#that said i would romance Varric in a heartbeat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lunchador · 3 years

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so when do we get the long post about your feelings about dragon age inquisition!!! i dunno if u wanna wait until dlc or not! i am i n t e r e s t e d (also its ok if u dont feel up to it im just!!!! again, interested in ur opinions/feelings)

kajsldkjf PLEASE I HAVE SO MANY DA FEELINGS ALL THE TIME and Inquisition was twice as long as the others so might as well do a word vomit now and I can always do another after the dlc (which several people have assured me are worth playing )

Yeah so inquisition is long. I dislike open world games so a lot of the (super repetitive!!) side quests did grate on my nerves and that docks this game a few points but over all the LORE IS SO GOOD, and it tying in so many choices in from 1+2 is the greatest butterfly effect I ever experienced in video games. I thought telltale + Until dawn were fun for that but good LORD bioware has showed up all of those games and I am really stoked to try mass effect when its out later and play more bw games. I only played Anthem before this and that game seemed...idk, gutted against BW’s wishes.

ANYWAY

Yeah, I managed to go into the whole DA series knowing very, very little, despite how many artists I followed did fanart for it. Once I started playing, I added all the words I could think of to my blacklist but a lot of untagged stuff came through (fair, series is 10+ years old and inq is like what 4-5?). I allowed my friends to pressure me into playing an elf mage for the lore and to romance solas cuz they said he was as important to the story as alistair was. A lot of online followers said I should play how I wanted, which I def would recommend to anyone else, but honestly I can see where they came from and while he never would have been my first choice, I think he actually paired REALLY well with my Inq and how I was playing her. I put her as sensitive but trying to put her responsibility above herself, she was definitely the least funny of my 3 characters, but not incredibly serious. A bit reserved? Just more mature. She’s got faith but she didn’t think she was the chosen one but she’ll do her role the best of her ability. She makes hard decisions and then sobs her chest empty over them because how is one to ever feel like its the right one? I really like how the game lets you choose how you wanna approach the responsibility. Like i said, I wasn’t a reluctant chosen one, but she will do what she can. Versus my friend playing at the same time as me said he played as the second coming of jesus essentially lmfao Having so many characters come back for different roles was so GOOD!!! Like everyone told me Varric was in this one but were like ‘teehee you still cant romance him though’ but you how you play drastically changes your relationships with each person. Tons of characters I met I knew would be personal favorites but I ended up interacting way less because others were more fitting to my inquisitor. So i.e while I love Varric and would’ve smooched him a heartbeat with Hawke, I didn’t get that vibe with Clover. They were really good friends, he was a grounded friend with a sense of humor that was a good escape from everyone else and the ~inquisition~. At least, until the Beyond the Abyss quest. That obviously heavily fractured their friendship and hurt them both :( And i felt that for a long time, until the end. He looked tired. Poor guy is gonna be borderline dead in 4 at this point. But so many side characters you talk to coming back like Dagna and Samson??? Speaking of that quest, I got Stroud because, yeah...Alistair was dead for me and APPARENTLY IT COULD ALSO BE LOGHAIN??? If he stays a grey warden?? wish I did that so def would’ve preferred to save Hawke even if I think the wardens are more important as a concept but like.......i wanted to behead him, so....But yes even tiny details like..Varric wrote home to kirkwall to Carver for me because the rest of my family was dead and I never completed a full romance in 2 lkajslkdjf but the fact that changes based on your play through. BUT YEAH THE way this game weaves all your decisions in and how yeah, overall the story is the same but it makes it so personal to YOU and so different from everyone else ;w;

But I could see my Inq genuinely falling for Solas, and I see her best friends as Cassandra and Blackwall/Thom. Really close to Leliana and the Iron Bull as well. I just loved all their interactions. All the characters were so cool to get to know?? Like I thought I would’ve hated Cullen (hes a dick in O) and tbh I just got into the series as the VA was being a complete shit. But I liked him a lot!! I love the work buddies vibes between the Inq and the advisors. I thought I was going to love Sera!! And like, I did, but she hated my Inquisitor and their personalities clashed a lot. Shes the only one i didn’t get a cut scene for in the end :’) I loved coming back from story quests and having to take like 20 minutes to go around skyhold and make sure I talked to /everyone/ for their new dialogue. You genuinely feel connected to all these wonderful npcs ljkasljdf

I wanted to make Cassandra the new divine but I made leliana on accident and kinda dug it so I stuck with it. VARRIC IS THE NEW VISCOUNT??? h i l a r i o u s.

One of the things I loved the most in this game in particular, and while this is something in all of them it just really struck me in this one, was....everyone gave up so so much to devote themselves to the cause, y’know?? Like, it’s almost heartbreaking how much everyone loses and they’re still looking towards you with their belief and willingness to follow you to the end ;-;

The final fight almost felt, Idk, underwhelming? Dude dragons are way tougher than him asdkjhfkhjd. I even went up a difficulty in this game after feeling like I got the hang of the series. But at the same time, we just spend how many hours knocking down each and one of his advantages so fuck him lol.

But yeah there are so many things I wanted to do but I felt so worn out by mindless sidequests and story being level locked in comparison to the previous games. askdjhflkd

One of the things that blows my mind is so so many people were stoked i was playing DA and they couldn’t wait til I got to Inq, and so I find out most people I know only ever played Inquisition? TBH if I didn’t play O+2 I think I would’ve dropped inquisition and never finished it *shrug* all of the build up just means SO MUCH!!! Everyones argument seems to be the older games are ugly and yeah O has rough battle system but its easy to get over imo. Like, you need the chaos of 2 to get the real weight of the mage/templar stuff?? Theres so many characters and story and dialogue that go over your head without Origins?? Like yes inq can stand alone pretty well but, idk, I’m in love with this entire series and the world building and THE!! WAY!!! IT!!! ALL!!! CONNECTS!!!!!!!!!!!

I love how a quest can go differently by whos in your party, I love you can have more dialogue based on lore you’ve managed to pick up around, I love HOW COMPANIONS BICKERRRRRRRRRRRR!!!! The lore of these games are so good. It’s like playing an epic line of novels. It’s so immersive and I don’t think I’ve played too many games to this level.

I didn’t like the skill trees to being a mage in this one, Idk why. It wasn’t nearly as fun for me as 2, but then again I really fucking liked being a force mage haha. I wanted to be a rogue to complete a diff class per game but everyone said mage brings a lot more interesting story/lore stuff so

but yeah I love having the full context now and seeing other peoples Wardens/Hawkes/Inquisitors and asking people how they played and how their options differed from mine and THERES JUST SO MANY POSSIBLE DECISION TREES!!!!! No wonder the fans play over and over.

but yeah ultimately so much fucking happened?? I’m probably missing a lot of key points.

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pikapeppa · 4 years

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Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Hope

Chapter 65 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3.

In which Fenris and Hawke finally confront the Dread Wolf.

~8600 words; only a very short excerpt here. Read the whole chapter on AO3.

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

They stepped through the eluvian and found themselves facing a score of petrified qunari warriors in mid-swing.

Fenris tensed instinctively, and Hawke let out a little squeak of alarm before breaking into nervous laughter. “Looks like we’re on the right track at least,” she said. “Shall we holler for him, do you think? ‘Dread Wolf take me’ or something of the like? Maker, I wish he’d told us he was Fen’Harel when he was still hanging out with us. There’s so much wasted potential for jokes. Good dirty ones, too.”

Her voice was pitched high with tension. She looped one arm around Fenris’s waist and began leading him through the crowd of stone qunari, and all the while she continued to chatter. “In fact, there’s so much potential there that I bet Varric could make a romance serial out of it. ‘May The Dread Wolf Take You’: An Anthology of Fen’Harel’s Finest Philanderings’? Ooh, I bet that would be good for the Randy Dowager. I should submit the idea.”

He didn’t answer. The mark was throbbing again, a battering pulse like an unwanted heartbeat, and it was taking most of his concentration to keep the snapping magic contained in his hand as he trudged along the cracked and overgrown path by Hawke’s side.

They followed the path up a hill, and by the time they reached the top, he was out of breath and aching. Hawke squeezed his waist encouragingly. “We’ll catch up to him soon, all right? One foot in front of the other.”

I’m trying, he thought. It was taking all the energy he had to do just that: to place one foot in front of the other, and to keep the magic in his hand from lashing out at her, and to try and find even a hint of the hope that Hawke wanted so badly for him to have…

He took a measured breath. “Take some lyrium,” he said. “Prepare to defend yourself. If Solas makes even a hint of a move to harm you, I will do everything I can to kill him, but if his powers are–”

“Don’t worry about that,” Hawke interrupted. “He’s not going to hurt us.”

Fenris stared at her. He couldn’t fathom the depths of her denial about the danger here. But before he could start arguing with her, he heard a voice calling out from up ahead.

A familiar voice calling out in a language that it shouldn’t know how to speak.

“It has ended,” Solas said in Qunlat. “You have all fallen.”

Fenris looked up sharply, and Hawke grabbed his arm. “There!” she cried. “Up those stairs, he’s – fuck, the Viddasala…”

Fenris’s stomach jolted. Solas was up ahead, unarmed and standing near an eluvian at the top of some crumbling stairs, and the Viddasala was stalking toward him.

“Your forces have failed,” Solas told her. “Leave now, and tell the qunari to trouble me no further.” He turned and began to walk away from her.

The Viddasala snarled and pulled her spear from her back.

“Fuck,” Hawke gasped. “Fucking Maker’s balls, if she–”

“Come,” Fenris said, and he grabbed her hand and forced himself to run.

They bolted toward the Viddasala, but she was readying herself to throw her spear at Solas’s unsuspecting back. Fenris gritted his teeth and tried to pick up his pace. They were at the bottom of the stairs now, and the Viddasala was raising her spear, and they were scrambling up the steps and the Viddasala was drawing her throwing arm back and roaring with anger–

Solas turned his head slightly, and the Viddasala turned to stone.

Fenris faltered with shock. The petrification happened in the space of a second. One moment the Viddasala was a breathing, roaring, flesh-and-blood threat. And in the space of a second, in the blink of an eye, she was stone.

And Solas had barely even moved. He had no staff and he had barely moved, and he’d reduced a living person to a statue.

“Maker’s fucking balls,” Hawke panted. She took a step toward Solas. “That was–”

Fenris pulled her back and stepped in front of her. “Solas,” he snapped.

Solas turned to face them. His expression was mild and slightly sad, and his hands were clasped behind his back. His posture, his humble expression… it was so familiar: so jarringly, strangely, infuriatingly familiar. If not for the armour he wore – tailored armour of wolfskin and strange glimmering metal – Fenris might have mistaken him for the understated elven mage they used to know.

He narrowed his eyes. Then his hand exploded with light and pain.

He doubled over and cried out. Hawke gasped and grabbed his arm, and Fenris tried to push her away, but he only succeeded in stumbling to his knees.

“Keep your distance,” he groaned. “Hawke, stay back…”

Solas tilted his head. His eyes flashed a brilliant white-blue, and the pain in Fenris’s palm abruptly disappeared.

He exhaled hard, then drew a bracing breath as he studied his palm. It was no longer hurting at all, and it was… venhedis, it was a relief. But the light…?

He peered more closely at his hand, and his gut twisted. It wasn’t healed. The light was still there, a fine line of sickly green embedded deep in the muscle of his hand.

He looked up and met Solas’s sad eyes. Then Hawke grabbed his hand in both of hers. “Is it okay?” she said breathlessly. “Is it better? It looks better. Do you feel any better?”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s… the pain is gone.” But he didn’t dare look away from Solas’s infuriatingly calm grey eyes.

Hawke sighed and patted his face. “Thank fuck,” she breathed. “Thank fuck, thank fuck… I told you, didn’t I?” She smiled up at Solas. “You hairless hero. I knew you’d help him.”

Solas tilted his head at Fenris’s hand. “That should give us more time,” he said. His gaze rose from Fenris’s hand to his face.

“I suspect you have questions,” he said softly.

Hawke laughed. “We don’t see you for two fucking years, and that’s the first thing you have to say to us? ‘I suspect you have questions?’ Well, I definitely have questions. First of all, where did you get that sexy armour? It’s too bad Dorian isn’t here. He would certainly approve.”

Solas smiled very faintly, but his eyes were on Fenris. Fenris took Hawke’s hand and rose slowly to his feet. “I have always had questions,” he said. “You never deigned to fully answer them before, Fen’Harel.”

Read the rest on AO3.

#fenris #fenris fic #Lovers in a Dangerous Time #fenris the inquisitor #fenquisition #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #Fenris/F!Hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenrynne #solas #fen'harel #trespasser dlc #pikapeppa writes

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lostinfantasies38 · 4 years

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14 Days of DA Lover’s - Day 10 Surprise Kiss

@scharoux @14daysofdalovers

Pairing: Cullen/Alistair

Locus Amoenus

[def Latin - “pleasant place,” usually a charming field or a walled garden]

Strolling the quiet fortress in the evening was a favored pastime. He noticed many things that others might overlook. Dorian and Varric discussing history in the library. Cassandra and Josephine swapping romance novels with excited giggles. Lels and Vivienne plotting on the mage’s terrace or maybe discussing their mutual love of fashion, but since they spoke in Orlesian, he wasn’t sure which it was. Since teaming up with the Inquisitor, Alistair began to see the various companions as family and the castle his home. Surprising, indeed, since the last time he lived in a castle it had certainly not felt homey.

Of course, his feelings had absolutely nothing to do with the enigmatic Commander who also lived and breathed and, Maker’s breath, prowled the halls like a caged lion. Alistair sighed heavily. He’d pined for Cullen since he was old enough to realize his brotherly affection for him wasn’t quite so… brotherly.

Leliana was right… again. Damn that maddening woman! He should have spoken to Cullen about things face-to-face before he left. Then, he wouldn’t have spent 16 days, 9 hours, and 27 minutes stressing about his reaction. If he had simply told him, instead of leaving a furtive note and running away, he could have spent the time away either celebrating…or more likely, patching up his battered heart away from prying eyes. Now, he had to walk blindly into a mess of his own making - well, he would if he hadn’t been avoiding every opportunity to speak to him over the last two days.

Andraste’s flaming sword!

Entering the garden, Alistair found it blissfully empty and quickly located his favorite spot at the far end of the cultivated square. Closing his eyes, he leaned against a column hidden by riotous purple blooms and tried to muster the courage to do what he needed to do. Everyone is at dinner and I’m sulking behind the wisteria, hiding from my problems - like usual.

“I thought I might find you here.”

The rich baritone startled him and he wrapped his arms around the cool marble in shock. Swallowing hard, his hazel eyes landed on the man casually leaning on the wall across from him, noting the twinkle in his amber eyes, and his surprising lack of armor.

His attire was the same as his own, except his tunic was red instead of cream, and Alistair’s lips twitched. Of course, he would wear red – it was practically his signature color. Not that he was complaining, because the shade definitely suited him and without his mantle Alistair could appreciate how Cullen’s muscular legs filled out his breeches.

Clearing his throat, Alistair stammered. “Cullen… I, ah… shit. I’m really sorry about the letter… and everything. I shouldn’t have just thrown it in your lap and disappeared like I did. I –“

Cullen’s warm chuckle interrupted his rambling. “I hope you aren’t sorry about the letter, because I’m not.”

Alistair sucked in a ragged breath as his lips curled into that infuriatingly gorgeous smirk that made him weak in the knees. Producing a red rose from behind his back, he twirled it with careless finesse. He nearly collapsed; his heart pounding so hard he thought it would surely burst. A strangled wheeze tumbled from his mouth without his permission, rudely exposing his absolute astonishment to the man who never had so much as a single hair out of place.

In three quick strides, Cullen stood before him, one hand cupping his face with a tenderness that Alistair dreamed of for almost twenty years. Cullen’s gaze flicked to his lips and closed the two inches that separated them, scattering all rational thought from his mind as he allowed himself to be swept away, fantasy at last made real.

Full lips moved against his own, the scar surprisingly smooth, and Alistair swore he could hear Andraste singing. When they deepened the kiss, brandy and mint danced on his tongue, setting his blood aflame. The moans ripped jointly from their lungs proved he was not alone in this maelstrom of emotion. The arm hooked around his waist might well have been steel, holding him captive as their sweet kiss rapidly gave way to something more primal, insistent, demanding. He needed more; he needed all of Cullen, everything he thought he could never have, yet hoped for since his youth.

Separating with a gasp as his brain asserted the need for oxygen, Alistair stared at Cullen in awe. The blond was just as dazed, swallowing hard before he rasped, “Is that answer enough for you?”

Alistair blinked in residual astonishment while scrambling for a response. “W-why...did you never say anything?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced in embarrassment. “I’m sure for the same reason you didn’t. I was… afraid that I would lose your friendship and… I –“

“Would rather have that than nothing, at all.” Alistair finished and they smiled shyly at one another. “When did you know?”

The blond cleared his throat, features pinking slightly with his admission. “Ahh, when you poured that bucket of dish water over my head and instead of making me angry, it made me laugh. Surprised the hell out of you, if I recall.”

Alistair snorted. “Surprised the hell out of all of us, actually, but Maker’s breath, Cullen! I’d already been in love with you for a year at that point!” Recognizing the enormity of his words, Alistair clammed up and stepped aside to flee. Yet Cullen always anticipated when he would retreat and snagged his arm to return him to his original position.

His eyes shone like polished bronze in the fading light of the garden and Alistair was lost in them. Cullen’s breathing increased along with his and he hoped, he prayed, that he had not stuck his foot so far in his mouth that he couldn’t dig his way out, if needed. A strong arm snaked around his back, deliberately pulling him closer until they were intimately flush. Uncertain what he should do with his arms, he settled for wrapping them around the blond which must have been the correct choice as the other man visibly relaxed in his hold.

Alistair was the taller of the two, but in this moment, he felt small and vulnerable. Cullen also seemed unsure, but certainly more confident than Alistair after his slip. Brushing a hand across Alistair’s cheek, Cullen whispered hoarsely, “I love you, too, Alistair. I have for… far too long without being able to tell you. I-I want this… you… us. If… you’ll have me, that is. I know that I am not… whole anymore.”

“Don’t say that!” Alistair’s wide eyes pleaded, gripping him firmly, mimicking the tightness in his chest. “No one can ever understand what you’ve been through, Cullen, not even me. But you are not broken. You are a survivor and I have so much damned respect for you. Giving up lyrium? Leaving the Templars? Commanding an army?” Alistair thumbed his stubbled jaw. “You’re an inspiration.”

Cullen scoffed softly, glancing at the ground as color flared up his neck and face. Alistair smiled and lifted his chin, stating adamantly, “Yes, Cullen, you are. You’re an inspiration to me.” Tears briefly welled in his golden gaze, but he blinked them away with a small quirk of his lips, relaxing in his gentle hold.

Alistair glanced at the rose in Cullen’s other hand. “Is that the one I gave you,” he whispered reverently, melting at the tenderness with which Cullen cradled the bloom in his large hand, a fond smile decorating his face as he admired the flower.

Cullen nodded slowly as though lost in thought, his thumb delicately rubbing the velvety petals. “I… ahem… asked Dorian to enchant it – preserve it, so it won’t die.”

Alistair rocked on his heels in shock. After a heartbeat, he gasped breathlessly, “You told Dorian?”

His brow furrowed with uncertainty, fear beginning to swirl in his amber eyes. “Yes… only because I needed his help. Should I not have? I was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

In response, Alistair captured his lover’s mouth again, pouring his heart and soul into the kiss. A few moments later, he rested his forehead to Cullen’s, choking back tears when he spoke. “Of course, I don’t mind, you chivalrous knight! You told someone about me… us.”

Cullen cupped the nape of Alistair’s neck, affectionately circling his soft skin with battle-worn fingers, the clouds of anxiety now banished in favor of understanding. “Of course I told someone. You’re not a dirty little secret, Alistair. I love you. I am in love with you and I have been for half my life. I never expected you to feel the same way, but I am not ashamed of you or us… as a couple.”

Alistair’s tongue was thick with emotion when he replied, “I love you, too. I’m in love with you, Cullen.” Brushing their lips lightly together, he then pressed a chaste kiss against the scar he loved, but knew made Cullen self-conscious. The blond’s breath caught at the action – so much said in that one touch. A lifetime of kisses and acceptance in one and neither of them ever felt so full.

“Come with me,” Alistair whispered, afraid to speak any louder and potentially break the spell in the quiet garden. Cullen nodded mutely, eyes suspiciously bright as he clung to Alistair’s hand, gingerly holding the enchanted rose as they stole up the stairs to the battlements and Cullen’s tower.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flower symbolism:

Red Rose: the lover’s rose

Wisteria: this vine has multiple meanings, but I used it in this scene for this particular one “serious devotion, whether it’s to a cause or another person”

#14 days of da lovers prompts #14dalovers #alistair theirin #cullen rutherford #cullistair #day 10

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big-ass-magnet · 4 years

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Consider This ch 4/5

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Varric/Marian Hawke

Rating: T

Summary: As far as Varric is concerned, Cassandra’s been reading too many romance novels. There’s no way he could be in love with Hawke and not know it. That sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Besides, Hawke’s just his friend, right?

Right?

…Uh oh.

AO3 link | Commissions

@queenofbaws helpfully reminded me that this fic existed and that I should probably finish it womp womp. technically this is the last chapter! the next one is the epilogue wrap up!Thank you all for your patience.

Varric stared at the glowing green shimmer of the rift, straining to make sense of the swirling landscape behind it. He didn’t know how long he’d been waiting. How long it had been since he turned around to see if Hawke was okay, and felt that horrible, sickening jolt when she wasn’t behind him.

How could he have left her there? How could he have left without making sure she was with him? How could he just run off like that? Had two years been long enough to make him forget the woman didn’t have a single ounce of self preservation or common sense? That it was his job to make sure she kept herself safe?

The world was broken-glass sharp, glinting at the edges, every sight and sensation amplified a thousandfold. The smell of ash and blood. The shift of his armor. The smooth, polished wood of Bianca’s stock. The sound of his own breathing, echoing in his ears.

His eyes were fixed on the swirling, sickly-green light, mind utterly empty save for the silent, desperate prayer to the Maker, to Andraste, to the Stone, to the fucking Creators. Anyone who would listen.

Please. Please, I’ll do anything. Anything, just bring her back. Please.

Please. I need her. I love her.

I’ll do anything.

Please.

Hawke burst out of the rift, tripped over her own feet, and tumbled down the small flight of stairs, hitting the ground hard.

The crushing grip around Varric’s chest disappeared so quickly his legs turned to water and he almost fell to his knees. Instead, he lurched forward, stumbling across the gap to drop to his knees beside her. He reached out, grabbing her shoulders, searching for any damage that hadn’t been there before.

“Hawke? You alright?”

The woman groaned and opened her eyes. They were very unfocused, and it took her a few blinks before she could look at him with both eyes at the same time.

“Not one of my best entrances,” she admitted, rubbing her head and wincing. He chuckled, the sound made weak and watery with relief, and stood.

“Not one of your worst, though,” Varric pointed out, reaching a hand to her. The words came out calm and casual, as if they were walking down the road in Kirkwall after a dust up with a street gang. It took so much effort to keep his stuttering heartbeat out of his voice, he almost couldn’t hear her response.

“All the same, do me a favor,” she said, letting him help her to her feet, “when you put that in the book, make it more dramatic.”

“The book?”

“The one about all this.”

The Inquisitor emerged with significantly more dignity. She stepped out like a queen onto a balcony to address her subjects, head high, gaze steely. Silently, she raised a hand, her palm crackling green. Every demon still standing in Adamant shuddered and collapsed as one. Behind Adaar, the rift snapped shut.

“Like that,” Hawke whispered. “Make me look like that.”

A soldier hurried up to Adaar, but Hawke was already slipping away. Varric followed, eyes fixed on the hand she pressed against her side. She was limping, and Varric felt an unpleasant prickle of fear. Dying tragically after narrowly escaping the Fade sounded like the sort of thing that would happen to Hawke.

She found them a quiet corner out of sight and just close enough to hear if the fighting picked up again. A low bench was still intact; she sat on it with an exhausted sigh. Looking up at him, she smiled and patted the seat beside her.

Instead, he reached out and touched his fingers to the back of the hand on her side. He could see the blood between her fingers.

“Is it bad?” he asked softly.

“Just a scratch.”

“Let me see.”

“Worrywart,” she mocked, but let him lift her hand away. It was an ugly, jagged cut that had torn through her armor, but it was shallow, and had already stopped bleeding. All the same…

“You should take that to a healer.”

“I was planning on letting it fester,” she said, sarcastically.

He looked up into her eyes, and whatever she saw startled her into silence.

“You had me worried there for a minute,” he said. He meant it to be a joke, but he meant it, and he knew she heard it. “Thought I was going to lose you.”

The words danced on the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out. Maker, he wanted to say it. Should say it. He could have lost the chance forever, and now would be the time to say it. An expression flashed across Hawke’s face, so quick he couldn’t tell what it was. Anxiety, maybe? Guilt?

He was still holding her hand; she shifted her grip and held on tightly. Her eyes searched his face for something.

“Varric, I…”

He waited, not daring to imagine what she might be about to say. Hawke struggled for a moment...and then gave him a weak smile. With one last squeeze, she dropped his hand.

“I couldn’t leave my trusty dwarf behind,” she said. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on you.”

He felt his lips quirk up into a smile.

“Are you kidding? You’re the one who gets herself into trouble just by waking up in the morning.”

“His voice like honeyed wine, golden whiskey, the sun after a storm. The weight on my shoulders lighter, lifting, laughing together like old times.”

Hawke looked up, startled. Cole stood in the shadows, watching them both with those wide, pale eyes. Varric felt a bolt of fear.

“What?” Hawke said, alarmed, at the same time Varric said “Cole, don’t--”

“Hands touch when she takes the glass, ache in my chest until I can't breathe, wanting, wishing, writing a world where she wants back. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Varric blinked. What had he been saying? The words had scattered like paper in the wind, and he couldn’t find all the pages. He looked at Hawke, who was wearing her own expression of mild bemusement, and felt a sudden surge of confidence.

He should tell her. He would tell her.

Part of him thought he should put it off, give himself time to plan what to say, to find all the right words and weave them together. Normally he didn’t have trouble improvising, but something this important needed to be done right. It needed a proper, well-thought out speech, a little funny and a lot charming, referencing old memories and new hopes, with perfectly crafted metaphors for all the things she made him feel.

The other part knew that if he didn’t say it now, he’d lose his nerve.

“I love you.”

Varric blinked.

How odd.

He’d opened his mouth, and the words had been spoken, but it hadn’t sounded like his voice. It had been a very familiar voice, though. And Hawke’s expression was rapidly evolving into a rictus of horror.

“Oh no,” Hawke gulped. “Oh no. I didn’t-- I wasn’t going to say that. I didn’t mean to say it. Oh no.” She hid her face in her hands. “Please pretend I didn’t say that. I’m so sorry. I’m so-- I didn’t mean to actually-- forget it, forget I said anything, just pretend I didn’t--” Hawke started to curl in on herself through the sheer force of her embarrassment, until her face was pressed to her knees.

Well.

Shit.

That was unexpected.

Varric wanted to laugh, mostly out of sheer mind-numbing relief, but he knew Hawke definitely wouldn’t take it the way he’d mean it. After all that time tearing himself apart about not wanting to be a burden to her and not wanting to ask for more than she was willing to give, and Hawke went and yanked the rug right out from under him. Of course she did.

Hawke had switched from apologies to pleas for death from above.

“Hawke.”

“I’m going to go back to the Fade,” she said, as best he could decipher. “I’m going to go crawl into a rift and let the Nightmare kill me. Maker if you are a kind and loving god you will strike me down where I sta- where I sit.”

“Hawke.”

She fell silent, but didn’t move. Varric tried to stay serious, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He touched her shoulder, gently.

“Would you look at me? Please?”

Slowly, she sat up and peeked out at him through her fingers.

“You really don’t have to say anything. You don’t. We can just pretend this never happened and go on like before and you’re smiling.” She dropped her hands, embarrassment forgotten in suspicion. “Why are you smiling?”

Varric reached out and cupped her face in his hands.

“Because you took the words right out of my mouth,” he said, and kissed her.

Now, Varric had a pretty good imagination, but he’d barely allowed himself to consider the possibility that Hawke might return his feelings, let alone what might come after. He hadn’t thought about what it would be like to kiss her. He was equally sure he wouldn’t have done it justice anyway.

Hawke melted against him with a soft sound he hoped he remembered for the rest of his days, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. He wrapped an arm around her to hold her close and cradled the back of her head in his other hand. Her hair was tacky with blood and demon guts, but her lips were soft.

It was the best damn kiss of his life.

“Oh,” Hawke said, when he pulled back. A smile bloomed on her face, wide and wonderful, like a sunrise. “Well then. Aren’t I clever.”

“Aren’t you just,” Varric said, fondly, and kissed her again.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #varric tethras #hawke #marian hawke #vhawke #hawkexvarric #otp: my trusty dwarf #audrey talks #i'm happy with this

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extravagantliar · 4 years

Note

gives him a kiss :')

kiss that dwarf // falling for you || adore you

There have always been near misses, times where they catch each other off guard, jokes and diversions, and every once and a while the meaningful connection -- lips pressed firmly to foreheads, hands, and cheeks.

This is not that.

No, it’s something more than a chaste peck or them falling towards one another -- arms slung over one another because they are too drunk to care about the whispers that dare to follow, the stares that he’ll have to write out with something else, for he always dares to blotch out those that mean the most to him ( he still swears it’s to keep the other safe -- but now he’s not too sure, perhaps it was the need to contain -- to overwrite a story or that instinctive need to protect a client he no longer has ).

This is nothing like before.

Those connections, however brief have always been instigated by him -- Varric had to reach across for something more, something meaningful, something more and at this moment, this heartbeat, he is not the one to reach across, to close the space.

It’s no longer loud, even though he can feel the base of the music in his feet and see the lights pulsing in time to something far out of his view, now it’s just a glittering mist to illuminate the foreground --- colours that are resplendently illuminating the man before him, catching every line and curve, he’s iridescent even if they’re pressed aside, lost to the crowd and half fumbling in the dark.

They like large parties, they’re very intimate.

They’re tucked aside, the where and the when barely matters. It’s near midnight, almost a new year he thinks, but his mind is abuzz with how close they are, how close they’ve always been ( how this is the second, third year in a row they’ve gone out and then left a party ). It’s just them, and the arc of space has closed, even more, they’re a moment away -- a breath away.

“Friends don’t look at friends like that.” It comes out breathier than it should.

“We’ve never been good at being friends.”

Words like that should bite, but they don’t; instead, they stir something -- something unsure and fragile that dares to flutter, dares to be tender and open, something --- new, something that isn’t friendship, something that isn’t a romance, something that is just them. Varric’s rebuttal is cut short as the words are knocked back into him by one finger tracing the line of his jaw. It’s only for a moment, followed by hands finding and tracing the planes --- the lines of his face, the scruff high on his cheeks to the curve of his own lips.

They kiss.

A sinking uncertainty replaced with an overgrowth of warmth bubbling over as they collide into one another. He’s thankful for the couch they have commandeered, thankful for the music, thankful for the way that Dorian presses so fervently into him, how they fit together ( they don’t fit, he reminds himself, and yet his hands search the plane of his back finding skin and fabric ). They’re no assertion or lead, it’s natural --- almost too, and where fear should find itself in the pit of his stomach, it is missing, replaced with how Dorian tastes like vanilla and what might have been a much too expensive gin and tonic, something floral, and of course -- him. Fingers trace the line of his spine, landing somewhere between his shoulder blades, keeping him firmly with him.

They’re together --- always together, but now --- they’ve fallen into one another.

It complicates things, every breath, every step of the world complicates something. Every choice complicates something else. In never-ending entropy, he would take this again and again, perhaps not in the back of a bar, where the bass is teetering out, but he enjoys the sensation of Dorian running his hands through his hair, how their noses bump, and the laugh that dares to be a sigh when they part. Foreheads press together, he’s sure it’s uncomfortable, but it’s for the briefest moment as they pull each other together and scramble apart --- not too far, never too far. Enough for Dorian to pull his jacket from the back of the couch.

12. 11. 10.

He’ll pay the tab later, he knows the bartender ( he knows everyone, hell it’s Bartrand’s party, he can pick up the tab ), but it’s intoxicating to push through the crowd and watch the heat spill out onto the street as they continue their tradition, however --- this time Dorian’s arm is tucked into his, and there are a million questions that dare to come to Varric’s mind, but they’re quashed for another time, falling aside for when he cares more when the heat has left his face when he no longer notices that they’re less than a step apart.

9. 8. 7

But he notices all these things now, and he stops --- the countdown palpable from every part of the city, from every nook and cranny of the city, feels the weight of the new year pressing down on them.

“What’s that look for?” Dorian’s words are almost indignant, lost to the cold --- as the air continues to mist around them. Of course, he’d be the one to notice his eyes on him --- he knows him too well, this isn’t a story of a missed connection, of newfound passions, no this is something older, something that has been teeming under the surface for ages, and this man can read Varric in a way he’s almost uncomfortable with.

Almost.

“Am I not allowed to look at you now?”Ad Lang Syne again, as always, spills out in various chants from the line of bars. It’s the new year, or close to it. Drunks always like to count down early.

6. 5. 4

Varric kisses him. It’s certainly not a surprise, but feeling arms wrap around his waist is welcomed, a laugh pressed to his cheek as he continues to lean up is also reassuring. There are so many things that need to be said, so many words that he cannot say right now, but there is comfort here, an easiness here.

There is no puzzle to piece, no missing bit that they both fill. They’re broken and sometimes irresponsible people, peppered with good intentions, wrapped around one another, within each other’s orbit wanting what is best for the other. They’ve collided now, the force of it all drawing them in, and when they part --- the newness of all of that is still there, still peppered with a laugh and a smile.

3. 2. 1

“We have a train to catch.” Varric reminds, it’s faint and almost lost to the cheers, the fireworks, the newness of the year and all. Dorian groans, head coming down on Varric’s shoulder. “You think I would stop taking the train just because of this?”

“Well?”

“No. Car rates are gouged tonight, I will buy a train ticket back.”

A groan, “How utterly un-romantic of you.” He almost doesn’t mind Dorian’s cold-ass hands invading his jacket, his personal space ( cold hands on his shoulders ).

“I never said where your train ticket was going.”

#keeping with the theme where i write you a new years kiss #here tf it is #and it's pretty gay #i don't have a tag for this #bornpariah

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silent-of-spirit · 6 years

Note

First off, love the Roman Au you're writing! Second (for drunk DA), how do you think the romance between Cassandra and Varric happened?

@dadrunkwriting

Ohhhh my godddd this prompt was from 8 months ago and I am SO SORRY.

Okay, story time! So I have shipped Varric and Cassandra super hard since the first time I ever decided to put them in a party together even after getting new companions. I was just HOOKED. But I have never written them despite loving them so much because I felt like I could just never get their voices right.

Well, I am now here to say that I wrote a thing that I am so utterly, hopelessly, RIDICULOUSLY pleased with, and I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

It ended up pretty long, so most of it will be under the cut. Thank you for the prompt!!!

Varric x Cassandra

He hadn’t meant to. Shit, he didn’teven want to, but it was oneof those things that just kind of sneaks up on a man, and he triednot to think about how many times he had written that exact scenario.He couldn’t even really tell when it started.

Itwasn’t some kind of burning revelation, either. There wasn’t aparting of the clouds in his mind and heart - damn poeticbullshit – and there surewasn’t some big momentwhere it just hits you and WHAMyour heart bursts open and there it is. There wasn’t rain or pininglooks or grand declarations. It just kind of… happened.

Hedidn’t realize how unprepared he was until it did.

It wasdifferent from Bianca – not less,just… different. He sat back in his chair, scratching his head ashe tried to figure out the when and how of the whole damn thing.Maker knows they hatedeach other at first. Well, she hatedhim. He didn’t reallyhate anyone, not truly. It was just such a nastyemotion, and he’d seen how it consumed people. Shit, he’d written afew books on that too.

It wasone such book that had her pounding on his door, dragging him fromthe Hanged Man in chains for no reason at all. That book which shethen tossed in his face in that dingy cell, demandingto know where the Champion – where Hawke – had gone. Of coursehe said he didn’t know. As if he would do anything else. It wasn’this fault that his book hadn’t been enough to make her see howdesperately Hawkeneeded to not be found. But – damn it– the woman hadn’t seemed entirelyunreasonable, and he found himself telling her the real story…because maybe – maybe– it would be enough to change her mind. To leave Hawke be and lether heal from all of the hate.

Itwasn’t enough, and so of course she had to drag him to the Divine’sdoorstep so he could tell her too.

“Youwill stand trial,” was what she’d said, even the gentle lilt of heraccent unable to mask how hard the words were.

“Forwhat?” he’d laughed in disbelief, “For telling you I don’tknow where she is? The truth?”

“Aftereverything you’ve just told me, you really expect me to believethat?”

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

Butsomewhere down the line she didstart to believe him, and despite their arguments and his jests thatseemed only to further rouse her, when she found out he lied it hurt.Not in the physical way, though that was also the case. Damn,she had an arm on her. That chair didn’t stand a chance– but it tugged at him. He was angry – for Hawke, for Liahra –at the way Cassandra reacted.Yeah, she could be violent, but she snappedand he had no idea why. People lie. It’s a thing they do, especiallywhen trying to protect someone they love. They had been gettingcloser – a sort of uneasy camaraderie – and he had been so sure that she would – well, notunderstand, but notget so damn pissed either.

Itbothered him.

Itbothered him for a long time. He was his usual self with everyoneelse, cracking jokes and telling wild stories about the Hawkes andtheir friends – but with Cassandra he was… cold. Abrupt, even. Itfelt like some kind of perverse justice, but it had gotten to thepoint that even Liahrahad to pull him aside and tell him to knock it off. Liahra. Sunshine.It was enough to make him feel ashamed, but he still didn’t seek herout. So of course Sunshine being, well, Sunshine– sweet, meddling thing that she was – she dragged them both outon missions. Together. At the same time. Together.And then she’d give them that look,the really sweet one that had that brutaledge beneath it. Varric called it her ’You’d better getalong or Creators help me, I am going to chain you together until youdo’ look.

Forall her kindness and patience, she could really be scary if shetried.

And,well, they tried… kind of. The tension was undeniable, but at leastthey were talking again… kind of. And damnwas it uncomfortable, but at least it was enough for Liahra. Somehow,the tiny elf scared both of them more than the prospect of beingfriendly did. They could agree on thatmuch.

“Wheredoes such a small woman find all of this ferocity?” Cassandra askedover the fire one night, looking at the dreaming Inquisitor with afond smile. Varric had looked around, sure she was talking to Dorian,but the mage was fast asleep – silky mask and all. He made a smallnote to remember that for later – oh, Sparkler would hatethat – before clearing his throat and poking at the fireabsentmindedly.

“Idon’t think she really findsit, Seeker. It’s always been there, we just don’t get to see it much.She’s good at hiding,” he said, waving smoke out of his face as thewind picked up. Cassandra was silent for a long moment, and heshuffled uncomfortably on his bedroll as he wondered what he said.

“Youcalled me Seeker,” her voice finally came, softer than he’d everheard it. He briefly met her eyes over the fire. “That is the firsttime since… since we fought.”

Varricsnorted, “Since you threw a chair at me, you mean?”

Sheopened her mouth, that look of outrage on her face that she wore sooften, and he sworeshe was going to yell at him – and then she didn’t. His brows shotinto his hairline at the way she snapped her mouth shut with adisgruntled noise, cheeks coloring as she looked away.

“Y-youlied to me,” she said, the words sounding forced.

“Peoplelie, Seeker, especially to protect the ones they care about,” hegrunted, half-tempted to lay back and fall asleep just to escape theconversation.

Shewas silent for another long moment. “I-I know. I understand why youdid, even if it made me angry. And-” she paused, as if each wordwas just hanging on the edge of toohard to say, “Liahra is a good Inquisitor… better than we couldhave hoped for. She was what we needed, when we needed it.”

Hehuffed in amusement, tugging his blanket up as he laid back. “Well,she’s right over there. Don’t know what you’re telling me for.”

“Iam trying to-” she began, voice rising in frustration. His back wasto her, but he was latched onto every word, brow furrowing. “I am..I… I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “You were right to protectthe Champion. I probably would have done the same.”

Varricrolled over, squinting as if he couldn’t believe she was reallyserious. If theembarrassment flaming on her cheeks was any indication… she was.“Shit,” he saidwith a breathless laugh, dragging out the word, “You’re not justputting on a face for our fearless leader. You really mean it, don’tyou?”

“Youdon’t have to make it sound so shocking,”she said with an insulted huff, crossing her arms. He laughed.

“W-well,Seeker, do you blame me?” he asked between chuckles. Her cheeksflamed brighter, and he struggled to contain his amusement.

“I-Ihave learned it is important to acknowledge your shortcomings andadmit when you are wrong, especially to… to friends,”

Hiseyes widened slightly. She didn’t seem to be a woman of sentiment –or a woman with friendshonestly, not until the Inquisition – and some niggling somethingwas telling him that it had to have been hard for her to admit. Well,especially given her pride?He had the good sense to be flattered.

“Aww,Seeker. I’ve grown on you,” he said with a soft laugh. She wrinkledher nose in distaste, that trademark disgusted noise forcing its wayfrom her lips. But it didn’t sound quite asdisgusted, and he swore there was the shadow of a smile on her face.

“Likefungus,” she huffedwith such utter disdain that it made him laugh all over again as shedropped onto her bedroll and turned over.

Liahradidn’t mention it if she noticed the way things suddenly seemed backto normal. Of course she didnotice, but she noticed everything and Varric was just glad that shedecided to go with it. The second-hand embarrassment he would havegotten for Cassandra would have been too much otherwise. He couldalmost see the way shewould stammer for an explanation, cheeks scarlet. The thought madehim chuckle.

“Andwhat is so funny, dwarf?” the very woman asked with an impressivelyarched eyebrow.

“Nothing,nothing,” he said, though the amusement coloring his words gave himaway in a heartbeat. He held his hands up in mock surrender as shepinned him with a withering glare.

But itwasn’t as witheringand, well, that was something.

Sunshinedidn’t force them to come out with her after that. She never had tosay it, but he knewshe was glad. She cared too damn much about all of them, and itactually pained her when her companions – her friends– wouldn’t get along. It stirred a strange sense of satisfaction inhim, knowing she was pleased. But in honesty, he was glad of it too.

“Youhave a fan,” Liahra said one day, plopping into the chair sheusually took beside him in the hall. Varric huffed in amusement as hecontinued marking some correspondences.

“Ihave a lot of those, apparently.” But when he glanced up, there wasa smirk on the Inquisitor’s face – almost pained in the way itseemed to be holding her amusement back. He straightened in hischair, plucking his spectacles from his nose and placing them on thetable as he prompted her to continue with a cocked brow.

“Cassis quite taken with Swords and Shields.” That smirk tugged harder,and he squinted.

“Youmust have knocked your head, Sunshine,” he dismissed with achuckle, pausing as her face contorted with the effort of holdingback a laugh. He peered at her with disbelief. “You- we’re nottalking about the same Cassandra,are we? Tall, grumpy seeker…” he trailed off as she ducked herhead with a snort, silent laughter shaking her shoulders. His eyeswidened for a moment and then he broke,his laughter booming in the hall enough to prompt strange looks fromthe nobles that always seemed to congregate there. That- it was toogood. “No,”he managed to wheeze, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Mm,”she confirmed with a thoroughlyamused grin. “She is quite sore that there isn’t another additionyet.”

“Andraste’sass,” he said as hecollapsed into laughter all over again. “Don’t you worry, Sunshine.I’ll take care of it.”

“I’mglad that was so easy,” she tossed back as she pushed herself up.“I was afraid I was going to have to order you to do it.” Heshook his head, trying to quell the chuckles.

“Onecondition. I want to be there when you give it to her.”

Shewinked as she walked away.

It wasstrange the way the words just flowedfor a series he had abandoned, but he wasn’t going to question it.The entire situation was just… too muchin the best way. To be able to see the seeker’s reaction was spurringhim on. He had to seeit. Despite needing to frequently leave the pages to laugh at theabsurdity of it all, he finished the book in record time. Hispublisher would have been pleased. He couldn’t even lookat Cassandra during the process for fear of cracking up and ruiningthe surprise.

Heheld the book aloft when the Inquisitor walked by, looking at herover the rims of his spectacles with a smirk. Her eyes lit up and shemade a beeline for him, nearly yanking him out of his seat when shegrabbed his arm. He laughed.

“I’mcoming, Sunshine. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Mortifiedwas never a word he would have thought to use for Cassandra - butthere she stood, the very picture of it all over her face. She shot alook of betrayal at their smirking Inquisitor, seemingly at a lossfor words. Oh, this was soworth it. Who would have thought their stoic, grumpy seeker wouldhave a soft spot? And for romance– badly written, smuttyromance – of all things? The way she snatched the book from him,only to flatten her palm over the cover and gaze at it reverentlywith a rare smile was strangely satisfying.

Butstill, he didn’t expect her to just dropinto a chair next to him in the hall. He cursed softly at the way hisquill dragged across the page in his surprise, leaving a messy lineof ink in its wake. “Seeker,” he greeted with an amused – ifstartled – look. She blushed and looked to speak, but apparentlydecided against it as she flipped open a book and rested the spineagainst the table instead. He chuckled, but returned to his papers.

Thesecond time didn’t surprise him as much, the third even less, andafter a while he had come to expect her presence dropping in out ofnowhere. Somewhere – somehow - they had formed an easy sort offriendship. She would sit with him and read, always trying to hidethe covers of her books from him as if he didn’t know theywere sappy romance. He would write, smirking as he occasionallycaught her trying to peek over the edge of her books at the words onhis pages. And occasionally… they would talk. It was never reallyanything of much substance, but it was… well, it was nice.One day he glanced over at her as he leaned back to stretch and hejust kind of… knew.

He hadn’t meant to. Shit, he didn’teven want to, but it was one of those things that just kind of sneaksup on a man, and he tried not to think about how many times he hadwritten that exact scenario. He couldn’t even really tell when itstarted.

It wasn’t some kind of burningrevelation, either. There wasn’t a parting of the clouds in his mindand heart - damn poetic bullshit – and there sure wasn’t some bigmoment where it just hits you and WHAM your heart bursts open andthere it is. There wasn’t rain or pining looks or grand declarations.It just kind of… happened.

And damn if hehadn’t fallen in love with her without even realizing it.

He leaned back witha groan as he pulled his spectacles off, rubbing his eyes. He hadgotten caught up in his writing, and he realized it had been hourssince he moved if the cracking in his back was any indication. Heguessed the hour was late by how dim and empty the hall was, and hewondered how he never noticed everyone leave. His eyes roved over thehall, the doors to the courtyard that hung slightly ajar, over themosaics and the table and – he started violently.

“Maker,Cassandra,” he wheezed, heart pounding behind his breast. Shelooked up from her book with surprise, eyebrows almost at herhairline. She wasn’t in her usual seat, but tucked into one closer bythe fire – for the light, he supposed – and he hadn’t expectedanyone to still be there.

“What?” sheasked flatly, pursing her lips as if she expected him to tease her.Her features softened a bit at his breathless laugh.

“You scared me,”

“I did not expectyou to be so easily startled,” she said with mild amusement,briefly marking her page as she set the book aside. “I had notnoticed the hour grow so late.”

“Yeah,” hemumbled, rubbing his eyes again. He was tired. He moved hishands as he heard a shuffle of movement, and she appeared to begetting ready to leave. He glanced from her to the pages near hiselbow. “Hey, Seeker,” he began, pausing only until she gave him aquestioning look, “want to see what I have for the next installmentof Swords and Shields so far?” Her eyes widened.

“May I?” sheasked, even as she was already moving to stand with an almost girlishenthusiasm gleaming in her eyes. He laughed and pushed the pages tothe corner of the table she was already waiting at. It was… closerthan he remembered it being. She hovered there as she looked over thewords with greedy eyes, damn near close to being on topof him. She smelled… nice. Not that he expected her to smellbad, really, but he was surprised at how feminine her scentwas.

He cleared histhroat and adjusted slightly in his chair while he waited for her todevour the pages. She was doing a damn good job of it. He wasn’t surehe had ever seen anyone flip through something that fast.

“Varric,”she breathed, startling him from his light dozing. He took a breathand sat up, blinking heavily. Her eyes were wide and fixed on thefinal page in wonder, even with it lying there incomplete. He raiseda brow and waited. “This- this is good,” she said, turningto him with excitement.

They both froze.

Was it warm? Itfelt warm, he decided as her nose almost brushed his when sheturned. Neither of them seemed to know what to do, but they alsodidn’t move away, both with wide eyes and slightly stunnedexpressions. There was a flush creeping up her neck and cheeks, andhe’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel any creeping up his own. Hewas good at many things and he knew it, but this? This was out of hiswheelhouse and he didn’t quite know how to handle it. For probablythe first time in his life, he was drawing a complete blank.

“I-” she beganto say, and he didn’t know why – but he leaned forward andtook her lips with gentle fascination. She kissed him back-

and, well, that wassomething.

#varric #cassandra pentaghast #canon verse #dadrunkwriting #EEP #so super proud of this and I hope you guys like it too!#christophertherobin #Asks #sarah writes

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pangolinheart · 6 years

Text

Fainting Spell

I finally finished my gift for the Dragon Age Valentine’s Day Event! I was paired with the wonderful @mizunderstood2136! I decided to write a fic about her Inquisitor, the beautiful Aurelia Trevelyan, and her LI Cullen! I hope you enjoy it! (Auggie can’t write romance and she is sorry @_@)

Title: Fainting Spell Rating: General Pairing: Cullen/f!Trevelyan Prompt: “You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

From the outside, the Inquisition ran like a finely-crafted Dwarven mechanism. Like most Dwarven mechanisms, however, the hours of labor needed to create and maintain it were taken for granted. Someone needed to carve out the gears, test the weights, assemble the pieces, oil the hinges, and so on. Likewise, someone in the Inquisition needed to recruit new blood, gather intelligence, scavenge for materials, deal with local politics, and, if there was time left over, seal a few rifts. All too often these tasks fell to the Inquisitor.

It had been weeks since Aurelia had last gotten a full night’s sleep. She catnapped when she could, catching a few winks under the shade of a tree or in a quiet corner between duties. The fatigue was taking its toll. She had been so exhausted on the trek home from the Emerald Graves, where they had been sent to deal with a particularly nasty nest of wyverns, that she had leaned on the Iron Bull for support most of the way. Dorian had continually suggested they stop and rest, but Aurelia just wanted to be home. When was the last time she had slept in her own bed? When was the last time she had seen Cullen?

She thought back to the last time they had been alone together; lying side by side on his bed, sunlight filtering through the rafters. “You work too hard,” He had murmured, calloused hands carding through her hair. “As if you’re in a position to lecture me,” she had mumbled, turning her face into the junction of his shoulder. Cullen had simply sighed, though his lips twitched into an affectionate smile. Aurelia had mirrored the sigh, and together they had counted down the minutes until the next commitment would take them away from each other.

Any hopes of spending a few quiet hours with the Commander upon her return were dashed almost as soon as she passed through the gates of Skyhold. In her absence, tasks requiring her attention had piled up. Cassandra intercepted her immediately to discuss reports of Venatori activity in the Hissing Wastes. The quartermaster presented her with a list of supplies the keep was running low on, and a list of possible trade alliances they could pursue to obtain them. Josephine had no less than five political maneuvers for Aurelia to approve, and as the Inquisitor she was expected to oversee a trial for a man who had been caught selling Inquisition secrets to Orlesian bards.

It was after the last chore on her laundry list of duties that Varric pulled her aside by the arm. “Hey Firecracker. Good to see you made it home in one piece. Listen, some new scout handed me these reports to give to Curly. Do me a favor and hand them off to him? I’d do it myself, but you know how busy I am.” He shoved the reports into her hand and winked, disappearing into a throng of passersby before she could reply. She wasn’t sure if she would have protested or thanked him. She lingered in the great hall for a few minutes longer to make sure that no other matters required her immediate attention before slipping off towards the battlements.

As exhausted as she was, she took the steps two at a time. The thought of seeing her Commander’s pleasantly surprised smile was enough to renew her vitality. The vigor with which she threw open the door to Cullen’s study made the dozen recruits clustered around his desk jump. Cullen glanced up from the parchment laid out in front of him, ready with a stern word, but upon seeing her his expression melted into a warm smile. “Inquisitor,” He greeted, though the warmth in his deep voice gave the title all the intimacy of a first name, “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Ever the professional. Aurelia grinned back in acknowledgement and eased the door shut behind her. She settled against the wall, clutching the files Varric had given her to her chest as she waited for Cullen to finish his briefing. She came dangerously close to falling asleep there. The study was warm, and its familiar scent made it feel like home. The sounds of solders’ voices drifted in and out, becoming increasingly difficult to discern. She felt like she was floating. Her mind drifted to Cullen – to his rough hands that touched her so softly, to the scratching of his stubble against his chin as they embraced, to the warmth and safety of his arms around her, to the sound of his heartbeat as she lay curled on his chest.

Clanking armor pulled her from her reverie. Her eyes blinked open, though she didn’t remember having closed them. The men Cullen had been instructing were now shuffling towards the door with their orders. Aurelia pushed away from the wall to properly greet her lover and…. Oh no.

The sudden movement made her head swim. Her vision telescoped, narrowing to a pinprick of light before cutting out together. “Aurelia!” she heard Cullen call, seemingly from far off in the distance. She heard more than felt herself hit the ground. And then… nothing.

Coming to felt like waking from a nap. She almost forgot what had happened until her eyelids fluttered open. Staring down at her was Cullen, his golden eyes clouded with concern. “Thank the maker,” He breathed, heaving a sigh of relief that she could feel through his armor. She realized then that she wasn’t lying on the cold stone floor as she had expected, but rather on Cullen’s lap, his arms around her, her head against his breastplate. Her thoughts were still fuzzy, and all she could think was that she had ended up exactly where she wanted to be. “Hey there,” She purred, snuggling even more closely against him.

Cullen stared down at her, dumbfounded.

“I brought you some reports,” She offered as an explanation.

Cullen blinked as he processed the words. “Never mind those. They can wait,” He said, waving a hand dismissively at the pile of papers scattered across the floor. “You realize you fainted? I almost wasn’t fast enough to catch you.”

Aurelia giggled. “I fainted right into your arms. How romantic.”

Unable to contain a smile, Cullen chuckled as well, though there was an edge of nervousness to his laughter. “If you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” He quipped, bringing his forehead to rest against hers. “You scared me. Are you alright?” “I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just a little tired. It’s been a long week. Well, more than a week.” A conspicuous yawn demonstrated this. Cullen seemed unconvinced, and she reached up with one hand to stroke his cheek. “I missed you.” “I missed you too,” Cullen said quietly, covering her hand with one of his, soft leather against skin, and drawing it down to his mouth to place a gentle kiss to the back of it. “I always miss you when you’re gone. I worry about you.” The distress behind his words was heartbreaking. She couldn’t help but sit up and wrap her arms around his neck. He had lost so much, and she had vowed to never become another of the things that were taken from him. “You don’t have to worry,” She promised, kissing his cheek. “I always come back.”

Cullen sighed, tightening his grip around her. “I do. What we – what you do is dangerous, and I’m not fool enough to believe otherwise. But,” he paused “I trust you. Just… promise me you’ll take care of yourself. Fainting into my arms is one thing but fainting while facing down a dragon is entirely another.”

“Is that your official recommendation as my advisor?” Aurelia asked teasingly.

“It is.” Cullen pulled back from their embrace to look at her in a parody of his stern expression. “I also recommend immediate bedrest, and humbly offer my quarters for that purpose.”

Aurelia truly laughed this time. “Alright Commander, I’ll honor your request. On the condition that you join me.” The dark circles under his eyes had not escaped her. She knew he worked almost as hard as she did, and what sleep he did get was fitful and fraught with nightmares.

And, of course, she wanted to remain in his arms a while longer.

Cullen’s hand paused in stroking her hair and his thumb to rubbed appreciative circles on her cheek. Then, without warning, his lips were on hers, warm and inviting. The kiss was short but heady, communicating all the things he had trouble conveying to her. “As the Inquisitor wishes,” he murmured against her lips, and she felt the smile there, though she could not see it.

She kissed him back, this time longer, savoring the sensations that flooded through her whenever their lips met. She nipped playfully at his bottom lip and a mischievous grin darkened her features. “And maybe when the Inquisitor wakes up she’ll have some other wishes you can attend to.”

Cullen chuckled, dark and rich, “It would be my pleasure.”

Their third kiss was interrupted by the banging of the abused office door as it flew open. “Commander! I have the reports on progress of fortifications in the Frostback Basin!”

Cullen’s face shot up and he affixed the young scout, clearly unprepared for what he had walked in on, with a glare that could melt stone. “Get. Out.” He growled through gritted teeth.

The scout’s face paled by several shades. “Yes sir! I – uh – sorry sir! I’ll, er, bring these by later. I mean, tomorrow. Sir.” Almost as quickly as he had appeared he retreated to the safety on the other side of the door.

Aurelia barely restrained another fit of laughter. “I think you traumatized that poor recruit.”

Cullen grunted and shrugged. “He’ll be fine. This lot could use some more discipline anyways.” His smile returned to his face and he stole a final quick kiss before pulling away. “Now, lets get you to bed. I think we both deserve some rest.”

#dragonagevalentineevent #mizunderstood2136 #cullen rutherford #f!trevelyan #cullen/inquisitor #cullen/trevelyan #dragon age: inquisition #auggie writes

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shift-shaping · 6 years

Text

Glimpses: Flowers

@dadrunkwriting

@talesfromthefade, @zolamoonshadow

Rating: M

Genre: Romance

You said any pairing so I thought... why not all of them?

Solas x Surana (Dancer, Student, and Canon verses)

Dorian Trevelyan

Cullen x Surana

Alistair x Surana

Yvelle Lavellan x Solas

Verse: Revolutionary

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warnings: Age gap

She straightened her skirt and took a deep breath, holding the flower pot close to her chest. With a tightly-closed fist she rapped on the door, three swift knocks that made the wood shudder.

Her chest felt tight, her neck damp with nervous sweat. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, straightened her skirt again. Inside the townhouse, footsteps echoed nearer to the door. She breathed in again, still shaky, still tight.

Her ears perked as he swung the door open, her mouth opening pre-emptively. He had a small, confused smile on, and was wearing the business wear she was used to seeing him in.

“Uh -hi,” she said, and his smile widened. “I, uh, I can’t stay very long. But I wanted to give you something.”

He stepped outside with her and closed the screen door behind him. “The flowers?” His gaze fell to the small pot, to the bouquet planted in soil. “They look familiar.”

“Yeah, um,” she laughed and shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Is... everything all right?”

“Yeah! Oh, yeah, definitely.” She nodded so vigorously it made her braids bounce. “It’s just really warm in my apartment right now.”

“I see...” He trailed off, awkwardly, then cleared his throat. “Ah, well, if you’d like to come inside...”

“No! I mean, I can’t. I have to go to work in like ten minutes.”

“Oh, right, of course...”

She swallowed hard, then held the flowers out for him. “They’re for you.”

He looked at her, confused, but took them. “You don’t need to give me anything, da’len.”

A small smile pulled at her lips and she looked between the flowers and his face. “They aren’t just anything.”

He looked back at the flowers, studying them closely. Realization dawned on him and he met her eyes again, blinking in surprise. “The ones I gave you...”

“Yeah. Turns out I have a bit of a green thumb.”

“But, how? They were cuttings.”

She held her hands behind her back, pride calming her now, puffing her chest out. “I found a guide online and followed it to the letter. It took a while, and I could only save some of them, but... I think they look really nice.”

His smile widened and he shook his head. “They are beautiful, da’len. Truly. You might have a future as a florist.”

“You think?” She’d genuinely never thought of that. “Hm... florist by day, stripper by night?”

“You’d always smell like flowers.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I just... wanted to show you that.”

“Thank you, truly.” He took a half-step closer to her, then stopped himself. “I... I’ll see you tonight then, da’len.”

She smiled, nodded, then started to walk backwards away. “We’re still meeting tomorrow afternoon, right?”

“Provided I don’t have too much to drink tonight.”

“Don’t drink!” She scoffed, grinning brightly. “Give all your money away in tips.”

“Mmm... I’ll consider that.”

She waved as she walked back to the street and climbed into her car. He watched her drive away, holding the flowers in his hands, then leaned back against his door and sighed loudly. There was a slim chance he could keep these things alive.

Pairing: Dorian x Trevelyan

As soon as Dorian learned Wessely’s birthday, he knew he would show no mercy. Wessely was modest to a fault, consistently putting everyone else before himself, and rarely took credit for his own victories. It was time to make him celebrate himself, whether he wanted to or not.

Vivienne and Josephine helped him secure hundreds of flowers and cover the Inquisitor’s room in them. Varric caught a glimpse and seemed to think all three of them had lost their minds, but Vivienne was quick to inform him that he had obviously never given a birthday gift to the Herald of Andraste. They needed his assistance, though, and instructed Varric to keep Wessely busy all afternoon while they made the final preparations. Wessely, in all his idiot kindness, made no complaint as Varric talked his ear off for hours in the courtyard.

Just as the sun neared the horizon Dorian shooed Vivienne and Josephine out, then immediately took off his clothes and climbed on to Wessely’s bed. He shifted amidst the flower petals until coming to a comfortable spot, then rolled on to his side and propped his head in his hand. The finishing touch was a single, very large rose over his crotch.

Varric was supposed to send Wessely in as soon as Josephine and Vivienne left, but Dorian found himself laying seductively in bed cursing the dwarf for over a half-hour. He must have gotten entrenched in one of his stories and lost track of time. Dorian groaned and cast a furtive glance to the setting sun. The timing wasn’t that big of a deal, but if he wasn’t in perfect position the entire effort was ruined, so he couldn’t just go and get his lover from the courtyard.

Time went on and dusk fell into night. After a while, with his wrist now thoroughly numb, Dorian relaxed on the bed into a more comfortable position. The work had been exhausting, and now that he lay in his lover’s massive bed he very badly wanted to sleep. He fought the urge for as long as he could, but eventually succumbed.

Another two hours passed before Wessely finally returned to his quarters. He immediately noticed the flower petals on the stairwell and smelled powerful incense through the door. Warmth flooded his chest and he carefully turned the doorknob, smiling softly when he saw Dorian sleeping on his bed in a pile of flower petals. As gently as he could, he climbed into bed and gave his lover a soft kiss on the forehead.

Dorian blinked and drowsily stretched, squinting at Wessely in the candlelight. “Where in the Maker’s name have you been?”

Wessely chuckled softly and brought Dorian’s hand to his lips, making the other man smile. “Emergency Inquisitor business. Apparently a druffalo stampede delayed our supply lines in the east.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “These southerners and their stinking, hulking mammals.”

“Giant snakes would have been preferable?”

Dorian nodded and smirked, wrapping his arms around Wessely’s neck. “At least then you don’t get fur on everything.”

Wessely snorted before leaning down and kissing Dorian deeply, slowly. His partner tasted like wine and sleep, but not in the bitter way every other person did. It was a spell, Dorian said, a spell he’d personally perfected to rid himself of morning breath forever.

“Happy birthday, amatus,” Dorian said as Wessely pulled back. He looked tenderly into the other man’s eyes, quietly admiring their warm brown color.

Wessely smiled, though his brows knit in confusion. “My birthday isn’t for another six weeks.”

Dorian closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly and sighed. “I knew that.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, of course.” He pretended to be offended as he shifted on to his elbows, bringing his face close to Wessely’s. “How could you even suggest otherwise?”

“Ah. My mistake then.” Wessely leaned down and pressed a kiss to Dorian’s neck, making his lover hiss softly with pleasure. Dorian felt a tantalizing brush between his legs, then raised an eyebrow when Wessely brought the rose to his lips.

“I am exposed,” Dorian said simply, and Wessely laughed before kissing him again, harder now.

“Thank you, Dorian. This means so much to me.”

“Of course, amatus.” He smiled that same warm smile and pulled Wessely back down, drawing their bodies together in the tangle of rose petals littering their bed.

Verse: Fire is Her Water

Pairings: Cullen x Surana

Warnings: Templar x mage

He always knew where he could find her, and not just because a mage’s schedule was meticulously planned to the minute. If she was not with the animals or in the dense, ancient greenhouses, she was in the library. The curfew for her age was only two hours after dark, but she was allowed to study late into the night. Her work was benevolent, according to the Chantry, even beneficial. Among mages, healers had value and privileges others did not.

He held the ancient tome in his hands and prayed his palms would not dampen the fragile pages. It seemed wrong for his harsh metal gauntlets to hold something so delicate, but he would not put it away. When he gave it to her, perhaps his hands would brush hers, or he could catch a glimpse of her narrow wrists, of her onyx skin peeking from beneath the long sleeves of her robe.

He pushed open the door to the library and narrowed his eyes in the darkness Magic torches cast dim, flickering light over the endless towering bookcases, filling the room with a sunset orange -save for one blue glow, one lonely light tucked inside the reference section.

He went to her, his boots so loud on the uneven floorboards that he cringed from the noise. When he saw her he paused, smiling when he noticed how focused she was on her reading. She didn’t even look up as he approached her, despite the deafening sound of his heartbeat.

“E-Eirwen,” he stuttered, then cleared his throat. She looked up, head tilting, pupils large in the dark. “I got you something.”

Her brows furrowed and she shifted to her feet, brushing dust from her robes. “From where?”

“A -a merchant in town. I thought you might like it.” He held it out to her and she rolled up her sleeves before gently taking it from his hands. Her skin was so smooth, so clear and shining in the dark. His breath caught in his throat and his tongue felt like cotton.

She looked over it, gingerly turning the fragile pages, eyes widening with wonder. The drawings were beautiful and detailed, the writing precise and clear. Page after page showed stunning pictures of flowers from all over the world, in faded but still vibrant color.

“Cullen,” she said softly, tearing her gaze from the gift. “This is amazing. You... you didn’t have to do this. I... I don’t even have anything to repay you with.” She laughed and looked back down at it, shaking her head. “Thank you so much... this means the world to me.”

He struggled for words, but they betrayed him like always. He hated how stupid he looked in front of her, how dumb he felt whenever she turned her eyes on him.

She giggled then and gently shut the book. The floorboards creaked as she shifted forward, putting one hand on his chestplate. Her soft lips pressed to his cheek and his eyes widened, shock overtaking him as he felt her smooth skin against his. “Thank you, Cullen. Thank you so much.”

He stood there, stunned still, as she padded past him to the hall and shut the heavy wooden door behind her. She tore away any sense that he had, left him speechless and dumb, yet he wouldn’t trade her presence for anything.

Verse: Confessions of a Teacher’s Pet

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warnings: Teacher x Student, age gap

In three days, it would be six months since she kissed him in his car.

Six months of pining, of desperate sex that never slowed, of near-constant teasing and quiet, aching confessions of love in the middle of the night. It had been a tumultuous six months and entirely unexpected, and but also entirely heaven.

Six months wasn’t much time, but he still wanted to celebrate. Earlier that day, in his office, she’d pulled him close to her, made him corner her against the wall, kissed his neck hard and drew sharp gasps and guttural groans from deep in his chest. His hands grasped for her back and he held her body flush against his, grinding his hips against her, spreading her legs as he lifted her and shifted to swallow a hot moan from her lips.

They hadn’t been able to finish, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

As had become their typical schedule, she planned to spend most of the weekend with him in his apartment. She lounged in his shirts and sometimes her underwear, filling his home with her presence. They cooked and watched movies and did their work beside each other on his couch or in his bed. More often than not he found his eyes drawn to her bare legs, or felt her gaze stuck on his forearms. Their distractions fed into each other and inevitably he’d end up between those long, muscular legs in one way or another.

This particular weekend she’d itched for warmth, constantly wrapping herself around him and holding his hand and laying across his lap. It kept him busy and, more importantly, kept her away from the refrigerator.

Normally she had free range with everything in his apartment, but this time he needed her away from the secret hidden behind the vegetables. Every time she got close he’d distract her, sometimes with sex, sometimes with other food or sweet words.

On Sunday, inevitably, she voiced her suspicions. “What are you keeping in that fridge?” Her voice was a low coo as she rested her head on his bare chest, her legs kicking the air, the blankets of his bed laying over her naked back.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” he replied, smirking slightly.

“Every time I get close to your fridge, you pull me away.” She lifted herself up on her hands, pushing her breasts together, challenging him to keep his eyes on her face. “I’m starting to think you’re keeping a decapitated head in there.”

He snorted. “You are always so gruesome. I should think you’d know me better than that by now.”

“Oh, of course.” She grinned and shifted, tossing one leg over his hips and straddling him. He gripped her waist almost instinctively and gave her soft sides a squeeze. “You’re more the type to keep a heart in your fridge. Maybe a couple fingers.”

“That is disgusting.”

She grinded on him and he rolled his eyes. “You still aren’t telling me what it is.”

“I assure you, it is nothing that was once part of a person.”

“Oddly specific wording, hahren.”

“Alright,” he sighed and eased her off him, shaking his head. She giggled as he stood, crawling on the bed to suddenly pull him back. He gasped as she groped him a bit, fingers straying too far down. “I thought you wanted to see the refrigerator?”

She snorted and moved her hands to hug him instead. “Sorry. I just can’t resist an ass like that.”

He smiled over his shoulder at her. “You are easily distracted, vhenan.”

“You still gave me an A.”

He hummed softly and turned, greatly tempted to press her back down into the bed and make love to her again. He tucked his fingers under her chin and brought her mouth to his, kissing her deep and slow, letting his teeth pull at her lips before he broke away. She inhaled sharply as he stepped back, sliding his hand down to hers, gently tugging her to her feet. “Come, ma vhenan. Let me show you.”

She groaned but followed him, letting him lead her back to the kitchen. It occurred to him that she must be cold, wearing nothing but a pair of cotton underwear, so on the way to the hall he took a sweater from his desk chair and helped her pull it on over her head. It hung low, down to her mid-thighs, and covered her hands.

“Should I be bracing myself?” She asked, leaning back against the counter as he opened the fridge. “Is something going to pop out at me?”

He said nothing, and she straightened as he pulled something in a box from the fridge. He laid it down gently, then gave her room to see what it was as he pulled the top of the box off. Her eyes widened and she gasped softly, bringing her sleeve-covered hand to her mouth.

“Solas...” She said softly, shaking her head. “This is... this is beautiful.” Before her sat a gorgeous cake covered in flawless, colorful frosting flowers. As she looked them over, tears stung her eyes. “The flowers... are these...?”

Soon after they’d started dating, she left a bouquet of flowers in his mailbox on campus. It was a beautiful collection, vibrant and reminiscent of spring. She saw that now on the cake, the same types of flowers, the same bright color scheme.

“Oh, Solas...” Her voice was small and quiet, and he started to speak before she turned to him and suddenly kissed him, hard and deep, hands on either side of his face.

He stumbled at first, hand barely catching the counter. He hugged her with his free hand, holding her close, and after a moment returned the kiss with just as much passion.

Pairing: Solavellan

Warnings: Age gap

It took days to figure out what kind of gift Solas would actually like.

Josephine was genuinely shocked he didn’t like tea, and seemed unable to accept it at first. “Truly? But he seems like just the type... are you quite certain he dislikes all tea? Even the sweeter kinds?”

Vivienne had lowered her book and given Yvelle a withering stare. “Darling, just find him some weeds from outside; it’s you he’s after, anyway.” She brought her book up again and shrugged. “Though what the man really needs is a pair of shoes.”

Bull had leaned back in his chair and looked at Yvelle suspiciously. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and figure we’re talking about different kinds of gifts, boss. I mean... I’d consider it, but...” She’d needed Sera to explain what Bull was talking about, and she only told Yvelle five minutes later, after she finished laughing.

Even Cole’s advice wasn’t particularly useful, but Yvelle didn’t have the heart to tell him that. “He has very few things. Mostly useful things... maybe he wants something that isn’t so useful. It doesn’t have to be real.”

So it was with a great sense of defeat that Yvelle confessed her failure to Cassandra, who she knew liked to read romance novels and might have some advice. She didn’t like admitting inability in front of Cassandra -she felt it made her look inept as a leader- but the Seeker didn’t seem to mind. The slightest hint of a smile pulled at her lips, and she brought Yvelle to the garden.

“Now, I do not know about Solas specifically, but it is good to consider things he already has and get him something similar that is also unique to you.”

“He has... paints.”

“And books. And likely a great deal of very old things.” They stopped walking in front of a flower pot full of colorful daisies. Both of them were silent for a time, before Cassandra looked at Yvelle with a slight frown. “He enjoys candles, does he not?”

Yvelle tilted her head and nodded, not sure where Cassandra was going with this. “They usually have a bit of a scent, like pine or roses.”

The Seeker’s lips tilted into a smirk. “I believe I may know just the thing.”

A week later, after a small, unobtrusive package arrived for the Inquisitor, she met with Solas on her balcony. After their usual banter and teasing he pressed her back into the railing and kissed her, his hands gentle on her hips. She felt her heart racing, her breathing tighter and harsher, her hands grasping at the back of his shirt.

He pulled back from her lips to kiss her neck, making her back arch in his hands and her voice break into a girlish moan. His lips tightened, and she felt him chuckle against her skin. “Are you wearing perfume, Inquisitor?”

A warm blush spread over her body and she cleared her throat. “Do you... do you like it?”

He kissed her neck again, then trailed his teeth against the skin. “I do. Very much.”

She shivered and swallowed hard, fingers still grasping at his back. “G -good. It’s, um... daisies...”

His hands slid up her waist, hugging her tighter, and he chuckled again. “Do you know what those mean?”

“...Mean?”

He nodded. “According to Orlesians, anyway. So take it as you will.” He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and looking into her amber eyes. “The particularly wealthy use flowers to send different messages. Aster is patience, Gardenia is cheerfulness, Iris is wisdom...”

She smiled and laughed. “How do you know all that?”

He kissed her again, quickly. “I’ve been known to read things from time to time.”

They kissed again, deeper now, and he held her close like he had before. When they broke apart to breathe, she closed her eyes and steadied her voice. “And... what do daisies mean?”

He laughed then, surprising her, and then sighed. “You, ah, you do not want to know.”

“What? Why?” She pulled back, brows furrowed. “What do they mean?”

He moved his hands back down to her waist, then lower, resting just over her rear and making her blush furiously. “Purity.”

She was silent for a moment, the joke sinking in, before she groaned and buried her face in Solas’s chest. “Creators, of course it does...”

He laughed and hugged her, shaking his head. “It still smells very good, Inquisitor. You shouldn’t worry about the meaning.” He kissed her head and she squeezed him tighter. “I love it nonetheless.”

Verse: Fire is Her Water

Pairings: Alistair x Surana

Warnings: Gore

Wynne held Eirwen’s head in her lap, her gaze locked on the girl’s bloodied face, the air crackling with her magic as she willed the destroyed skin back together. “Does anyone have saffron flowers?” Her voice was raw and harsh as she risked a glance upward. “Anyone?!”

Morrigan was already searching through her pack fervently, her hands shaking. “No. I cannot -of course it is the one thing I do not have...”

“There is only so much I can do on my own.” Wynne shook her head as Eirwen groaned in pain.

“One of us could return to the surface, or at least to Orzammar.” Zevran paced, shaking his head, brows knit tightly as he thought. “Perhaps someone is selling it. They must have herbs down here, or... something...”

“I mean this with all due respect, Zevran,” Wynne started, her voice strangled with frustration as sweat began to drip from her hairline. “You cannot make it back to Orzammar on your own. You have no sense of where your enemy is coming from, without the Taint, you would not survive.” She sighed shakily. “And there is no promise Orzammar will have the herbs regardless.”

“I can do it, I’ll go.” Wynne glanced at Alistair, whose silver armor was dark with blood. He stood steady, with only a minor injury on his cheek.

“We need you here, Alistair.” But she knew that wasn’t true. With so many of them it would be extremely difficult for darkspawn to take them by surprise, and even if they did, the party was well-prepared. “Do you really think you could do it?” She asked, her voice low.

Alistair knelt before her, looking down at Eirwen, at her mauled face. He nodded, his jaw set. “Of course.” There was an unspoken emotion there, something much deeper than the overconfidence of a young man. He reached out and gently stroked her blood-coated braids.

“Do you know the way?” Morrigan asked, her expression grave as she looked at him. “I could go instead. ‘Tis difficult for a hurlock to catch a crow.”

“What if your mana runs out, or you lose your way? You can’t read a map and fly.”

She stepped forward, arms crossed over her chest. “I could manage. There are other ways to find one’s way to the surface.”

“No, Morrigan,” Wynne cut in sharply. “I need you here, to heal her when I cannot.” Morrigan looked down at Eirwen, her expression hard, but said nothing. “Or at least to keep this from getting any worse.” With her free hand, shaking furiously, she licked her finger and wiped some blood from Eirwen’s forehead. The girl shivered and shifted slightly, so Wynne shushed her quietly. She looked up at Alistair, her gaze stone-hard. “Go, then. Get her Saffron, as much of the entire plant as possible. We’ll make a poultice from it to restore her vision.”

It seemed like an insurmountable task.

The shriek had caught Eirwen by surprise while she was attempting a healing spell and ravaged the left side of her face, cutting deep from her forehead through her eye and into her cheek, splitting the eye itself in half. Her screams were some of the worst sounds any of them had ever heard, Zevran and Oghren included. Even Shale seemed horrified despite itself, mumbling something about how pitiful fleshy things were as it stepped away from the carnage.

But Alistair left in search of the flowers regardless. In his absence the others looked after his lover, as Morrigan and Wynne struggled to save her eye by sewing each strand of flesh back together with tenuous threads of magic. They were lucky to only face one darkspawn onslaught while they held their position.

He returned more than a day later, drenched in sweat and blood but holding a fistful of saffron in each hand. Much to his shock, however, Eirwen was already blinking and reading.

“What... I don’t...” As soon as she heard his voice the younger warden leapt to her feet and threw herself into him, evidently not caring about the impact of her body on his heavy armor. Despite his surprise he hugged her tightly, burying his fact in her neck, breathing in her scent before he pulled back to look at her. He saw now that her face was not completed healed -there was a strangeness to how she looked at him, her left eye tracking just slightly off from her right. A jagged scar cut through it, but it looked far better than he would have expected.

“You’re back!” She said, cupping his face with her hands. “Alistair, thank you so much.” She kissed him then, making him blink in shock, then stepped back and grasped his wrists in her small hands. “I can’t imagine what you went through... thank you, thank you so much.” She kissed him again, but a sharp, pointed ahem interrupted the moment.

Morrigan held out her hand to Alistair. “The flowers, Warden.”

“I...” He nodded and handed them to her despite his confusion. “What happened? You...” He looked back at Eirwen. “You look a lot better than when I left.”

“Morrigan found some healing herbs in a side pocket of her bag.” Alistair just stared blankly at the apostate, who shrugged nonchalantly. “They fixed most of it, but I still need some to get me back to normal. I have virtually no depth perception at the moment.”

“Ah, and we cannot have that.” He kissed her again, then let her go when Wynne called her name. Before he went to see her, he stopped, gently grasping Morrigan’s upper arm before she could slip away. “Why, Morrigan?”

She wrenched her arm away from him. “I have no idea what you are referring to, and if you ever touch me again-”

“You know exactly what I’m referring to.”

She relaxed a bit, straightening her back. “I genuinely had forgotten about that pocket until long after you were gone, Warden. She is safe, and so are you. There is little more you can ask of me, so I suggest you let this go.”

He shook his head, his expression tightening, before he sighed and deflated. “Only for her sake, witch. Because she likes you.”

“As she should.” Morrigan shrugged, and a slight smirk pulled at her lips. “I did save her life, didn’t I?”

Verse: The Lion and the Wolf

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warnings: Age gap

“Supposedly, this was once a great plain.” Eirwen swept her arm out dramatically, indicating the wide swath of empty desert before them. “There were small oases all over, and legendary, long-gone animals like plains lions and pygmy elephants sought refuge in them.” She brought her flask to her lips and took a long drink before sighing heavily. “Come on, I want to show you something.” She urged her mount, an old grey mare, further toward the nothingness.

Solas sat beside her atop a calm russet-colored horse. He wore a heavy hood over his bald head, and his robes fell low past his hands. A hot desert wind blew past him and he shifted uncomfortably in the leather saddle before following Eirwen. “The Blight destroyed this place, did it not?” He asked, looking over at her from beneath his hood.

She nodded stiffly, staring ahead. “It seeped into the soil and killed any signs of life within it. No soil meant no grass or trees, which meant no elephants, and therefore no lions. Nothing has grown here since.” She stopped them in a place apparently no more remarkable than any other in the wasteland and dismounted. He followed her, a few feet behind.

“From what I’ve read, it was the sight of a great battle during the Second Blight. The earth is stained with tainted blood...” He shook his head, feeling a shiver despite the heat. “I cannot imagine the horrors they must have seen. Even in the Fade, it is not the same.”

“No, it’s not,” she replied bluntly, and he swallowed hard.

“You have seen things most cannot fathom.” He shook his head. “Why come here, vhenan?”

“Because it’s not all terrible.” She stepped forward and knelt in the sand, gesturing for him to come down with her. “The Blight is like a scar here, but even scars can heal.” He looked at her, at the ragged, faded marks on her dark skin. “It takes time, and magic, but it’s possible.”

She carefully spread the sand apart, digging down until she’d created a semi-stable hole. He watched silently, curiously, as she took a small object from her pocket and pushed it gently into the ground. Then she sat back on her heels and took her water canteen from her bag. She poured it over the object, drowning it, then waved her hand over the hole.

He felt the Veil shift and saw sparks shiver from her hand. Lightning washed over the hole and spread out into the sand, darkening threads through the sediment.

“This is the important part,” she said, reaching into her bag again to retrieve a small vial of dark, glimmering blood. His brows knit and a question started to form on his lips. “Dragon blood,” she said, before he could ask. She popped open the vial and tilted it, letting red-black liquid fall into the hole.

It hissed when it hit the sand, letting off steam as it seeped into the ground. He stayed quiet, patient, waiting for a purpose. She let out a slow, shaky breath and he felt the Veil shift again, shifting towards her, giving him the slightest tug. He looked at her now, at the concentration furrowing her brows, at the hard stare she leveled at the seed.

Another stiff desert breeze blew through them, disrupting the hole, but she didn’t seem to care. The harsh sun drew sweat to his forehead and he took a long drink from his canteen.

It happened slowly, so slowly that at first he didn’t notice anything was happening at all. But gradually, with an effort that made her magic twist the Veil tight as a vice, a small green sprout broke from the seed. It rose, fed by the sunlight and the magic she forced into it. Higher and higher it grew, until it was easily six inches tall. A thick bud formed on the end of it, and with another harsh tear of magic it spread into a vibrant purple flower.

She sat back, panting heavily, eyes closed. He kept staring at it, mesmerized, still entranced even as she collapsed into his lap and groaned with exhaustion.

He instinctively rested his hand on her stomach, touching her just because he could. His other hand reached for the flower, and he stroked the soft, sturdy petals with gentle fingers. “This is incredible, Eirwen.”

She laughed, and when she spoke he could hear her smile. “You think so? I’m glad. I wanted to show you something that would be new for you.” He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. “It seems like you’ve seen everything before, in the Fade.” She lay on her side, eyes squinted nearly shut to protect from the sun’s violent gaze. “I wanted to show you something you couldn’t find there.”

He smirked and leaned down to kiss her cheek, earning himself a happy hum. “You already show me plenty of things I cannot find in the Fade, vhenan.”

She groaned and sat up, shifting so she was beside him again. “Don’t be so sappy, you’ll ruin it.”

“Is your flower allergic to romance?” He asked with a smirk.

“Just excessive sweet-talking.” But she was smiling, and blushing, and then she kissed him slow and deep.

When they separated, it was not because either truly wanted to. The sun was too hot, the sand starting to burn through their pants, and frankly, they both could use a bath. “That technique,” he said as they stood, holding her hands in his. “How applicable is that to animals?”

“Not very.” She sighed. “Trust me, I’ve tried. You can clarify certain parts of the soil, but a body is too... fast. The dragon blood can do much worse things to you before you can actually get something useful from it.”

He clicked his tongue and frowned. “It is a start, though.”

“It is. But I feel like I never get far from that.” She pulled away from him and started to mount her horse, leaving him to watch her.

“Perhaps... one day you could return this place to what it was.”

She snorted and slung her leg over her horse. “I’d need a lot of lyrium for that.”

He smiled and walked up to her, admiring how the sun made her dark skin gleam. He also, admittedly, rather liked seeing her above him. “Or we could casually tear down the Veil and reshape the world how we see fit.”

She raised an eyebrow. “To grow a few more flowers?”

“And bring back some elephants.”

“Lions too?”

“Of course.”

She smiled and straightened in her seat. “I’ll think about it, love. It sounds like a lot of work, though.”

“Ah, perhaps too much.”

“I’m very lazy.” She leaned over, cupped his cheeks, and strained her side to kiss him. “Now get on your horse. I need more water.”

“Ma nuvenin, ma vhenan.”

As he walked back to his mount she grinned, watching how his hips shifted with each step. Her hands shook as she took the reins, as she hid how exhausted she was from him. Her magic was weaker here, though it shouldn’t have been. In this place, where the Blight scarred the lands, the song was much stronger. It interrupted her spells, made it harder for her to penetrate the Veil. But it was worth it to show him that renewal was possible, that beauty could be born from desert sand.

if you enjoyed this fic, please hit the reblog button on this post. comments are cool but not necessary -you can leave no tags, a keysmash, or even just ‘nice’ if you’d like! thanks for your support -arden <3

#glimpses #solasmance #dorian x trevelyan #solavellan #alistair x warden #cullen x warden #alistair x surana #cullen x surana #verse: the lion and the wolf #verse: confessions of a teacher's pet #verse: fire is her water #Verse: revolutionary #dwc #student x teacher #i worked on this ALL WEEK #enjoy it #take it awaaay

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princessvicky01 · 7 years

Text

Team Building

Fan fic prize for @elegance-and-power !

One off piece (approx. 3000 words) with her lovely mage OC Angelique and Cullen, of course! Thank you for following and trusting me with your OC!

SFW Lighthearted banter and fluff from bashful Cullen POV pre romance. I do love it when he’s flustered :p

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The note left on his desk had been hastily written and at first glance he wondered if it might be one of Sera’s pranks. Unless she’d mastered Inquisitor Fiona’s hand writing and stolen her seal however, that didn’t seem likely.

Cullen felt odd stepping out of his office in his plain attire. The distinct nip in the air is far less pleasant without his layers and his breath fogs on his brisk walk over the battlements. For whatever reason, perhaps simply because it was a Tuesday, the Inquisitor had called a ‘team building’ evening. The whole idea seemed perfectly adequate, until he’d continued reading the note to discover his attendance was a must and that he should dress casually.

Causal. He scoffs as he tugs at his linen shirt neck; he was the Inquisition’s Commander and should dress appropriately. Besides he feels decidedly more vulnerable without his armour. Exposed somehow. He’d worn it in one form or another for so many years that the freedom of moving without its weight in public felt somehow wrong.

Entering the hall, he can see he’s late and the drinking has already begun in earnest. The Inquisitor, her inner circle, Josephine and Leliana are all sat around one of the long tables, so are the chargers and a few other familiar faces from the tavern.

He surveys the scene from the doorway, drinking in the warmth and lively energy humming from the normally cold room. Gatherings like this always made him slightly uncomfortable and he shifts on the spot, not sure how to go about quietly slipping in with the throng and merriment.

A steady voice inside tells him this is pointless. They were clearly enjoying themselves without him and he had other, more important, things to do with his evening. He nods in silent agreement, grateful for his logic and accepting it without question as he turns to leave. He barely takes one step when there’s a lull in the melody of noise, and he catches her laugh.

Ears perked, he turns back, eyes flickering, searching the tables until he finds her, sat at the far end, closest to the main entrance. Angelique.

He can’t help but be pulled half a step towards her, drawn by the smile she’s desperately trying to hide behind her hand. Varric’s thick arm nudges her and she shakes her head while more laughter spills from her. Their conversation is lost to him over the general din but whatever it is seems to have her giggling like a schoolgirl.

A small smile spreads across his own lips at the sight of her, happy and flushed with merriment. The seat across from her is empty, but he quickly dismisses the notion of joining them. This really isn’t his thing. Although from what he knew of her, it likely wasn’t her’s either… and he would like to know more of her…

A small frown creases his brow as he pushes the temptation aside. She’s a mage, had been one of his charges, albeit a lifetime ago, and she’s stunningly beautiful, with long waves of dark hair and captivating grey eyes like none he’s ever seen… No, he mustn’t dwell on her beauty. Mustn’t dwell on her. On something he is unworthy to have.

Turning to leave he’s brought up short by a mabari, and not just any mabari, but her mabari. Tongue hanging out it wags its stump of a tail at him.

“Jack,” he greets politely before kneeling to pet it roughly. “Enjoying the festivities?”

“He wants you to stay,” Cole’s soft voice almost makes Cullen lurch out of his skin, heart soaring and fist reaching for a sword that isn’t there.

“He likes you,” offers Cole with a hopeful smile and big eyes gazing up from under his floppy hat.

Cullen shakes his head. He’s still not used to having, well, whatever Cole was, around and finds him a little unsettling. Although the boy had proven himself to be trustworthy, some old prejudices were hard to shake. “I’m sure I won’t be missed, besides I have important things I must attend to, like-“

He’s cut off by a booming bark from the hound who drops into a play bow before him.

“- I didn’t mean play with you,” he snorts with a light chuckle as the great lummox begins to bound around his feet as if it were a tiny pup.

“Commander! You’re late, but I suppose taking off all that armour and making sure your hair is pretty must take time,” Inquisitor Fiona’s teasing voice sounds from behind and he knows he has no chance of escape now.

“Ah, Inquisitor, yes… I was just finishing off some reports and-“

“Pfft,” she claps him on the arm and tugs lightly. “You’re here to have fun, not talk about the Inquisition. Now come on, let’s get you a drink.”

His lips twitch in smile. He supposed he could use a drink, a chance to unwind, it’s not like he took much time for himself. Before he knows what’s going on he’s being lead down the hall. A full tankard is handed to him from somewhere and he thanks the general direction it comes from as the Inquisitor drags him through the growing throng.

“Sit here for me, would you?” At the Inquisitor’s simple request, he nods and goes to sit. That’s when his eyes catch hers. He stops. Muscles freezing, still hunched, as his heart rushes up to lodge in his throat. Angelique. Dressed in the colours of the ocean she wears softest smile, her eyes glittering in the glow of so many torches, her glance darts away and she tugs some loose hair to wrap it round her finger.

“Are you practicing your squats Curly or planning on joining us?” Varric’s thick laugh makes him blink heavily as he’s drawn back to the room.

Yes. Of course. Sitting. Right.

Nodding again he finally sits opposite her. He doesn’t really have an excuse for his behaviour, not beyond the obvious truth; that he’d been transfixed by her beauty, so he chooses to remain silent on the matter and hope the dwarf will let it go.

“So, rumour has it, you two shared a dance at the Winter palace,” muses Varric with drink in hand and a cock of his brow across the table.

Cullen’s eyes narrow on him. “And where did you hear that?”

“Come on now Curly, you know I never reveal my sources!”

Cullen straightens in his chair, hand wrapped around his tankard, as he tries quickly to think of something plausible to say that won’t result in the creep of a blush up his neck.

“I told him,” Angelique voice quips up and draws his attention back to her. The creases in his brow loosen and fade as she looks to the table with a slight blush on her cheek.

“Oh,” glancing to the table himself he shifts to relax slightly. It wasn’t like it was a secret, but still, he’d rather the whole of Skyhold hadn’t heard about his failings on the dance floor. “Yes, well, Angelique was kind enough to try to teach me, it’s not like I’ve ever had much need for dancing-“

“I don’t know, dodging fire balls and ice shards can look a lot like some of those Orlesian dances, perhaps you’ve been holding out on us?” mocks Varric, humour and mead thickening his voice.

Chuckling lightly, Cullen shakes his head before taking a sip of his mead. Its drenched with sweet honey and instantly sends a pleasant hum through his chest which melts some of the stiffness from him. Seems he had needed a drink after all.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t use any of my magic to prompt it,” said Angelique, her smile growing broader as it lands back on him. Their eyes lock for a heartbeat and he just stares… pulled into their depths by something he can’t explain.

She’s right, it’s not magic. He’s experienced enough of that to know this is different. Related perhaps, but in a way he can’t explain, a way that makes his pulse quicken and his palms grow clammy even as his throat runs dry.

“Good to hear!” Varric’s loud tone shatters the look they share and brings Cullen back to focus on the dwarf. “Speaking of good things to hear, Ruffles has only gone and arranged another round of Wicked Grace,” Varric’s thick eyebrow arches once more at him. “You in?”

Now he gives a firm shake of his head before a small smirk tugs at his lips. “No. I’m afraid I’m not suitably dressed,” he motions to the lack of layers and shares in their light hearted chuckle.

“Suit yourself. Angelique, look after him for me would you? Make sure he actually, you know, loosens up a little,” Varric pats her on the shoulder as he stands to leave.

“I’ll try,” her reply is sweet and genuine which only adds to the warmth spreading in Cullen’s chest.

Suddenly Varric is gone and he realises they’ve been left alone. He glances down the long table, strangely enough the Inquisitor seems to have gathered everyone to cram at the other end for the game, forcing Varric to all but sit in Bull’s lap.

“I noticed it too,” Angelique voice is quiet, only for his ears, and he turns back to find her leant slightly forward eyeing the party. “And the Inquisitor keeps winking at me…”

“You think she’s done this on purpose?” he asks, brows slightly furrowed. He supposed it was possible, and the more he thinks about it the more plausible the prospect of being set up becomes. Angelique nods, some loose waves fall over her face, she’s quick to brush them back and glance away.

“Ah,” he takes a long swig of his drink, needing the courage if little else, plus buying him some time to think of what he should say.

He has noticed her shy glances, her unnecessary visits to his office…and he can’t deny he’s shown more interest in potions and tonics then he has ever before, just for an excuse to see her.

Although he’s still isn’t sure. It seems too good a thing; she is too good a thing.

The hard truth however is that he bitterly regretted not kissing her after their slow dance, her delicate frame in his hands, the way she’d looked up at him with the warmest of smiles. But he’d let fear rule him, clutch at his chest and pull him away as the music ended, all under the pretence that it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

“Do you think they know, we know?” she asks, bringing his focus back to here and now rather than his platitude of regrets and worries.

“Leliana probably does,” he cracks a smirk and glances to the woman, still concealed under her cowl and tossing coin into the fray with the rest.

Suddenly there’s a collective gasp and various disgusted tutting noises. Leaning back and peering down the walkway Cullen soon spies the cause. The mabari, Jack.

“I think your mabari has enjoyed the party a little too much...” he trails off as the dog proceeds to vomit in the central aisle, again.

Without waiting for an explanation Angelique is already on her feet, a blur of turquoise satin and dark locks as she rushes to the hound’s side. He swiftly follows suit but can’t prevent his eyes being drawn to the curves of her rear as she bends to comfort the creature.

“Gross! It smells like stinky Orlesian arses!” Sera laughs wildly and he notes how Josephine’s eyes suddenly shot open.

“The cheese boards!” Spinning the diplomat begins a little half run, half walk to the kitchen only to be halted by an officer with a sympathetic look and hand on her shoulder.

“Maybe we should leave,” Cullen speaks quietly as he crouches by Angelique, still stroking the mabari’s head as he looks up with sorrowful eyes. “Before he does anymore, damage.”

It’s too late and he’s sick once more making even the stoic Commander wrinkle his nose.

“Jack! You’re a bad dog. Bad, you know that frosting makes you sick,” Angelique attempts to scold the animal who proceeds to whine and hide his face under his huge bear like paw. She sighs heavily and glances up to Cullen.

“Those petit fours with the pink frosting are surprisingly moreish,” he offers in way of defence for the creature whose tail stump gives a light wag. His quip seems to have cheered her a little and she offers him a light thankful smile.

“Come on,” she shakes her head at the mutt and rises.

In the background Cullen hears the Ambassador gasp something about- ‘not the petite fours!’, and he promptly wraps his arms around the hound’s chest to helps lift him up.

“He didn’t mean too,” murmurs Cole, crouching next to the guilt-ridden dog. “But everyone was talking about how delicious it all was, he was so very hungry…”

“Maybe you should go help Josephine?” prompts Cullen, still trying to lift the mutt’s bulk and nodding in her direction as a list of ‘damages’ from the kitchen is brought over.

“Yes, its ruined, all ruined…” Cole mumbles already moving off absentmindedly.

Angelique sets about coaxing her faithful companion to her chambers, with Cullen acting as back stop, proving gentle pats of encouragement along the way as Jack plodded along like a condemned man. Before they reach her room however the dog stops and refuses to budge.

Running her hands through her hair Angelique sighs once again. “Will you see him to my chambers? I’m low on some of the herbs I need to help settle his stomach.”

“Of course,” Cullen nods as she walks off mumbling something and it makes him smile. A pathetic noise, akin to a whimper sounds from his feet and he too sighs. “Come on then,” crouching he helps heave the dog back up.

Despite his best efforts Jack remains firmly in a depressed sitting position. He didn’t want to be stuck in the same spot when she returned so when gentle coaxing didn’t work he changed tact and narrowed his eyes. “I know you can bloody well walk, now on your paws soldier!”

The dog looks up then reluctantly stands before setting down one hefty paw after the other.

“Sorry about that,” Cullen’s quick apology follows the miserable dog who gives a few lazy wags of his tail, leaving the Commander to wonder how much the animal actually understood.

They finally arrive at her chambers and no sooner is he in the door than Jack decides to lay down with an epic thud and stare up at him with remorseful eyes. Stepping over the great beast he kneels to pet him with sympathy.

The silence of the moment, the simple calming presence of the hound, its smooth coat against his skin makes him feel calmer than he has in weeks. That is until the scent of fragrant greenery reminds him where he.

He stands abruptly and glances around. Her room is lite by a low burning hearth, its desk and shelves are filled with herbs, potted and dry, along with books and potions. There’s a crisply made bed and a comfy reading chair by a full mirror with clothes scattered around it. Clearly, she had debated on what to wear and when he notices small clothes amongst the piles he decides he probably shouldn’t be in here. In a lady’s private chambers. In her private chambers…alone.

No sooner has the thought hit him than the door flies open with Angelique carrying bundles of elfroot, prophets laurel and other plants he can’t name. Hidden behind her mountain of herbs she trips on the dog to be sent stumbling into the room.

Greenery goes flying and instinct kicks in, driving Cullen forwards with arms out stretched. She collides with his chest as he catches her, causing further chaos as potent plants explode around them. The bundle of healing herbs ends up in her thick hair, flattened between them and covering the floor and dog alike with a wild windswept sprinkling of leaves and flowers.

Flustered, Angelique’s eyes travel up to meet his, a rosy blush ever growing on her cheeks.

His heart rate soars, his pulsing setting his nerves on fire at the sense of her pressed against the plane of his chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles quickly and attempts to step back, but she squeezes his arm.

“For catching me?” she asks with a tilt of her head, her hand still wrapped snuggly around his arm.

“Yes, I - I mean, no…Of course not. Not the catching…I would always catch you. For the, er,” heat scorches up the back of his neck, prickling his skin as it ran across his face. Maker’s breath why couldn’t he find his bloody words!

“I know you would,” she replied gently and he’s drawn to the sweet tone of it. He notices how she isn’t pulling away.

“Angelique…I…” his words fail him as they twist in his mind and never reach his tongue. She’s so beautiful up close, as stunning now as she had been at the Winter Palace, as she had been when he should’ve kissed her. When he’d lost his nerve, when he’d failed to show her how he felt.

Gently he picks a strand of elfroot from her hair, his hand lingering by her face, holding his breath as his thumb brushes over her cheek.

The way her eyes look up at him now, in the flicker of the dying fire, the way they hold his gaze, almost burning as she starts to squeeze his arm, rosy lips slightly parted…

Dipping forward his lips crash against hers. Suddenly he’s kissing her. Hot and filled with passion he can no longer contain as his tongue slips against hers. She’s kissing back and it’s all the permission he needs.

His hand wraps around the back of her head to pull her flush against him. Her own mouth exploring his, turning the kiss deep and sensual, as he’s flooded by her taste.

Breathless he lightly pulls his reddened lips away, releasing her so his hand can instead tug at the back of his collar as his eyes look off to the side. “Sorry…I shouldn’t have…I…”

“Yes, you should,” with that she smiles and tiptoes and up to softly kiss his scar. With a light wistful smile, lost to all but her in the near darkness, he returns the kiss.

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Comments, likes and reblogs are all appreciated!

#team building #cullen fan fic #cullen x angelique #fan fic prize #my writing #sfw #fluff #bashful cullen

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sinsbymanka · 4 years

Photo

Thank you so much @princessvicky01 for donating! I loved the opportunity to write Cullen pining over your lovely Annabel! And I always love writing Varric being snarky and awesome. Thank you!

I’m not longer accepting RAINN Commissions but you can see the ones that are already finished in this series on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Title: A Minx by Any Other Name Pairing: Cullen Rutherford/Female Inquisitor, Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford & Varric Tethras Rating: T Content Warnings: Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Varric offering advice Read on AO3

Like a natural disaster, sometimes the signs of the Inquisitor’s arrival appeared before Varric saw the woman herself.

First, all the sound seemed to fade out, sucked from the world itself. Then, just as suddenly, it erupted like a menagerie of chirping birds infested the courtyard instead of the finest and most boring Orlesian nobility.

Finally, Varric’s whole operation came to a screeching halt. The quill of the scribe on his left went suspiciously silent. The solicitor over his shoulder stopped blathering. Varric held out another sealed message to the messenger on his right but it remained in his hand instead of being whisked away.

He waited one heartbeat. Another. Then he lifted his eyes to take in the spectacle himself.

He’d always preferred his ladies closer to his size, and highly unobtainable regardless, but he could see the attraction.

Annabel Trevelyan had a presence. He watched with a biographer’s critical gaze as the Inquisitor shared a smile with one of the gardeners, offered her own crisp salute and a cheerful grin to a soldier, then let out a peal of laughter at some private joke Dorian made at her elbow.

It wasn’t like Varric was going to actually write a book about the Inquisitor. He’d only done the first one about Hawke because… well, it was Hawke. Minx didn’t need an author to explain her life or her actions when everything she touched turned to gold.

Except maybe, someday, she would. And if she did, who better to capture her than one of the people at her side through thick and thin? Through horrible forest and equally desolate deserts?

Who better to write her than a friend?

If that was the exact argument he used to convince himself to write Hawke’s story, he’d never admit it.

Instead, he coughed politely until his messenger turned their attention back to him. Varric waved the message in his hand, lips twitching.

“Sorry messere.” The kid said, flushing pink. “Will there be anything else?”

“We’ll call it a morning.” Varric offered, waving away the other two members of his crew. They dissipated in a moment, leaving Varric alone with his thoughts and observations.

And with no distractions, he was able to notice all the brilliant details of the courtyard. The flock of Chantry sisters knitting in a corner. One of Nightingale’s spies slipping along the gabled rooftops. The Commander of the Inquisition standing, slack jawed, in the door of the chapel with his eyes fixed on their Inquisitor.

Just what the story he definitely wasn’t going to write needed. A romance.

Varric closed his ledger and stood, ambling over to the human. “Nice day for a morning, isn’t it?”

His joke flew right over Curly’s head. The human wrenched his gaze from Annabel. “Varric. Yes. Good morning.”

“Crazy idea. But have you ever considered… talking to her?”

“To who?”

The blushing gave Curly away. Varric fought to keep his expression from outright smugness, settling for a mild amount of self-satisfaction instead.

“Minx.” Varric jerked his head towards the Inquisitor’s retreating form. “I assumed you’d met in all those fancy war meetings, my mistake. Should I introduce you?”

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen rubbed at the splotchy red creeping up his neck. “I speak to the Inquisitor all the time.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.” Varric could have laughed. “Too much talking.”

“The Inquisitor is a lady of noble birth. I would not sully her reputation.” Cullen sounded as prim as his old Orlesian tutor, a stern grande dame of impeccable pedigree.

Humans.

“She’s always excited to get your letters in the field.” Varric offered.

Tension bled out of Cullen’s shoulders. His eyes sparked with something like hope. “My reports?”

“Not sure why.” Varric let out a long suffering sigh. “Grabs them right out of the scout’s hands. And she’s got a Fine Dwarven Storyteller right there, but she devours your reports.”

Which were dry as dry could be, in Varric’s opinion.

“She is dedicated. To the Inquisition.” Cullen replied smoothly.

“Sparkler said he’s caught her reading them at night. In her tent.”

Cullen nearly choked on his own saliva. Varric had forgotten how much fun meddling was.

“In fact. You should take her up to that big desk sometime where you write them. Explain your storytelling technique. I’m sure she’d be enthralled.”

“She visits my office often.” Cullen murmured forlornly, watching Annabel vanish from view back into the castle.

“Oh? Does she now? Should I be taking notes?”

“On business!” Cullen protested quickly, glaring down at Varric.

Varric didn’t return the heat of his irritation. Instead he offered a small, sad smile of his own. “Maybe consider making those visits a bit less business like, Curly. Before the world actually ends?”

Varric knew that flash of fear in the other man’s eyes well. “I can’t. I shouldn’t. She is...”

Varric didn’t bother to contradict the Commander. He knew better than most that ‘I shouldn’t’ meant less than nothing in affairs of the heart.

“She’s waiting for you to make a move, Curly.” Varric advised. “And she’s not a woman I’d keep waiting long.”

He clapped the stunned human on the elbow before ambling away, whistling an old song under his breath. He needed his journal and a quiet place to write.

Inspiration had struck regardless of his thoughts on the matter.

#manka's friend fiction #charity fundraiser #cullen rutherford #female inquisitor #female trevelyan #varric tethras

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irlaimsaaralath · 7 years

Note

Smutty prompt: number 20 in the first column for whatever pairing you would like :)

Prompt was: Kiss me everywhere. Thanks for asking!

She opened the door from the bath, and a pale plume of fragranced steam wafted out and quickly dissipated. The room was dim, the night pouring in through the balcony doors, untainted as the new moon hid from the darkness. A fire burned in the hearth, and the flames sent shadows dancing across the far wall as she took a step further. “Solas?” she called as she knotted the belt of her robe loosely. The looming outline of the four poster bed fell about her, silhouetted by the fire, and left her with little sense of anything beyond the fire’s light. Her feet turned toward the fireplace, and she was nearly at the foot of the bed when she detected movement out of the corner of her eye.

A golden swirl of magefire sprang to life in Solas’s palm, and she let out a startled squeal as her body snapped around to face him. “Creators! Why are you sitting in the dark?” A swish of his fingers passed the flame to the nearby oil lamp, and the flickering light made sharp lines of his features. A vague smile hung on his lips, and his hands rested in his lap, fingers threaded. He was bare to the waist and had one leg lazily crooked and resting on her desktop. “Waiting patiently on you,” he replied, unmoving and maintaining his enigmatic expression. The small fright had quickened her heartbeat and brought a warm flush to her cheeks.

She chuckled quietly as she padded over to him, her fingers walking as light as whispers up his leather-clad calf as she stood between his legs. “Am I late for an appointment? I hadn't realized I had a firm engagement this evening,” she murmured as her hand slipped up his thigh to settle between his legs. His eyes never strayed from hers, his smile never wavered, and he languished under her touch as if the attention was something he was owed as if in tribute. “I noticed you were enjoying quite an animated conversation with Cassandra this afternoon…over that piece of tripe she and Varric call literature,” he commented, seemingly off-hand as his posture and tone of voice remained unchanging.

Her touch faltered, but quickly recovered as she massaged the heel of her hand against his growing arousal, and her fingers tickled at the skin above his beltline. “It was a different one, actually. Varric started another romance serial, I think, purely so he’d have something to hold over her head.” Solas chuckled, a throaty rumble of a sound, then said, “Need I worry that he will have it to hold over your head as well? You seemed very enthralled.” Her lips parted on silence, and her eyes widened as if the suggestion was abhorrent. It took her a few moments to find her voice, then she professed, “Of course not, vhenan. Nothing on a page could compare to what you offer.” She held his gaze, though a curl of apprehension tightened in the pit of her stomach. Had she known he was watching, she would have never have glanced at it. A thin brow arched over a grey-blue eye as he murmured a Mmhm under his breath.

As quick as lightning, he caught her hand and bent it gently back to remove her touch. Uncertain of her misstep, her eyes darted up to his as he was lowering his propped leg from the desktop. “Should we test that?” he asked as he placed her hand by her side and stood, casually brushing his body against hers as he rose. The draw of his body on hers sent a tremor through her and summoned a quickening of her breath. She adopted a repentant posture, eyes averted and head bowed, as she shook her head. “No?” he mused as he traced the curve of her cheek to her jaw and thumbed her bottom lip for a moment before pressing the digit into her mouth. Readily, she accepted the intrusion, and her lids fell over her eyes as she laved her tongue across his skin. The sound that escaped her wasn’t one she could stifle as her mind had drifted to what she would rather have in her mouth. “I think we should. I would like for you to tell me what it was that held your attention so,” he said, the warm slip of her tongue cradling his thumb as she sucked firmly.

Tugging his thumb from her mouth, he roughed the tip over her lips, leaving them puckered and moist. Pink and hungry, her tongue darted out to chase his thumb, but she was soon left bereft, her mouth chilled by her quick draw of breath. “I want to know if there is something more I can do to please you.” He glanced downward then, and the hand that had been on her lips sank to trace the deep ‘v’ neck of her robe through the valley between her breasts. His touch ignited a spark at the base of her skull that ran along her spine to her toes. “I-,” she began, but halted as he slipped his hands under the collar of her robe then over her shoulders, easing the fabric down her arms. It hung limply from her bent elbows, barely clinging to the swell of her breasts.

“Hm?” he encouraged, coasting a palm over one mound, then the other, with the slick slide of the satin creating the most delicious friction. Her lips fell open in a barely audible moan as she arched her back to press into his touch. A tendril of warmth wriggled through her chest and into her stomach. “Yes...as you like,” she managed to breathe out, her desire to feel his skin on hers stealing the volume of her voice. The rolling of her shoulders hastened the fall of her robe, and it slid rest of the way down her arms. She freed herself from the fabric, and the satin hung from the flare of her hips. Solas wasted no time occupying his hands with her newly revealed flesh, alternately massaging and circling the peaks of her breasts. “I should very much like,” he confessed before taking her hand and leading her to the end of the bed.

With his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face the bed and nudged her closer with the pressure of his body at her back. When her knees grazed the coverlet, he stopped her by settling his grip on her waist. “Now,” he said against her ear as his touch ghosted over her ribs and up, lifting her arms to guide her hands to the tall posts of the bed. His fingers closed around hers, fixing her grip in place, “I want you to hold there and not let go. Understand?” She tilted her chin over her shoulder, barely catching sight of him in the corner of her eye before she said, “Yes.” The warmth of his bare chest against her back made her stiffen slightly, then immediately uncoil as he brushed his mouth along the slope of her ear. Her eyes fluttered.

“Face forward, ma vhenan” he paused as he drug his hands over her stomach to cradle the weight of her breasts from beneath. He only spoke again when she had obeyed, his breath a warm tickle in her ear. “Now, tell me. What was so interesting in that drabble?” he commanded gently, resting his chin on her shoulder as he tweaked the rosy buds between his fingers. There was a hum behind her lips as she shifted under his hands, then, “There was, ah-,” as her back arched into his hands. “There were two...two chapters she showed me,” she admitted, resisting the urge to glance back at him. “I see. Let us start at the beginning, then,” he said, pinching and pulling roughly at her breasts. “How did it start?” The plying of his hands made her toes curl, each twist of his fingers bringing a stinging heat to her skin. “She asked her lover to kiss her,” she all but blurted out, as she flexed her grip on the bed posts. A sound of acknowledgement from Solas caressed her ear, and his hands shifted to flatten against her taut stomach.

“Where?” he inquired, pressing the blunt tips of his fingers into her skin as they inched their way to her waist. Her stomach hollowed when she sucked in a breath, and she ground her backside against him. Bruisingly, he clutched at her waist and drug his teeth across her bare shoulder, “None of that. Where did she asked to be kissed?” Her exhale was a hiss between clenched teeth, and she tensed with the effort not to move. “Everywhere,” she said in a hush, her voice scarcely a whisper. Easing his grip, Solas traced her waistline, pausing on the knot in the sash of her robe to loosen it. The cool slip of the satin slid over her hips and thighs before he caught it and tossed the garment aside.

The nudge of his knee against the back of her thighs opened her legs, and the tap of his foot between hers spread them. Though a fire crackled mere steps away, a chill prickled over her bared skin, chasing goosebumps long her arms. She shivered, though it was more than the cold; the warmth in her chest had sunk, suffusing her belly and teasing lower as she stood splayed before him. Though she never relished the idea of displeasing him, she adored the penance he demanded. His head lowered, bringing his mouth to the skin of her shoulder, where he placed a lingering kiss to sooth the skin he’d earlier punished.

“You listen so well, vhenan. So beautifully,” he praised, hands riding the slope of her hips and around to cup her buttocks firmly. His words brought a blush to her skin, a warmth she could feel in the tips of her ears and across her chest. “'Ma serannas,” was her response, and his voice was a warm chuckle in her ear when he spoke, “‘Ma neral. But, unless I ask, you will speak no further.” Her lips parted as if to protest, but the sound was clipped into little more than a whine when she fixed her mouth closed. “Of course,” he began as he went to a knee behind her, his touch outlining the contours of her body along the way. “If you feel the need to moan, you may certainly do that,” was his concession as he inched a hand up her inner thigh as he placed a tender kiss on her hip.

“I am not completely without mercy, after all,” he breathed on her skin as he gripped her thigh and began the mapping of her body with his lips.

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mistralrunner · 7 years

Text

Trespasser Liveblog, Part 1: Ruins and Reunions

I decided to post my reactions to playing Trespasser with my Inquisitor, Menel Lavellan, cause why not. I watched @inner-muse play Trespasser with her Trevelyan when the DLC first came out, so I’m spoiled for a good portion of it, but considering I forgot things, didn’t read many of the codices, didn’t have the context at the time to notice some details, and my Inquisitor is rather different from hers, I’m hoping to be surprised by some things.

The game starts out swimmingly as Menel Lavellan’s face isn’t fully loaded and looks derpy for the opening scene. I reloaded.

Negotiations at Halamshiral are always a kind of punch in the face for a Lavellan

I’m so powerful and yet I still can’t get a Dalish homeland.

The march parade thing is two competent diplomats and Cullen, but his whining is very useful for exposition and probably getting the general Inquisition member pov.

Ahh the theme. Ahh the anchor. It’s really happening.

Mother Giselle: The Dales are finally recovering Menel: *knows he should be happy the shemlen aren’t suffering and somewhat is but considering their homes are on land stolen from his people* *is polite and gracious anyway*

I am so happy I get to reference that conversation about the Inquisition putting down their swords in game yesss. I have a fondness for that sort of thing.

Varric you are the best for negotiating a deal with Wycome’s council, especially with cities like Starkhaven around.

I’m honestly surprised they referenced Clan Lavellan’s fate since Inquisition did such a poor job of tying in character origins. Happy, but surprised.

All hail Viscount Varric he who does not wear the silly pointy crown

I wonder what happens if your Hawke took the Viscount position in DA2 though. Cause Tamara Hawke avoided that route like the plague.

I hesitated re: where to go next and then headed over to the tavern cause new songs. Who are these diplomats that I should probably be speaking to first?

I do not regret making Cole more human cause it made sense to Menel and also fit with Menel’s character arc but I do not ship this ship. It came out of nowhere and the implication that romance is a part of becoming human kind of rubs me the wrong way. It’d be nicer if they were just buddies roaming about making people happy. At least Menel’s reaction mirrored how weirded out I am.

Hehehe Menel you nerd distracting Bull are you even taking this seriously. The Veil as a vibration repelling the Fade part is interesting though given what’s to come.

I just realized Dalish and Menel have the same hairstyle. Huh.

Serraaaaa <3

Menel is no Jenny but he is there to be a friend always.

Sera’s journal is a mix of humor and feels as always. I do wonder how obvious Menel’s pain is to the general populace, and not just observant people like Sera. I headcanon Vivienne and her tailor fashioned formal attire for Menel that cloaked the glowing to some extent.

Josieeee my diplomat buddy

I’m so happy she takes a break and that she considers me enough of a friend to invite me.

Glad to see it’s still Leliana despite the silly new hat. Wanting to borrow Scout Harding to find more nugs, and not hiring anyone without first observing them in a room of baby nugs.

Why is there floating cheese?

It’s just hanging in the air near the palace entrance.

For context I should mention I headcanon that Menel was already in talks with Ferelden about disbanding the Inquisition and relocating members and Ferelden is covering it up by acting buffoonishly belligerent cause the Orlesians will absolutely believe that. Of course things are still tenuous cause the Inquisition has power and Ferelden is probably concerned they’ll be betrayed.

Arl Teagan: Redcliffe remembers its savior. Me: Which one?

Aww I can read Alistair’s letter in his voice wait what how dare you

"Someone, presumably His Majesty, has drawn a stick figure weighed down by an oversized crown at the bottom of the page."

I wonder if that letter is different with a warden romanced Alistair, since technically my canon is that @inner-muse’s Cousland and my Mahariel were wardens together and her Cousland becomes queen.

Oooh the landscape is so pretty.

And that makes Menel sad. Cause Halamshiral.

Fitting the journey ends here at the place named for journey’s end

DORIAN

PFFT CYRIL'S THE NEW DUKE OF CHATEAU HAINE PFFT

All references to Chateau Haine amuse me.

Ugh I really hate the reuniting Briala and Celene option. All the options stink but maybe I should have gone for the triumvirate instead. It was out of character to put a warmonger like Gaspard in power for Menel and I headcanoned that the romantically reuniting dialogue didn’t really happen and it was more like Menel and Briala cornered Celene politically but ugh. The commentary is disgusting even without what I know of The Masked Empire and is hard to listen to.

A fountain with Orlesian lions is such a great commemoration for a Dalish elf

Leliana's right next to a chessboard wow

That Leliana conversation was so good on so many levels. Bonus points for the hand focus

"You and I have come so far through the darkness together. It is time for us both to live in the light."

Thanks Leliana I didn't expect these feels

Now can you please please repeat this speech to Rhovan Mahariel

Pupppyy

I'm still angry we didn’t get a mabari. Menel respects the mabari's intelligence and finds it typical of Orlais to abandon one but doesn't understand my resentment

The line about how the mabari should know where they came from is so Dalish

I forgot the dog treats gave you a constitution bonus!!

My initial reaction to said bonus was tied between “Scary mabari magic” and “Honestly Menel will need it”

Dorian needs a hug

Aaaaah creepy purple smoke things even before the Eluvians that spooked me

Okay there are chessboards everywhere. Even more fitting considering who we’re seeing at the end of this DLC.

Spa day with Vivienne! Admittedly I headcanon Menel has full body vallaslin so seeing him in the swimsuit is weird. .

Hehe Sera in the background steals the show.

Glad to know Vivienne still ships Cassandra and Menel

Love how Leliana has her own guard, nice helmets too, oh they still have the same weird face belt thing as Sebastian

I had a weird feeling about that guy and he vanished right in front of me in creepy smoke like the last one

Saved talking to Cassandra for last. I know what Varric tells her in the case of other romances, but would he really lie about a proposal in this case?

Probably

Casssaaaandraaa she’s so adorable when startled and would probably kill me if I said so

Seriously Varric. Not surprised at all, but seriously.

The awkward silence was excellent.

I really like how this was handled. Cause this is not the right time, they’re busy with their respective duties, Menel is increasingly concerned about the state of his hand, and an Orlesian council isn’t really that romantic to either of them, and they both recognize it and accept that.

But her line about not even the Maker can keep her away coming from Cassandra

You know, Varric technically wasn’t wrong. Cause a quasi proposal did kind of happen in the sense of a conversation about are you okay with a proposal sometime in the future

Okay meeting time, which is clearly not going to be interrupted.

Really Teagan those comments about the wardens were unnecessary

The exile meant that there were very few wardens to combat the Blight, which by the way nearly destroyed your country about a decade ago as opposed Sophia Dryden messing things up hundreds of years ago.

I get we have a tenuous secret arrangement but slandering the wardens is not the way to cover it up.

I kind of just want the Hero of Ferelden to barge into the Council cause that would be hilarious.

Also Menel seriously in pain and struggling to cover it up during these tense talks and Josie's look of concern

Nice, this time they actually have guards blocking off the area rather than just no one noticing the obvious bloodstains in the Winter Palace

Eluvian!

*Rhovan Mahariel’s furious screeching in the distance*

*touches the glass and it makes a fun splooshing noise and pretty light effects* *touches again*

Rhovan “DON’T TOUCH THE GLASS TAMLEN” Mahariel is so done right now

The Crossroads is so much prettier as an elf all the colorsss

I don't have to fight the guardian spirits I am so happy. I could only parse some of the elvish but I feel like it’s cheating to look up an official translation if there is one?

We can't imagine why the Qunari think the Inquisition is in cahoots with Fen'Harel it can't possibly be because the Inquisitor talked to the spirit guardians activated by an agent of Fen'Harel and they attacked the Qunari but let the Inquisitor pass

Huh Vivienne is the first to suggest the Fen'Harel as the deceiver thing is propaganda, fitting considering she knows courts

Constant glowingggg Anchor yes

Sera: The Dalish. Are going. To shit themselves. Menel, a Dalish: ...

Cullen shut up Josie's job is important

I'm so sorry Josie. Our plan is falling apart and I'm not helping. You’re so talented but you should not be carrying this weight alone.

Where is the Tirashan where elves like Sentinels supposedly are

I forgot how much I love Cole’s cryptic lyrical statements. All the alliteration makes me happy.

“Your hand hurts. A heartbeat, not yours, hammering the beat of a song in its final verse. I’m sorry.”

“The spirits have fled, flying, fluttering, fast to the farthest Fade. They’re afraid of the Veil tearing again. ”

Also not concerning at all, nope.

Glad to see Sera still ships Menel and Cassandra, even if her humor is admittedly crude.

"Elf-loovians" pfft

Sera: Are you all right with it? The...Creators? Menel: I don't think I am, Sera. Sera: I...don't know words that fix things. But you have friends. We're real. Please remember that.

Excuse me as I cry

Aaaah Sera says the Jenny near Wycome says my clan is doing well aaaaah

Eluvian, part II!

I already know it’s the Deep Roads, so looks like I’m bringing Varric along!

I am really intrigued by this Dalish elf writing these notebooks, and also the fact that there was another misplaced Dalish in Kirkwall besides Merrill and Feynriel’s mother. Admittedly Merrill didn’t really engage much with the alienage community until much later.

I really do appreciate the Qunari ingenuity in finding people who know things and extracting information and then building upon it. The independence and unwillingness to cooperate with anything they don’t control not so much.

Yeah the Fen'Harel and Mythal in cahoots thing is unnerving to Menel. Also it’s been two years and the Well of Sorrows failed to mention anything about that until now? And elfy ruins underground feels so wrong.

#running plays trespasser #Menel Lavellan

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pikapeppa · 5 years

Text

Fenris/f!Hawke smut: Pillow

Chapter 25 of my and @schoute‘s pirate AU Where The Winds Of Fortune Take Me is up on AO3! Read on AO3 instead; ~6200 words.

In which... okay, fine, I just wanted to write some smut from Rynne’s POV. SHE NEEDS A TURN. It was smut week for Pikapeppa, guys, don’t judge me ok.

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

- RYNNE -

Rynne stepped out of the crew’s quarters and onto the sunshine-drenched deck. She took a deep and happy breath before setting off toward the officers’ quarters.

She wasn’t due to meet Fenris for their usual sparring session for another half-hour, but she’d finished her morning lessons with Anders a little earlier than usual, and… well, quite frankly, she couldn’t wait for another half hour to see Fenris again.

Not that she’d been away from him for long. The few hours she’d just spent in the infirmary was the only time they’d been apart since she’d gone to his cabin yesterday evening. She’d even spent the night in his quarters – not on purpose, necessarily, since she couldn’t quite recall when their blissful night of post-coital conversation and kissing had blended into sleep. But when Rynne woke up this morning, it was to find Fenris sitting up at the head of the bed and watching her with that soft and serious look on his face.

And then he smiled at her. A smile on his gorgeous face – a face that was so often creased with seriousness, or perhaps lifted slightly with a smirk if he was in a sarcastic mood, but which she’d hardly ever seen in such a restful, relaxed state of peace. And with that smile, Rynne’s sleep-hazed mind was filled with a happy sort of disbelief: this wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t one of her fondly detailed fantasies. She was in Fenris’s bed, and the look on his face couldn’t be more clear: he was happy she was there.

She smiled stupidly to herself as she made her way across the deck. The handful of crew who were milling around smiled at her as she passed them, and she threw kisses to them as she hurried along.

“Woah! Careful there, Hawke!”

Rynne squeaked in surprise. Varric was standing in front of her with a pile of parchment in his hands, and she’d just barely managed to avoid running straight into him.

She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Varric, I’m so sorry!” she gasped. “How terribly rude of me, almost slamming face-first into my favourite author…” She batted her eyelashes playfully.

Varric chuckled and patted her elbow. “All right, all right, no over-the-top flattery needed. You’re forgiven for almost knocking me out.”

She widened her eyes and pressed one hand to her chest. “Me? Over-the top? I would never! You know you’re truly my favourite author.” She peered nosily at the pile of pages in his hands. “That wouldn’t happen to be a new manuscript, would it?”

He smirked. “It might be. How much would you pay to get a preview?”

She sighed dramatically. “Sadly, I haven’t any coin. But if you’ll accept a poor girl’s pleading…”

Varric’s smirk melted into surprise. “Really? I thought Carver had left you a whole pouch of coin in that, er, care package he sent.”

“He did,” Rynne said. “But I spent it all.”

Varric’s eyebrows shot up. “You did? Seriously? On what?”

“An unwise gamble,” she said casually. It wasn’t her place to share what had happened with Fenris and Varania. And besides, it wasn’t a lie, not really.

Varric frowned. “That was a lot of coin, Hawke. You sure you didn’t get ripped off?”

She beamed at him. “Oh Varric, are you worried about little old me?”

“A bit, yeah,” he said. “Even with that wicked scar on your head, you’ve still got this whole doe-eyed thing going on.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry. It was a fair gamble, really. And Fenris was with me, so no one was going to try any funny business.”

Varric studied her worriedly for a moment longer, then shrugged. “If you say so. Listen though, if you did want a preview, I’d be willing to give you a sneak peek. There’s a romance scene in the chapter I just drafted.”

Rynne gasped. “Wait. Are you asking me to proofread?” she said excitedly.

He shrugged again. “I might be. A second set of eyes never hurts. Daisy usually helps me out, but she just left for Afsaana.”

Rynne nibbled her lip. The offer to proofread a romance scene was very tempting, and it usually would have drawn her undivided interest. But the lure of Fenris’s cabin was far too strong.

She squeezed Varric’s shoulder. “You’re too sweet to me. But maybe later?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Since when do you turn down a chance to read smut?”

Since I can finally get some real smut of my own, she thought happily. And with that thought, a fresh rush of anticipation made her heart flip. She might be going to meet with Fenris for their routine combat training, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t practice a certain something else afterwards. If he was willing, of course.

She couldn’t say that to Varric, though, much as she might want to. Rynne would happily announce her and Fenris’s fledgling relationship from the crow’s nest if she could, but Fenris was considerably more private than she.

“Since I have a training session with a certain handsome broody elf,” she said instead. “I’ll see you later!” She dropped a quick kiss on Varric’s head, then skipped off toward the officer’s quarters. A moment later, she was eagerly knocking on Fenris’s door.

He opened the door. “Hawke,” he said. “You’re early.”

Maker save her, he was smiling. A small smile, perhaps, but it was genuine and warm, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinning back at him like an idiot.

He stepped back to let her in, and she tilted her head curiously as she entered his cabin. “You don’t want to go out onto the deck?” she asked. They’d only ever trained in his cabin that one time – the time he’d kissed her and then turned her down, but she wouldn’t think about that – and even then, they’d only trained in here because it was raining.

“Not today,” he said. He lifted his left arm slightly. “I thought perhaps, with this wound…” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You asked me to treat it with care. If we remain here, you could monitor my movements more easily.”

She widened her eyes. “Wait. You’re going to follow my medical recommendations? None of your usual ‘Don’t fuss, Hawke. I have fought with worse’ manly-man talk?”

He huffed and looked away. “You speak as though I would never credit your advice.”

She laughed and took a step closer to him. “No, I don’t mean that. I’m just surprised,” she said. “You usually just keep on going even when you’re wounded. What changed your mind?”

He shrugged. “This wound is larger than the average scratch. It’s… restricting my movement.”

Rynne’s gaze darted to his face, and her belly bloomed with excitement. His words sounded matter-of-fact, but there was a certain quirk to his eyebrows that she really liked.

She fought to hide her smile and batted her eyelashes instead. “What kind of movement do you mean?” she said coyly.

He huffed again and gave her a chiding smirk. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually,” she said innocently. “Maybe you should show me.” She slid a heated gaze along the length of his body.

He shook his head wryly, then took a sudden step toward her.

Rynne inhaled sharply, then gasped again as Fenris took another step closer. Two heartbeats later, she was crowded between his body and the wall, and the rush of excitement filling her chest was so acute that she could barely breathe.

Fenris leaned in close to her, but not quite close enough to touch, and Rynne fought to drag some air into her lungs, but it only served to heighten her distraction: she could smell him, that special heated scent of his skin, and the sudden buzz of anticipation between her legs was so preoccupying that she couldn’t think.

He leaned even closer and brushed his lips to her ear. “Maybe you should collect your wits, Hawke,” he murmured. “You came here to train, didn’t you?”

She swallowed hard and tried to breathe normally, but… for fuck’s sake, she was panting already, and he hadn’t touched her yet. “There are lots of things I need training in,” she said faintly. She arched her spine to try and brush her chest to his.

He took a small step back. “None more so than survival,” he told her, and he pulled a practice dagger from his belt and handed it to her.

She dumbly took the dagger, then watched with a rush of disappointment as he stepped away. “You’re not serious,” she complained.

“I am,” he said. “I take your weapons training very seriously. This is a good opportunity for me as well.”

“How?” she said plaintively.

“I’ll defend myself using only my right arm,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re purposely handicapping yourself?”

“Yes,” he said. “As a training exercise.” He took a few steps back from her and settled into a ready stance with his left arm tucked against his side.

She stared at him wordlessly for a moment. Her breathing was uneven and rough, and she could feel the desire pooling between her legs. Yet Fenris was just standing there as casual as you please, looking for all the world like Rynne wasn’t melting from the inside out.

But the longer she looked at him, the more she realized that he wasn’t as calm as he seemed. His expression was more intense than usual, and his fingers were moving slightly as he waited for her to move – a slight movement, almost like a nervous habit, even though he was usually stock-still until she attacked. And the heavy rise and fall of his chest…

He wanted to test her discipline, did he? Well, two could play at that game.

She smiled slowly at him and twirled the dagger. “Showing off, hmm? Are you trying to seduce me?”

He smirked. “Come, Hawke. Attack me.”

She slowly licked her lower lip. When his gaze fell to her mouth, she lunged at him and stabbed toward the right side of his chest.

He dodged aside and snatched her dagger-holding hand. He dragged her forward and tripped her over his foot, and a moment later, she was lying flat on her back while Fenris crouched over her with the practice dagger in hand.

“You attacked my strong side,” he said.

She drew a shaky breath. “Yes? And?”

He gave her a chiding look and sat back on his heels. “You know why that is wrong. You ought to attack my vulnerable points. If I was an enemy–”

“You’re not an enemy,” she said. “You’re the ridiculously handsome man whose hands I want on my body.” She stretched slowly on the threadbare carpet.

Exactly as she’d hoped, his gaze dropped to her chest as she lifted it toward him. Then he scowled. “You… you need to concentrate. If I were your enemy, you would be dead.”

She pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Good thing you’re my lover, then.”

His eyes widened for a moment. Then he rubbed his mouth, and Rynne grinned; his ears were turning pink, and his hand wasn’t quick enough to hide his smile.

“Fasta vass,” he muttered. “You are irrepressible.”

“Thank you!” she chirped. “What a sweet thing to say.”

He snorted, then stood up and pulled her to her feet. “We go again,” he said, and he handed her the practice dagger. “Attack my left side this time.”

She tutted. “Come now, Fenris. I can’t just do as you say. Where’s the element of surprise?”

He gave her an impatient look. “Hawke, the longer you delay–”

She lunged at his left side.

His eyebrows shot up as he twisted away, but Rynne had already changed direction to slash at his right side instead. Fenris was forced to step hastily away from her feint, but a moment later he was in control again: when Rynne rushed him, he managed somehow to band his right arm around both her body and her arms before dragging her back against his chest.

She breathed hard, then stopped breathing altogether: his lips were grazing her ear. “You should be trying to strike me with the back of your skull,” he murmured.

She swallowed hard. “Are you quite insane?” she retorted breathlessly. “I’m not actually going to bash you in the face with my head. I’m rather fond of your face, you know.”

“You should try,” he told her. “You will only improve if you make an attempt.”

“What if I try a different tactic instead?” she suggested. Abruptly she pressed her bottom back toward his crotch.

Fenris grunted against her ear, and Rynne couldn’t decide whether the sound of his surprise or the hardness of his cock against her ass was more satisfying. Then he gently nipped her ear with his teeth.

She gasped with surprise and pleasure and almost missed his words. “This is not a tactic you need practice in,” he rasped.

She strained back toward him, then whimpered in frustration as he moved his pelvis away from her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she said distractedly.

“You are a beautiful woman, Hawke,” he said quietly. “I have seen you use your allure to your advantage in a fight. It’s a… resourceful tactic.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder. “So you do think I’m beautiful, then?” she said cheekily.

“You know I do,” he replied.

She paused in her restless twisting. She’d asked him this frivolous question multiple times and always in jest, but he’d never answered her directly before. He’d always prevaricated in some way, throwing the question back at her or making some sardonic comment instead. He’d never openly admitted before to thinking she was beautiful.

She stared at him over her shoulder. His face was serious and free of guile, and somehow even after everything that had transpired last night, part of her mind was still expecting him to scoff or deny the wonderful heartfelt things he’d said. To hear him telling her so openly that he found her alluring…

A pang of affection and relief plucked at something tender in her chest. Suddenly Rynne was done with this veneer of training, and it wasn’t just her impatient libido talking; it was far more than that. She was hopelessly in love with Fenris, and she desperately wanted to drop this combat-induced distance and just be with him.

She leaned back into his chest and tilted her head back. “Kiss me, then. If I’m so appealing.”

He didn’t reply, but his breath was warm as it ghosted across her lips. She shivered happily and arched her spine to press back against him again. “Please,” she panted. “Fenris, pl–”

He kissed her suddenly, sealing her lips and stealing her words and her breath. He released her from his captive hold and slid his hand up over her torso instead, and when he curved his palm around the front her throat in a tender caress, she whimpered helplessly into his mouth. His tongue was stroking hers, and the fingers of his other hand were sliding down over the tremulous tension of her belly and unbuttoning her trousers…

Yes, she thought eagerly as his fingers slipped into her smalls. Yes yes yes. When his fingers slid down past her curls to dip into her cleft, it felt so fucking good that her thoughts fled her mind for a moment.

He exhaled hard against her ear, sending a ripple of delicious goosebumps down her spine. “Fasta vass, Hawke…”

“I know,” she whimpered. She knew exactly what was driving him to distraction: she was completely wet with want, so much so that she could feel it seeping through her smalls. Her only surprise was that he was surprised at how aroused she was.

She turned her head to smile up at him. “You can’t really be shocked by this,” she panted. “You know how much I– f-fuck!” She broke off with a gasp. His fingers were circling the tiny bud between her legs, and the rush of pleasure was so sharp and dizzying that she lost her breath.

His breathing, on the other hand, was ragged and hot against her cheek, and Rynne couldn’t help herself: she impatiently bucked her hips toward his hand. He’d said to be patient last night, to slow down and move in time with him, but… Maker’s balls, sparring-turned-sex was one of the starring scenarios in her nightly fantasies, and to have it coming true now…

This was better than a fantasy coming to life, though, because her fantasies were soft and scattered images. This current situation was no soft and blurry moment captured by her half-dreaming mind. Everything about this moment was crystal clear: the plain wooden wall that her unseeing eyes had landed on, and the harshness of his breath against her ear, and the heat of his touch – fuck, the heat of it all: his warm fingers at her throat and between her legs and his semi-bare chest bleeding its heat through her shirt… All of it was clear and sharp and real, and that reality was far more appealing than even the most lovingly crafted daydream.

She twisted her hips fitfully and gripped his hand that was curved around her throat. He immediately released her neck and slid his palm down over her chest, and Rynne mewled with even greater impatience: she wanted his hand on her breast so badly, but she was wearing a damned bustier beneath her shirt.

He grunted in annoyance, apparently equally displeased by the barrier of her bustier. He pulled his hand free from her trousers, and Rynne mewled with distress as she turned around to face him. “Fenris, please,” she begged. “Please, please, I can’t… I need you–”

“Be patient,” he snapped, and she nearly laughed: he looked like the epitome of impatience. His chest was heaving with ragged breaths and his manhood was a visible rod in his breeches, and when he swiftly walked her back toward the bed and pushed her down, she actually did laugh.

“Patience, you say?” she teased. “I don’t know, Fenris, it doesn’t seem like you’re being very–”

He tipped her chin up. “Hawke, tell me this. Would you rather taunt me, or would you rather I remove your clothes?”

“Remove my clothes, of course,” she blurted. “And yours too, while you’re at it.” She reached for his tucked-in tunic.

He reached for her linen shirt at the same moment. Their hands bumped together, and she laughed brightly. “Shit,” she said. “Looks like we need to–”

He cut her off with a hard kiss. His hand slid along her neck and into her hair while his other hand roughly shoved up the edge of her shirt, and Rynne gasped eagerly against his lips as his fingers burrowed beneath her shirt to pluck at the laces of her bustier.

He broke from their kiss. “Take this off,” he whispered, and he hooked his finger into the cup of her bustier.

She whimpered as his finger grazed the edge of her nipple, then dragged off her shirt and started fumbling at the laces of her bustier with clumsy fingers. By the time her shirt and bustier were off, Fenris’s breathing was even but deep, almost as though he was forcing himself to stay controlled, and when Rynne met his gaze, her own breath stalled once again: his expression was intense and hungry, and it lifted yet another dizzying rush of desire deep in her core.

He bent over her half-naked body and took her nipple in his mouth. She gasped and arched her spine in ecstasy, and he took advantage of her lifted hips by pulling her trousers and smallclothes off. Once she was naked, he thumbed one nipple while suckling the other, and then his lips were travelling lower over her ribs, down to her navel and… and lower still…?

He placed a kiss between her legs, right in the place where the slickness of her arousal was smeared across her inner thighs, and Rynne gasped with pleasure and shock alike. She’d fantasized shamelessly about this particular act, especially after reading about it in Piper’s copies of The Randy Dowager, but the actual feeling of Fenris’s gorgeous sculpted mouth between her legs was… Maker’s balls, it was far more exquisite than any of her imaginings.

At the sound of her gasp, Fenris looked up. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she blurted. “Yes, I…” She broke off. Her mouth was dry with anticipation, and she swallowed hard so she could try and reassure him, but his expression was growing warier by the second.

“Do you want this?” he asked. “If not, tell me and I will stop–”

“No!” she blurted. “No, don’t – don’t stop. Of course I want this. I daydreamed about it–” She clapped her hand over her mouth. Fuck, she hadn’t meant to admit that.

His eyebrows rose. “You dreamed about this?”

Damn it, she could feel her cheeks turning pink. But now that it was out there, well… in for a copper, in for a royal. “Not dreamed. Daydreamed,” she clarified. “As in I thought about this on purpose. Well, not just this. About, um, you and me being together and naked and, you know...”

She trailed off. Fenris was staring at her wordlessly, and his unflinching stare somehow made her feel more exposed than her completely bare skin.

She cleared her throat awkwardly and tried to shift away from him, but he tightened his grip on her thighs to stop her. “Where are you going?” he said.

She laughed lightly. “Well, I was considering throwing myself off the side of the Lady Luck, but–”

“Why?” he said.

“Well, because I, you know!” She waved haphazardly at him. “Unplanned confessions, you know how it is. Makes a girl feel a bit embarrassed, you know, admitting I was fantasizing about you doing, um, what you were just about to do–”

He interrupted her rambling. “And what was that, exactly?”

She stopped and studied him carefully for a moment, then smiled. His tone was deadpan, but there was a distinctly heated smirk quirking at the corners of his lips.

She laughed. “You terrible man. Are you teasing me?”

His smile widened. Then he dipped his head low and ran his tongue along the length of her cleft.

A breathtaking shiver of pleasure bolted from the juncture of her thighs up to her throat, and she fell back on the bed with a gasp. An exquisite minute later, Fenris spoke again. “Do you think I didn’t imagine this, as well?”

She fought to catch her breath and lifted herself onto her elbows to look at him. “Did you really?”

He gave her a fond but chiding look. “Hawke, I told you last night. The things you said to me… you were not alone in this yearning. You were just the only one brave enough to say how you felt.”

She reached down and brushed a tuft of hair away from his eyes. “You’re brave, too. Don’t act like you aren’t.”

He shrugged. “I am now, perhaps,” he said softly. He lowered his mouth between her legs again, and she fell back and twisted her fingers rapturously in his sheets as he swirled his tongue between her legs.

The tense shiver of pressure was building between her legs, and his tongue and lips were tender but firm, and – fuck, it just felt so fucking good to have his mouth between her legs, and Rynne almost wanted him to pause for a moment so this could be drawn out for longer. Alas, it was too late; the boiling rush of pleasure was too strong, and a few delirious seconds later, she was shuddering beneath him and filling his small but cozy cabin with the sound of her cries.

Then he slid one finger inside of her, and a fresh rush of rapture forced another pleasured cry from her throat. “Fenris, please!” she sobbed.

He curled his finger slowly, making her jerk at the still-unfamiliar but exquisite sensation, and just when she was about to beg, he pulled his finger free.

Disappointed by the departure of his hands, she forced her eyes open and was immediately glad that she had: he was standing at the foot of the bed and roughly pulling at his tunic.

Good, she thought eagerly; naked was how she wanted him. But with only one fully mobile arm, he couldn’t get naked fast enough.

Rynne shoved herself upright and crawled toward the edge of the bed, then yanked at his shirt to pull it over his head. When his messy-haired head appeared once more, she lifted herself onto her knees and pushed his hair away from his face, then kissed him voraciously.

His lips tasted like her: warmth and salt-laced flesh and something primal, and the taste of her arousal on his mouth only served to make her even more desperate than before. Without breaking their kiss, she gripped his shoulders and tugged him onto the bed, and then she was straddling his hips and running her hands carefully over the unbandaged parts of his chest, then his teeth were pressing against her shoulder as he pulled her close – yes, they were pressed close, and she was so close to having him, so fucking close –

But there was a problem. In her haste to get him on the bed, she’d failed to take off his breeches.

She whimpered and pulled at his belt, then reached down to pet the bulge of his cock. “Fenris…”

He exhaled hard against her neck. “Festis bei umo canavarum,” he growled. He shifted her off of his lap and slid to the edge of the bed, then brusquely started undoing his belt.

While Fenris was wrestling with his belt, Rynne sidled up behind him and ran her hands down his scarred back, then kissed his shoulder and the back of his neck. She drew her fingers along the sides of his spine, and he shuddered. “Hawke…”

She stilled her hands. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he breathed. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you?”

He was smirking, and Rynne smiled back at him before smoothing her palms back up to his shoulders. She lifted herself onto her knees and nipped the tip of his ear. “No, I can’t,” she whispered. “Do you want me to?”

“No,” he said. “It is just… strange. But in a good way.”

She smiled, but didn’t reply. She knew what he meant. It was no small thing for Fenris to allow her to see his naked skin, certainly, but for Rynne as well, seeing him without his clothes was such a precious novelty. His skin bore his history, an unwilling record of the brutality he’d survived and the strength of spirit he was constantly trying to deny, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the privilege of seeing his skin laid bare before her besotted eyes. She couldn’t help but relish in the privilege of touching his skin, this skin which had borne so much pain in such a short life, and she’d be damned if she’d relinquish the chance to touch him now even while he tried to shed his remaining clothes.

She nibbled the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and he let out a breathy grunt. A moment later, he was standing up and pushing down his breeches, and when he turned around to face her, she scanned him hungrily from head to toe.

He hunched his shoulders slightly and ran a hand through his hair. “You have seen me naked before.”

“Yes, but only once,” she said. “And I was a little preoccupied at the time, what with your cock inside of me and all.” She shot him a cheeky smile.

He smirked and tugged his ear. Then Rynne reached out and pulled him close.

He met her eye as she pulled him onto the bed again, and this time when she settled onto his lap, she was careful and deliberate instead of hurried and brash. Without breaking from his gaze, she positioned herself over his cock and cradled his neck in her palms.

“Can I fuck you now?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. He slid his palms along her back and down to her hips. “Go slow, Hawke. Don’t… I don’t want you pushing yourself.”

“I won’t,” she assured him. Slowly, just as he’d asked, she began to slide down onto his length.

Immediately she understood why he’d cautioned her. His cock felt thicker from this angle and the pressure was more intense as he pressed inside of her, and she closed her eyes to feel him as she lowered herself onto his lap.

“Breathe,” he murmured.

She exhaled tremulously. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. Then Fenris’s gentle fingers lifted her chin.

She opened her eyes to find him gazing seriously at her. “Are you in pain?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “No, not pain,” she panted. “It’s… it feels… you feel big,” she said bluntly.

He huffed in amusement, and she let out a breathless little laugh. Then he tilted her pelvis slightly and shifted beneath her. “Is this better?” he asked.

“Yes,” she gasped. By moving her hips slightly, the angle suddenly felt easier, and Rynne experimentally rolled her hips over his.

A bolt of pleasure coursed from her abdomen through her limbs. She gasped again, and Fenris grunted and dug his fingers into her hips. “Hawke…”

She panted for breath for a moment, then smiled at him. “Fenris, did you just teach me something?”

He smiled as well, then groaned as she rolled her hips more firmly onto his. “Do that again,” he breathed.

Encouraged by his pleasure as much as her own, she continued to eagerly roll her hips. Then Fenris was lifting her hips with his strong tattooed hands, and now Rynne truly understood what he meant by moving with him: she and Fenris were falling together in tandem now, her hips coming close to meet his every hard stroke, and as she pressed her parted lips to his and breathed in his ecstatic gasping breaths, even the rise and fall of their ribs was a perfect match.

He braced one hand on the bed and the other at the back of her neck as he thrust into her, and Rynne gripped his back and his shoulders with increasing fervour as she dropped her hips low to meet him. Every hard stroke of his cock was like a lure, drawing her pleasure from the depths of her body and the whimpering moans from her throat, and when Fenris shivered and let out a guttural cry of pleasure, Rynne <em>felt</em> his climax in the pulsing hardness that he buried inside of her.

He rested his forehead against her neck, and his hot and heavy breaths drifted across her breast. She combed her fingers through his damp hair and down over the raised scars on his back, and for a wonderful peaceful moment, they simply sat twined together in each other’s arms.

Eventually Fenris leaned back to look at her, and she admired the contentment in his lazy half-lidded eyes before playfully pinching his chin. “Admit it,” she teased. “The training was a ruse, wasn’t it? This is why you really wanted me to come into your cabin.”

He huffed and dropped his gaze, and she grinned. “It is, isn’t it? You handsome fool!” She laughed and pinched his chin again. “Why didn’t you just proposition me? I was ready to crawl on top of you the second you opened the door.”

He shrugged and ran an idle finger along her thigh. “You came for your weapons training. I didn’t want to assume.”

She gave him a frank look. “I came for you,” she said. Then she perked up. “In more ways than one! How lovely is that?”

He snorted and pinched her waist. “You are an idiot, Hawke.”

She squeaked at his pinch. “Only for you, Fenris,” she giggled. “Only for you.”

He chuckled softly, and Rynne smiled and ran her hands through his hair, but she couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t quite meeting her eyes.

She stroked his cheekbones. “What’s on your mind?” she murmured.

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “I just… am pleased you’re here. That’s all.”

She smiled. “Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”

He finally looked at her, and Rynne’s heart swelled with tenderness: he looked so serious and so vulnerable, but he didn’t reply, and Rynne patiently stroked his neck until he took a deep breath.

“Hawke, I wanted to tell you, I… I got something for you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “For me? Like a present?”

“Not quite,” he said slowly. “It is on loan until, um… if you want one of your own here, that is.”

She smirked at his vague description. “Well, that’s exciting and cryptic. What is it?”

“It’s…” He trailed off and glanced at the head of the bed, and Rynne followed his gaze. Half-tucked beneath his now-dishevelled cotton topsheet was not one pillow, but two: the plain cotton-covered pillow that belonged to Fenris, and a second pillow that she hadn’t noticed before – a nice cushy one covered in scarlet silk which was absolutely not Fenris’s style.

She whistled. “That’s fancy! Are you looking to redecorate?”

He scoffed. “Absolutely not. I borrowed it from Piper.”

She gave him a funny look. “Why?”

“For you, of course,” he said. He idly tugged his ear. “If you… You slept here last night. I thought, if it was to become a routine…”

He trailed off awkwardly, and Rynne stared speechlessly at him as the significance of this gesture hit her: Fenris was making accommodations for her in his cabin. He was trying to include her in his private space. Not only that, but in borrowing a cushion from Piper, he must have told Piper that he and Rynne were together, even though it had only been one day.

Her heart felt like it was going to burst. She had to swallow hard to clear the lump of emotion in her throat. “Are you asking me to stay in your cabin with you?” she breathed.

He shrugged and trailed his fingers along her thigh. “Would you want to stay?”

His tone was even and neutral. It made his uncertainty all the more obvious, and Rynne was consumed by the sudden urge to bury his uncertainty so thoroughly that it would never rise again to haunt him.

She shifted closer to him and cradled his face in her hands. “Fenris, I fucking love you,” she said bluntly. “Of course I want to stay. Do you want me to stay?”

He took a deep breath, then met her gaze once more. “Yes,” he said. “I want you to stay.”

He’d never looked more serious, and Rynne was suddenly so happy she was afraid she might burst into tears.

She grinned at him instead. “Then I’m staying,” she said. “Of course I’m staying. In fact, maybe I’ll stay right here on your lap and never move.” She twined her arms tightly around his neck. “I’ll just stay wrapped around you like an octopus, or – what was that huge monstrous squid that Piper fought once?”

He snorted in amusement. “A kraken. But that is just one of her tall tales.”

“Not anymore,” Rynne said brightly. She shifted closer still until her bare chest was pressed to his, then wrapped her legs around his waist. “I’m a kraken now, and I’m going to hug you with all of my limbs and never let you go.”

He tucked his face against her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. “Good,” he mumbled.

She smiled and pressed her lips to his hair. As they sat snared in each other’s arms in the peaceful cocoon of Fenris’s bed, Rynne’s contented eyes landed on the two pillows on his bed – the practical white contrasted with the frivolous red – and she marvelled at how such an innocuous item could mean so much.

By inviting her to stay in his cabin, Fenris was ceding his private space: this place that he so often used to go to be alone. Bit by bit, he was giving Rynne his affectionate words and his affectionate embrace and his space, and every bit he chose to give her was a shining piece of trust.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the warm sleepy scent of his snowy hair. Fenris might not always be able to say the words that were in his heart, but in moments like this, Rynne didn’t need words. She had Fenris’s tight embrace, and she had his warm and easy breath against her neck.

And snugly tucked beneath his rumpled sheets, she had a pillow.

#fenris #fenris fic #where the winds of fortune take me #pirate au #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenrynne #pikapeppa writes #pikascout #fenris smut

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sugarbubbleslove · 6 years

Text

Dragon Age PTs (canon??)

So I’m having a bit of bother trying to decide what Playthrough I want to be canon.

I have 3 main ones for Origins

1 for Hawke.

4 main ones for Inquisition.

I kind of mix and match them up but it’s driving me nuts considering DA4 so I kind of want to get an idea of what I want the most.

For Origins:

1 - King Alistair & Queen Elissa Cousland (Cause I am so in love with them and damn it, I need Alistair to be happy. She better come back to him in the next game)

2 - Daylen Amell & Morrigan - did the dark ritual, went through the mirror. Because come on - these two are awesome together and they have a son. I need that little piece of happiness. (Alistair is made King)

3 - Lyna Mahariel - she’s dead. Mostly because of my headcanon that she and Tamlen had somewhat admitted their feelings for each other before the whole ‘mirror’ incident happened. She then went through the game refusing to believe he was dead (since she was still alive, Tamlen could still be alive) then by the time she got to meet Tamlen again, it was a major blow to her and she refused the Dark Ritual (Alistair is made King).

For II:

Garrett Hawke who didn’t romance anyone. Sided with the Templars and became Viscount. Still trying to decide if I want him to stay behind in the Abyss because I believe Flemeth. She has no reason to lure anyone into danger and clearly it is important for Hawke to stay behind in the Fade but it breaks me to think of Bethany/Carver’s faces if they were to get a letter from Varric so yeah, I’m still struggling over this.

(Mind you - if he thought it would get Bethany and Sebastian together - he would do it in a heartbeat. He’s a strange matchmaker that way)

for Inquisition:

1 - Ellana Lavellan who romances Solas because HELLO? this works. But on one hand - I think it works in well with Alistair/Elissa but on the other hand, it works so damn well with Lyna/Tamlen. Both women ended up with something because of the men. Both find out the truth of said men (Tamlen is blighted beyond saving and he begged to be saved before he is turned fully, Solas is a GOD with intentions of destroying everything).

The only thing is I keep thinking if I go with Lyna -> Ellana, Ellana or Solas is going to die in a future game and I really don’t want to jinx myself.

2 - Herah Adaar who romances Iron Bull (I have a headcanon regarding their son and Alistair/Elissa’s daughter and I can’t quite shake it - not that I want to). But it just seems to work. Especially considering Dragon Blood :P

3 - Jackson Trevelyan who romances Josephine because it’s such a sweet romance and kind of forbidden too considering he’s the Inquisitor and she’s the ambassador.

4 - Jackson Trevelyan who romances Dorian because this also works. Forbidden fruit (in more ways than one), also considering that DA4 is supposed to be set in Tevinter so I really want to have scenes/comments about this romance but at the same time...I am SO worried they’ll break up! *cries*

It wouldn’t be a problem if I had 4 origins saves or 3 Inquisition.

But hey! I’m balance! 4 Males and 4 Females!!!

#So here's hoping DA4 #will help me out even further #still gotta get the courage to leave Hawke behind in the Fade #FUCK EVERYTHING #I can leave Stroud #no problem #no attachment to the guy #but Hawke?!#he has been through so damn much #I can't leave him behind #or can I #damn you Flemeth!#Dragon Age Origins #Dragon Age II #Dragon Age Inquisition #Playthroughs

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pikapeppa · 5 years

Note

For the FenHawke prompt. "Love at first sight? What bullshit."

HAH yesss this one was SO fun to fill. I also realized while researching for this that uhhh I’m pretty sure Varric’s romance serial Swords and Shields is based loosely on Aveline and Donnic?? LMAO.

Anyway, enjoy some merry-band-of-misfits fun and some sexual tension! XD

Read on AO3 instead.

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

“Varric, I don’t approve of this idea,” Aveline said sternly.

The wily storyteller blinked innocently. “Why not? You of all people should appreciate it.” He gestured dramatically with his hands. “A Knight-Captain and a Guardsman. Forbidden love, political intrigue, and spine-tingling romance. It’ll be a huge success.” He lowered his hands and smiled at Aveline in a wheedling manner. “And it’ll only be very loosely based on true events. And I’ll be changing the whole courting thing a bit.” He frowned thoughtfully. “A lot, actually.”

“You’ll have to completely make that part up from scratch, Varric,” Isabela piped up cheerfully. “Aveline, you’re many things, but a flirtatious vixen you are not.” She elbowed Hawke playfully.

Aveline scowled, a rosy flush creeping over her freckled cheeks. “Shut up, you tart,” she snapped, then turned back to Varric authoritatively. “Varric, no. You absolutely cannot borrow from mine and Donnic’s life. It’s private! What if someone recognizes - I mean-” She coughed, obviously flustered, then took an apple chip from the bowl on the floor and stuffed it in her mouth. “Besides, it will be boring,” she mumbled through her full mouth. “Nobody will read it.”

The Knight-Captain’s face was absolutely flaming red by this time. Fenris smirked and wrapped his arms loosely around his knees as he listened to their exchange. What had started out as Aveline’s very serious training demonstration with Toby had swiftly devolved into a gossip-and-snacks session, and now they were all seated on the floor in the front of the hearth in Hawke’s main room.

Varric looked at Aveline disbelievingly. “You really think nobody would read a story about love at first sight between a Knight-Captain and a Guardsman?”

Merrill clasped her hands together and blinked her big green eyes. “It sounds lovely, Varric,” she chirped. “I would read it.”

Then Hawke groaned loudly. “No way!” she expostulated. “Love at first sight? What bullshit! Don’t write that insipid crap. It puts crazy ideas in people’s heads. Do a sequel to Siege Harder instead! Now that I’d read in a heartbeat.”

Varric folded his arms and grinned at her. “Hawke, I’m surprised. I thought you’d enjoy that romantic shit.”

“No,” she said dismissively. “Love at first sight is another way of saying ‘I’m horny as a nug in heat and I can’t admit it.’” Sebastian choked on his water, and Isabela snorted a laugh, but Hawke wasn’t finished. “Besides, think about how drastically your first impressions can change. Look at Fenris!”

Fenris raised one eyebrow as Hawke gestured in his direction. “He hated me at first. Now he can’t get enough of me,” she said smugly.

Fenris shot the irreverent mage a sardonic look. “I am less than fond of you when you put me on the spot.”

“Oh come on, Fenris, it’s okay to admit that I won you over with my scintillating wit and oozing charm,” Hawke said. “Lots of people don’t like me when they first meet me! Maker only knows why, though. I’m fantastic.”

There was a collective groan from the group. Isabela shoved her until she fell over on the carpet, and Anders threw one of Toby’s chew-toys at Hawke’s head, and Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile.

Then Aveline piped up helpfully. “I didn’t like you very much at first, Hawke.”

Hawked gestured at Aveline. “See? And now Aveline adores me! She’s like my second mum!” Then she grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, Aveline.”

Aveline smiled proudly. “That’s quite all right.” The guard-captain selected another dried apple chip from the mostly-empty snack tray.

Hawke turned toward Fenris again, her copper eyes sparkling with what was certain to be another round of teasing digs. He hastily pushed himself to his feet. “I will fetch more snacks.”

Hawke frowned as he lifted the snack tray from the floor. “What? You’re a guest in my home! You shouldn’t fetch snacks!” She rose to her feet as well. “I’ll help you.”

Fenris shot her a chiding look as she took the tray from his hands. “Being a guest in your home didn’t stop you from demanding that I find your missing glove for you last week,” he said flatly.

“And you refused to do it,” Hawke retorted. “See? Guest privileges.”

Isabela yawned loudly and stretched out on the carpet. “If you two are leaving to go fuck in the kitchen, you can just tell us. No need for the clever smokescreen.” She smiled and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Hawke shot her a reproving look. “Thanks, Bels,” she said, and Isabela snickered as Hawke made a rude hand gesture in her direction.

Fenris, meanwhile, left their conversation behind and headed toward the kitchen. A moment later, Hawke caught up with him. “So, what did you think of me when we first met?”

Of course this was why she’d wanted to accompany him: to needle him relentlessly. “I was impressed at how readily you handed death to my enemies,” Fenris said matter-of-factly.

Hawke gave a surprised bark of laughter. “Wow. That’s the oddest compliment I’ve ever gotten. But okay, I’ll take it. What else?”

He narrowed his eyes and smirked at her. “Why are you seeking so shamelessly to be flattered?”

“I’m not! I’m just curious!” she protested.

He continued to stare at her, and finally she grinned sheepishly. “Okay, fine, maybe I’m looking for compliments. Can you really blame a girl?” She set the snack tray down on the kitchen counter, then leaned back against it and tilted her head coyly. “I am curious, though. You can be hard to read. What did you think of me, really?”

He sighed. “You are a mage. I was wary,” he said bluntly. But if he was being honest, he hadn’t been as wary of her as he might have been. From his very first time fighting by Hawke’s side, Fenris had known she was different. In Fenris’s experience, mages defined themselves by their magic: they considered it their most valuable trait, and they used it shamelessly to influence and coerce and claw their way to power.

For Hawke, however, magic was just something she happened to have at her disposal, rather than a sign of status to be lorded over everyone’s head. She’d always been special, even then.

Oblivious to the warmth of his thoughts, Hawke shrugged and rested her elbows back against the counter. “Fair enough. And now?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “You really are delving, Hawke.”

“I know,” she said cheerfully. “So?”

He pursed his lips. “And now… you annoy me most days.”

“Yes, that’s true,” she agreed. “What else?”

He folded his arms. “You are far too lenient with blood mages. I hate that.”

She sighed. “Well, this is less fun than I thought it would be.”

He stepped closer to her. Her eyes darted to his face, then widened as he took yet another step closer. “You are… alluring,” he murmured.

A wicked little smile lifted her slowly pinkening cheeks. “Now we’re talking,” she said with relish. “What else?”

Fenris stepped even closer and very deliberately placed his hand on the counter beside her. She was penned between the kitchen counter and his body now, a bare handspan of space between them, and he smiled at the soft little hitching of her breath through her parted lips.

He slowly slid his gaze from her face to the slender scarlet scarf around her neck. “You look very appealing in red,” he growled. “But I think you will look even more appealing in nothing at all.” He was being reckless and he knew it; he wanted to take things slow with Hawke, make sure he was really ready before falling into her bed, and the cautious part of his mind was warning him against this little game.

But Hawke had started it. And Fenris was determined to win this time.

“Damn,” she said faintly, and Fenris noticed the subtle arching of her spine with an almost vindictive satisfaction. “What else?”

“And… I am not saying anything more,” he murmured.

She exhaled shakily. “Why not?” she complained.

He glanced toward the door. “Because of the gossip-mongers standing right there,” he said loudly.

Just behind the doorframe, there was a startled squeak from Merrill and a raucous cackle from Isabela. Then Aveline’s stern voice floated over from the main room. “I told you two not to listen in! Leave them alone!”

Hawke slumped back against the counter. “Piss right off, you nosy bitches!” she yelled, then let out a rueful laugh as Fenris stepped away from her. “Maker’s fucking balls,” she muttered, then bustled haphazardly around the kitchen pulling out snacks and putting them on the counter.

Fenris calmly refilled the bowls in a careful pretense that he wasn’t as riled up as she was. He picked up the tray and returned to the main room, leaving Hawke alone in the kitchen.

Isabela grinned wickedly at him as he sat beside her on the carpet, and he ignored her. “What is the verdict?” he asked Varric. “Are you writing the romance novel or not?”

“Yes!” Merrill and Anders said.

“No!” Aveline blurted.

“Yes, as long as there’s sex,” Isabela said with relish, while Sebastian shook his head in disapproval.

Varric grinned at Fenris. “The jury’s out. I’ll put it on the back burner for now.”

Aveline sighed in relief. “Thank you, Varric. I hope you keep it that way.”

Then Hawke wandered back into the room, and Fenris forced himself not to laugh as she deliberately walked past him and sat beside Varric instead. “What did I miss?” she asked vaguely.

Varric smiled at her. “Your wish for a Siege Harder sequel might be granted. But if I do write the romance serial, what should I call it?”

“Umm…what about…” She trailed off and scratched the back of her head, still looking distinctly flustered, and Fenris studied her with a hot rush of satisfaction. He usually came out worse for wear in their teasing back-and-forths, but it was quite clear from her pinkened cheeks that he’d deflected her sexually-charged sally extremely effectively this time.

As though she could sense his gaze on her face, she shot him a dirty look, and Fenris couldn’t stop himself from grinning. He turned to Varric. “I know what you should call it,” he said. “Swords and Shields.”

#fenris #fenris fic #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #pikapeppa writes #I LOVE THE DA2 CREW HONESTLY #THE FRIENDSHIP (and rivalries too tbh) GIVE ME LIFE

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