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forcing myself to do the rivain coast quests solely to get the invitation armor for caelen

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If that's what he wanted, why imprison you? Why not just kill you? No offence. It's a fair question.

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seven sentence wip

thanks for the tag, @serbarris! this is from a small oneshot i'm working on:

“Of course,” Lucanis hummed in agreement. “Just say the word if you need any assassinations done.” Caelen let out a chuckle, propping himself up on an elbow. His gaze lingered on Lucanis’s face, fond and amused, while his free hand traced idle patterns across his bare chest. “We haven’t even had breakfast and you’re already offering to commit murder for me? I’m flattered.” Lucanis’s smile grew. “For you, tesoro, I’d murder before breakfast.”

tagging @l-llavellans, @the-font-bandit, @wickedwitchofthewilds and @megthemariner, no pressure as always!

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Fala amo

Fandom: Dragon Age Rating: G Characters: Caelen Mercar, Lucanis Dellamorte Words: 2,849 Chapters: 1/1 Summary: A few days after the Dread Wolf's fall, Lucanis takes Caelen on their long overdue first date.

Caelen stood in front of the mirror longer than he cared to admit, adjusting the collar of his shirt for the fifth time. The black silk was a perfect fit for him, elegant without being too formal. Two buttons hung open at his throat, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone and the silver necklaces that glinted against his skin. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back, then exhaled.

Stay calm. It’s only dinner, he told himself, staring at his own reflection. With Lucanis.

And yet, somehow, it felt like something new. Their first actual date, with no mission or gods threatening to end the world. Caelen rolled his shoulders back, trying to shake the flutter of nerves low in his stomach. He wasn’t used to this kind of thing, the anticipation of not knowing exactly what the night would bring.

He leaned against the polished edge of the dresser, fingers toying absently with his rings. The room, ornate in a classic Antivan style, smelled of wood and sea air coming in through the open balcony doors. He could hear the city below, the sound of laughter and crowded streets.

Caelen paced across the room, his boots thudding softly against the floor. At the sound of a knock, he froze.

“Come in,” he called, keeping his tone casual despite the pounding inside his chest.

[Read on AO3]

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as a latina i feel so robbed that we didn't get to hear lucanis say "te amo" during his romance. we could have had it all

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thanks for the tag @serbarris!!

tagging @l-llavellans, @megthemariner, and @the-font-bandit!

I've never been tagged before. Thanks, @myxownxghost (you have green eyes? Pretty girl, I'm jealous) Blog & Blogger (picrew link). My blog is too obscure for such flashmobs, but the tool had a Kim Kitsuragi background, so I felt obligated.

Tagging @alt3rnata, @liddolwitch. You, too, shall suffer this fate. If you want to.

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'being obsessed with your ocs is so embarrassing' no it isn't. we're returning to our noble roots of playing dolls. stop self depricating and tell me about your guy.

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Happy Friday! Here's a prompt: Dorian/Lavellan - there is no shame in this

thanks for the prompt! for @dadrunkwriting

Of all the wretched places in the South, the Fallow Mire was rapidly climbing to the top of Dorian’s personal list of hells. Mud up to the ankles, an endless swarm of demons and undead, and the air so damp it seeped straight into his bones. He’d already fought off a half-rotted corpse that had the audacity to grin at him, and as if that weren’t indignity enough, now — this.

A damn hole.

One misstep in the chaos of battle, his foot sliding into a slope beneath the muck, and it was all it took for him to limp like some old man. Wonderful.

Dorian gritted his teeth as he followed Marel and the others, each step sending jolts of pain up his leg. It was absolutely pathetic — a mage such as himself, undone by mud and poor footing. He could already envision Varric’s tale about his impending disgrace.

As if that wasn’t enough, he could feel Marel’s eyes on him. The man had the infuriating habit of noticing everything, especially the things Dorian wanted to keep hidden. And yes, maybe his stride had grown... noticeably uneven. But he wasn’t about to admit to anything.

That is, until Marel’s boots squelched to a stop and he turned abruptly.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong,” he began, his voice edged with that particular brand of impatience Dorian knew all too well, “or should I guess?”

Dorian straightened his back and smoothed his expression, even as his ankle throbbed mercilessly. “Nothing’s wrong. Truly.”

“Fine. I’ll guess.” Marel’s pointed gaze dropped to his leg, lingering there a beat too long. “You sprained your ankle.”

Dorian pursed his lips. “A minor twist, that’s all. As I said: nothing worth fussing over.”

He hated the way Marel was looking at him, as if he could peel him open with a glance and see all the cracks underneath. Not to mention the flicker of softness in his features, the kind that made Dorian’s skin shiver with something far too vulnerable.

Marel’s jaw tightened. “Let me help you.”

It was a simple request, but it prickled Dorian’s pride all the same. “That won’t be necessary,” he snapped, chin lifting in defiance. “I said I’m fine.”

Marel stared at him, unmoving, his silence louder than any argument.

Despite his furrowed brow, Dorian knew what was behind it. Not pity, because Marel was too blunt for that, but something worse: care. The very thing Dorian craved and resented in equal measure.

Marel stepped closer, boots sloshing in the mud. “You’ll make it worse if you keep going like this.”

Again, he was proving himself to be right. Dorian exhaled sharply. “Well, what other choice do I have, pray tell?”

“I’ll carry you,” Marel simply offered.

Dorian blinked. “Excuse me?”

Marel didn’t waver. “You’ll barely make it halfway back to camp in this state.”

Dorian glanced around, as though the mire could offer him another solution before he had to endure such humiliation. “You do realize we still have an hour at least before we’re back at camp?”

“Closer to two, actually,” Marel said. “Doesn’t matter.”

Dorian gaped at him, dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious.”

Marel held back a frustrated sigh. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

He definitely did not. Dorian’s stomach twisted as he studied Marel’s face, taking in the worry beneath all that stubbornness. Damn him. Damn everything. His heart thudded at the absurd realization: this man was genuinely willing to carry him — across miles of mire, nonetheless — without so much as blinking.

“You’re impossible,” Dorian muttered.

“And you’re stubborn as hell,” Marel replied flatly, though there was no real bite to his tone. 

Before Dorian could think of a retort, Varric’s voice rang out from ahead. “Hate to break up the tender moment, but any chance you two lovebirds could pick up the pace?”

“Need help carrying the ‘vint, Boss?” Bull added, slinging his greataxe over one broad shoulder.

Dorian’s face burned hot. In his argument with Marel, he’d completely forgotten their companions were not only waiting, but listening to their every word. He dragged a hand down his face, wishing the marsh to open up and swallow him whole.

“Just get on with it,” he snapped at Marel, feeling mortified. “But if you drop me—”

“I won’t,” Marel promised. Without hesitation, his arms slid behind Dorian’s back and under his knees.

The world tipped until Dorian was easily lifted and cradled against Marel’s chest. Instinct kicked in, and Dorian’s arms circled Marel’s neck, fingers tightening as he scowled down at the mud below.

“Maker,” Dorian muttered. “This is humiliating.”

Marel’s lips twitched with amusement. “You’ll live.”

Dorian stiffened at first, but Marel adjusted his grip, securing him before setting off through the mire. Marel’s steps were steady despite the added weight, and he managed to keep up with Bull and Varric without an issue.

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders loosening. He glanced up, taking in the sharp lines of Marel’s jaw, the damp strands of hair plastered across his brow, golden eyes fixed ahead with that same determination that always caught him off guard.

Time stretched, the ache in his ankle receding under the steady rhythm of Marel’s stride. And — damn him again — Dorian felt the last of his pride start to melt. His head tipped slightly, brushing the edge of Marel’s collarbone.

Marel didn’t speak. Instead, he gently squeezed his arm around Dorian’s back, keeping him nestled against his chest.

And so Dorian closed his eyes, the pain easing as the camp drew closer. For once, he allowed himself the rare indulgence of simply being held.

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3 Things in Common With Your OC

Ohh thanks for the tag @the-font-bandit! Choosing my son Caelen Mercar to do this!

1. Is an artist

Caelen loves making art, just like I do! The main difference is that he focuses on traditional art (like drawing in sketchbooks and painting on canvas), while I’m a digital artist. I used to draw on paper until I was a teenager. I think I got my first tablet when I was 13, and from that point on, I pretty much only made digital art.

2. Dressing style

I wear black 99% of the time and I totally projected that onto him, not gonna lie lmao. I was also an emo kid and lean toward a goth style nowadays, and Caelen has that vibe too. He would definitely dress wayy fancier than I do, with more accessories and more expensive clothes, but the essence is pretty similar.

3. Enjoys tea

I love drinking tea before bed, especially in the fall and winter. Caelen knows how to brew all kinds of teas for different occasions, and he’s often drinking it. Since he doesn’t like coffee much, he usually substitutes it with energizing tea blends in the morning and afternoon.

tagging @megthemariner, @l-llavellans, @himluv, @thuviel, and @serbarris if you feel like doing this!

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oi! for speak your language day, você poderia compartilhar um fato sobre seu pássaro favorito do brasil? obrigado!

oi, claro!! o meu pássaro preferido com certeza é a arara azul, ela é tão linda (só olha a carinha dela)! a expectativa de vida delas é de 50 anos e elas vivem no pantanal, cerrado ou amazônia. eu já tive a chance de ver algumas em zoológicos, elas são enormes ao vivo LOL

obrigada pela ask! <3

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what’s your favorite saying/expression in Portuguese?

ohh that's a great question!

there are A LOT of sayings in brazil but here's some of my favorites:

"sextou" = i love this one because it kinda means 'it's friday time'. 'sexta' means friday, so 'sextou' is literally conjugating friday into a verb to celebrate the end of the week. it's like a state of mind you know? it's superb LOL

"passando mal" = literally means 'i'm feeling sick' but it's also used as a slang. it's that feeling when you find something so funny that you can't physically handle it

"pedir ajuda aos universitários" = the literal translation is 'ask the college students for help'. it's like when you feel the need to ask a younger and smarter person to help you with a task

"que ódio" = kinda means "i hate this", it's often used to express frustration over something and people throw this in the middle of phrases to emphasize their annoyance

there are many others but i don't want this to get too long!

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i just discovered that may 7th is "speak your language day", so if anyone wants to know any words or expressions in portuguese send me an ask and i'll translate it!

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okay but consider: rookanis coffee shop au

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OC Traits Tag — Marel Lavellan

i was tagged by @serbarris!!

Compassion: 6/10 — He’s more compassionate toward the Dalish and elves in general

Bitterness: 5/10 — I’d give him an 8 during Inquisition, especially after clan Lavellan’s death. Otherwise, he’s not very bitter, just grumpy lol

Happiness: 7/10 — Around 3 during Inquisition, 4 in Trespasser, and 7 by Veilguard. Having Dorian by his side and building a family made him happier over the years

Politeness: 3/10 — It’s not that he lacks manners, but he’s usually very direct and doesn’t sugarcoat things. Some people interpret that as rudeness

Chivalry: 7/10 — Not exactly a knight in shining armor, but he has strong morals

Pride: 3/10 — He’s very humble, pretty much the opposite of prideful

Honesty: 10/10 — Values honesty a lot. Plus, he couldn’t hide his emotions even if he tried, he’s very expressive and makes it obvious when something’s bothering him

Bravery: 10/10 — Won’t hesitate to do what needs to be done and step into danger whenever necessary

Recklessness: 10/10 — Short temper + impulsive decisions = guaranteed chaos lmao

Ambition: 2/10 — He never truly wanted more than a peaceful life in his clan, and look where that got him

Loyalty: 10/10 — Extremely loyal and protective toward the people he’s close to

Love: 10/10 — Has a big heart and plenty of love to give

Sense of Family: 10/10 — Family means everything to him. He loves them deeply and would do anything for them

Attractiveness: 10/10 — I mean, 6'4", strong and brooding warrior. Do I need to say more

Agility: 5/10 — I'd say average agility since he fights with a greatsword

Sex Drive: 9/10 — Naturally has a high libido, not to mention he really enjoys the intimacy and connection that comes with having sex with a loved one (aka his husband)

tagging @l-llavellans, @daepressed-pistachio, @megthemariner, @antivan-sprig and @silent-words, no pressure!

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Happy Friday! How about Marel bringing Dorian flowers?

that was such a perfect prompt, i loved it!! here's some pavellan fluff for @dadrunkwriting

A gentle morning breeze ruffled Marel’s hair as he stood in Skyhold’s garden.

Before him, a bed of carnations had burst open overnight — pink, deep crimson, ivory. They leaned toward him in silent invitation, as if they’d bloomed just to be seen.

He hadn’t meant to stop. His path had been set toward the training yard, mind already occupied with sword forms and footwork. But the colors had caught his attention, as well as the familiar scent.

His parents had loved carnations.

Back in his clan, when winter loosened its grip and the first buds of green returned to the forest, the Dalish would begin weaving flower bracelets. It was tradition, an offering of affection and new beginnings. Elvhen children would spend hours threading blooms together for siblings, family and loved ones. Some gave them shyly, in secret. Others wore theirs proudly, tokens of love accepted and returned.

Marel remembered those days. The laughter around campfires. The nervous excitement of gifting something handmade. The happiness of being chosen.

And now, all that memory bloomed amidst Skyhold’s garden.

Marel crouched down, fingers brushing over the stems with care. He hadn’t made one of those bracelets since he was a child. He didn’t think he remembered how. Still, his hands moved instinctively as he began to pluck a set of carnations.

The gardens were still at this hour. Sunlight spilled through the trees, catching in Marel’s hair as he knelt on the grass beside the wide trunk of an old tree.

Without quite meaning to, he sat down. At first, the weaving felt clumsy, but it grew more natural with each passing minute. Pale pink and deep red flowers nestled into a braid of leaves. Small. Delicate. A little crooked, but whole.

When he finished, Marel sat back on his heels and studied the bracelet in his hands.

It wasn’t nearly as graceful as the ones his mother used to make — hers had always looked effortless — but it was… decent. His thumbs brushed over the petals, lingering there.

He made it for Dorian, though the thought felt odd when he turned it over in his mind. Josephine had once mentioned that humans gave bouquets to show affection, not bracelets. Especially not ones made by hand. What if this was the wrong gesture?

Besides, Dorian often wore gold and fancy jewelry. What would he see in a bracelet of garden flowers, hastily braided in the dirt? Maybe he’d even think of it as a childish thing.

Marel let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand across his face.

It’s just flowers. Don’t overthink it.

Before he could change his mind, he made his way to the library. Marel kept the bracelet tucked in his palm as he crossed Skyhold’s corridors, his heartbeat quickening the closer he got. 

He stopped just outside the entrance.

Dorian was already there, moving among the tall shelves, brows drawn in thought as he searched for a book. He looked every bit the scholar, entirely focused on his task — until his gaze drifted and met Marel’s.

Surprise flickered across his face, but it softened almost instantly. He stepped out from the aisle.

“Amatus,” he said, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “This is unexpected. I thought you'd be in the training yard by now.”

Marel swallowed. “I changed my mind.”

He took a few steps closer, his pulse beating faster than it ever did in the battlefield.

“I have something for you.”

Before hesitation could root him in place, he brought his hand forward and offered the bracelet.

Dorian blinked down at it, his smile faltering just slightly. The little circlet of flowers looked almost fragile against Marel’s calloused hand. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he reached out and took it delicately, like it was something far more precious than a handful of blooms braided together.

“You made this?” he asked, uncertain in a way Marel rarely heard.

Marel gave a small nod. “It’s something we used to do in my clan,” he said, eyes dropping briefly to the floor before meeting Dorian’s again. “At the start of spring. We’d make a bracelet out of flowers and give it to someone who mattered.”

Dorian was silent for a beat. Then he turned the bracelet between his fingers, the smallest of creases appearing at the corner of his mouth.

“And this year,” he said softly, “you chose me.”

The words landed with more weight than expected. Marel glanced down, and in that still moment, he felt as if Dorian was holding far more than just a flower braid. A piece of his beating heart.

Maybe this had been a foolish idea after all.

“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” Marel muttered. “I didn’t know if—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish. Dorian’s hands rose gently to his face, and his lips pressed to Marel’s.

Marel froze, startled for a heartbeat — then his shoulders eased, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into the kiss. It was soft and unhurried, the kind that made butterflies twirl in his stomach.

When Dorian finally pulled back, his gaze brimmed with warmth.

“I loved it,” he murmured.

Marel let out a breath that had been long caught in his chest. He watched as Dorian slipped the bracelet over his wrist carefully, as if afraid to bruise the petals. The blooms stood out against his sleeve, a burst of spring color in contrast to fine silk.

“I’m going to wear this until it falls apart,” Dorian said, looping his arms around Marel’s neck. “And when it does, I’ll expect another.”

Marel let out a chuckle, hands settling on Dorian’s waist. “Is that a demand?”

“A request,” Dorian smiled. “From someone important to you.”

Something in Marel’s chest shifted at that. His smile widened, and he kissed Dorian again, then once more, melting into his arms.

He would make as many bracelets as Dorian wanted. For as many springs as they had left.

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Sensitive

Fandom: Dragon Age Rating: E Characters: Marel Lavellan, Dorian Pavus Words: 3,167 Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Amidst his studies, Dorian stumbles upon an intriguing passage regarding the sensitivity of elven ears. Naturally, he's eager to conduct a research on the matter, and who better to assist than Marel?

The room was still, save for the continuous scratch of quill on parchment. 

Marel sat hunched over his desk, a half-melted candle lighting his scarred arms and the loose linen of his shirt. The tips of his hair were still damp from a late bath, clinging to his temple. A faint scent of ink and lavender soap lingered in the air.

The door clicked open softly. Marel’s ears twitched at the sound, but he didn’t lift his gaze.

Dorian’s voice cut through the silence.

“Amatus. Would you have a moment for a... scholarly inquiry?” He asked, amusement dancing in his tone.

Marel kept his eyes on the parchment. “If this is about requisition forms, I swear I’ll—”

“Worse,” Dorian said, book in hand as he stepped further inside. “Elven anatomy.”

That made Marel pause. The quill stilled in his fingers, hovering just above the letter. He shot an intrigued glance over his shoulder, eyes narrowing.

“What is it?”

[Read on AO3]