#princessbatteringram

[elfinfen]

Elven OC Lilótanna Istimmírë for @princessbatteringram ✨

[ghilenan]

Commission for @princessbatteringram 😳

[nerimaha]

Sometimes you know your loved ones so well that you can easily predict their reaction to your little games. Liselle here definitely does! Commission for @princessbatteringram, thanks again for commissioning me!

DM me if you are interested in a commission!~

[vargonautic]

Half body commission for @princessbatteringram of her Hawke!

[buttsonthebeach]

Ritual

Man, did I love writing this sweet and funny short scene for @princessbatteringram! Thank you so much for commissioning me - Lia and Zevran are a treat to write <3

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots currently open as of 6/21/19)

Pairing: Lia Tabris x Zevran Arainai

Rating: General

****************************************

Zevran Arainai fought like no one Lia Tabris had ever known in the alienage. He was like a shadow come to life, quick and silent as clouds passing over the sun, always alert to the next weak spot, the next advantage. Even more than that - there was an elegance to the way he moved, pivoting from one stance to the next, rooting himself and striking, and then pivoting away again. His was not a style born purely out of a need for survival. It was an art.

Lia, for all her years of training, all of her mother’s lessons, and everything she had learned since her Joining (since Soris, Vaughn, Nelaros, Shianni), felt awkward beside him at first. Panicked, even, because she had been the soft-hearted fool who had agreed to let him join their party, whatever the others said. And Zevran was not only a consummate assassin but a perceptive one at that (or perhaps both of those skills went hand in hand) so of course he had noticed that his first night at camp, and had offered her physical exertion to get her mind off of things.

“Sure,” she’d said. “After that, how about we spar?”

Zevran had barked out a surprise laugh at her returned innuendo, and risen from his spot by the fire and moved towards her, and that was where their sparring tradition had begun. It had started as way for Lia to reassure herself that she wasn’t a fool, that she was keeping this dangerous assassin for her own purposes and that she was going to stay one step ahead of him and learn how he fought so she could neutralize him if she had to.

Of course, that was not where the sparring tradition had led. It had led to them laughing, exchanging tricks, playfully trying to one-up each other. In the midst of the carnage and chaos of the Blight it was a reprieve, even if they both knew that the skills they were honing today would be the only thing keeping them alive tomorrow.

It had led to this moment, this cool evening, the two of them the only ones on watch, their daggers put aside as they sparred hand to hand. Lia catching the first punch Zevran threw with a forearm block and then quickly twisting her wrist, grabbing his forearm, pulling him off balance, stepping behind him, going to jab at his kidneys with another hand. But he had learned this trick of course and so he let her pull him, followed the momentum, spun out of the way of the second punch, pivoted on his foot and kicked, making light contact with her ribs.

“Damn. It’s cheating to have such long legs you know,” she said, swiping playfully in his direction as he danced out of her reach.

“That’s not what I heard growing up,” he said, bouncing from foot to foot, keep his movements light and easy. She knew from the placement of his feet and from his patterns that next he would use his back leg, a more powerful kick, though of course he would not hurt her, but it would keep his torso out of her reach. But if she could catch him, throw that balance off…

“You grew up in a brothel,” she said, watching, waiting for the dancing to stop, for the moment he would plant one foot and kick with the other. “Was anything considered cheating?”

“No,” Zevran grinned, and that was the moment the weight shifted and he committed to the attack, the moment she darted forward, caught his kicking leg by the knee, and pulled, once again upsetting his balance.

She earned herself a heartfelt whispered brasca for that trick, and she held him there. The difference in their height was to her advantage now. Held as he was by one leg, he could not kick with the other, and since she was shorter, he was struggling to make contact with her. The more cramped space she had defined for their sparring was now to her advantage, not his.

That’s what you’ll always do, her mother told her. You’ll take whatever they throw at you and you’ll turn it to their advantage. I know you will.

Instead of trying to hit him again, Lia decided on a completely different tactic. She tickled the back of his knee where she held it.

Zevran yelped, started hopping, but her grip was like iron, and he couldn’t get away.

“A low trick,” he said.

“See, the thing is, there’s no such thing as cheating in the alienage either,” Lia said, smiling.

“Very well,” Zevran smiled, and then he gave one last bounce and Lia felt the tense of his muscles and he was jumping, bringing up the leg she did not have a grasp on, kicking with that one towards her head. Lia ducked, let go of the leg she’d grappled with, put her guard up. Zevran spun, landed, stood there smiling and cocky and panting, the laces that held his linen shirt falling open and showing the rapid movement of his smooth bare chest beneath.

“Impressive,” she said, her eyes flicking back up to meet his.

“I am,” Zevran agreed. “But between you and me, my dear Warden, I wasn’t sure if that would work. It’s been a long time since I tried such a trick.”

Lia felt her pulse speed up at the endearment. It had sounded false to her when he first joined their party - an overt attempt to win her trust and favor - but she knew now that it wasn’t. The warmth that accompanied the words was real.

But - how real?

“Let’s go again,” she said, wanting him closer.

Zevran closed the distance once again, stood looking down at her. “As my Warden commands.”

Her heart sped again.

What a foolish thing to be doing - circling each other near the fire, ignoring the fact that daylight was entirely gone, that they were exhausted, that they had miles to cover the next day and the day after that, and darkspawn to fight, and treaties to uphold. She should be resting, planning. But Lia did not want to be anywhere else, she realized. This nightly ritual did not exhaust her. She drew strength and courage and renewal from it.

It’s just that it helps me hone my skills, she told herself as they went for another round, Lia leading off this time, getting inside his guard as quickly as she could to erase the advantage of his longer limbs, trying to hit the side of his head with an open palm so that he would raise his arms to block, so she could go low, for the softness of his stomach. Except, of course, it was not soft when she made her light contact there, but warm and firm as he tensed his muscles against the impact. She felt the soft puff of his breath as he did it. They were so very close to one another like this. She went lower still, sweeping for his legs, and he was not quite fast enough, and she toppled him, but he caught himself easily.

“Again! I won’t be fooled next time,” he said, still laughing.

They went on, attack, block, counterattack, longer this time, with less outward silliness, still smiling and laughing nonetheless, and slowly but surely Lia had to admit it to herself.

It’s just that he makes me smile, and I need that.

Zevran went on the aggressive as their sparring continued, quick and perceptive and ever seeking somewhere she could not block, hazel eyes watching her all the while, lips parted with his exertions now.

And this is the only time we get just the two of us.

“Careful, dear Warden.” The attacks stopped and Zevran had his hands on her waist, and she was abruptly aware that her retreating heel had caught on a branch, that she had been inches from falling.

And that was when the thought hit her, clear as the clarion call of a trumpet.

Months before, on her wedding day, she had looked at the stranger named Nelaros and seen his sweetness and thought I could love you. That feeling had been washed away in blood (like dogs, Shianni) and only blood had followed. The price she had to pay for all the adventures she’d wanted so badly as a child.

But now she stood there and she looked at Zevran - the gentle curves of his tattoos framing his cheekbones, the warmth of his golden-brown skin and his hazel eyes, the way his hands held her, like she was precious - and the thought came back to her, louder and clearer than ever before.

I could love you.

“Are you quite well?” Zevran asked, eyebrows knitting together now, seriousness chasing away the playful gleam in his eyes.

Lia straightened, stepped away from the branch that had nearly tripped her, and that only brought her closer to him, which only confused the issue further. She had responsibilities now, a Blight to quell, and who knew what lay at the end of that road, and Zevran was a wanted man, and this was not the time for this thought to be flashing through her mind over and over again, but here they were, and he was not stepping back, he was just letting her get closer, closer, and his hands were still on her waist.

“Of course,” she said, stepping back, over the branch this time.

“Are you certain?” Zevran said, still frowning, following her.

Lia let herself react to her first impulse, which was to sweep his legs again. He was still high in his stance and still focused on her and so it worked. He stumbled and was ready to fall and this time she caught him, steadied him, drew him close to her, and he was laughing, but it was a quieter, more intimate sort of laugh, and Lia knew there was nothing she could do now, no way to run from this. No joke she could tell to play the moment off.

“There’s something here, isn’t there?” She breathed the words out more than she spoke them. Like they were too fragile to truly voice. And maybe they were. She thought, again, of Vaughn, of Nelaros, of Shianni, of all the horror she had witnessed since. Ostagar and beyond. Of the hundred worries that kept her up every night.

Zevran raised one hand from her waist to touch her cheek, his knuckles brushing so lightly against her that it made her skin prickle all over, and he was looking at her the way elders looked to the vhenadahl, the way Chantry sisters looked to their carved images of Andraste. Like she was holy.

Lia fisted her hand in the fabric of his loose shirt, stood on her tiptoes, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Zevran Arainai did not hesitate for a single instant before kissing her back.

His arms went around her and he held her and he slanted his mouth against hers and he kissed her like this was the last time he would ever kiss anyone. Lia fell into it, kissed him back with the same fervor, let her hands roam over the body she had come to know through their sparring, feeling out with tenderness the places she had only felt through playful jabs before. His lean muscle, and all the soft places too, like the hollow of this throat, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

They parted, panting, but neither of them let the other go far. Zevran’s hands were on her face and hers were on his waist and they stood there, looking at each other, and for that moment the rest of the world fell away.

“That was a yes, by the way,” Zevran said finally.

Lia laughed, tried to push him, but he held caught her wrists and pulled her closer and kissed her again, bending down to her, cradling her head, molding her to him, and he was warm and right and perfect and maybe she hadn’t been an idiot after all, asking him to stay.

“So will it be cheating if I start doing that to distract you while we spar?” Lia asked.

“I don’t know. Shall we find out?”

Their ritual went on, changed now, interrupted by those sweet moments, like pinpricks of starlight in the midst of the darkness of night.

[ravenqueen89]

As you’ve already seen, certain people have ganged up on me to make my birthday ridiculously amazing and full of wonder despite my express wishes. You’ve probably noticed this is a @vjatoch appreciation blog/life, and she has created this masterpiece and I am (as ever) in awe at her craft and her attention to detail and I’m a little weepy over this scene from Evensong being depicted in such a stunning way that goes far beyond anything I could’ve come up with. I am...SO overwhelmed. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

[fandom-age]

text overlaid atop the dragon age logo that reads “@princessbatteringram is such a sweet and funny person and I’m so so lucky to be able to call her my friend!! She’s a delight to talk to and her blog is filled to the brim with top quality DA posts. She’s so great”

[briarfox13]

So I got surprised yesterday with this amazing sketch of my Bramble by @noquietinhere that the simply adorable @princessbatteringram got for me <3

And I just had to share it!!! Thank you so much to both of you Bramble looks just perfect <3 

[desdemere]

ko-fi sketch of Vir’era for @princessbatteringram and their friend! he’s crushin on a commander :o) thank you so much!

ko-fi sketches my ko-fi

[tk-duveraun]

⚽️ for Firi and Fox :D

There was a shem with a spear staring at her clan’s halla. A shem with a spear. That would not stand. Nope, not one little bit. Not today, not any day. Firi took a single moment to consider whether or not it was a good idea (the shem couldn’t be more than fiften, she’d be fine) before tackling him. She grabbed the shem by the hair (it was not nicer than hers) and tried to smash his face into the dirt as the halla ran from the scuffle.

Just as she was going to put his stupid, nice, but not-as-nice-as-hers hair into the dirt, Firi realized that what she’d thought was a spear was actually a staff. A magic staff. The burst of force magic hit her in the gut and knocked the breath out of her lungs with a loud squeak.

The boy scrambled to his feet with the help of his staff and aimed the blade at her. “What was that for!”

“You were gonna kill our halla!”

“What? No I wasn’t!”

“Yes you were, I saw you!”

The boy shook his staff and an illusion formed of a halla (it looked similar to a halla at least, some of the details were off) that trotted up to his side. He petted the image, even though his hand passed through. “I just wanted to give her some scritches!”

Firi crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, then don’t!” A loud meow sounded from the boy’s satchel. “And just for that, you can’t see my kitten.”

They glared at each other and the standoff might have lasted the entire day if the boy’s black-haired guardian hadn’t appeared and dragged him off, chiding the boy in heavily accented Trade.

[effelants]

I'm a professional dumbass named Aly. My favorite color is yellow. I have too many ships. Mint chocolate chip is my fave. My heart belongs to many cats including yours 😏❤️

Aly. Pls. You are the 2%.

PS: my kitties love you and appreciate you.

I’m getting to know some of my followers that I haven’t spoken with before and apparently some people that I speak with all the damn time - talk to me! I want to get to know you.

[ghilenan]

Commission for @princessbatteringram 💜

[acealistair]

I also have Feelings about my characters (D&D and otherwise) so! For your Lyrie: What do they care deeply about? What kind of loyalties, commitments, moral codes, life philosophies, passions, callings, or spirituality and faith do they have? How do these tend to be expressed? ✌️

OOOH GETTIN’ RIGHT TO THE HEART OF IT

So, Lyrie is chaotic neutral, in the sense that she cares about 1) her own wellbeing and 2) the wellbeing of her friends, which for a long time was only about 3 people. After she met our party, that number expanded to perhaps about 7 people. 

Anyone else, she couldn’t care less about. Lyrie doesn’t go out of her way to hurt innocent people, but she also doesn’t necessarily care if something does happen to them. She has a policy of minding her own business. This makes her come across as selfish and cold to those she’s not close with. 

Of her friends, though, she has a tendency to single out one person as The Most Important Person™, and they kinda become her anchor; she is practically inseparable from them, and will protect them at all costs. She’s actually not selfish in the interest of herself; nearly everything she does is geared towards the happiness and/or safety of her Important Person™. Lyrie doesn’t consciously recognize that she functions like this, but… yeah haha. Is this an unhealthy coping mechanism for her shitty childhood and lack of direction on her own? Absolutely! :’D

For most of her life, the Important Person™ was Fie, her twin sister. Fie was Lyrie’s only friend in childhood despite their mother keeping them separated for the most part. Lyrie’s main goal was to take Fie and live far away in the middle of nowhere in peace for the rest of their lives… but then the end-of-the-world thing started happening so Lyrie agreed to take care of that, and THEN go and fulfill her goal. 

But… the rug was pulled out from under her when Fie sacrificed herself, and then within mere hours of that, the rest of the party decided they wanted to quite literally throw away the only known way of saving the world in order to “save” an already-evacuated town… so Lyrie took the artifact in question and left the party (it wasn’t an easy feat) to go find Cassian, another party member who was elsewhere on the continent and who Lyrie firmly believed would support her choices. 

We had an in-game timeskip of a year after that, and during that time Lyrie’s Important Person™ became Cassian. Along with that, she developed some romantic feelings for him, but she hasn’t realized it yet. So, at the moment, she’s 100% loyal to Cassian, and, other than looking for ways to bring back her sister from the dead, spends all her time with him. (Now the party has come back together and are… working out their differences, haha.)

As far as faith/spirituality goes… HA. The gods absolutely exist in this world; we’ve met them a few times. One of them was the one that Fie sacrificed herself to, and is now parading around the continent in her possessed body. Lyrie also recently found out that she miiight be the daughter of a goddess. My DM and I have a joke that she’s an atheist, though, because her attitude is pretty much “FUCK THE GODS.” They ruined her life since birth, and are continuing to do so! One of Lyrie’s more existential fears is lack of control; she wants to be her own person, not a puppet. But the longer we’ve been on this adventure, the more and more we’re finding that nearly everything has been one god or another’s plan… It’s not helping my poor girl at all. ;v;

I’m answering questions about my D&D OC, Lyrie! If you’re curious, I’d be super happy if you sent me a question! :D I’m also happy to answer questions about her party members, to the best of my ability…

[frostmagik]

My inquisitor, Raqiyah, drawn by @vjatoch

[vargonautic]

Isabela for @princessbatteringram!! Thank you so much for commissioning me my love!!!!! I’ve never drawn Bela before she was a blast :D

[ravenqueen89]

Song of the sea

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Isabela/Lottie Hawke

Rating: PG

Notes: Another in the ‘for the beautiful perfect Aly’ series, and yet another instance of me falling in love with one of Aly’s characters. Go explore more of Lottie’s perfection here. This took way too long, as per usual, but I hope it’s readable <3

Now also on ao3. 

Isabela wakes to a golden languor that still feels like a dream. The sun filters warmly into the captain’s cabin, and her lips are pressed to Lottie’s freckled shoulder because it’s how she fell asleep, and they’re tangled together in a sweet mess of sheets.

The ship is uncharacteristically quiet. Having docked in Hercinia the previous night, most of the crew enthusiastically departed on shore leave. Only the bare minimum remained behind as security. Hercinia has become less of a haven for raiders in the past few years, but Isabela has learned the hard way to leave nothing to chance.

For now, all is peaceful. All she can hear is the gentle lap of waves against the hull, the creak of wood, and the melody of the sea, and Lottie’s breathing. It’s perfect.

Isabela can tell by the light that it’s afternoon, but she lives for these lazy days in bed, docked along the Waking Sea. The world isn’t ending, and the past feels very far away, the ashes of Kirkwall just a distant nightmare, the death and the sorrow mere memories. There is nothing but this peace, and Isabela keeps expecting to wake up from whatever magic has allowed her to live this ideal, but Lottie’s always there, the last sight she sees before falling asleep, the first sight she sees when she wakes, the beauty she dreams of when she rests.

Lottie snuffles in that adorable way of hers, lashes fluttering as sunlight finds her face, and Isabela laughs softly, as horribly endeared as usual. She’d expected this phase to wear off, the way she’s so utterly besotted, but if anything this time spent at sea has made it all worse, and she can’t even be upset about it. Instead, she nuzzles Lottie’s shoulder for what must be the millionth time, the freckles there as familiar to her as breathing, her lips tracing a soft and gentle line towards Lottie’s collarbone. Lottie smiles, that sweet smile that curls one corner of her mouth more than the other, and she makes this hushed happy little sound that always makes Isabela’s heart flutter like a lovesick pup’s.

‘Timesit?’ Lottie asks, with her characteristic morning eloquence, snuggling into Isabela without opening her eyes.

Isabela brushes her nose against Lottie’s and then kisses her forehead, lingering in the beauty of the moment before finally attempting to disentangle herself from the sheets.

‘Time to disembark and check on our crew, sweetness.’

Isabela sets about gathering her clothing from where it’s been strewn carelessly around the cabin by impatient hands. She finds her daggers under a misshapen chair, and turns to comment on this to Lottie only to find her mage not only out of bed but also fully clothed. Lottie’s hair is already up in her usual mess of a bun, and she’s humming the notes of a bawdy song one of the boatswains has been teaching her. There’s a dreamy look on her face that Isabela is as suspicious of as she is of this unusual haste. Only Lottie matches Isabela’s laziness at the start of the day, and this routine is not at all part of the norm. She continues being suspicious as Lottie kisses her cheek while still humming that tune.

‘I’ll meet you at the tavern, love, I have some letters to send.’

Isabela arches her eyebrow but Lottie’s already on her way out of the cabin, so there’s no time to comment. She can hear Lottie rummaging and then the unsubtle clinking of a worrying amount of coin and then Lottie disembarks and Isabela’s left still mostly undressed and wondering what Lottie is plotting this time around.

*

By nightfall, Isabela makes her way towards the tavern, a heavy coinpurse on her hip following the completion of her errands. She’s planning on how many payments she needs to make and repairs that need done, and how to make sure the coin covers at least two more of Lottie’s spontaneous plans. She’s caught up in her calculations (and how is this her life again?) but not caught up enough to not notice Lottie trying to sneak up on her from the shadows. Isabela still doesn’t know if it’s the magic or if it’s just Lottie’s general presence, but she can always tell when Lottie is near. It’s like the air bends around her, like it transforms, like it fills with energy that crackles around her. Isabela’s been able to feel her from the very start, so it’s no surprise, but it hasn’t stopped Lottie from trying, and it hasn’t stopped Isabela from playing along. She knows that Lottie’s going to go for the hat before Lottie even gets close enough, but she laughs anyway, joyous and unrestrained and not even slightly annoyed, though she lunges for the hat still, as she always does. Isabela’s very fond of her admiral’s hat, but the sight of Lottie running around with it like she’s accomplished a great feat is even better, and Isabela always wins this game, in the end. She lets Lottie think she has the upper hand and then gives chase while Lottie is distracted by waving the hat in the air, while the locals stare at the two of them playing like children with no small amount of consternation.

Isabela wins her hat back when Lottie pauses at the tavern door, all intent like she’s waiting for something. There is a suspicious absence of noise coming from within, but before Isabela can query it, Lottie swoops right in and kisses her, all quick softness and fingers linking with Isabela’s and then she opens the door and pulls her inside.

In the tavern, there is momentary silence, and then everything erupts into boisterous merriment. Lottie grins at her, and Isabela wants to glare, she really does, but Lottie twirls her in front of the gathered crowd and Isabela has to laugh. There is a large group of minstrels gathered in the corner, singing something about love that Isabela’s heard Lottie hum before. The townsfolk are huddled around, staring at the pair of them like they’re expecting something, and Isabela’s about to ask, about to voice the realisation that’s just dawned on her, but then the music stops and silence descends once more, and when Isabela looks away from the minstrels she finds Lottie kneeling on the floor, grinning with all the joyful innocence in the world, still holding on to Isabela’s hand.

Fifty protests are about to leave Isabela’s lips at once, but they fade into nothingness when Lottie speaks.

‘Bela,’ she says, her voice undulating around Isabela’s name in that way that always makes her knees go weak. ‘Bela, we’ve been through a lot together. I fell for you the first time I saw you, and I love you with every breath. We’re each other’s strength and each other’s fate, and I want to be at your side for as long as we have. Will you marry me?’

Isabela’s distracted, by Lottie’s tone, by Lottie’s words, by the flush in her cheeks that makes her freckles stand out even more, by the way Lottie’s thumb is drawing patterns across her palm, but when it all sinks in she twines her fingers through Lottie’s and laughs, tears in her eyes and emotion making her heart race. She sinks to her knees and cups Lottie’s face and calls her ridiculous before kissing her, and kissing her, and kissing her. The silence drags on as the entire tavern seems to hold its breath, and Isabela turns just slightly to face their audience.

‘Dear folk, I appreciate the fervour, but this woman here has been my wife for years.’

Laughter breaks out, and many heads shake in confusion, but then the tavern’s patrons loudly join together in cheer and song. Isabela kisses Lottie through several songs as people around them drink and dance and toast their health, the smell of ale strong in the air, but nothing will ever be as intoxicating to Isabela as Lottie is, and the thought doesn’t even worry her anymore.

They sway together for a long time in an approximation of a dance in the midst of the festivities, and Isabela doesn’t even enquire as to the amount of coin lining the purses of the travelling minstrels and the locals. It doesn’t matter. Lottie is glowing with happiness as they hold each other, foreheads pressed together, and Isabela wants to hold on to this forever, hold on to the happiness, to the ease, to it being just the two of them.

Later, much later, they walk back toward the ship, and it takes longer than it should because they’re still tangled together and unwilling to  part, and their footsteps and laughter echo through the empty streets.

‘How many more ports are you going to do this in, sweetness?’ Isabela asks, as Lottie presses kisses to her cheek, and the warmth of Lottie’s laughter fans over her skin.

‘I don’t have a definite number in mind, my love.’

Isabela hums a little and kisses her again as they reach the ship, all sweetness and spice and promise. She knows nothing about what the future holds, but she does know that Lottie will be in it, and Isabela wants to celebrate every moment they have, every shared breath. They steal some more time holding each other, listening to the waves against the hull. Before they climb aboard, Lottie twirls Isabela again and Isabela breathes in her favourite scents, Lottie and the sea, and she wonders at this feeling of safety that she never thought she’d have.

‘You didn’t give me an answer, Bela. Will you marry me?’

Lottie’s grin makes Isabela’s breath catch, but she doesn’t let it show. She looks at her hand, carefully inspecting her nails, twirling her ring, taking her time until Lottie starts fidgeting, her fingers drumming a rhythm against Isabela’s back.

‘I’ll think about it, sweetness.’

She breaks away with one of her most legendary and dangerous smirks, and laughs as she hears Lottie stumbling all over herself in her haste to follow, her mage calling out an indignant ‘hey!’ in her wake.

Isabela’s laughter drifts into the town on the breeze along with the bells of the ships coming into port, and then silence falls once more.