  /  INSPIRATION FOR MUSE. WHICH ONE (multimuse blog @rhotanored​ )

P’tajha - Taj honestly kinda came out of nowhere specifically for FFXIV, and is kind of a combo of gruff mad-wizard/alchemist archetype with overprotective healer mom thrown in

Renh - Longtime OC trash necromancer plagued by their endless mistakes and inability to make good choices imported into FFXIV for the laughs and also the tears

Kazushige - listen i just wanted an au ra themed around sakura blossoms and he turned into a pit of angst and feelings

A’mariss - D&D character that never got a real fair shake in her campaign that i resurrected and now she just exists to suffer from her borked Echo and to kill voidsent and be a hot mess and fight to love life

Rivra-Rue is A’mariss’s First reflection and nothing is happy but i NEEDED to use all the delicious lore we got from Shadowbringers so all my hype went into this character oops??

Islin - dragoon baby concept really just to be a side-character for another character’s arc that grew way beyond the arc and i really need to do more with her tbh, my singular indisputably altruistic and good-aligned to a fault, naive-ish heroic character

Beset - another preexisting character that also didn’t get a fair shake who is my take on the stoic swordsman/lonewolf merc raised to be a weapon and slowly learning to feel trope only she’s 4′ nothing and full of spite and her merc boss/dad figure is the BBEG in an upcoming story arc

– eleven /  DREAM JOB. Writer for video games, animal health technician (the latter of which i’m actively working towards)

– twelve  /  MEANING BEHIND URL. Isseya, grey warden character from the Last Flight Dragon Age novel bc i love her

Tagged by: @merosmillionmains (thank you!!)

Tagging: I think I’m a bit behind on this meme so just DO IT IF YA SEE IT AND YA WANNA + tag me!

[clansayeed]

Oblivion Bound Fake Caps [ 17 / ? ] ↪ Iconic Character Quotes (cont.)

(also featuring new and finalized original character designs!)

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere​​​, @cess02​​​, @hellyeah90sbaby​​​, @tayab12​​​, @saratustra4​​​​, @imnotdonewiththeelementalists​​​​, @thepotatobleh​​​​ *join the Tag List here!

credits: transparents courtesy of the choices assets database fake screencap template, original character/s & their designs made by me

[lvllns]

well that’s 1400 words for a new longfic down

[red-wardens]

Another amazing round of commissioned art by @funayuurei thank you so much again <3 I always love your art!

Worldstate 2: Goth Goddesses 

Isseya Mahariel. The Matriarch of Amaranthine. Longbow Trapmaster/Ranger Specialization. Zevran Arainai Romance. Heterosexual. Afro-Asian coded. Age at start of Origins: 19

Henley Hawke. The Red Queen of Starkhaven. Earth & Arcane Type Magic/Blood Mage.  Sebastian Vael Rivalmance. Biromantic/Asexual. Irish Coded. Age when arriving to Kirkwall: 25

Xiaofan Cadash. The Empress of the Inquisition. Two-Handed Sword/Templar. Blackwall Romance. Pansexual. Chinese Coded. Age during the Conclave Explosion: 48

-----

[Worldstate 1]

[mcousland]

isseya became a lore master because her father was one, and when she arrived at the Lodge she fell in love with Every school of magic. she simply could not choose a single one to focus her studies on and so she ended up piling class upon class onto her schedule and worked to master them all.

cora became a lore master because when she was 11, she showed her first affinity for the arcane while exploring a magic shop with ulrich and her affection-starved heart jumped when she saw a spark of happiness in his eyes. she latched onto any and every bit of magical knowledge that she could, believing that if she kept learning that it would lead to him (and maybe others) loving her [more]. being sent to the Lodge was her dream come true and she never once hesitated under the workload she gave herself because of that belief and hope for approval.

[mokkri-valandiel]

For this Musical OC I’m going to try to pair a song I record with each drabble. Please enjoy.

WARNING: It is somewhat LOUD

MEMORIES: The Beginning

“Hey, Mom,” G’mokkri said sleepily, belly full of rolanberry pancakes. “Do you remember the time that Rha took me and Rhivvy to beach but it was winter and it was so cold that no one got into the water?” She giggled, “Well, except for him, to prove a point about how not-cold it was. You remember, right?” Her tone was hopeful.

“Sure,” G’zixa said, long auburn hair falling over one shoulder as she sat on the bed beside her daughter. “You...brought back a bunch of shells, right? One for everyone back home and a big one for me.”

Mokkri grimaces, headache forming as she tries to remember something that just didn’t seem to be there. “It was...big.” She repeats, turning over to hold her mother’s arm. “With spikes on it! And there were a bunch of colors. What--what happened to it?”

“Oh…” Zixa said thoughtfully, “I must have…given it to Rha before he left.”

“But Mom,” Mokkri says indignantly, “Why would you give away a present I gave you!” She frowns, rolling into a ball around her mother. Her bark had very little bite, but the hurt feelings were still there.

“Mokkri, you helped me give it to him,” Zixa said calmly, adept at telling a story when one needed to be told. “It was a goodbye present for when he left to go to Eorzea. I bet--I bet if you ask him, he probably has one of the many, many shells you’ve given him over the years.” Carefully Zixa spoke in maybes and might bes, “Why don’t you ask him, now that you are in town?”

“I could,” Mokki says tentatively, “But--”

“But what?”

Mokkri frowns. It was so close, yet so far away. “I dunno. He always seems like he wants to walk out of the room when I go around. Today he wanted to run errands, the other day he wanted to go out with his lady friends more than he wanted to see me. And something about vases.” She brightens. “But I made a friend! His name is Kouga and he’s short and won’t kiss me. We’re going to fight the darkness together!” She makes muffled punching motions against her blanket coccoon. “Hi-yah!”

“Mokkri, you shouldn’t be fighting. You need to stay safe.”

“Ugh!” Mokkri turned away in disgust. “I’m just joking, Mom.” She lied--it came as easily as breathing. So many answers to so any questions when she couldn’t remember the truth came out as convenient lies. “I’m just attending training for Kouga to make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

“Mm. So that sword you brought home is going back to the museum tomorrow?”

“I guess.” Mokkri didn’t bother to ask how her mother knew about the rapier. “But it’s not fair, for the record. You get to study at the Ossuary, Kouga gets to study with a sword and all I get is to wait for us to go to Gridania and hope the conjurers with the horns will see...me.” How did she know they had horns? She shrugged. “I’m bored. Why not just let me train?”

Zixa hesitated, but then acquiesced. “I will speak with Rha about training you as soon as I can.” G’mokkri make victorious punching motions under her covers. “But-- but. The sword stays at the museum. I don’t want violence in the inn.” Mokkri sighed a long suffering sigh but nodded. “Okay, night, little marvel.” Zixa bent down to kiss Mokkri, leaving the room.

Mokkri sighed again. But really, who needed a sword when she could throw the yard at someone? She reached a hand into the air and the beams around them creaked angrily in resistance to her magic.

“Mokkri!” came the sharp reprimand from the other room. Mokkri stopped, sheepish, tucking the arm back into bed.

There would be time to throw things tomorrow.

Mentioned: @lominsadan and @isseyas

Recorded using the FIFINE PC Microphone here.

[totentnz]

for the fact swap, by the end of origins isseya is covered in tattoos, courtesy of zevran, and her favorite one is a band of feathers that wraps around her right thigh.

Send me a fact about your OC and I’ll answer with a relevant fact about mine.

ohoho! vulnora, my surana, did the same thing! but i still gotta figure out what they are.😥  ofc i had to go over the top w her so she’s also got a split tongue, which frankly was a mess and nearly killed her.

[vasirah]

commission for @redribbonhood of their dragon age oc Isseya Mahariel!