#behold their beautiful inquisitor!

[ljungfrun]

A little birthday art I did for @the-b-is-me earlier this month!

#behold their beautiful inquisitor! #art tag #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #inquisitor lavellan #others' ocs #the-b-is-me #it's actually an old sketch that i cleaned up #which i should do more of tbh!

[theheraldsrest]

I didn't realize it had gone through as a submission my bad 😂

Inquisition LIs reaction to hearing their Inquisitor through a door saying things like "you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, you are a gift from the Maker, I love you, I'd die for you, etc.", thinking they're with someone else and running in, just to find out the Inq. is talking to a baby nug/Mabari pup they snuck into Skyhold?

“Romanced Companions reacting to Secret Baby Nug/Mabari Pup”

Here you go and thank you again, @queer-edmundpevensie for the ask! Also, more jokes!

When the Inquisitor asked Bull if he had a spare plug they could use, he said “Sorry, I don’t have any Chargers.” (Maybe a little sorry)

-Lord Lex

Cullen

”I- Honestly, I can’t even blame you for your choice of words. He is handsome.”

-Was split between being upset and feeling remorse. If indeed you had found someone else, you would most definitely deserve someone better than him but you could have at least told him. Pleasantly surprised to find the nug/mabari. Maker forbid if it’s a mabari because he will dote on that thing, saying how your “true love” is a very good boy.

Josephine

“Love, who are you talking to-? Oh! Aren’t they just the sweetest!”

-Didn’t doubt you for a second. She knows that if there was something wrong with you two, you’d tell her. Also, your wording was a little strange for if you were talking to someone else. Suggests on getting it a collar. You actually might be the jealous one when you find her cuddling it more than you.

Solas

“...”

-What was he expecting? Not this. But he has full fate in you to know you wouldn’t go behind his back if your feelings had changed. Honestly a little jealous of the mabari/nug. It’s actually kinda cute- wait, how did you even get it into Skyhold? Oh well. He’ll also tell you about how, in old tales, different animals used to run through Skyhold so having it here just makes sense.

If they go missing, it’s because they started following Solas around. No, he doesn’t know why.

Cassandra

“Inquisitor, I-!...How did you manage to get that here?”

-Yes, she was a little irked that you might be with someone behind her back. And yes, she does feel horrible that she’d assume the worst. She’ll admit what she was thinking was going on and apologize. Cassandra, to most people’s surprise, is a big softie when it comes to animals so her confusion and irritation is put on hold when your chosen creature looks at her with them big ol’ eyes.

The Iron Bull

“Well, Varric owes me money.”

-He knew from the beginning that you snuck it in. But hearing you talk in such a way to it did make him pause. If you two are only fooling around right now, he doesn’t mind and doesn’t care who you sleep with. Now, if you’re his kadan, might be a different story. But, again, he knew you had the creature somewhere and that certainly sounds like how you’d baby an animal. Lo and behold, he was right and Varric has less pocket gold. Also, if you don’t stop him, he’ll carry the animal around like a baby.

Dorian

“Dearest. Amatus. Love of my life. My chosen partner….What the fuck.”

-One of the only people who puts up with your shit anymore. He’ll be one of the people who is severely split. Yes, you deserve better than him, knowing his history and how he can act sometimes. But also how dare you go behind his back when he has given you his heart? He has to pause to let his heart settle after walking in on you cuddling the thing before he very irritable tells you to watch your wording.

Sera

“Alright, what the fuck! Who are you talking-? Wait, that’s not a person.”

-Fully thought it was someone else and wanted to rain hell on them. So it was a little shocking to see your door kicked open and Sera holding a jar of bees at the ready. If you choose a mabari over a nug, she’ll put the bees away and start petting it, acting like nothing happened. Now, if you choose a nug, she’ll make a disgusted face and back away. Not very fond of nugs, but fond of you.

Blackwall

“I’m gonna admit it, I thought there was someone else in here. Glad to see I was both wrong and right.”

-Same boat as Cullen, he kinda expected you to find someone else by now. Hurt his feelings a bit to know that you might have a secret admirer other than him. Does not find it funny (ok, maybe a little) if you name the beast after him. It’s even more funny to see him try to watch his step around it, especially a nug, as he would not like to step on the creature that has your affection.

#dai #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor #cullen rutherford #dai cullen #dragon age josephine #josephine montilyet #dai solas #fenharel #dai cassandra #cassandra pentaghast #the iron bull #iron bull #dai dorian #dorian pavus #dai sera #sera #blackwall #thom rainier

[nerdierholler]

:D ithlen, for the WIP meme? And the random DA doc?

For Ithlen, my warden inquisitor and possibly the OC of all my OCs I hold most dear. A little scene in Haven with Solas.

He climbed up some nearby scaffolding assembled by one of the large boulders and motioned for her to follow. “I think you’ll find the view improves from up here.”

Once at the top she could see over the wall and roofs and across the frozen lake, the glow of the Breach reflecting off its unmoving surface. “It seems...peaceful, from up here.” Solas sat down and she did the same, allowing her feet to dangle off the edge like a child. “This was a beautiful place once.”

“One could argue that it still is.”

“They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder and Haven will always be tainted by the things I’ve done here. I can admire its parts but the whole is lost.”

“An understandable sentiment.”

And some random DA. A vague idea I had once about Hawke and Fenris haunting the manor over the years. Inspired by the random "someone's been swinging from the chandelier" ambient dialogue.

“Show off,” Hawke muttered.

“That’s not showing off,” Fenris said, returning to her side. He gave her a wicked grin before sprinting away, “This is!”

He took off at a full run, just as she had before. He leapt up and for a moment, seemed to grip the iron. The chandelier swung forward in a wide arc before Fenris’s hands passed through. Following a series of graceful somersaults, he landed on the floor below.

“Hawke!” a voice yelled, “I know that’s you!” Aveline’s now gray head appeared from the study and looked up at the swaying light. “Knock it off. You’ll give the grandchildren ideas.”

Fenris floated back up to the balcony. “Here I am, still getting blamed for your mischief. Typical.”

#life at nerdy holler #dragon age #I know there's issued with the next game and I'm trying not to have too many expectations #but I really want to spend time with Ithlen again #because if I can find a way to play that game as her I will #or she'll be a part of the plot #just maybe not in whatever way the official hero of ferelden will be

[cullenakingirog]

Inquisitor Drawing Meme 1: Skyhold Outfit

Finally, we have Mahalina Kato Bagaoisan, First to Clan Bagaoisan, Son of Keeper Luwalhati, Father to Luningning and Kundiman, Inquisitor and local stressed team dad who acts with the regality of a king and is a walking Philippine Epic hero checklist (handsome, radiant and resplendent, stands tall and proud, beautiful to behold)

His tattoos are the mountains and the sun. The mountains mean journey in life, strength and sturdiness while the sun means life. He’s more of a scholar than a warrior but when push comes to shove he is capable of warfare to protect his family and his people. He’s also known to play the kolitong and also to help teach the young men of Clan Bagaoisan how to dance the Lawin-Lawin for their coming of age celebrations. He’s also a traditionalist. Like Dalisay and majority of Clan Bagaoisan, he has a glamour spell to hide his scars. 

#my art #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #yourdragonageocs #dragon age inquistor #Inquisitor Lavellan #elf inquisitor #elf oc #ydaocs #marh art #mahalina kato bagwisan

[marlutterianae]

DEMONS OF DISMALIA - THE HELLISH BARON.

“Hark! You beautiful brutes. Learn now how these Pre-apocalyptic Regals were sealed inside marrow sarcophagi carved from the rib columns of their living palaces of pain to survive the supermassive onslaught brought upon those domains of noble blood by the Magal Mages. And thus they slumbered, preserving their lucidity, entranced ethereally to foresee their own demise as their surroundings were scorched by meteoric fire, peeling off with flesh eating winds the organic hyper structure and corroding it with bile rain. And yet, they survived.

Once the tectonic plates aligned with the stars of the Nightmare Above, the gravitational pressure predicted by the Barons cracked their encasing of fossilized bone. They arose amongst a mausoleum to their dead glory gnawing at the remnants of the vitality of their palace, before settling down the board of their next game; which was Dismalia itself. The Barons are ready to play.”

El Diablo, Player of the Strings of Fate. 

Bloody Bishops, Cruel Commanders and Overlords of the Dismal Lands; these are the most lucid Regal Demons that are known by the Guilds.

When the Rokyu Inquisitor of Dismalia, Donna the Vicious, ventured beneath Phobos leading a group of Elite Hunters composed of Adrian’s Rokyu Chosen; Koi, Zorch and Zipactly; they spectacularly slaughtered, their heads displayed like mocking trophies to the remaining Sanguine Belial Huntress, who fought with an inhuman ferocity never before witnessed by the Regal, and taking its head in a blazing of baneful fire, which burnt her eyes and crept into her brain. The death of ONE Baron was not a triumph, but a beacon, for the Hellish Baron is not one but three entities in different bodies; the Rokyu Donna had her eyes cursed by the fiend and now its consciousness resides inside of her burnt sockets. The other two brothers of that one Hellish Baron now have tasted the strength of the Hunters of this new world, and are ready to adjust their strategies. 

"Behold the city, my prima Donna. We made a fortified heaven out of this prison. My Dismalia… Our theater, shielding the Kingdom from the nightmares beyond. Hunting for Demons is our strength and the skull you brought as your trophy proves it even after refusing to tattoo it and absorb its vital force into your own.”.“ Spoke the Hunt Master Adrian Romero, Leader of the Rokyu Lodge of Phobos. 

“I do not consider that demon to be my true nemesis. Tradition insists that we should only carve on us the demons whose power we desire! Yet, I feel like this one has hexed me, Master. I do not want its blood on my skin.” Replied the eyeless huntress, now the last of his master’s chosen, worth proven but tainted by a greater evil. 

... ART BY:  - ElizBee. [ https://twitter.com/ElizBee5 ]  - Nathan Anderson. [ http://www.nathanandersonart.com/ ]  - Paul Paloma. [ https://twitter.com/pavlvsjp ] 

#demons #medieval demons #horror art #dismalia #doom #hell baron #hellish baron #dark fantasy #sword & sorcery

[rosella-writes]

Dalish Week 5. Travel

I skipped this one initially and it's not Dalish Week anymore, but I (sorta?) did it! The Arlathvhen of the Dales packs up, and Zevran keeps some kiddos out of trouble. For @dalish-appreciation-week

~~~

When the Dalish packed up camp, they did so swiftly. Zevran wished it hadn’t been born out of a need to run, but in this case it was a wonder to behold. As for him, it was strange to be here when he had once been turned away by his mother’s people. He had not expected the Inquisitor’s letter, nor for Rhiannon to be excited to go. It was stranger still to be sorrowful that it was all over. 

In the flurry of the day’s activity, he found himself shoulder to shoulder with a Rivaini Dalish — he helped her unfold her aravel’s sail, in preparation for their travels down the river delta to the Waking Sea. She smiled and tried to thank him in Antivan — he responded in what halting Elvhen he’d managed to learn, saying that it was nothing and that her hair was beautiful. 

Rhiannon had been flitting here and there all day, curse her, and was not there to guard him against the various children that were shooed away by their parents. He tried climbing a gnarled apple tree to escape them, but they followed in his wake. He turned just in time to pluck a girl no older than four from a free fall, then set her firmly on her rump on the branch before him. 

“Piccola mia,” he scolded, holding her hands so she didn’t tip to either side. “What are you doing? Where are your parents?”

She pointed — two feminine figures that matched the girl’s light complexion and hair were just a few yards away, busied with binding the opened sides of their aravel closed. 

“It’s okay!” one of the boys below called. “They told us to find something to do! And you looked bored.”

Zevran laughed outright. “Bored! I suppose. There is little to occupy a man such as I. There is no use for a former assassin among peaceful friends.”

“Is that what’s on your face?” asked the little girl brightly. She drew a finger down her cheek, digging into her dimple. “Valla-valla… vallaslin? For Assassin?”

“Of a sort, yes,” Zevran replied after a brief pause. The symbology of the Crows would be lost on a girl her age, he realised. “I did it myself. Do you like it, carina?”

“That’s not her name!” yelled one of the boys, who now hung upside down from a neighboring branch. His long red hair fluttered among the ripening apples. “That’s Li’ana!”

Zevran nodded approvingly. “Li’ana, hmm? Beautiful name.”

“I like your valla-vallaslin!” Li’ana shouted, determined to say her piece. “Want mine like that!”

“Do you have any stories about Assassin?” the boy on the ground asked. This boy seemed the oldest, with his dour expression and very serious brown eyes. Zevran realised with a start that it was Hawke’s oldest boy, Malcolm. “I haven’t heard of him. Is he one of the Gods? I heard they’re all dead, not locked up.”

Zevran sighed deeply, then swung down from the tree. His old legs, no longer so limber as they’d been thirty years ago, felt almost brittle as he landed. He put his arms up for Li’ana, who leapt into his grasp with little preamble or regard for her safety — the boy in the branches followed close behind, choosing to land in an imitation of Zevran’s dismount. 

“I suppose it cannot hurt,” he conceded, reclining against the trunk with a grunt and folding his legs before him. Li’ana crawled into his lap. “Soon we shall all be on our way, and you should have some stories to carry with you, yes? They pass the time.”

As Zevran waxed extravagant in his taletelling concerning the great Assassin and his antics in the Beyond, the Arlathvhen continued to bustle and pack around him. By high noon, nearly everything had been gathered except for the children — when their parents came to retrieve them, Li’ana’s cries for “one more! one more story!” were by far the loudest.

#my writing #zevran arainai #dragon age #dalish week 2022

[abelas]

♡ wip wednesday ♡

♡ NSFW(ish) Honey Adaar & Josephine Montilyet Drabble ♡

Kissing Josephine from the base of her neck to her earlobe, Honey works slowly to savour each moment with her lover. She is determined to explore every curve and dip of her body, working to navigate Josephine’s valleys and peaks like she could a mapped landscape. Memorizing the sound of the ambassador’s pleasure, Honey nips at the exposed skin under her jaw. Each new note inspired by an act of love unites to compose a symphonic ballad, one specially titled Honey. Knowing Josephine’s honey-laced whimpers are for her – because of her – is enough for the Inquisitor to die a happy woman.

Honey gropes her lover’s breast over her ruffled day-wear, lazily trailing kisses across her collarbone. Josephine emits a squeak, purring as Honey presses into her body with fervour.

Backing away slightly, Honey straddles Josephine, slowly lifting her hand to softly dust kisses upon her knuckles. Josie looks at her curiously now, her hazel-green eyes full of tenderness and warmth, dazed from the heat between them. Her dark locks, usually tied in a neat up-do, are now messily falling out of their pins, half-splayed across the pillow she lays on. Josephine’s skin glistens with beads of sweat, her face aglow in the light of the moon draping the Inquisitor’s quarters and warmed by the red and orange hues of a flickering candle.

“You are so beautiful,” Honey whispers, her eyes softening.

Josephine smiles sweetly, chest heaving from Honey’s affections. She raises a free hand to her love’s face, Honey ducking to meet her embrace, her eyes fluttering shut. Tenderly cradling her face, Josie traces a thumb over Honey’s flushed cheek.

“And you, my lady,” Josephine said, “are a sight to behold.”

#dragon age #josephine montilyet #adaar #inquisitor x josephine #adaar x josephine #its about the TENDERNESS. ive never posted writing before dont look at me #character: honey

[thefairnot-somaiden]

Back where you’re mine

Pairing: Blackwall x Fem!Lavellan

Warnings: smut, vaginal sex, hair pulling, spanking, dom!Blackwall

(Basically a reader-insert since the Inquisitor isn’t given a name nor specific physical attributes)

Shining chandeliers, long tables stacked with the finest of foods, laughter hidden behind golden masks- Blackwall was out of place. Or maybe he was exactly at home, back in Orlais, surrounded by the nobles for which he had done the unspeakable in exchange for a sack of coin. The years had surely changed his appearance, but the curious eyes of the Winter palace's guests banned him to the shadows. He could not get recognized, could not be caught, not on such a big night. Everything was in place to stop the assassination of the empress, to stop the future seen by the Inquisitor. If they succeeded, the inquisition would no doubt be raised up in many's eyes, and rewards would come with it.

Blackwall watched from a distance as the Inquisitor slid past the Hall of Heroes, racing back to Leliana to no doubt deliver some scandalous secrets. His lover had been busy this evening, attempting to make the best impression she could while taking care of task after task. He had a hard time imagining anyone not taking a liking to her, she was always beautiful, but tonight she was a sight to behold. The dress that Josephine had arranged for her fit perfectly, the corset hugging her upper body while the bottom flared out in a sea of red fabric. The jeweled brooch that pinned up her hair matched the scarlet of her dress, the jewelry around her neck dipping just low enough to draw attention towards her cleavage. This was all done with intent, of course. As an elf, the Inquisitor already bore the scorn of many without them ever even having met her, so she needed all the charm she could muster to persuade the nobles towards her. From the heated gazes he had caught glimpses of when she had turned away for a moment, he would say it was working.

Blackwall was sipping at his drink, hiding in the shadow of some statue. He could feel the scowl on his face and imagined the Inquisitor running her fingers over it like she often did. "If you're not careful, it will get stuck like that," she would say. Foolish girl, it would've gotten stuck long ago then, for one of the only times he dropped it was with her.

"Fitting right in, are you?"

He looked over as Sera tittered towards him, plate stacked with food in hand. "Figure he's not the chatty sort." For a moment, he wondered what she meant but then noticed her glancing up at the statue behind him.

"Ha ha," he sounded sarcastic. "I imagine I'm fitting in about as well as you are."

She laughed, uncaringly leaning her back against the statue. "Like I want to fit in with these noble arses. I leave it to Inky to dazzle them with her fine tits."

The wine in Blackwall's mouth turned sour at that. The thought of all these people, openly ogling what was his, made his hand ball into a fist by his side.

"Ohh," Sera mused, "So that's why you're hiding away in here? Feeling too sorry for yourself?"

His jaw tightened, biting back a response. What could he say? That she was wrong? He was hiding for far worse reasons after all. She drifted into view, standing in front of him as she shoved a pastry into her mouth. "Listen, yeah," she started, barely legible with her mouth stuffed, "if you want her alone, just tell her you found some of those Caprice coins or something, she'll follow you anywhere."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm unsure whether you should be giving this advice as her friend."

She laughed and licked off the remaining crumbs from her fingers. "Oh please, she'd have you dead on the floor within a second if you tried anything she didn't want." Her face turned serious now, one finger pointed at him, almost touching his chin. "Seriously though, try and I'll cut off your balls."

Point taken.

Sera's advice was growing more tempting with every look at the Inquisitor. She had crossed him while looking for the council of Heralds and had taken a brief pause, saying she missed him. When her hand landed on his crossed arms, warm eyes looking up with him as a smirk played at her lips, he felt himself stiffen in his pants like some Chantry boy. The effect she had on him was frankly embarrassing, and he could barely muster a response when she had asked him if he'd safe a dance for her. She'd looked disappointed when he said he didn't dance but had smiled at him before leaving regardless.

She was so close by, he could muster to go unnoticed for a bit, couldn't he? With a deep sigh, he gave in and made towards her.

The Inquisitor had curiously followed him just like Sera had predicted, keeping close behind him without drawing too much attention. When they were alone, she squeezed herself against his arm. "Some excitement after all, huh?"

That sparkle in her eyes at the promise of a challenge always put a grin on his face, the little minx. He guided her into the closed-off corridors a bit further before turning towards her. "I have to admit Inquisitor, I have no clue whether there are truly coins to be found here."

She quirked an eyebrow at that before a look of realization crossed her face. A mischievous grin followed, and Blackwall could guess where her mind had gone. "Constable Blackwall, I had expected better of you," she purred, a hand pressed to his chest.

"That is a flaw on your part, my lady," he swallowed as he looked down at the expanse of her breasts revealed by her dress. Maker, she must be the most tempting woman he had ever seen.

Her giggle drew his eyes back to her face, and she was not at all offended by his blatant staring. "I wonder what you did call me over for then?"

The way she feigned innocence was amusing, her face betraying that she knew all too well. Within a few paces, he had her backed up against a wall, her hand clinging onto his tunic as her lips parted in anticipation.

"I had to see what all these nobles were fuzzing over," he said, lips getting closer to hers till he felt her breath fan over his. "From up close."

Blackwall's hand went behind her neck, drawing her in and closing the distance between them. The kiss was instantly heated, their parted lips leaving no time for delicacy. Knowing that she had desired him just as fiercely only fanned the fire inside of him, and he pulled up her dress and hiked up one of her legs, ready to take her.

"Blackwall," the Inquisitor whimpered against his lips. "We can't." Her words made him set her leg back down gently, and she straightened out her dress with shaky hands. "I promised the duke another dance, it will be noticed if I'm away for long."

The disdain at that thought must've been written on his face because she pulled him in for a fast kiss. "I'll make it up to you, promise."

He grumbled an agreement against her lips, straightening out his own clothes, and adjusting his pants. When he looked back up at her, she was holding up a coin between two fingers, a wide grin on her face. "Guess I got my coin after all."

His hands instantly went to his pouch with coins, finding the strings slightly loosened. Before he could make a comment, she had already runoff, and for some odd reason, he missed her even more.

“Josephine will kill me if something happens to this dress,” the Inquisitor mumbled, back pressed against the railing of her balcony.

When Blackwall had requested her to put it on the night they arrived back in Skyhold, she had instantly known what his intentions were. In the Winter Palace, there had been no time to truly indulge, but they were alone now. The vision of her in that dress had plagued him the whole way home, and now he had her in front of him, no one here to disturb, he could not resist letting his calloused hands wander over her body.

Her hair was pinned up just like that night at the palace, lips a darker shade thanks to the harsh kisses he had already pressed against them. “Let’s ensure she doesn’t find out then.”

Sweet whimpers fell from her lips as he cupped her breasts, squeezing and enjoying her flesh through the thin fabric of her dress. No armor, no breast bindings. A growl build up in his throat and he didn’t attempt to hide it.

“You should wear dresses more often, my lady,” he commented, making her chuckle.

“If you find me the time to wear them, I will.”

One of his hands moved from her breasts to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. “Perhaps when this is all over.”

Even in the dim light of the candles and fireplace that shone in from her quarters, he could make out the softening in her expression. That thought pleased her, that they would still be together. It made him both happy and ache with guilt, but he pushed that down. His lovely Inquisitor was dressed up in front of him like he was some noble suitor, not the traitor he truly was, and he has yet to repay her for it.

Hand on her back staying put, Blackwall guided her back inside. Wordlessly, she broke contact and moved over to the wall next to her bed, leaning against it with a coy smile. Her back was slightly arched, drawing his eyes to her chest yet again.

“I believe we didn’t get the chance to finish last time, Ser Blackwall,” she said and lifted up the skirts of her dress just slightly.

He came to her like a dog to its master, hands instantly finding her hips. The plan had been to take it slow, but how could he possibly refuse this?

Her leg nudged against his as she raised it a bit herself. “Gods, I wanted you to take me so badly that night.”

A groan left his lips and he pressed them to her neck, sucking and biting along the length of it. “Yet you left me for that damned Duke.”

She gasped and writhed against him as he teased her neck, swallowing hard before finding her voice. “Jealous, are we?” A wicked idea crossed her mind. “Do you think he wanted to bed me as well?”

Blackwall pulled away from her neck, eyes narrowing on hers. A pleasant shiver ran down her spine as he looked down at her. “What does it matter?”

“Just curious,” she answered, trying her best not to sound too amused.

With a casual display of his strength, he moved under her skirts and picked her up, sliding her up the wall and forcing his hips between her legs. She mewled at the feeling of his bulge pressing against her heat and shifted against it unconsciously.

“You only need to wonder about me,” he growled, hand moving into her hair and jerking her head back.

Her neck was fully exposed to him and he took advantage of it, placing far harsher bites than he had before. A whispered “yes” escaped her lips, hands gripping onto his shoulders for support.

“Perhaps I should leave a mark or two,” he breathed out against her neck. “Let everyone see how holy their Herald truly is.”

Gods, she loved when he talked like this. That possessive tone of his sending heat straight to her core. “Blackwall…”

His breath fanned over her ear as he moved higher up, making her whimper. The subtle twitch of her ears didn’t escape his notice. “Look at you, so excited to get fucked. I’ve seen whores more subtle about it than you.”

The Inquisitor ground herself against him, legs desperately urging him closer. “Please.”

He smirked at her confirmation of his words. Many would think him crazy for talking to a woman as powerful as her in this manner, but he knew what she enjoyed.

As her core pressed against him, he realized a vital detail had escaped his attention. He could feel now that she was bare under her dress.

"You knew this would happen." His voice sounded strained, betraying his own lack of control.

A smirk pulled at the Inquisitor's lips. "Of course I did, you aren't exactly subtle either."

One of her hands moved to the back of his head and she shot him one more heated gaze before pulling him into a kiss. Her tongue moved against his, and he could feel the vibrations of her moans as he ground his hips into hers. He let go of her hair, preferring for both of his hands to be firmly on her ass. There was no doubt that the front of his trousers was getting stained by her juices, and his pride swelled knowing how sensitive he made his lover.

They stayed like this for a while, grinding and tasting each other, muffling each other's groans. Blackwall could imagine that they were back at the Winter palace, in that secluded corridor, and his cock twitched at the fantasy of someone catching them like that. Maker, if it hadn't been for his damned secret, he might've actually risked it.

As his mind wandered, his kiss became softer, grip on her behind loosening slightly. This caught her attention, and she broke the kiss, questioning eyes trying to search his. She called out to him as his eyes were closed, and for a second, it sounded to him like she had said his name, his real name, and he looked at her in shock.

Worry warped her features. "Is something wrong?"

As close as they were, he could feel her heart hammering in her chest, and he realized she might think he's rejecting her.

"No," he quickly denied. "I was just thinking of how lucky I am to have you, that I don't deserve this."

Her smiled returned at that, and she swatted playfully at the back of his head. "You are lucky that I don't kick you out of my quarters for not being inside me yet."

"My apologies, my lady," he chuckled. "I'll get right on that."

When he moved a hand between their bodies to move down his trousers, she watched him carefully, biting at her lip. She truly was impatient, eager to recreate how he would've taken her when he lured her away that night.

"Show me that I made the right choice," she said, attempting to bring back the fire from before.

His trousers were down now, and she swallowed a moan as his cock graced past her clit. "Right choice?"

She pressed a deceivingly sweet kiss to his cheek. "That I chose right to take you home, instead of a nobleman."

She caught glimpse of his gaze darkening before he moved fast, both hands back on her ass, holding her in place firmly. She barely got the chance to breathe before he entered her in one hard thrust, rewarding him with a choked cry. Blackwall's girth was something servants would excitedly whisper about if they had the chance, and even after all their nights together, the Inquisitor still felt her body struggling to adjust.

He felt the way her walls gripped him tightly, but he didn't give them time to relax. She had clearly wanted this to be done a certain way, and who was he to deny his lady?

It was hard to keep the extensive fabric of her skirts bundled up as he thrust into her, not allowing him to set the punishing pace he intended. "Hold them up."

It took her a moment to realize what he meant, but then she obediently picked up her skirts, holding the fabric in her trembling hands.

"Higher," he commanded. "I want to be able to see myself slide into that tight cunt."

She couldn't suppress a moan at his words, lifting the fabric higher till he twitched inside her at the sight revealed to him. He could feel how she gripped him, but to see it was a whole other pleasure. He reveled in the way her body spread open for him as he resumed his thrusting, his cock glistening with her wetness each time he pulled back.

"This is why you chose me," he grunted as he pounded into her. "No pristine noble would allow you to dirty his clothes like this. No holier-than-thou man would take you like this."

The blissed-out look on her face and the rhythmic clenching of her heat around him told him he was hitting right where she liked it, and he made sure to hold the angle. "You need me because I'm enough of a bastard to fuck you as you need."

"Blackwall!" she cried out, and he rewarded her with a sharp slap to her ass.

"That's it, let everyone hear who you belong to." He felt spurred on by his own words, landing one slap after another on her soft flesh.

Heat radiated from the spot where he hit her repeatedly, the Inquisitor a whimpering mess against him. It stung but felt so good at the same time, mixing deliciously with the pleasure of him sliding against her walls. After the tenth slap, he rubbed her ass reverently, subduing the pain with his gentle kneading. It was such a stark contrast with his sharp thrusts, making it hard to focus on either, but she felt herself drawing closer to her end regardless. She tried to seek out his lips for a kiss, but he denied her, wanting to hear every sound that left her mouth.

The way she cried out his name was like a song to him, his eyes switching from focussing on her face, to her bouncing breasts, to where she took him inside her. He fucked her with abandon, uncaring for what the future might hold. Here, she was his, and he would enjoy her fully.

"Inside," she gasped, drawing his gaze to her parted lips. "I want you to finish inside me."

He groaned her name loudly at the request, signaling that they should not, but she only angled her hips into his thrusts. "Please."

That damned word. He cursed under his breath, the steel grip he had on her behind sure to leave some marks. He should control himself, pull himself off of her, but as he watched her, it was impossible to do so. The pure pleasure written on her face made him want to fulfill the request all the more.

"My lady," he choked out in another attempt, but she shushed him with a loud moan.

Her cunt was clenching around him, and the way her body so lightly shook told him she was close. Against better judgment, Blackwall moved a hand between their bodies, seeking out her swollen clit. A few strokes were all it took for her to come apart in his arms, a pleasured scream echoing through her chambers. Feeling her come undone destroyed the last of his restraint, and he groaned her name as he spilled inside her.

Their harsh breathing was the only sound filling the room as they stayed like that, his cock still buried deep inside her. Their foreheads touched, and he pressed a gentle kiss to hers when she giggled breathlessly. "That was amazing."

He couldn't agree more, finding it hard to pull away from her. But he saw that she looked tired, the traveling from Halamshiral to Skyhold having taken its toll, and he slid out of her with a grunt. She gasped when she felt his seed spilling out of her, staining her thighs.

"The dress!" she shrieked and he swiftly put her down. It was amusing to him that that was the first worry to cross her mind.

When he turned her unstable form around, he felt the breath hitching in her throat. "Just trying to help you, my lady," he clarified, but couldn't resist teasingly whispering it into her ear.

He really did intend to get the Inquisitor out of her dress. Ambassador Montilyet was not someone you wanted to piss off, and he imagined she would not take kindly to the dress getting sullied by his cum.

His fingers worked carefully at the back of the corset top, far more gracefully than she had managed to herself. It felt nice, his fingers brushing past her naked back every so often. He was good at this. That last thought stuck with her, and she frowned slightly. He was quite good at this, wasn't he? Where a Warden would cross dresses as such, she could not imagine.

#lemon #smut #dragon age inquisition #blackwall x inquisitor #Blackwall x reader #blackwall x lavellan #dai #dai Blackwall #thom rainier

[banesapothecary]

feel it on the way home

flufftober day 17: domestic fluff

read on ao3

Magnus finds Alec asleep on the couch when he returns home that evening. It’s not a sight he gets often; of the two of them, Alec’s job as Inquisitor often keeps him later, and even when it doesn’t, his husband has been known to overwork himself.

So this, Alec fast asleep in the early evening with a book open on his chest is a beautiful sight to behold. One Magnus fully intends to commit to memory, both his own and technologically as he slips his phone from his pocket to snap a quick picture.

He leaves his phone on the coffee table, gingerly taking the open book from Alec. Magnus smiles knowingly at the cover:  Pride and Prejudice. He’d introduced Alec to the 2005 film a few days before and his husband had become enamored with Darcy. Magnus certainly couldn’t blame him there. He set the book on the coffee table next to his phone, summoning a bookmark to save Alec’s place.

Magnus brushes a hand through Alec’s hair, smiling when he blinks sleepily at him.

“Hey,” Alec whispers.

“Hi,” Magnus whispers, smiling. “Make room.”

Alec does, returning his smile with a sleepy one of his own as he scoots back on the couch. Magnus squeezes in, lying down beside him and sighing as Alec’s arms come around him, holding him to his chest.

Alec hums, his breath warm against Magnus’s neck. “I should come home early more often.”

“I agree,” Magnus says, practically purring as he relaxes in his husband’s arms.

#malec #malec fics #malec fanfic #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #my fic #flufftober #flufftober2021

[elellan]

💛💛💛 behold!!! this beautiful beautiful commission I asked @den-tyan of my inquisitor Riwan Lavellan and Cullen!!! 💛💛💛 I get teary-eyed just looking at it!!!

Check out den-tyan's page and art, they are so talented and nice and they perfectly capture what you wish for in their drawings!!!

#look at it!!! #i love how they look and their expressions are just perfect!!! #yes #they're in love #den-tyan #thank you! #dragon age #cullen rutherford #dai #riwan lavellan #commander cullen #lavellan #cullen x lavellan #i literally can't express how happy am I of this art!! #dragon age inquisition

[khaleesiofalicante]

This is War - A Crack Fic

All the chaotic, horny energy today had to be channelled somewhere, right? 

You can read the fic here on ao3 too :)

Central park was a vision to behold. There were no mundanes within sight. The warlocks had made sure to glamour the entire area just for today.

“We are not shadowhunters,” Ragnor had said. “We don’t half ass things.”

He of course had left immediately after securing the parameter saying he didn’t want to be involved in another one of Magnus’ childish squabbles.

“Welcome everyone,” Simon said, standing on a podium hadn’t been there before. Where was that from?

“Why is he wearing a robe?” Helen whispered to her wife. Aline just shrugged.

“For far too long we have been trying to settle this debate,” Simon said in a deep voice that was not that deep. “But today, we must settle on an answer.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “Can we get to the good part?”

“Jace, you promised you’ll let me have my moment!” Simon hissed at him and then cleared his throat. “Today we will decide the most pressing crisis of our time. Who broke the coffee maker in the Lightwood-Bane household?”

“Wasn’t me,” Magnus shrugged. “If I did, then I would have fixed it immediately. It was obviously Alec.”

“Liar!” Alec gasped. “I love coffee. I love that coffee maker. Why would I break it?”

“Well, to love is to destr-” Jace spoke up.

“Honey, not now,” Clary shushed him.

“Listen, the kids can’t obviously reach the coffee maker yet,” Magnus pointed out. “And I’m not the one who takes out my frustration on inanimate objects. I mean we all know what happened to the kettle in the institute.”

There was a soft murmur from the shadowhunters of the New York institute.

“I WAS HAVING A BAD DAY!” Alec argued.

“Just admit you broke the coffee maker, Alec,” Magnus said.

“I didn’t do it!” Alec replied. “You’ve always been jealous of the coffee maker.”

Magnus snorted. “Jealous? Me? Pfft. You’re the one who is obsessed enough with the darn thing to name it.”

“Treat lightly, Magnus,” Alec said. “Charles is already dead. Why would you-”

“ENOUGH!” Simon said into the microphone. When did he get that? “Like I said, this childish argument has gone for too long. Today we will settle it like the civilized adults that we are.”

Simon bent down and picked up a giant gun.

“PAINTBALL FIGHT, Y’ALL!” he yelled.

Everybody started cheering – with way too much enthusiasm for a Monday morning.

“Alright. Magnus, Alec – whoever loses the game will agree that they broke the coffee maker, and we will put this whole thing behind us and move on. Do you agree to these terms?”

Magnus and Alec looked at each other and then nodded at Simon.

“Alright!” Simon grinned. “Pick your teams!”

Little Rafe ran towards Magnus.

Alec gasped. “Betrayed by my own blood.”

Max ran towards Alec. “We are going to win. I always win.”

Alec grinned at that. “I pick Jace.”

Jace grinned back and ran up to his parabatai. “Ohhhh y’all are so going down.”

Magnus laughed. “We’ll see about that, blondie. I pick Emma.”

“Oh damn,” someone said from the crowd.

“Emma, this is a paintball fight,” Alec pointed out. “You can’t use Cortana.”

“Don’t worry, it’s just for emotional support,” she said with a wicked gleam.

“Alright,” Alec said. “I pick Julian.”

“Isabelle,” Magnus called.

“KIT!” Alec yelled.

“TIBERIUS!” Magnus thundered.

“Count yourself lucky that it’s daytime,” Alec said. “Otherwise, I would have called Lily and she would have destroyed all of you!”

“Already making excuses for your imminent failure?” Magnus chuckled. “I choose Helen and Aline!”

“You can’t pick them both!” Alec argued.

“I can and I just did,” Magnus winked.

“Yeah, Helen and I won’t fighting in opposing sides,” Aline shrugged. “Sorry, Alec.”

“I got the lesbians!” Magnus laughed. “You are going down, Alexander.”

“You wish,” Alec said and whistled. Diego showed up behind him. “I got the Inquisitor!”

“Clarissa,” Magnus said. “The Angel’s chosen one.”

“Babe,” Jace said. “You can’t!”

“Everything is fair in love and war,” Clary shrugged, pointing a gun that was bigger than her. “And this is war, biatch!”

“Kieran!” Alec called and the unseelie king materialised from some corner and ruffled Max’s hair.

“Mark!” Magnus called.

“Cris-”

“Oh no you don’t,” Cristina lifted her finger warningly. She was perched on top of a tree. “I’m not going to be a part of this madness. I got a medicine kit right here. So, if anyone needs me, just holler, okay?”

“And I will excuse myself as the referee of course,” Simon pointed out. “Alright. Standard paintball rules apply. No serious injuries. If you get shot, then you’re off the game. Last team standing wins. And no runes or downworld powers. We are gonna fight mundane style.”

“YAS!” Kit cheered, already cuddling his paintball gun.

“Alright then,” Simon waved a flag. Where did he get THAT from? Did he have a bag of equipment just lying around?

“LET THE BATTLE OF THE COFEE MAKER BEGIN!” Simon yelled.

And then there was chaos.

The warlocks – mostly Ragnor – had changed the area into a paintball area. There were places to hide behind and attack from. It was really elaborate. Maybe Ragnor had more fun designing this space than he had let on.

“Alright,” Alec said to his team. “Let’s keep this simple. Take down anyone you see.”

“Anyone? What about our significant others?” Jace asked. “Do we shoot them down too?”

“Of course not!” Alec chastised. “We are not animals! Is that clear?”

“Yes, Consul!” everyone yelled.

“I DON’T CARE IF THEY ARE YOUR BOO OR YOUR BAE, THEY ARE GOING DOWN,” Magnus said to his team. “FIND YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHERS FIRST. THEY WILL NOT EXPECT YOU TO STRIKE! USE THAT TO YOUR ADVANTAGE! THERE ARE NO SIGNIFICANT OTHERS. ONLY SIGNIFICANT ENEMIES. IS THAT CLEAR?”

“YES CAPTAIN!” they all cheered.

They all broke out and ran to find their targets.

It wasn’t even five minutes since the game had begun and Kit ran straight into Ty.

“Hey,” Kit waved.

Ty pounced and pinned Kit to the ground. He pointed his gun at his boyfriend.

“Alec said we can’t hurt our significant others,” Kit put up his arms.

“Our captain said no such thing,” Ty replied. “You’re not-…Why are you grinning? I got you pinned down.”

“It’s my favorite place to be,” Kit smiled. “I open my eyes and there you are. You’re beautiful.”

“Stop flirting with me when I’m trying to fight you,” Ty blushed and then held out his hand. “Fine. I didn’t see you and you didn’t see me.”

Kit winked at him and ran away.

Mark and Kieran found each other next.  They both held their guns at each other – neither of them shooting.

“This is childish,” Kieran pointed out. “I’m already bored.”

“Wanna go sit on that tree and hang out with Cristina?” Mark winked.

Kieran grinned and the two of them ran away too.

Helen and Aline looked at them and shrugged.

“We could just live stream the whole thing,” Helen pointed out. “Lily would like to see this.”

“I don’t know what that means but if that’s what you want to do and that’s what we shall do,” Aline smiled and and kissed her wife.

“Clary,” Jace said in relief when he saw her. “Thank god! I thought someone-”

There was sudden pain in his chest and he looked down to notice the big green splotch on this t-shirt.

“You...You shot me,” Jace said, sounding hurt.

“Jace, I’ve already stabbed you in the past and you once set me on fire,” Clary rolled her eyes and ran away to find her next target. “Get with it!”

“JULIAN ATTICUS BLACKTHORN,” Emma yelled and ran towards him. “YOU’RE GOING DOWN.”

“Not today,” he winked at her.

Emma blushed furiously just before attacking him. It wasn’t easy. Emma was skilled at close range combat, but Julian knew all her weak spots. So, they were even.

They wrestled for a while before Julian pinned her to the ground. He was breathing hard, his pupils dialed.

“I’m sorry, but this is strictly business,” he shrugged with a mischievous grin.

“But we are still on for tonight, right?” Emma asked. “I finally got a reservation at that Italian place you like.”

Julian’s eyes softened a litte. “You did?”

“Yes,” Emma smiled and hooked her legs on his ankles and flipped them in the blink of an eye. She shot him on the stomach and kissed him on his lips. “See ya at seven!”

Unlike everyone else Isabelle was not going to be fooled or manipulated by her significant other. Thank the Angel Simon wasn’t a part of this. She really liked the feel of the paintball gun in her hands. It was huge, powerful, messy and colorful too. Her kind of weapon.

She ran around the park and took down the others mercilessly. There were only a few of them remaining now – everyone else had already been shot.

But not Isabelle.

She didn’t care about the coffee maker of course. The argument was a ridiculous one.

She just wanted to win.

In the distance, she saw Emma take down Kit and Diego shoot Ty. She was off to destroy the Inquisitor when she had a familiar cry.

“Baby,” she ran to him. “My little blueberry muffin. Are you okay?”

“I fell,” Max sobbed. “Somebody pushed me.”

“Tell me who did this and I will-”

“ISABELLE DON’T!” she heard Magnus yell.

But it was too late.

There was a giant blue splotch on her white blouse.

“Max?” she asked in betrayal.

The boy just giggled and ran away.

In this distance, she now saw Diego covered in red, with a very satisfied Rafael hanging upside down from a tree.

And then the rest of them went feral.

“Surrender, Alexander,” Magnus said an hour later, holding up his gun, which was covered in glitter. “Everyone on your team is down.”

“Well, I don’t see anyone from your team standing either,” Alec pointed out.

“I still am,” Magnus said.

“So am I,” Alec replied.

“Give it up, Alexander!”

“Never,” Alec said adamantly. “This is for the coffee maker. I loved it so much!”

“Then you shouldn’t have broken it,” Magnus argued.

“I didn’t!” Alec said in frustration. “I love it so much because…because that’s the first thing you bought for me.”

“Oh,” Magnus said, the grip on his gun softening lightly.

“I know you have bought me so many expensive gifts but the coffee maker…it’s always been my favorite. I remember walking into your apartment one day, we weren’t even properly back together then, and you just bought it for me.”

“Well, you drink a lot of coffee,” Magnus grumbled.

“Yeah and you noticed. And you got me something so I wouldn’t feel weird in your apartment. You bought it so make me so comfortable. That’s when I realized I really, really like you.”

Magnus blushed a little. “Well, then now it sounds stupid to think you broke the thing.”

“That’s because I didn’t, Magnus!”

“Well, I didn’t either!” Magnus put up his hands. “In fact, the day it broke, I wasn’t even home. I was in the spiral labyrinth all day.”

“I know! I wasn’t home either! I had to go to the Mexico institute for an emergency meeting, so I called Jace to babysit the ki-”

They both stared at each other.

“JACE LIGHTWOOD HERONDALE!” Magnus’ voice boomed across the park. “DID YOU BREAK ALEC’S COFFEE MAKER?”

Jace was sweating. “Listen, I was gonna say something and then y’all started fighting and it was very awkward, and I was looking for the right time and then Simon came up with this idea and I thought 'hey we haven’t done a fun group activity in a long time and so why not?', ya know?”

Magnus and Alec looked at each other.

“Everybody,” Alec called. “Change of plans. Attack my parabatai.”

“AND SHOW NO MERCY!” Magnus yelled.

#I don't know what I did but I did it :) #malec #malec fics #tsc fics #dani writes stuff #tmi #tda #tsc

[crackinglamb]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by @rakshadow, thank you!

Tagging @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @espressocomfort, @ir0n-angel, @natsora, @dreadfutures, @autodiscothings and @a11sha11fade. No pressure!

*grumbles to self* All my stuff is spoilery right now! Okay, I found a bit that's canon...with a twist, of course.

---

“So much beauty to behold here, even hidden away in this fortress,” Giselle said by way of greeting. “The Maker's hand is always a wonderful mystery, no?”

Imogen looked at the windows herself, seeing the light pouring through the stained glass, turning the Hall into a kaleidoscope of colors. But she was well aware the Maker had nothing to do with it. “You wanted to see me, Mother Giselle?”

“Ah, yes.” She folded her hands in front of her, the picture of grace and dignity. Imogen knew this conversation wasn't going to be so easy. If Giselle was looking for her, that meant Dorian's father had sent his letter. “There is something I wish to discuss, Inquisitor. I have news regarding one of your companions...the Tevinter.”

“The Tevinter has a name, Revered Mother.”

“Of course.” She cleared her throat somewhat guiltily and Imogen knew she didn't like this particular duty, but felt it incumbent upon herself to see it through. She knew of Giselle's distrust for Dorian, as both a mage and a Vint. “I have been in contact with his family, House Pavus. Out of Qarinus. Are you familiar with them?”

“Only in that they're not on good terms. And isn't it called Ventus now?”

“I would not know, Inquisitor. I do not take note of Tevinter should it not be necessary. In any event, I believe you are correct that the young man is estranged from his family. They have sent me a letter describing the...difficulties with their son and pleading for my aid. They have asked to arrange a meeting. Quietly, without telling him. They fear it's the only way he will come.”

“They wouldn't be wrong.”

“I would speak to the...to Dorian myself, but he does not care for me.”

“Can't imagine why,” Imogen said dryly.

#tagged #wip whenever #what a wicked game to play #y'all Imogen is Tired(tm)

[midnight-raven]

Star Wars Rebels Disney Au: In the Eyes of the Beholder

A weird combination of Beauty and the Beast and The Hunchback of Notre Dame and other non-Disney stuff.

I don’t know, just hear me out!!!

Kanan Jarrus is a powerful mage with a curse; if anyone were to look into his eyes, they would instantly die.

The memories of his childhood were long gone, as Kanan doesn’t remember his past or the person who cursed him. To keep his curse under control, Kanan wears a mask over his eyes every day. And his Master makes sure he never takes it off.

For as long as he could remember, Kanan lived with sanctuary in a cathedral, raised by his Master, a non-magical Judge who saved Kanan when he was a child, wandering the world lost and alone. His master spends every day keeping Kanan and other mythical creatures safe.

One night, Kanan receives an unexpected visitor, a young faerie woman named Hera, who had claimed sanctuary in the cathedral to escape the Guards.

It was upon their unexpected meeting that Kanan learned the truth behind his master. Instead of helping mythical creatures like he said, The Grand Inquisitor led the hunts for them. Capturing and imprisoning them wrongfully.

Upon learning of the man's situation, Hera insisted that Kanan left the cathedral and seek refuge with her family, other magical beings that fight against the wrongful acts of the Inquisitor.

At first, Kanan is afraid of harming Hera or anyone else with his curse but he reluctantly agrees. And for the first time in forever, he leaves the Cathedral.

In a secret Court of Miracles, Kanan meets Hera’s family. Zeb, a man who can shape-shift into a beast. Sabine, a young girl that can control lights and small sparks of fire. Ezra, a young mage with unlimited abilities. All of them eagerly accept Kanan into the family.

As Kanan gets adjusted to his new life and friends, he still wonders: What did his former master want with him? Why keep him in the Cathedral rather than imprison him?

As the fight for magical creatures freedom continues, the answers to Kanan's past and his curse may come to light, and nothing will ever be the same again.

#Star Wars Rebels Disney Au #Star Wars Rebels #Kanera #Beauty and the Beast Au #The Hunchback of Notre Dame Au #based on the Carnival Row trailer #and the curse is from Looks That Kill #Kanan Jarrus #Hera Syndulla #Sabine Wren #Garazeb Orrelios #Ezra Bridger #I don’t even know what this #deciding between the Inqusitor or Thrawn #for Kanans Master #Kanera is life! #Cursed Kanan

[dutydreamed]

@seekjoy said: “  what  in  oblivion  is  that  ?  ”

        THE  INQUISITOR’S  EXPRESSION  IS  SOUR  as  she  beholds  the  heavily-perfumed  page  before  her ,   upon  which  florid  handwriting  extolls  her  virtues  in  trite  verse .    ‘  that ,  ’   she  says  primly  as  she  passes  it  to  vivienne ,   ‘  is  the  dear  marquis’s  attempt  at  seduction .   someone  really  ought  to  tell  the  man  that  your  beauty  is  andraste  on  her  pyre  is  not  the  way  to  a  dalish  woman’s  heart .  ’  

          lanathara  may  disagree  with  the  enchanter  on  a  great  many  things ,   but  she  respects  her  —  and  is  enjoying  her  presence  as  she  slogs  through  letter  after  letter  from  every  noble  clamoring  for  her  favor .   and  these  are  only  the  ones  josephine  decreed  needed  a  personal  response !   she  wants  to  groan ,   throw  the  offending  sonnet  on  the  fire ,  and  retire  to  bed ,  but  she  settles  for  watching  vivienne’s  expression  as  the  other  woman  reads  the  poem .

         ‘  is  it  common  practice  among  the  nobility  to  hire  someone  else  to  write  your  love-poems  for  you ?   because  i  have  no  doubt  that  some  poor  minstrel  or  playwright  was  roped  into  this  nonsense .  look  at  the  difference  between  the  poem  and  the  main  letter !  he  didn’t  even  bother  to  copy  it  in  his  own  hand .   it  would  still  be  an  affront  to  sonnets  had  the  marquis  composed  it  himself ,  but  at  least  i  could  appreciate  it  as  an  earnest  attempt  to  woo  me .  ’    she  begins  to  pen  her  response :   my  lord  marquis ,  while  i  appreciate  the  craftsmanship  of  the  poem  you  commissioned ,  i  regret . . .

        without  looking  up :   ‘  please , do  say  we  can  set  it  on  fire .  ’

NEVER SHOULD’VE COME HERE !

#seekjoy #answered. #ic. #i'll give all i have; give my blood; give my sweat (inquisition).

[mothergayselle]

The Bad, Bad Mages -- Cullen/Dorian/Lavellan

rating: T words: 3.5k summary: dorian and lavellan make a bet and cullen thinks she’s literally gonna die lmao but are we surprised

A/N: normalize cullavellan bickering 2021

read on ao3

xx

Dating a mage was new for Cullen. As a former Templar, it was to be expected. An entire youth was spent reading about magic, studying how to intercept spells and nullify their effects. Even in the Tower, rumors about mage-templar relationships seeped into the walls, tantalizing the nearest ear with delicious, naughty details of the affair. Experimental magic in bed gone wrong, boyfriends and girlfriends stolen from the other -- the large replica of Andraste in the sanctuary defiled by unspeakable acts performed by the coupled… gossip like that wasn’t uncommon at all. 

But that, as Cullen learned later, wasn’t magic. The faulty experiments in bed… perhaps… had merit. In Lavellan’s defense however, those were on him.

All of it, even the oop-sies, helped contribute to the fact that his relationship with magic changed as he and Lavellan grew close. She was patient and helped him deconstruct all of the learned misconceptions taught by the Chantry... albeit, in an abrupt or Lavellan-like manner. 

Initially, Lavellan had chosen to speak to very few people about herself. Burdened by the weight of the proverbial crown and overwhelmed by the sheer amount of humans within the vicinity, Lavellan was often quiet. Only Solas was privy to her thoughts, a fact that had consistently annoyed Cullen, taunting from the back of his mind whenever he’d found a moment to himself. 

What was even more distressing were the commonalities between the two elves: their mutually shared heritage -- despite Solas’s protests -- and their magic. Cullen couldn’t have anticipated that Lavellan would ever choose him. However, in the daydreams that had allowed for such a blessing, he’d imagined himself the most diligent student, an endlessly submissive disciple to the arcane arts rooted in the most basic parts of her identity. 

She would show him everything she desired, and he’d be so pleased to be wrong and corrected, and how glorious it would feel to finally release his learned hatred for what was so obviously a beautiful and fantastical way of life --

“Well, go on then, you coward!” 

Cullen paused the mental frivolities and looked up from his station. 

The warm, spring day was mild, a promise of life in the coming months. It wasn’t often that he worked outside, at the desk originally set up for him upon their arrival at Skyhold. It had little privacy, too much noise, and too many dauldings to ignore. The sun felt nice though, and was compelling to even the hardiest Ferelden after the cold months. When the weather agreed, it was an occasional indulgence.

The majority of his days were spent pouring over paperwork and reports from the Inquisition’s military, so he was surprised to hear Dorian nearby. The mage rarely ventured outside the library and when he did, it was usually for something nefarious. Which meant more paperwork for Cullen. The likelihood of this increased when Cullen realized Dorian sounded happy. 

One of Sera’s pranks, perhaps. A bucket of ale thrown on an unsuspecting fool, a flock of chickens released at an inopportune moment. The possibilities were endless really, but as long as it didn’t concern him, Cullen wasn’t too perturbed. This was another thing to ignore. Nothing to report or intervene with. Nothing that would result in serious injury, and minor report accidents could always be done away with. Sigh. Mages. No. Not mages. People.

Dorian’s face glowed copper in the weak sunlight, and was inclined to the top of the front gate and its adjacent battlements. A feeling of unease tingled down Cullen’s spine as he followed Dorian’s gaze from where he sat at his desk. So, a serious injury report after all. 

A lone figure poised on top of the tall entrance, and although collapses of the psyche weren’t exactly uncommon at Skyhold, it always chilled Cullen to behold the various ways a person could destroy themselves. He’d talked many a soldier down from such a precipice, and so his mind instantly launched itself into those memories, attempting to retrieve the helpful things he could say to this person who was so clearly experiencing a break in their psyche -- although, why in the world would Dorian ever encourage something as horrific as that?

Because Cullen was a ruddy, stupid idiot. That’s why.

It was her hair. It was always, indubitably, the first thing he noticed about her. The inhuman, eternally stunning, silver hue of her hair that was somehow white and not white at the same time.

Normally, Cullen’s finely-tuned, battle instincts would’ve had him on his feet within the second -- weapon drawn, muscles taut with the routine of one-thousand encounters. This was a different kind of war however, and Cullen felt his body lock down with terror. He was, for the first time in his life, frozen at the sight of his soulmate teeter-tottering atop of an eighty-foot wall as if it was nothing more than the height of the ladder in his room. 

He was also extensively, at length, confused.

“Shut up, Dorian!” Lavellan yelled back. 

Did she not see Cullen right there -- as he had been the whole afternoon, working -- watching her now? 

“I want to wait for the wind to stop, first.”

He didn’t need to see in order to know how hard he was clenching the edges of his desk. He could feel the meager wood loosen beneath his palms. He didn’t know where his voice was. Had he been born with one? Cullen couldn’t recall. He could only observe without understanding and shift his gaze from one mage to the other as they bantered.

Dorian preened his robes as if they were the most important things in the world. “If you want to call it quits, just say so, dear. There’s no shame in backing out of a bet.” He paused. “Well, that’s not exactly true. There’s permanent, soul-crushing shame, of course. The personal kind. But one should then think of how fast the legends of your great, colossal cowardice will spread across Thedas, weakening the Inquisition’s influence, undermining its authority in every part of the wor--”

Dorian’s ceaseless monologue ended the moment Lavellan dashed forward, completing one, full stride before leaping into the air. 

Cullen felt himself physically choke on the air in his lungs as it rushed forth, spewing out of his body. Without consciously moving, he was on his feet at once, bracing the bulk of his weight against his desk as Lavellan swan-dived into the lethal space separating her body from the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw Dorian’s cheeks lift, as if he were pleased with the decision. Satisfied, somehow. 

Lavellan seemed to fall for an eternity. Her hair, loose, was a silver flame trailing after a comet. No scream. Nothing to suggest either terror or exhilarance. The soldiers he’d been too late to save -- some of them had screamed on the way down. If given the chance, Cullen would’ve bet on their regret at the halfway mark. 

In the other, more various scenario, there’d been some sort of marker to reveal the purpose of the exercise. A hollowed out wagon filled with hay to catch new assassins-in-training should they lose balance, or something along the likes. He didn't know the details of this or if it was safe -- all he had was the visual of the Inquisitor bound by a free-fall and rapidly advancing towards a dismount she wouldn’t survive.

Suddenly all of the purpose in his life seemed to flee, leaving nothing behind but an emptiness that felt every bit as terminal as the inevitable impact of Lavellan’s body dashing to pieces.

No.

He bolted out from behind his desk and prepared to catch her himself. Dorian stiffened as he passed -- irrelevant information to file away -- and Cullen flung himself into the sparse throng of bystanders who’d stopped to watch. She was but a slice of color above him, and he frantically searched for a way to soften his arms, cursing the hard, metal bracers he favored. Perhaps the trick was to relax his elbows so that she would sink naturally into them. 

Bones would break, of course, but he’d do his best. Solas was talented at healing spells. As uncomfortable as that would be, he knew Solas would help. 

Cullen planned to ride out the impact alongside it and defer to the natural laws of gravity. Instead of catching her without movement, he’d bend at the knees, dispelling the force of her fall into his own legs and hopefully away from her body. 

For her head and neck, he could widen the space between his arms, making room for the back of her skull to connect so there wasn’t room for whiplash. Of course, if her skull connected with the metal bracers too harshly, that would kill her as well. Would she, in her terror, raise a barrier to protect herself before contact? Would the instinct to survive override whatever instinct pushed her off the gate? Was that the only thing that could save her?

Cullen, hazardously alert, projected his consciousness into every fiber of his body. No battle before had ever been this important. Not Kirkwall, not Corypheus, not even his own torture at Kinloch Hold. He would save Lavellan from herself and whatever moronic horseplay Dorian conned her into, and he stepped forward once more, leveling with her, whole-heartedly determined not to miss…

Lavellan passed over his head with ease, blurring with magic. She hopped in and out of the Fade -- a new ability to her ever-expanding arsenal -- and materialized above the ground beside him. The sound of shoulder blades scraping grass and dirt kicked up behind his back. A safety roll, to displace the momentum. Of course. And then, she was on her feet again. He’d felt the soft, separate vibrations of her boots register in the earth. The sound of her laughter followed.

… how incredibly IMBECILIC he was! Senseless! A fool! A bone-brained buffoon! He was Orlesian, but worse. Could he remember their national hymn? Cullen scrambled to find the words. Orlesian sycophants sang of their stupid, mother country. As a stupid Orlesian, Cullen was also required to sing.

How had he ever completed Templar training? He was dull as rock! The most unintelligent, somehow sentient creature to ever disgrace Thedas! 

Death. That was the only honorable thing left. He would fall on his sword that night, and a good riddance to the most ridiculous waste of life the world had ever seen. Did his living will include Lavellan? He made a mental note to leave her out of it. Disown her entirely. Josephine could work out the details, but Cullen would make sure to capitalize every letter: LAVELLAN GETS NOTHING.

“Pay up, you pretentious oaf,” Lavellan spat, doubtlessly at Dorian. “And let this be a lesson that my pigheadedness is stronger than your vanity.”

Cullen was filled with stone. On the one hand, he was a bumbling ass -- his arms were still outstretched, waiting to fulfill a rescue that was never needed in the first place. On the other was the timbre of Lavellan’s voice. Breathless, but compelling. Playful. Adoring. Alive.

But not for long.

Mages. It was the MAGES! It had always been the mages! Evil, hateful minions of the dark. Cohorts of the lowly, manipulators of the real and solid. A tarnish to everything good. Bitter, poisonous vipers, infecting those around them with their wily wickedness. Cullen could see it now. What his life would be without their mischief constantly shredding his nerves like failed cheese! There would be a semblance of peace -- not much, but a morsel. Enough to survive on. Ampleness to purge the sick and twisted idiocy of magic from every corner of his existence.

He didn’t know what his face looked like, or if he still had one, but Cullen willfully lowered his arms. They felt like marble at his sides. A useless discarding of rock. They never would’ve been able to catch Lavellan like this. The simple texture of their skin would’ve killed her, smashed the bones in her body to dust. He was a simpleton for thinking he could have ever been of help. 

He might’ve been wrong, but Cullen thought he was sweating. It was just as well. His physical form was clearly disintegrating under the guise that he was even remotely necessary to the world. Slowly, he commanded his feet to turn him around, to face the two mages and their heinous, flagrant disregard for his psychological well-being. 

Whatever Dorian had said in response to Lavellan’s barb was lost in the haze of Cullen’s own fury. When Cullen successfully rotated, Dorian’s glimmering eyes flickered from the elf’s onto his. They blazed violently. Glee. Joy at his suffering.

Evil. 

Hateful.

A devious, cat-like smirk pulled at the corners of Dorian’s mouth. He looked back to the Inquisitor, squaring his shoulders in what Cullen thought to be a show of smugness.

“Yes, darling I hear you,” he said. A musical inflection seeped into his voice as he spoke. “A bottomless pit of humiliation and everything. Et cetera, et cetera. Now, may I direct your attention to a matter more pressing than my gigantic, unquenchable ego?”

There was minute comfort as Lavelan stiffened. Oh, look! What a familiar posture! Was that anxiety she was feeling? How novel!

Evil.

Cullen watched the color drain out of her. It was a slow process. Lavellan had become tanned during her escapades into the wilderness, darkening even the freckles dug across her cheeks and nose. Without the blush, only the violet in her irises were left, trembling with unease as she pivoted. 

Even the vallaslin on her forehead, normally a blood and wine color, paled. It was almost comical how bleached and palid she was, leaving the most elven things about her to glow in defense of her now lifeless visage.

They didn’t say anything at first. On a typical day, just the sight of her was enough to wind Cullen. He would melt with love for her and all of the silly antics, at her impish delight in always getting her way. Her way was usually the best way, at any rate. It was hard to disagree with such an amazing woman who was so caring, so thoughtful about the needs of others. 

The blood leaking out of her must have found its way into his body, because he suddenly felt on fire, exploded from the inside out by all of the heat. Was the sun mocking him as well? Had it increased its intensity just to spite him?

The fact that she didn’t apologize right away was obnoxious. He was going to wait for it, for the eloquent, persuasive speech she would certainly give -- she always did when in trouble -- but there was only her silence. The horror in her eyes at being exposed. The fear of a mere scolding etched all over her face. 

“You just HAD to, didn’t you!?” Cullen shouted. Had he meant to yell? Probably not. This was good, though. Their first public fight. The Inquisitor and Commander. Nothing inappropriate about that. 

Whatever worry about being reproached was visibly replaced with petulance. Such a child sometimes. Lavellan’s brow crumpled, and new blood found its way into her cheekbones as she yelled back at him.

“Yes, actually! I did! Dorian said I wouldn’t clear the jump and you know how I feel about being challenged like that!”

Cullen felt the familiar tug of the scar on his lip that contorted whenever he was angry. “I do know, Ellana. I know that you’re nigh a mabari, but STUPID! Idiotic! Who’s made you this dumb? Should we get you a tutor?”

He ignored the blushed darkening of her vallaslin, which had always fascinated him. Twining, coiling lines of devotion to a patron god. In her culture, to choose a vallaslin was to choose the deity behind it, which Lavellan would soon need because Cullen would throw her off the battlements himself. Let her barrel roll out of that.

Ellana rolled her eyes at the insult. “You Fereldens and your dogs. Always needing to establish dominance, which is exactly my point!”

Cullen grit his teeth together. “Dominance? Why would you ever need to dominate Dorian--”

“--Ooh, now that’s an intriguing idea--”

“--when all he amounts to is a spoiled, rich brat who plays with corpses?!” Dorian earned a glare for interrupting. 

Dorian, still glowing in the warm, spring day, tutted at Cullen. “I believe the word you’re referring to is necromancing, good captain.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed to slits and Dorian grinned, showing Cullen his hands, palms out. Homicide wouldn’t help the situation. Probably. He had to remember to breathe, to inhale through the nose. Recalibrating with a shake of the head, Lavellan’s gaze was still when he returned to it.

He expected her to shout back at him, defend her best friend, but what she did surprised him. Lavellan cocked her head. Chewed on the side of her cheek and then laughed. All of the stress in her vallaslin smoothed out at once.

“Well, you’re not… wrong,” she conceded. Dorian grimaced behind her, as if he’d smelled something rotten and spent festering nearby. Then, the creeping, unconquerable smile she wore when she knows she’s won began slithering onto her awful, sinful, depraved, beautiful mage-face.

“In fairness,” she crooned, “I can now buy you the Orlesian whetstone you’ve wanted for so long.” 

FUCKING Orlesians. Cullen didn’t know who was more corruptible than them, save for mages. Stinking, destructive mages.

Cullen did note the proud look on Dorian’s face as Lavellan knowingly hoodwinked him into submission. Which, now that he thought about it, was also public!

“You’re going to kill me,” was all he said. A simple revelation. The rage drained away and marble arms returned to flesh. What did his face look like now? Calm? Resigned to his inevitable, eventual death?

Lavellan cocked her head again, swaying like a teenage girl in love. Overdoing a bit, if you asked him. The final nail in the coffin.

“Well, if I do,” she started, “I could always bring you back.” And then she proceeded to lift her left hand -- the Anchor hand. Its green magic pulsed as if to emphasize the promise. Or, was it a threat?

Dorian stifled a laugh when Cullen’s mouth audibly popped open.

Magic was terrifying. She was terrifying. 

He’d meant to bring a hand to his face, to rub away the stiffness in it. When the glove connected though, Cullen heard a loud slap echo across the courtyard. Lavellan flinched. Maybe the gesture had been too violent? He didn’t feel it. He was only aware of the ache in his head -- a timeless throbbing -- as if the pain had always been there. Because of magic, obviously. 

Lavellan’s mouth curled with a new smile. “Maybe you should go rest, Cullen. I promise not to jump off anything else today. Sound good?”

He wished she would just shut up because everything she was saying only made it worse. Cullen knew he would have nightmares about this day… as if he didn’t have enough already. Pointy, horrible dreams about her willingly jumping to her death would probably never leave him, and it was all of her fault. And magic’s. 

“Yeah. I’m going to go… slip into a coma or something.” But of course, Lavellan could always rip the Fade apart just to find and bring him back -- a horrific addendum.

But, no. Only one thing mattered now. His bed. Technically, it was Lavellan’s bed, as he’d taken to sleeping with her at night. Under normal circumstances he would’ve been too shy to slip into her room during the day. So many people around to gossip. Not that their relationship was a secret, but it was the principle of the thing. A demerit in the gentlemen’s code.

Although, because she’d single-handedly ripped the nerves from his body, he’d never have to worry about anything else ever again! With Lavellan’s bed and a few hours of unbothered rest, he’d be as good and traumatized as any other well-adjusted person in the Inquisition.

Cullen shuffled forward, pausing, because the normal routine called for a kiss on the forehead. Before he lowered himself however, his eyes narrowed of their own accord, squinting like two astrariums which combed through her face, scouring it for an iota of common sense. 

Where was it? Smothered, choking behind all of the magic? Struggling to be set free and realized? 

What has she done to you? Cullen wondered. What has the bad, villainous, shameful mage put you through? 

There was a glower to his face when he returned to it. More of a scowling really, as if she was the first darkspawn to ever curse the planet. Not too far off the mark. Elves could be darkspawn too, right? What were they called? Shrieks? 

She looked up at him with ease. Lavellan knew she’d gotten away with it for the most part, so what else was there to do but pity him? 

“I’ll meet you tonight,” she said, leaning up to kiss his forehead. The vallaslin stretched with her smile. Blood and wine and wayward, contemptible neglect for his mental well-being. Shimmering, fiendish, magnificent violet drilling into him, carving the soundness out, one blink at a time.

Words, incoherent, bubbled from him. A string of oaths, perhaps. He headed for the castle’s staircase when more words percolated. Loudly. He didn’t turn to personally tell her, nor did he modify the volume of his voice. He merely called into the air, letting all of the Inquisition -- and the Maker -- hear him as he headed to bed. 

“You can sleep on the sodding ground for all I care. I’m locking your door.”

Lavellan would unlock it within the span of a single heartbeat, but that wasn’t the point. 

The point was that he was tired and emotionally scarred and she could leave her stinking, e v i l magic outside their bedroom entrance where, at least for that night, it could no longer disturb the very fabric of his soul. 

If he launched her off the bedroom balcony and into the Frostbacks, would a safety roll still save her? 

Something to consider.

#cullavellan #cullen rutherford #lavellan #dai #inquisition #da #dragon age #fanfics #mine #writing #dorian pavus

[herald-divine-hell]

A Foolish Notion

Summary: Alexandra almost gets into a duel, and Leliana is having enough of it. 

Words: 2,083.

Tags: Angst, Fluff

Jaw tightening, Leliana narrowed her eyes at the sight before her, urging down with cold strength the desire to rage. Light spewed down from the windows, long-length and wide, blushing the stone a softer grayish-white. Wind rattled against the sealed windows, a gentle tap that echoed in the stillness of the war room. Shrill cries groaned distantly behind the barrier of stone walls, but she could still hear the mournful whimpers of the Frostbacks; promises of pain and memories long passed and to soon occur. 

But the pain now bubbled beneath her own being, forming at the center a fire of worry, outrage, and fear. It hurt more seeing the long, jagged lash sprawling from the underside of Alexandra’s jaw down her neck, and running further beneath the high-necked suit. The golden embroidery burnt bright by faint touches of sunlight, shimmering as if it was golden clouds streaking across a sea of darkness. The military uniform fit the Free Marcher more than well enough - with its emphasis to highlight the curve of her hips, the slimness of her waist, the fullness of her bust, and yet it contained still all the influence of a near-omnipotent force, unchallenged and domineering. Alexandra was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt there, either. Her long locks of black fell in a thick mane of curls, flowing down to the small of her back. Strands fell and were stark-contrasted by the green-gold of her eyes, long tendrils seeping into one another, seemingly blending and swirling. More often than not, a tiny smile formed at the corner of her lips; but there was none formed there now, only a line that was distant, almost apathetic. Even the flames burning within those eyes of gold and green were harsh and cold; it was not the sensuous glaze of a visionary, but the clear watchful and understanding of an experienced general—one who’s wraith had been tested.

“Don’t stare at me like that, Alexandra. You know what you did, and the riskiness it could have put you and the Inquisition in.” Leliana despised the strident tone that her voice held, but she was in no position to relent against it. Alexandra needed to hear it, to understand the idiocy that she nearly drew herself into. An idiocy that nearly had gotten her killed. “Why did you do it?” 

The fire which burned in Alexandra’s eyes was terrible to behold. The woman was too stubborn for her own good, most times—too arrogant to believe that she could be in the wrong when it concerned her own safety. Leliana wished she knew what the woman was thinking. At times like these, the Inquisitor’s thoughts were as understandable as a marble statue. She hated her for that; and she hated how she wanted to draw Alexandra into her arms. Those eyes could burn entire mountains into nothing but molten pools of flames, yet they sent a shiver up Leliana’s back all the same. At last, the Inquisitor finally spoke. “It was my duty, Leliana.” Her melodious voice was stern and hard, a tone filled with authority and power unquestioned. 

Leliana’s own voice tightened and grew frosty on its own. “Your duty is to lead the Inquisition—to remain alive.” And stay with me. Alexandra had promised she would stay with her, now and forever, and Leliana believed her to be a woman of her word. Maker, she trusted her more than anything else in the world. Alexandra had to stay alive. She just had to. I won’t lose her, too. Turning to Cullen and Josephine, both who looked abashed and red-faced. “Leave us, please. I will talk sense into her,” said Leliana, making sure there was no room left for arguments or discussion. Especially from Cullen. 

Surprisingly, and kindly, the two other advisors nodded and departed without any word, though Josephine gave her look of reassurance...and sympathy. Their steps echoed into the silence of the hall, the pressure thickening each boom, growing as the two opened the door and sealed it shut with a louder bang, like bouts of thunder. 

Suddenly, the War Room seemed far larger than it had been before, as if Leliana was little more than a speck in the world’s vastness. The expanded hall where it loomed behind Alexandra, with the large bronze doors, strapped with bronze and iron hinges, glimmered pale beneath the whitish-golden light. The shadows lengthened and spread across the pale gray stone floor, whirling about like black tree-limbs. 

Leliana returned her gaze back to Alexandra, which seemed to not have lifted from her face since the silence overtook the chamber. Tightening her jaw, Leliana straightened her shoulders and pulled herself to her tallest height. She would not be turned into some foolish, mushy mess, merely because she loved Alexandra. She grasped at the facade of Spymaster and Left Hand, lifted up, and pulled it over her features, a skin so old and familiar that it almost seemed second nature; but how long since she had last truly worn this face? The face that had sentenced so many to death to protect Justinia? Too long, she thought, graciously. Too long because of the woman who leaned against the war table with palms pressed against the reddish-brown wood, eyes trained on to Leliana, only interrupted by a flicker of a blink. Because of that woman she loved more than her own life, who had brought light and color back into her life, when all was shrouded in gray and black and sorrow and misery. And to think she could have lost her again...No, she would remain hard for the time being. Alexandra will listen to her. “You better have a good enough reason to go throw yourself in danger like that—unprovoked and unnecessary, need I remind you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned on her left leg, waiting. 

For a while, Alexandra did little more than blink and stare. Her eyes were calculating sun-twined green flames, controlled and yet raging. Only the snapping cold wind against the windows were the only sounds to fill the war room, alongside the chirping torches that were little with amber flames, thin wisps of pale gray smoke flowing up toward the high ceiling. At last, Alexandra spoke, though she never lifted herself from the table. “It was provoked, Leliana. My honor had been on the line. The Inquisition’s honor had been on the line.” A growl escaped from those lovely lips, a marring change to the sweet words that often flowed from her mouth, like a river struck with a stone to leave its water running sporadically compared to the smooth swiftness it would have usually flowed.  “What would you have me do? Allow it to be smeared and buried in the mud?”

“Josephine would have handled it.” Leliana met the fierceness and fire of Alexandra’s voice with her own coldness. Narrowing her eyes, Leliana clenched and uncleaned her jaw, and pushed down the urge to scream. How could she not have seen the foolishness of it all? “And he was a mere corporal within the Inquisition’s army; our own soldier, Alexandra! You are the Inquisitor. If you would have wished so, you could have dismissed him from his position!” 

Alexandra flung herself off the table, the fire within her eyes blazing bright. The flames spun about the torches also erupted, shooting long flaming lances toward the ceiling. And the air felt colder, thinner, as if Leliana stood at the peak of a mountain. The wind’s rattle grew harder, fiercer, like claws scraping a shriek across the clear surface. “His second was able to negotiate with Fendarn. I did not get hurt, and my honor is intact.” Her eyes flowed close, and she whispered in a voice that Leliana could barely register. “My honor is still intact…” 

Maker, why did she have to look so vulnerable now? It was harder to cling to the coldness when Alexandra looked half-folded into herself, shoulders drawn inward, as if seeking to hide her. Leliana wanted to draw that foolish girl into her arms, and to whisper that she was right. She was still here with her. Instead, Leliana asked, “Why do you care so much so about honor?” In stories, honor had enshrined heroes, but Leliana was old enough, wiser enough, to separate stories from reality. Once, she had not, and that had caused her more pain than she had ever so desired to feel again. She swallowed, pain slicing through her heart, seizing it with sorrowful pain. “Is it worth more than me?” And it was her turn to close her eyes, to contain and pull back the tears that threatened to escape.

The warmth and coldness that had filled the room like air snapped away, and the roaring of flames died down sudden and quick, like light flashing out from existence. Even the wind had ceased it knocking. “More than you? Maker, no, Leliana.” Light footsteps, swift and few, filled the air as she felt hands, cool and warm all at onces, and so, so smooth, but with a hint of callous, cup her cheeks delicately. “Please, Leliana, look at me.”

She had not realized that she had failed to keep back the tears. Warmth wetness flowed down her cheeks in tendrils, and Leliana could feel Alexandra’s thumb drying and drawing circles over them. Opening her eyes slowly, Leliana had to bite back a cry. Alexandra’s eyes were wide, searching, and shrouded in worry. The gold within her eyes had mellowed, growing softer, a gentle glow filling and brightening them. Now they looked like a sheen of light over a calm emerald sea. Leliana could stare within those eyes for eternity, if she could. 

“I love you so much. Not even words could pen them down upon parchment, though I have often tried.” 

Leliana raised her own hands up and pressed them against those cheeks, rolling the pads of her thumb across the straight sharpness of her cheekbones. “Why, then? Why put yourself in so much danger?”

Guilt plagued those eyes, and Leliana was filled with unmeasurable sorrow at that. If there was anything more Leliana had hated to see Alexandra’s eyes, it was guilt. It was a sight that was growing too common and accustomed to, for her liking. “Because honor is all I have, Leliana. Nobility I may be, I am still a mage. And though the mages have won their freedom, perhaps in the eyes of most, I am still legally not allowed to inherit any land that my father could bestow upon me. I have nothing else, save my honor. Nothing else, before I had met you.” She laughed, and it was bitter, self-loathing. “I am a bigger fool than Maferath.” 

“You are a fool, Alexandra Trevelyan.” Leliana could not stop herself from laughing and taking in the refreshing glint of confusion within her beloved’s eyes. “But you are my fool.” A leather-gloved hand flowed away from a cheek to entangle themselves within the thick locks of Alexandra’s hair. “And I would fight demon and darkspawn, man and god, to have you in my arms every morning and to keep your smile forever alive.”

Tugging at her head gently, Leliana tilted her head back and captured those lips she so adored with her own, and kissed her heatedly and lovingly. Leliana took in everything: the feel of Alexandra’s body pressed against hers, the softness and plumpness of that talented mouth, and the sweet scent of vanilla and something else she could not quite name fill her senses. 

A grunt passed through Alexandra’s lips against Leliana’s. The edge of the war table. A wicked thought came to mind, and her grin grew into the kiss. I’ll be sure to remind her what she would be missing if she dare even think about going off to do something as foolish as a duel again. And Leliana had not been jesting when she had said she would fight gods and demons to be with this foolish Free Marcher. But a part of her knew that Alexandra would have done the same for her. Well, let us be sure that neither of us gets into something as tangible and foolish as death. Though, knowing the both of them, Leliana doubted it.

But she made a promise, and it was a promise she would keep, until the sun bled away into ash and the world turned shattered and broken, Leliana would hold onto that promise, as hard as she could. 

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age leliana #sister leliana #the left hand of the divine #inquisitor #dragon age the inquisitor #dragon age trevelyan #inquisitor trevelyan #dragon age ocs #my ocs #inquisitor x leliana #leliana x inquisitor #inquisitor/leliana #f!inquisitor x leliana #f!inquisitor/leliana #leliana x f!inquisitor #leliana/f!inquisitor #f!trevelyan x leliana #f!trevelyan/leliana #leliana x f!trevelyan #alexandra x leliana #leliana/alexandra #alexandra/leliana #leliandra #fanfic #my fanfic #my writing #da #dai