#oc: ember cousland

[inquisimer]

@vintersdrom drew this piece of my OC, Ember Cousland, for a commission and I just adore it! She is a Very Serious Warden Commander and you can read about her on my ao3 here :3

#dragon age #dragon age fanart #oc: ember cousland #warden cousland #dragon age origins #dao #cousland #she!!! #I imagine Varel being like “ser we must have a formal portrait of you in the keep” #and she's just like “fine. but I'm going to make Alistair come and suffer with me” #and then Alistair spends the whole time trying to make her laugh while she needs to keep a straight face #or alternatively: nathaniel is flicking things at her while she tries to keep still #either way #rip to the painter😂😂

[high3ver]

our legacies hide in the embers. may our stories catch fire --- we pull apart the darkness while we can. may we live and die a valorous life, may we write it all down in cursive light (til our temporary brilliance turns to ash)

independent/selective ELISSA COUSLAND, a DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS OC written by PIPPA (mainly functions on a companion verse, with HOF verses & other alternate verses available)

#self promo #dragon age rp #baldurs gate 3 rp #dnd rp #(finally removed the warden/hero wording from the original and so: repost sjdhf)

[alenkosx]

I was tagged by @baldurians to make some oc's in this picrew. Thank you!! 💕

Esmee Cousland (Dragon Age Origins) ♦ Aria Hawke (Dragon Age 2) Tamra Shepard (Mass Effect Trilogy) ♦ Ember (Baldur's Gate 3)

Tagging: @finallygaveintothesirencall , @galeofwaterdeeps, @whimsyswastry

#these 4 bc they are my favourite children 😊 #tagged #esmee cousland #aria hawke #tamra shepard #ember

[unhinged-tellings]

OC Masterlist

This is a list for the OCs I will be discussing and writing about on this blog. I will eventually make introduction posts for all of them and put the links in this post.

Supernatural

Jaime Morgan

Zadkiel/Mateo Fuentas

Toby Winchester

Elliot Winchester

Ember "Em" Kimball

Red vs. Blue

Ander "Cas" Artigas/Agent Michigan

Gemini Solo/Agent Delaware

Tau

Kit Cassidy

Newt Kipp

Sequoia Nova

Arrow Munch

Blade Munch

Dragon Age

Valya Lavellan

Agustin Cousland

Gurek Adaar

Ollie Trevelyan

Dark Angel (2000-2002)

Five/X5-345

The X-Files

Jeremy Harrison

The A-Team

Joan Dawson

Non-Fandom

Jordi Lagos

Liam Davies

Antonne Vaugn

Thoma Ze'ev

#oc blog #oc masterlist #spn oc #rvb oc #dragon age oc #dark angel oc #x files oc #a-team oc #original characters

[darth-salem-emperor-of-earth]

My OCs Master List

Until I carve out a huge hunk of time to update and to my OCs lists, here is a general character log of all my current OCs (minus my 7kpp OCs, they’re getting revamped into new, more original OCs because I decided to use them in original work in the near future). You can refer to this list for ockiss20/oc kiss week, any ask question posts, or just in general for your own curiosity. When I have the time later, I’ll add a link to their tags but I’ve known in the past sometimes their tags don’t show all of their posts so sometimes using the search option for their name yields more results. 

Dragon Age

Una Surana

Lydia Tabris

Boris Brosca

Maude Aeducan

Reva Cousland

Sardar Mahariel

Gerel Amell (she's still fairly new so I haven't done much with her)

Xena Hawke

Aegnus Hawke

Brynhild Hawke

Kai Cadash

Morana Adaar

Sigrun Lavellan

Mass Effect

Ivy Shepard

Ivanhoe "Ivan" Shepard

Izzy Shepard

Kyle Shepard

ME: Andromeda

Kirk Ryder

Padme Ryder

SWTOR

Goneril Sedae

Regan Sedae

Sekhmet-Bastet

Zoraa Lashem

Mirri Gwerder

Alumia

Tianthes

Kavi Zifon

Hyal Tyuuk

Samira Bellini

Kazik Abreu

Mikom Jhar

Neven Rhee

KOTOR

Kial Wysten

Venka Fraser

KOTOR 2

Athena Grimm

Rei Fisher

FE: Awakening

Lavender

Conrad

Valda

FE: Fates

Fiona

Alysanne

Nessa

Hermia

Fallout Series

Min-Ju Zhou (Fallout 4)

Natia Yilmaz (Fallout: New Vegas)

The Witcher

Friederike “Fritzi” Lagorio 

Marvel

Iris

BNHA

Mizuki Kan

Naruto

Yumiko Kurosawa (civilian AU)

Yumiko Hyuga (ninja AU)

Van Helsing RPs

Egil Swenhaugen

Rolf Dunklestein

Sigrid Swenhaugen

Morfran O’Bryne

Gabriele Van Helsing

Thanatos Wakahisa

A Creature Without Fear (ME RP)

Judith Jokinen 

Savitr Noaldis 

Bryn Whelan 

Radraste 

Farion Vandrium (more of a minor character/plot device but he’s useful)

Aqil’Osher vas Cerberus 

Harry Potter/WW:

Kiri Wallace (Hogwarts Mystery)

Velda Moriarty (Harry Potter/The Wizarding World)

Tabitha Sloane (Hogwarts Legacy)

D&D/BG3: 

Kyrie Silbersonnen (Dungeons and Dragons)

Branwen Negri (Dungeons and Dragons)

Viorel Quinlan (Dungeons and Dragons)

Soile (Baldur’s Gate 3)

Other 

Delyth Toirrell nee Crewe (OC from an old fantasy RP)

Reagan Ancrath (Fable/Fable 3)

Gwenaelle Pendragon (Arthurian Legends stories/The Warlord Chronicles fanfiction)

Mitsuko Kurosawa (Hakuouki)

Visynia Velaryon (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Anaëlle Zoé Poirot (True Blood/Southern Vampire Mysteries)

Sayuri Kanemaru (The Yakuza/Like a Dragon series)

Voltage Games

Suzume Ishikawa (Her Love in the Force)

Sora Kurosawa (10 Days with My Devil)

Lyra Morgenstern/Ilmatar (Star Crossed Myth)

Jillian Norwood (Rose in the Embers)

The Arcana

Kahina

Seung

WTNC

Chloe Vass

Elias Proulx

FFXIV & FFXV

Isha Snow (FFXIV)

Neha Ozolos (FFXIV)

Seraphina Ardere (FFXV)

Divinity: Original Sin 2

Monifa

Opal

Magi

Octavia Alexius

Pokemon

Sahar Sharma (Pokemon Sun and Moon)

WoW

Parisa Emberstalker

Eurwen Starspell

Interactive Fiction

Xiang Ruan (The Wayhaven Chronicles)

Blair Linden (The Wayhaven Chronicles)

Zuzanka Kudrna (The Wayhaven Chronicles)

Evita Dufort (Heroes Rise Trilogy)

Jessamine Honeycutter (Heart of the House)

Gisella de Rivera (Affairs of the Court)

Audra Urbina (The Superlatives: Aetherfall)

Talulla D’Arcadie (Arcadie: Second Born)

Fern Richards (Scandal Notes)

Mai Metharom (Creme de la Creme)

Sedna Keen (A Pirate’s Pleasure)

Andromeda Six

Sabina Peg’asi

Maristela Peg’asi

Errant Kingdom

Kresimir Landau (Nomad)

Lavanya Argyris (Ambassador) 

Herleva Tullius (Knight)

GreedFall

Adelaide De Sardet

#OCs #Character Log #OCs Master List #master list #master post #masterlist #masterpost

[lady-redhaired]

If you had to describe your OCs with incorrect quotes, what quotes would you use?

Y’know what I’m gonna do this exclusively with Dragon Age OCs and John Mulaney quotes so that it’s extra relevant here we go:

Milenia Cousland (warden):

Bellanaris Mahariel (warden’s companion):

(she’s a mute s,jkhfbsdf)

Xander Hawke: 

also

Éadaoin Lavellan (inquisitor):

Cain Trevelyan (inquisitor’s companion):

Scarlet Embers (inquisitor’s companion):

#honestly? I wanted to do this just for Hawke dkljgdf #ask Red #dragon age #OCs #Anon ask

[sasskarian]

⭐for any fic of your choice. No obligations though. Only if you want to do this.

oh man i love talking about my fics i just dont wanna be annoying lmao

so there are so many bits and pieces coming up that i’m super proud of or can’t wait to get to, and i’ll throw them under a cut

currently in Glitterverse, my dragon age modern noir turned murder mystery, the gang is about to find some red lyrium in bartrands house. they’re trying to escape from the gatsby-like lavish party upstairs and end up in secret tunnels and

Cassandra rested her forehead against the door for a second, trying to force some of the adrenaline and tension from her body, when Anders backed into her. 

“The fuck,” he said, horror threading his voice like stitching. “Varric, what the fuck?”

“I don’t know,” Varric said. From the quiet rasp, she imagined him running his hands down his face without bothering to turn around, the sound of skin on stubble loud in the silence. 

No. Not quite silence. The noise of wherever they were, whatever had horrified her companions, was quiet, but still present: a deep, unsettling humming just out of the range of her ears, the dull clank of metal on metal, and a few daring voices, murmuring to themselves. All in all, nothing she’d expected to hear from a nobleman’s mansion. She took a deep breath, searching for the steadiness she knew so well.

***

in Fairbanks, Evariste and Isera have been set up thoroughly for a night of romance in the best orlesian way

“In Orlais,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead to her hip, pressing a kiss to her trembling thigh while he’s there, “the nobility have a saying. ‘À plaisir et douleur, même saveur.’” It takes a moment for him to look up, wondering what he’ll see with this confession. “As it goes, politics are not the only things we turn into games. There are… certain bedroom games.” “Is that so?” Isera props herself up on her elbows to look down at him, a glimmer of challenge in her eyes.

***

in Velvet over Veridium (the prequel to Glitterverse), varric has just stumbled across a very beat up fenris for the first time and called for reinforcement

From the time the call ended, tersely, to the time a carefully nondescript van pulled up and the clack of Atheril’s boots echoed down the alley couldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes. But it felt like a lifetime, lived and dead and buried in the same magic-soaked dirt he’d been sprouted from. The smell of her cigarette-- a little floral, mostly sweet-- floated to him and the brief red glow of the ember on it lit her face in the dank alley. 

“New friend?” she asked, letting the smoke tumble from her lips, tendril after tendril. Varric watched, momentarily fascinated, before replying.

“Hope so.” He sighed, running his hands over his hair and trying not to think about the alley gunk and blood he was streaking through it. “Poor kid’s beat half to hell. Couldn’t just leave him here to die.”

“Know anything about him? Or is this going to bite you in the ass later?”

“Not a thing,” Varric said. He ignored her amused snort; she knew his bleeding heart too well by now. “Except the two dead ones are slavers.”

Athenril choked on her smoke and that was a half second of petty but satisfying as hell vindication. “Fuck me,” she gasped, thumping herself once on the chest. “Here? In fucking Kirkwall?”

“In fucking Kirkwall.”

***

Home 8 hasn’t even been written yet, but i plan to wake scott up and we’re gonna be dealing with the turian ark 

there’s a Shakarios (shepard x garrus x thane) poly ficlet in the works, sometime pre That Thing With Thane That Never Happened Because I’mma Fuck Canon’s Shit Up

Voiceverse is still being drafted but there’s a bit with Iveani wandering the Fade and stumbling across a certain uthenera-sleeping dreamer

Believe has a heart to heart with Dorian coming up soon. 

got a few Elder Scrolls fics, and some Mandalorian/Star Wars fics in the works, but those are still pretty nebulous. 

thank you for asking! 

>>OCs: Surana, Cousland, Lavellans, Shepard, Ryders, Dragonborn, Cyrodiil Champion<<

>>Fics: Glitterverse, Voiceverse, Sea and Stars, Home, SWTOR, Star Wars, Fairbanks, Believe<<

>>AO3<<

#rpgwarrior4824

[fat-rolls-frictions]

tagged by @kingnikolailantsovs !! thank u my dude

Rules: Say the first three (3) things that you think of your OC(s)! (Without an explanation of course!)

[ O r i g i n s ]

Sigrid Cousland >> Molasses | Dark corner in the room | A warm embrace

Idris Cousland >> A look over the shoulder | Grimy vambraces | Floating embers

Derude >> Liquid metal | Incense smoke| Silvery scars

[ I n q u i s t i o n ]

Enabel’taren Lavellan >> Snow on dead leaves | Butter-soft leather | Bruised knuckles

Antigone Trevelyan >> Voile | Dry violets | Tears clinging to chin

Eurynome Trevelyan >> Satin | Loose hair around the face | Paper cuts

[ S t a r A r e B l i n d ]

Gia Linh of Mac Eanraig >> Bronze looking glass | Sunburns on the shoulders | Twinkling stars

I’ll tagggg @toseetheworldinaworkofart @captainmeowvel @pandora-roleplays @namesonboats and @nesevalavellan o/ no pressure of course

#thank u for the tag ;w; <33 #oc + 3 things #some of this got really specific and tbh im beyond questioning why #enabel lavellan #sigrid cousland #idris cousland #derude #antigone trevelyan #eurynome trevelyan #gia linh of mac eanraig

[inquisimer]

I was tagged by @dungeons-and-dragon-age and @shivunin to create my OCs in this picrew, and their swords in this picrew! Thank you both - this was super fun! I love a good item picrew :3

these are definitely a mix of Actual Swords and Vibes, even for the OCs who actually use swords

Siobhan Hawke - no actual sword use, completely vibes, I just love her so much I couldn't leave her out. All black for Kirkwall, dripping with blood and chains for Symbolism and more Kirkwall

Nika Brosca - a dual wielder, so actual sword use! But the design, particularly the glowy lyrium blade, is all vibes. The hilt wrapped up in fabric with scraps hanging off the end is allllll dust town though. My scrappy Carta girl :3

Ariya Tabris - sword use Optional™️, only when she can't get her hands on proper daggers or an axe, until she has Vigilance. The design here is mostly vibes, especially the black vines up the blade for the Blight.

Ciel Andras - (everyone: Andras? me: the orlesian warden commander that bioware forgot ;-;) my Actual Sword user, a sword and board warrior! The sword here is literal, silverite for the blade and blue on the hilt and grip for the Wardens. Plus the hilt that I thought was close enough to Wing Imagery without being butterfly wings, and the black veins in the blade for, you guessed it, Blight Symbolism.

Ember Cousland - another dual wield sword user (sensing a type here hmmmm) and it's definitely with her family's sword no I don't care that the stats bottom out so fast. The hilt design here is to represent that, with the mirrored wheat design of the Cousland heraldry, but the on-fire blade is 100% vibes, a representation of her vengeance against the Howes.

tagging forward to: @leggywillow | @exalted-dawn | @rosella-writes | @wheat-and-wheat-by-products | @midmorninggrey |

and @thiefbird have fun friends!!

#tag game #oc: ember cousland #oc: ciel andras #oc: nika brosca #oc: siobhan hawke #oc: ariya tabris #sorry for the weird tag formatting tumblr is still being dumb about it #long post

[inquisimer]

happy friday!! for cousland/alistair - love isn't like it is in the books.

ty for the prompt bb! a bit more implied here than anything else, but I love some Politically Competent Alistair/Cousland :3

wc: 621

for @dadrunkwriting

-

Ember’s hand clenched around her fork at the sound of yet another thinly veiled insult hurled by the visiting Orlesians. Even after they saved the whole world—the Blight never even touched Orlais—even here, in their seat of power, nothing swayed these self-obsessed fools from their own importance.

She took an angry sip of wine, swallowed down a bitterness that hardly compared. But then Lord Bernard opened his pompous mouth again, all gestures and posturing, and she took a deep breath—

A gentle grip fell across her wrists. The scars from Alistair’s sword rubbed against her skin and Ember snapped her gaze to him. He would stop her? He would?

No, he was shaking his head, but there was a gleam in his eye that their advisors had come to fear. Gingerly, Ember unwrapped her clenched fist, one finger at a time, until her fork clattered pointedly against her empty plate. At the sound, the entire banquet table hushed, a few disdainful gazes alighting on the queen.

“Lord Bernard,” Alistair said, as if they’d called the attention on purpose—they had, they were good at this by now— “Since you seem so eager to discuss the profits of our fields, when can we expect a shipment from your lands?”

The Orlesian scoffed into his goblet, but Alistair did not even flush. He held the man’s masked face openly, brazenly, by their standards, and waited coldly for his answer.

“I’m sure I don’t take your meaning,” Bernard said. He took a deliberate, disrespectful pause to sip his drink. “Your Majesty, that is.”

The Banns in attendance grumbled, but their discontent fell aside at a gesture from Alistair. He took Ember’s hand in his without looking and laced their fingers together.

“Ah, my sincerest apologies,” he said. Most would have thought him in jest, but Ember heard the sharp edge of his cunning that waited to cut this posturing fool down to size. “I assumed your Empress would consult her underlings before signing away the profits of their estate. After all, our Throne would never make such a presumption on behalf of our vassals. Seeing how Ferelden is so uncouth compared to your homeland, you can see where my confusion stemmed from.”

Alistair idly popped a chunk of cheese into his mouth and chewed around a pleasant smile. “I won’t be making that mistake again.”

The Banns and Arls raised their glasses and murmured approval as Lord Bernard turned a very pleasant shade of red and muttered something unintelligible into his goblet. Ember squeezed Alistair’s hand and cleared her throat.

“What was that, my lord?” She called, far calmer and matching Alistair’s pointedly civil tone. “I would hate that our new alliance should falter simply because I failed to hear even a whisper of your sage advice.”

The foolish noble flushed even darker, looking the part of a beet that Nan might prize for its rotund hue. He set his goblet down and coughed into his fist.

“I beg your apologies, your Majesties,” he said, face twisting like one who’d swallowed a lemon. “I am…under informed, it seems. Rest assured, I will have words with her Grace when I return home.”

Ember heard the implied threat in his words, whether he intended her to or not. The Game here in Ferelden was a bit less cloak-and-dagger and a bit more knives out, but they played nonetheless. And they’d won this round.

Alistair raised their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles; warm affection chased the dredges of rage from her throat and she enjoyed Lord Bernard’s offended sputtering as they moved past him without so much as a dismissal.

“So, Lord Eddelbreck, with regard to your granaries…”

#dadwc #my writing #oc: ember cousland #ember x alistair #alistair theirin #dao #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #cousland #warden cousland

[inquisimer]

OC in Three

Post three pictures or images you feel relate to a character. They can be face claims, famous artworks, photos, or anything you think fits the Vibe™

thank you for the tag @shivunin! I love the Vibes™️and this was a great excuse to dig through ye old pinterest aesthetic boards :3 under a cut, as Too Many OCs strikes again, lol

tagging forward to: @leggywillow | @rosella-writes | @plisuu | @kiastirling-fanfic | and @dragon--sage

Solona Amell

Neria Surana Lavellan

Ariya Tabris

Siobhan Hawke

Acacia Trevelyan

Sari Mahariel

Léan Hawke

Nika Brosca

Ember Cousland

#oc: solona amell #oc: neria surana lavellan #oc: ariya tabris #oc: siobhan hawke #oc: acacia trevelyan #oc: sari mahariel #oc: lean hawke #oc: nika brosca #oc: ember cousland #tag games #loved this one #easy on the brain but scratched the oc itch lol #dragon age #dai #dao #da2

[inquisimer]

HELLO MER i come to request some Alistair x Warden based off the poem "Love Is" by Nikki Giovanni (who i got to meet once she's so cool and also very short and powerful love her so much):

Few recognize that love is commitment, responsibility no fun at all unless

Love is You and me

hap late friday ro💜 this felt very king alistair/queen cousland to me, so have some Alistair x Ember in her queenverse :3

725 words for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, that’s what they said. They also said it would weigh heavier on their young heads, that they’d taken it in a fit of idealistic passion, that it would all crumble around them.

They didn’t care.

Alistair rose from his throne first, stretching crooked bones and muscles in a decidedly not kingly manner. He pushed his crown up to scratch at where his hair had matted against his skin. With half a smile, Ember propped an elbow against her own throne and used her fist to rest her chin.

“You know, you could always grow you hair out. It helps with the—“ she gestured at her own head, where thick locks of red hair protected her sensitive skin from the thin band of gold, twisted in an ornate pattern that mimicked wheat at its ends.

“It’s not the hair,” Alistair groused, “It’s because they make me wear one that’s three times as thick as yours just because I’m a man.”

“I’ll swap with you. Eamon doesn’t need to know.”

“He’d know,” Alistair said darkly. “He always knows.”

Ember stood and closed the space between them with graceful steps. She lifted Alistair’s crown from his head and held it to her chest as she gently kissed his cheek. As she pulled away, he caught her face with both hands and pulled her back for a proper kiss.

“What are we going to do about Edgehall?” she asked, resting her forehead against his chin. “I feel as though we’ve poured so many restoration efforts into the region, and yet it seems to do no good.”

“Maybe we need to look at Lendon. He always seemed a bit slimy to me.”

“You think all of the Arls are slimy.”

“Not true,” Alistair countered. “The arl of Amaranthine is perfectly lovely.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Now that’s simply untrue.” He hooked an arm around her waist and drew her from their dais, toward the door that would take them to an illusion of privacy. “But as far as Edgehall is concerned, perhaps an independent envoy, rather than money directly to the arl? That would settle the matter of where the breakdown in the funds is happening, at least somewhat.”

“It’s something,” Ember agreed. They passed into their private suites, laying their crowns in the designated cases in the foyer. Beyond that lay their chambers, the closest thing they had to true privacy.

Walking through those doors felt as freeing as loosened hand cuffs, as though the hangman had cut his noose from their necks. It had been nearly a year since they agreed the nation could not be trusted to Anora’s plans, and yet neither relished the power they’d come into, despite what the papers and the rumors said.

“We deserve a break,” Alistair said suddenly.

“Yeah?” Ember snorted. “And we’re about as likely to get it as we were before the archdemon was dead.”

Alistair hummed thoughtfully. “We could come up with a plausible idea….a visit to Highever, maybe?”

Ember’s heart soared and tightened at the same time, as it always did at the mention of her home. She leaned into Alistair’s chest and sighed. His arms encircled her knowingly, stroking soothing motions up and down her shoulder blades.

“You don’t think Eamon would see through that?” she said, voice soft and weak as it could only be when they were alone.

“Who cares,” Alistair said loftily. He pressed a kiss to her hair. “He wanted me to be king so badly, he’ll just have to listen.”

He pulled back slightly, tracing down the line of her cheek and finding a home for his hand at the nape of her neck. “Fergus will have things in hand, I’m sure, and we could have some truly uninterrupted peace.”

“Mmmm been a while since we had that luxury.” It was sorely tempting. All of that and to be surrounded by the childhood home she missed and mourned in equal measures. And her brother.

“Alright,” she agreed. “But only if you tell Eamon. He barely tolerates me as it is.”

Alistair bent his head to kiss her softly. “Almost makes you miss a tent out on the edge of the Wilds, no?”

That made Ember laugh, and huddle a bit closer to Alistair’s fur-lined tunic for memory of the chill. “Almost, indeed.”

#dadwc #my writing #oc: ember cousland #ember x alistair #alistair theirin #king alistair #queen cousland #alistair x cousland #warden cousland #dao #dragon age

[inquisimer]

her mouth tastes like fear and blood

some Cousland origin feels for @febuwhump day 10, killing in self defense - Not a day before, Ember begged her father to send her off to battle. Now, she wants nothing to do with war.

read it on ao3 here

Female Cousland & Eleanor Cousland | Rated T | 1254 words | CW: blood & injury, canon-typical violence, implied/referenced character death, shock, loss of innocence

-

The sword in her hand is a familiar extension of her arm. She knows the weight of it, the way that it swings, and the press of the grip against her palm better than she knows the back of her hand.

But she does not know the way it cuts through flesh. She finds she does not want to.

Sweet Iona is dead on the floor before Ember can so much as reach for her blade. Heart aching, she uses the pommel of her weapon to knock the assailants unconscious. She pulls a tunic over her head just in time for her mother to appear, wearing fine armor and a frightfully furious expression that Ember has never seen.

“We must get to your father,” she says. That her parents were separated at all is a concern, but Ember does not give it voice as they head into the night.

They round a corner and a swarm of Howe’s men rises up to meet them. She charges forward while her mother nocks an arrow for cover fire.

Slash, parry, stab. It is both familiar and foreign, because the most realistic training dummy could not prepare her for how the blade bashes through actual armor, laid over actual skin. Where she can she maims, wounds, slams the butt of her sword against their heads and sends them crumbling, dazed against the cobblestone. She knows that the weapons in her hands are meant to kill, but the heart in her chest is not ready for that responsibility.

One of them comes at her with frightening anger—does he know what he fights for, she wonders? Does he serve a betrayer willingly, for power, for wealth, or is he blind to the motives of his master?

She parries his sword, thrusting back against his advances, but he is all muscle and force, where her strength lies in cunning and escape. She dances around his strikes, but rogue tactics will not save her if she cannot divert his attention elsewhere.

With refreshed determination, he barrels at her and she freezes. There is no hole to slipthrough, no gap in his defenses to exploit. Evasion is normally effortless, but her mind stalls out and she watches, as though in slow motion, his blade lift and fall directly toward her neck.

She should raise her blade, block his strike. But she can’t think beyond the fact that there is no way out of this unless she kills him. Can’t think beyond the bloody reality her life has become overnight.

A hand snaps out and tangles in the back of her tunic. Her mother yanks her back from certain death, but the tip of the weapon still catches the collar of her tunic and scrapes a bloody line down her stomach. A well placed arrow between his eyes drops the hulking mass of a man, but Ember stumbles, gasps, weapons clanging to the floor as she presses her hands to her wound.

“Don’t—here, let me—“ Eleanor bats her dirty hands away from the open flesh. It’s not deep, but it leaves her chest entirely exposed and Ember feels cold, a dissonance between her own body and the damaged skin.

Eleanor fashions a makeshift bandage from the tattered remains of Ember’s tunic. It doesn’t do much besides stop the flow of blood, but it’s all she can do until they find some healing supplies. Then she unclasps her own leather breastplate and hooks it around Ember. Made for Eleanor’s much broader frame, it sits heavy and awkward on her daughter’s shoulders, particularly with the way Ember’s eyes are shock-hazy, trained on the dead soldier at their feet.

A minute ago that man had been breathing. Now his lifeblood stains the stones of her ancestral home, and if it hadn’t been for Mother’s quick reflexes, it would have been Ember’s instead.

She feels like a young child again. How could she have begged her father to send her off to war? If this is war, she wants nothing to do with it.

Her mother’s bow-calloused fingers snap before her face and Ember flinches back against the wall. There is an edge to Eleanor’s sympathetic smile. They need time that they do not have.

She grips at her daughter’s shoulders, brow furrowed with the night’s anguish and this new added concern. Their world is falling to pieces, their family either murdered or under attack. Bryce Cousland’s fate unknown. All that they have protected, broken by a man’s greed and jealousy.

“We must go,” Eleanor says. She cups Ember’s face and give her a hard, searching look. “Can you do it?”

A question she never wanted to ask, one Ember never expected to hear. Can you kill a man? Can you drive your blade through a beating heart, if that beating heart decides the choice is between you and them? Before they force your hand?

Ember is not sure she can. Never in her life has she doubted herself, but in this, she falters. She is still shaking with adrenaline and her chest stings with every breath. The price paid for cheating death, she supposes. It still feels like a dream—a nightmare—like she will wake any moment snuggly tucked against Iona’s soft skin. But Iona is dead and her father and countless others may be too.

Who is she to try and subvert fate?

As if she can sense her daughter’s doubt, Eleanor grips the shoulders of the armor she now wears. “It’s okay,” she assures her. “Maker, but I never wished this for you. You can still be soft, while also holding firm, darling girl.”

She presses a kiss to her crown. When they draw apart, Ember sees the conflict in her mother’s face. She wants her daughter to stay soft and sweet, headstrong and optimistic. But she also wants her to live.

Ember swallows, hard. She closes her eyes and pictures Howe’s man driving the greatsword fully through her chest. How her innards would spurt and gush around the iron, how her blood would spatter across his face. Her mother would scream in agony over her broken body, as she had with Oriana and Oren. When word reached the Wilds, Fergus would fall and crumple, left alone, all alone.

Her fists clench around nothing. She will not be the weak link that leaves them all to suffer. If she has to abandon her gentle heart, if she has to swallow back the shards of childhood comfort that lie shattered around her now, she will. She will break herself a thousand times over before she lets her family down.

“I can do it,” she finally says. Her voice shakes, but she picks up her weapons and holds them tight in sweating hands. “I will do it.”

Eleanor gives her a long, searching look; it would not be the first time Ember has put on false bravado, nor the first time it bites her in the ass. But this time she means it. This time, there is no other choice.

Eleanor answers with a nod of her own. They did not have time doubts or questioning and they have even less now. She brushes a last, fleeting caress down her daughter’s hair.

“We must find your father,” she says, eyes glinting as sharp and dangerous as any of the arrows in her quiver. “And we’ll make this bastard pay along the way.”

She takes Ember’s hand and they flee.

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday10 #my writing #oc: ember cousland #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age fanfic #dao #cousland #blood #injury #whump #angst #dear god why did I write this in present tense

[inquisimer]

because you are full of grief

for @febuwhump day 5 (rope burns), an angry reunion between Ember Cousland and Nathaniel Howe at Vigil's Keep

read it on ao3 here

Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe | Rated T | 1336 words | CW: ethically dubious treatment of a prisoner, implied/referenced character death

-

The dungeon door shut firmly behind the guard, leaving Ember alone with the prisoner. His angry gaze tracked her as she retrieved the key ring and fit one into the lock on his cell. She stepped inside.

“What are doing?” he rasped. His hands were tied at the small of his back, harsh rope bindings improvised in the chaos of his capture. An untouched tray of crusts and porridge, gone gluey with the cold, rested at his feet.

She knew him.

Her face was a cold, calm mask. In the limited space the cell afforded, she circled him. His bindings looped through a ring on the wall and up over a pulley system. The end of the rope was fastened to an iron ring far beyond his reach.

Ember untied it and spun the rough, fraying fibers between her fingers. Without warning, her fist clenched and she pulled, yanking the rope taut and dragging the prisoner’s arms up to a painful angle.

“The better question,” she said, flat voice belying the roiling turmoil in her eyes. “is what are you doing, Nathaniel Howe.”

His hiss echoed off the stone walls. Where the rope pulled away from his skin she could see that it was rubbed raw. His eyes flashed over her and she stared back impassively, but saw none of the recognition he was clearly looking for.

“How do you know who I am?”

Ember laughed, a caustic, grating sound. She let the rope slide through her fingers. Nathaniel dropped unceremoniously, wincing as the tension fell out of his arms and the rough edges of his bindings caught at abraded skin. Just before his knees impacted the stone, Ember tightened her grip once more. His wrists and shoulders jerked into a sharp, awkward position.

“Believe me, I wish I didn’t.” She released the rope entirely and it raced through the pulley, sending Nathaniel sprawling in a heap. His knees cracked against the floor. With a groan, he rolled over, glaring up at her, chest heaving.

“What is your problem?”

“I am Warden-Commander Ember Cousland,” she said, spitting the scathing words at his feet. “So right now, you are my problem.”

“You—“ He pushed off bleeding hands and lunged at her. But he was weak from days tied up and a prisoner’s diet. Ember easily dodged his clumsy, impulsive attack, instinctively ducking into the pocket of space at his back. She grasped the rope just below his wrists and yanked.

Whatever surge of adrenaline fed his rage immediately dissipated. With an undignified yelp, he fell limp under her grip.

“To think I didn’t recognize the great hero, vanquisher of the Blight,” he wheezed. “Aren’t you supposed to be ten feet tall, with lightning bolts shooting from your eyes?”

Renewed venom twisted his expression when he lifted his head. “Somehow, I thought my father’s murderer would be more impressive.”

Ember dropped the rope again and he crumpled to the floor again. He immediately struggled to roll over, but she pressed the heel of her boot against his bindings, extracting another groan as it dug into his wounded flesh.

“Your father earned his fate,” she hissed. “He got off easy.”

With a final dig of her heel, she stepped away. He scrambled to his knees and scooted back against the far wall of the cell.

“Easy?” he panted. “The Howes served Ferelden for twelve generations! Now it’s all lost, and for what? Following a hero’s lead? Was no consideration given to the circumstances? Stripped of our holdings, our titles, our dignity—the Howes are pariahs now!”

“The Couslands are gone!” Ember roared, slamming her palm against the door. The metal bars rattled under the force of her rage; a vicious clanging echoed in the small chamber. From outside the door came hurried footsteps and the scrape of chainmail.

“Commander, are you well?”

One leather-gloved hand flexed around the bars. “Fine, Captain. Return to your post, please.”

“As you say, Commander.”

Ember took measured steps forward until she towered over Nathaniel and he craned his neck back against the wall to hold her gaze.

“Why did you come here, Nathaniel Howe?”

“I would see you dead for what you’ve done to my family,” he spat.

“As I saw your father dead for what he did to mine.” Ember retrieved the end of the rope and wrapped it around her knuckles. She took a sadistic sort of pleasure in the way Nathaniel eyed her grip on it, flexing his fingers and shifting where he sat.

“My father was misled! Fed false information, given rumor as fact. He could not be expected to—“

Ember jerked the rope down hard. She caught the end under her boot and slid her hands up the length of it so she could pull Nathaniel all the way to his feet. His tirade fizzled out with a gasp.

“My father saw yours as a brother,” she hissed. “He would have given his life in defense of your whole family. And you believe rumors excuse murder? Your father ordered his soldiers to destroy Highever in the dead of night—they killed children! And when it was done, your father did not so much as shed a tear from atop the throne he’d stolen.”

She gripped Nathaniel by the chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Your father abandoned his duty to King Cailan by sending his troops to Highever. While they were plundering the city, darkspawn killed the king and nearly all of the Grey Wardens. These are not the actions of a man led astray.”

His jaw worked against her hand. She could feel him clenching his teeth searching for a rebuttal. But there was none to be had. Like those who’d turned against the Couslands, he’d come here on speculation and rumor alone.

From her hip, Ember drew one of her daggers out of its sheath. Still holding him in place, she pressed it to his side and watched his eyes widen.

“Your father sent Crow assassins to kill a pair of teenagers; he kidnapped the Arl of Denerim and imprisoned the queen; he brutalized his citizens and withheld their wages. Even in the Marches you must have heard his title: The Butcher of Denerim.”

“These are not the actions of a good man led astray,” she repeated, voice low, almost a whisper. “And when I drove the killing blow home, do you know what your father’s final words were?”

She tightened her grip on the rope and waited until he reluctantly shook his head. The vein in his neck pulsed.

“Two sons and a daughter the man had,” she breathed. “And as he lay bleeding out, on his way to meet the Maker? ‘I deserved more’, he said.”

“‘I deserved more’—not a wish for his family or his soul. Not forgiveness for the cruel acts he’d wrought on this world. Just ‘I deserved more’.”

Nathaniel deflated—he hadn’t known, then. It didn’t garner any sympathy from Ember. She dragged her dagger up to his chin, tilting his head back.

“Nothing to say in defense of your hero, now?”

“You’re wrong,” Nathaniel muttered, barely moving his lips to keep her dagger from piercing his skin. “History is written by the victors—I will suffer the rest of my life, however short it may be, for the world to know my father was a hero.”

A fool, like his father before him. Ember jerked her dagger away, tearing his tunic, and dropped her grip on the rope in the same motion. As she sheathed her blade, her prisoner crumpled with a hiss.

He wished to be a martyr. But unlike Alistair, he did not have the heart nor the fortitude of a true sacrifice. While he cowered on the floor, she let herself out of the cell and went to the door. She summoned the captain with a firm knock. The prisoner’s fate was in her hands and she had decided.

If he wished suffering, then he could have it.

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday5 #my writing #oc: ember cousland #ember x nathaniel #auws: alistair dies #dragon age fanfic #dragon age #dao #daa #warden cousland

[inquisimer]

For the DADWC, perhaps [ no tears & kiss ]  –  for the sender to cup the receiver’s face and brush away their tears with their thumbs & kiss the receiver’s forehead. for Alistair and Cousland. Have a wonderful Friday!

happy friday and thank you for the prompt!!! have some Awakening-era fluff 🥰🥰

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

The signaling horn blew, harsh and loud over Vigil’s Keep, signaling an approaching troupe.

Prior to the signal, a low hum of energy thrummed through the keep. New and potential recruits sparred in the courtyard under the watchful eyes of Justice and Nathaniel; puffs of smoke and mildly concerning bangs came spontaneously from Dworkin’s station; clangs and occasional clips of argument floated out from Herren’s forge.

On the battlements alongside the watchtower, the Warden-Commander oversaw the functions of her fortress, blue-and-silver armor glinting in the early morning light. The Blight changed much about Ember Cousland, but it hadn’t yet stolen her keen eyesight. When the tune of the horn reached her ears, she turned her gaze toward the incoming path and adrenaline immediately jumped in her throat.

Alistair.

Once, she might have held her position and let him come to her. She would have worried about appearances or decorum or implications. But they’d wasted enough time dancing around and every day her blood reminded her that they were on borrowed time.

She took off along the battlements, vaulted down the stairs, and flew past her recruits to the gate. The guard on watch duty scrambled from the signaling horn to the winch, hastily lowering the gates so their commander could continue her sprint.

Unbound curls streamed out behind her as she flew down the dirt path. Her muscles burned deliciously and her breath came in pants, but none of that mattered; not when every step brought her closer to her absent lover’s arms.

They collided in a screech of plate armor and limbs. Alistair’s arms came around Ember as though he’d never left and the press of his lips against hers was like coming home.

He tasted like weeks of travel; they must’ve run out of teeth sticks and mint, because his breath reeked of ale and she found flecks of hard tack in his teeth when she swiped her tongue across them. Dirt and grease coated her fingers where she threaded them through his hair. He smelled like horse shit and sweat and his armor was streaked with blood and guts, most of which called to the Taint in her blood.

She’d never held something so beautiful in her arms.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that; her wrapped around him like the scarves Oriana used to bundle around Oren in the winter months. When she finally surfaced, the troops who’d accompanied Alistair had continued on to the keep and they were left alone in the middle of the road.

A sheepish grin started to rise on Alistair’s face, but it fell so quickly, Ember was immediately worried. His hands, cracked from battle and streaked with mud, cupped her face with more care than a mother with her newborn. It wasn’t until his thumbs dragged across her cheeks and came away wet that she realized tears had slipped past her careful control.

It’d only been months, but like their introduction and the events that followed, every moment felt drawn out far beyond its chronology. Even with the chaos and recruitment she’d been caught up in recently, every moment he was gone, every moment she knew he was in danger was a moment where her heart stuttered with fear.

“Maker you’re…you're here.” Alistair’s breath caught and his dampened thumbs pressed back against her cheekbones as his grip on her face tightened. “You’re alright.”

"I’m alright?” She scoffed, pressing her forehead into his neck. “I’ve been tucked away in a well armored keep. You’re alright—you’re alive. And you’re here.”

“I am.” He nudged her head with his chin and Ember pulled back, drinking in the sight of him like the finest wine. “And the Thaw is broken.”

Her breath caught. “Broken? Then….?”

“I’m staying,” he confirmed. He caught the ends of her hair, split and cracked and crusty with the time that had passed since she last washed them, wrapped them around his fingers and pressed her even closer, crushing the nonexistent space between them. He brushed chapped lips across her forehead.

“And Maker willing, nothing will tear us apart again.”

#dadwc #my writing #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dragon age origins #oc: ember cousland #warden alistair

[inquisimer]

❛ don’t look at me like that. ❜ for perhaps your Cousland? for dadwc

honestly thank you SO MUCH for this prompt bc I haven't written Cousland in a hot second and I almost forgot how much I love her

anyway, have some cousland x alistair fluff, in my queen!Ember verse

for @dadrunkwriting

“You’re not supposed to be here,” hissed Ember, swatting in Alistair’s direction. She was hindered by the long train of her dress, which put off her usual sense of balance. The lace was beautiful, far more than anything she’d every imagined, especially since she joined the Wardens. At this point she supposed she was lucky to be married at all, much less married to a prince, awaiting the king’s crown.

Her mother would be proud.

She faltered in her assault at the thought, and Alistair seemed to follow her exact train of thought, just as he always had. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, so she was enveloped in the smell of his freshly pressed tuxedo and the hair product Zevran had no doubt forced upon him. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his shoulder, makeup be damned. Wynne could fix it with magic, probably, otherwise Leliana could redo it to be passable.

Maker, but she wished it could have stayed this simple. She wished that Cailan had survived Ostagar, that Maric had borne more than two children, that Anora had been less of a self-serving shrew. She’d never dreamed of the crown for herself, though perhaps her mother had had such aspirations. Regardless, she’d never expected to find herself here, as she suspected Alistair hadn’t, and the nerves were certainly getting the better of her now.

He seemed to understand, her mood if not the underlying cause, and he wrapped his arms around her and gently stroked along her shoulder blades. He pressed his lips to the crown of braid that Leliana and the handmaidens had worked on painstakingly and didn’t ask her to explain her melancholy in the face of what should have been the happiest day of their lives.

She finally pulled back and drew her hands up to cup his face, which was soft and regretful and full of both love and remorse.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she murmured, brushing her thumb underneath his eyes. “Like any of this is your fault.”

“Maybe not fault,” he conceded, “but if I were anyone else…”

“I don’t love anyone else.”

“Well I certainly can’t be held responsible for your lapse in judgment,” he said, pressing his own grin against her lips. They were both lost in the touch, in the taste of each other, in the casual freedom with which they embraced. To join without fear of the future, without the impending threat of the archdemon—it was a state they’d hardly let themselves dream to be real.

“Get out!” Leliana’s screech comingled with the slamming of the door, and Alistair released his love as if she burned the way her name implied, stumbling back toward the window. Ember barely retained enough of her senses to turn and place herself between her fiancée and the bard, protecting him from her wrath so they would both live to see the altar.

“Don’t you know it’s horrible luck to see the bride on the wedding day?”

“I think we’re past the influence of bad luck, no?” Ember drew her dear friend toward the vanity—conveniently placed against the wall furthest from the window. Leliana’s gaze scoured her from head to toe, evaluating the condition of her hair and her dress and her makeup. She tutted, one finger coming up to flick at a stray eyelash that was clinging to Ember’s skin.

“I’ll have to redo your eyes,” she fretted. Ember brushed a hand across her shoulders, soothing

“There’s plenty of time,” she reassured her friend, glancing toward the window to ensure Alistair had made his escape. He’d face his own recompence, but she had a feeling his would be more pleasurable and involve far more liquor than her own.

“Sit,” declared Leliana, confirming Ember’s suspicions. “We’ll be lucky if I can get this eyeshadow back to what it should be in time.”

#dadwc #my writing #oc: ember cousland #queen ember #cousland #alistair #leliana #dao #filled prompts #alistair x cousland