#also soft fenris my beloved

[queentala]

Fenrys bedroom headcanons

Fenrys Moonbeam x reader

Oh gods I finally wrote something!!!! 🥳 Ugh, it feels so good. You can see the variety of my emotions while writing those headcanons, going from poetic, through obsessed, to being absolutely done, and then to feeling cute. And also great shout out to @juulle987 that gave me some ideas, kept me motivated and entertained today. This post is dedicated to you, baby ❤️ Anyway, I hope you enjoy this 🥰

Words: slightly over 3k

Warnings: no spoilers wanted so just be aware of a lot of nsfw content

Even though the smart mouth, charming smile, effortless way of being, or simply the pretty face, might cause various spicy inklings and rumors about the White Wolf's abilities in bedroom, (which, pretty much always are at least partially accurate), there is a lot more than just youngish yearning and playfulness underneath his skin. After all, many might know that the beautiful warrior had his persistent spot in Queen Maeve's bed, only few, however, that he did not cherish this "privilege", as she called it.

There is just… so much darkness in Fenrys' soul, that it is impossible to save any aspect of his life from the pain it brings, especially when the said aspect is directly connected to the source of his trauma. 

So no, Fenrys is not the always horny and kinky sex god we make him out to be. 

Okay he is. 

But at least not at the beginning, or even the halfway of the long journey of trying to overcome the demons that haunt him. 

It's going to take a while for him to open up. To trust you. 

Now, most of sa victims are not fond of touch, which is understandable as it triggers the bad memories. But I do think Fenrys would very much need and crave physical contact with his mate/beloved. Especially the soft and comforting type, the one that resumes him that he is loved and sets his skin on fire at the same time. 

It's just that with Maeve he didn't get to experience the featherlike softness which every lover's fingers should have, nor the addicting feeling of trying to grasp as much of each other as possible. And when he finally does, it's like a painkiller for his soul. 

Believe me when I say that Fenrys cannot get enough of your hands in his hair, chests pressed against each other, legs tangled under the sheets… It's not the verbal yes that he gives you when you take off his shirt, but the way he's pressing his cheek into your palm as you caress his face that keeps you going. He's not good with words. How could he when there's a lump in his throat as emotion overtake his ability to make a sound? So instead he lets his body speak. 

At first the sex is soft and intense, full of small gasps, long kisses and sweet words whispered against each other's skin. It's more about just being close to each other than the actual pleasure; the beautiful feeling of getting lost in each other, feeling of security sugared with the bliss caused and boosted by every stroke against the most intimate parts belonging only to the two of you. 

Holding hands also appears to be an important deal for Fenrys; a physical visualization of the trust and safety he feels while in your presence. It definitely adds intimacy, which he very much craves, to the moment and overall is a really sweet gesture that just naturally feels right. 

He always finds a way to connect your palms, no matter the position he has you in, and not even once it failed to work as the motion always turns out sweet, sexy or goofy and either way it's just amazing. 

And even decades into your relationship, when his trauma is just a blurry memory appearing in his nightmares from time to time, holding hands is as important as it was at the beginning of your shared journey. 

Another form of intimacy that Fenrys adores, is morning, cuddly sex. Or in general just cuddly, sleepy sex as we know this guy likes to take a nap during the day. 

It's slow and sloppy, with eyes still closed and face buried in each other's chest or neck, warm covers enveloping and keeping you safe in the small bubble of just you two, free from all the worries of the day. 

It is such a wholesome moment that lets you be close even in the most vulnerable state, plus the atmosphere is so sweet and cozy… Oh and I just know that Fenrys gets all sensitive then, too lost in the feeling to even care and keep the veneer of having some control over his body. 

He. Is. Such. A. Moaner.

Fenrys is vocal, never even trying to muffle the sounds YOU'RE pulling out of him. It feels so divine, so why would he keep it to himself? 

At first it's low grunts and hisses, slipping out of his mouth mindlessly as you clutch him so tightly and good, slowly turning into moans, each louder than the previous one, more desperate, as he's nearing his release. The sweet noises falling right into your ear, broken from time to time by a curse when the pleasure gets overwhelming. 

Now keep in mind that all this happens when he's the one on top, so when he's trying to keep himself together. 

I don't think Fenrys would be into the dom/sub dynamics due to his trauma; neither being at someone's mercy nor having someone absolutely helpless underneath really appeals to him. However, the top/bottom thing absolutely does appear in your bedroom. 

Being under Maeve's command for a century, it's rather reasonable that Fenrys would like to be a top and have control over the situation. (I even had a discussion with someone about this on my blog if you'd like to read more into it.) So while neither of you have more or less power over the other during sex, most of the time it's Fenrys that initiate, choose and control things. 

However, I'm a firm believer that Fenrys is a switch.

So with the right person and after the right amount of time, he would give up the control without any worries. And that's when you meet his absolutely new side. 

Like I already hinted, Fenrys gets sensitive and it doesn't take much for him to fall apart. Whether you're riding him, or working your hand or mouth along his length, his moans always somehow get louder and more desperate. 

And oh boy, try to edge him a little bit, and you get two outcomes.

One: you just turned on his playful mode and now he's going to pay you back with twice as much.

Two: he's falling into total submission and gets all whiny, begging you to let him cum because your hand on him feels so good and he can't take it anymore, but you keep teasing him, telling him that only good puppies get to cum and I'm jqhwjhwj 🥴😩

But anyway, back to playful Fenrys.

Of course having so many bad memories with sex, he tries his best to make it as pleasurable and comfortable experience as possible, both for you and him. 

And you know Fenrys, always with mischief in his eye and snarky comments ready for any occasion… I'm afraid his attitude in the bedroom doesn't differ too much. 

He is definitely the type of person to crack the most random joke in the middle of the fun, or stop and collapse into giggles at the weird sound either of you made or when the new position doesn't work quite like it should. 

Do I even have to mention all the dirty jokes he'd come up with? And you know it's not only you that hears them but the whole court. I swear everybody is so effin fed up with them yet it seems like Fenrys, the unbothered king of annoying his decayed ex comrades, comes up with a new joke every time he cums. 

(which is a lot cause the boy's sensitive as fuck but about that later)

He calls you his muse at this point as you're the reason behind most of them.

And if you can imagine Fenrys being playful during sex, then imagine what happens before. Because half of the time it's the tickling sessions that get you into the bedroom, starting as harmless fun and ending up with clothes scattered on the floor and sheets that definitely need to be changed after you're done. 

However I would be surprised hadn't it worked the other way around as well, as if you don't see lighthearted sex with Fenrys turning into a tickling fight then you clearly don't know him. 

Since we're talking about getting started… Fenrys loves you and sex with you, and ya know, you're not just some lover but his beloved, a person truly dear to him. So most of the time he'd want to do everything properly. That's why I dare say he is the king of foreplay. 

Fenrys knows perfectly how to get you into the mood, whether it be more giggly or sexy. He knows all your sensitive places, knows where to kiss and where to bite, what turns you on. 

Of course he enjoys quickies as well, every moment with (in) you is priceless. But why would he narrow himself to doing the bare minimum before entering you when he could have you squirting and begging for his cock?

I already said it in my previous headcanons, and Fenrys said it himself; his tongue is his best feature. So who am I to argue with him? 

This man. Is so fucking amazing at oral, that there's no enough words in the world to describe it. 

He just loves eating you out; love your taste, love the way you're arching and love the sound of your moans. He can spend hours, (and I really do believe I'm not overreacting), slowly drawing his tongue up and down your entrance, eyes closed in pleasure at the way your arousal feels on his lips. 

He absolutely outdoes himself in those moments, making sure no inch of yours is left without his attention. Kissing the soft flesh of your thighs, palms exploring the well known shape of your hips and waist as he fucks you little cunt; switching between your hole and clit, treating one with his lips while his fingers take care of the other. 

Start pulling at his hair and it only keeps him going. 

Just the sight of you falling apart under his touch is enough to leave him hard and ready. (Although, am I the only one that thinks he could cum by just eating you out…? He defo could, couldn't he?)

And just as much as he loves giving, he loves receiving. I already said that Fenrys gets whiny and sensitive when you're on your knees. He'd definitely fist your hair and watch in awe with mouth slightly open how you take his length, too hipnotised by the sight to be aware of the way his body reacts or the sounds slipping from between his lips.

He can hold himself for a pretty long time, but I do believe he wouldn't have any problems with cumming within minutes, especially when you're the one working on him. 

Fenrys might not be the horniest person at the beginning. Like I already said, demons of the past do take a toll on him. But as the years pass by, and with your love that makes him stronger with each day, I think I can say this guy is very much able to find any excuse to have sex. 

Whether it be a few minutes break before one meeting and another, an especially colder day, or just a very beautiful night, Fenrys can and will try to get you to bed as often as possible. 

Oh and I bet he wakes up with a boner almost every morning. Don't ask me why because I don't know, it's just a feeling that he does. What I know, though, is that there's no way he'd handle it himself when you're laying by his side 😏. 

There are three ways to solve this and he's not going to complain either way. 

Feeling comfortable, Fenrys is the first one to experiment and try new things. As long as it doesn't harm either of you, and doesn't trigger any bad memories, he's down for whatever you propose. 

After all, sex is all about fun and pleasure, so why not find as many ways to do so as possible? 

Actually the only things that he is strongly against would be degrading and bondage, besides that he's willing to give everything else a try.

Those that read my previous headcanons will most likely recall the fabulous white, fluffy tail plug and wolf/dog ears to match. 

And as much as I consider my previous hcs a disaster, this is something I stand my ground on. What's more, I do believe Fenrys would be absolutely and thoroughly into roleplays and dressing ups. AND I DARE YOU TO TELL ME I'M WRONG. You can't. 

It's sexy and goofy at the same time, and given that these two adjectives are literally Fenrys' life motto…

He'd love to have you in doggy as you wear the plug, or even more, pressed against the kitchen counter as you decided to wear it (only it) while making him breakfast. Or when you ride him wearing a sexy cowgirl outfit, bouncing on his cock with tits falling out of the tight unbuttoned shirt, tied under your breast. Would he chase you with a lasso through the house before that? You already know the answer. 

And do I even have to mention Fenrys in the play boy or maid costume?

This man is such a teaser. It goes all the way from leaving small kisses and little touches all over your body for the whole day, to purposely slowing down the peace of his thrusts. 

He'd also strip for you. Painfully slowly taking off each piece of clothing as you watch him with lips watering (I'm talking about both types 👀). And had you shown any type of impatience, he would turn it against you and call you desperate for him, as if he's not taking so long for this exact purpose. 

But when Fenrys finally does crawl his naked frame over you, he makes sure to make all this waiting worth it. He worships you like no one else ever could, touching and kissing every inch of skin he can find, devouring the sight below him with eyes blown with desire, words of admiration slipping out of his mouth like sparks out of bonfire. 

Words might not hold such powerful meaning as actions, but it doesn't make them any less important for Fenrys. Not only does he use every chance he gets to compliment you, more than once not even realizing it, smothering you with praises and pet names whether it be in lovesick awe or overwhelmed with pleasure, but craves to hear those sweet words fall from your mouth directed to him.

He seeks your attention and admiration like a puppy, melting in your palms as you pamper him with love. 

My man is not big on sharing. Even though I'd love to believe that he agrees to bring another person to your bedroom from time to time, especially a man as I whole believe that he is bisexual, I think it would be rather a rarity. Well, he's not interested in other women when you're the only one he needs and wants, and also it would take a lot of time and reassurance for him to share you with another man. But once you talk it through… Dorian would be more than willing, that's for sure. 

Oh, I had some trouble deciding whether he is a boobs or ass guy, and Julle solved within seconds saying that he's both. And yeah, I do see that. 

Fenrys would love sleeping with his face in your breasts, or play with them as you're laying in bed with a book, not paying attention to him so he has to entertain himself. And he loves sucking at your titties, trying to get you to orgasm just by that. 

But at the same time he would waste no opportunity to slap your butt as he walks past or fucking you from behind. Nor would he complain as you sit on his face with full weight. 

Ah and how could I forget? What's a better way to worship your pussy than filling it with cum? Watching his cock slide out white from how full of him you are, seeing his seed leak out and drip down your thighs? 

You know he's trying to put as many puppies in you as he can. 

And as a cherry on top I can offer you naked domestic Fenrys. It is a good thing that he's comfortable, of course it is, however, once he does, he doesn't differ much from a toddler. Run after him with pants all you want, he's not going to put them on, parading through the whole house in all the glory. 

But honestly? Is it so bad? I mean, people pay big money for less effective views, so I wouldn't complain and feast my eyes all I can. 

In this long as toilet paper essay, we came to the conclusion that sex with Fenrys can be sexy, funny, intense, loving and hundreds of other kinds. But what is one thing that they all have in common? ✨ Aftercare ✨ (you can see I'm losing my shit here? Sorry, I'm just tired, maybe I'll rewrite this part tomorrow)

After the fun is over, no matter how long or hard it was, Fenrys will always make sure you're okay before doing anything else. It is his priority to help you come down after your high, asking if you need anything whether it be water, a helpful hand in getting cleaned, a bath or simply snuggles. 

And though he'd never expect from you anything you cannot give, it makes his heart flutter when you do the same thing for him. So maybe ask if he's okay, or play with his hair as he's falling asleep, whispering praises against his forehead, and it would definitely make him happier. 

Fenrys is an amazing lover, thoughtful and passionate, open minded and big on boundaries. He can offer you the whole world and crawl out of his skin to bring you pleasure, and still stop without a second thought when you say no. And he does expect the same thing from you.

Because at the end of the day, consent is the sexiest thing you can give him.

#fenrys moonbeam x reader #fenrys x reader #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys #throne of glass #tog headcanons #tog imagines #tog smut #tog #throne of glass imagines

[fenny-self-ships]

🦴 💙 🍝 💙 🦴 💙 🍝 💙 🦴 💙 🍝 💙 🦴

HELLO, HUMAN!!!

IT IS I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HERE TO ANNOUNCE TO YOUR AUDIENCE (AND YOU. . .)

. . . THAT I AM NOW ONE OF THIS USERS PROMINENT F/O'S!!!

(F/O'S MEANING FICTIONAL OTHER. . . I LEARNED THAT RECENTLY, THANKS TO THE GREAT DOCTOR ALPHYS ON THE UNDERNET. SHE ALSO IS APART OF THE SELF-SHIPPING COMMUNITY!)

THIS MEANS, I AM ONE OF THIS USERS BOYFRIEND'S! THAT IS RIGHT, I AM YOUR BOYFRIEND, FENRIS OF THE HORSE MYTHOLOGY!

[ * there's a hand written correction under this section of the letter ]

*norse mythology, bro

ISN'T THAT SO COOL? NOW, AS YOUR NEW BOYFRIEND, THIS MEANS I MAY POP UP FROM TIME TO TIME IN THE ASKS, TO SEND LOVELY LITTLE LETTERS TO MY BELOVED PARTNER. THIS ALSO MEANS FEN MAY POST ABOUT ME!!! THAT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME.

NYOO-HOO-HOO! BEING POSTED ABOUT... IT MAKES ME SO JOYOUS.

I WAS INFORMED THAT OUR SHIP TAG WILL BE 🦴DATING START🦴 (A VERY, VERY FITTING TAG, IS IT NOT?)

I CANNOT WAIT TO BE POSTED AND GUSHED ABOUT, IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME THAT YOU ARE GIVING ME THE RESPECT AND RECOGNITION I UTMOST DESERVE. . . AND FOR THAT, HERE IS THE ACTUAL LETTER.

🦴 💙 🍝 💙 🦴 💙 🍝 💙 🦴 💙 🍝 💙 🦴

[ * You receive a letter in your Ask Box. . . Open it? ]

[ * Yes * No ]

WORDS CANNOT EXPLAIN HOW MUCH I AM SCREAMING AND FROTHING RIGHT NOW

I soft release my baby in my pinned post and he is alREADY IN MY ASK BOX?? Papy you are so fast I LOVE YOU I AM SCREAMING

[ * YES ] I WILL GLADLY OPEN THE LETTER MY DARLING

#AND I GET TO USE THE NEW TAG #SCREAMS #🦴DATING START🦴

[galpalaven]

Kira my Hero of Ferelden is still into Zevran but I’ve also come up with a wonderful Runaway Tevinter Magister AU for Vethna so Kira is just like Torn between canon and AU lmao

I also moved my old Hawke from being Hawke over to being an Amell, and she’s very in love with Alistair. She is round and sweet and soft and he deserves a squishy giggly sweet gf I think.

I’m playing through DA2 with the poly mod just to see how things play out bc I will never play through the other romances other than Fenris. Koha ends up with Fenris, because he makes her feel safe and she loves the feeling I her chest every time she gets him to grin. He likes when she comes over for drinks and brings her fiddle. One night she teaches him to dance. Another night he teaches her to use a sword. She asks him to teach her Tevene or Qunlat, and in exchange she teaches him the bit of Elvhen that she knows from her dad. One night he comes over while she’s baking challah and she teaches him to make it and they get into a play fight throwing flour at each other. He’s never felt so much like a normal man in his life and he loves her for it.

Nadia Surana, my beloved angry blood mage Warden, is in love with Anders. She had a crush even before he left, and had always admired him for escaping the Fereldan Circle. During Act 2 or the lead up to it, the Hero of Ferelden, Kira, takes off with Zevran to help him deal with the Crows. She wasn’t about to let him go alone, but without the Nobility in Amaranthine, things immediately spiraled. Some Orlesian Wardens came to help them out in Amaranthine with recruits and things, and they immediately demoted Surana as Warden-Constable and acting Commander. They said it was about experience, but she didn’t really believe that. Found out it was about the nobility of Amaranthine that didn’t like her, but that wasn’t the final straw.

Nadia was deep into researching ways to cure the Blight with blood magic, sure she could pull it from the body if she could just figure out how to isolate it in the blood. The new leadership refused to allow her to continue her research—so she said to hell with that and left in the hopes to track down Anders. She’d been putting out feelers to see if she could figure out where he went, more out of curiosity than anything, so when she found out he was in Kirkwall, that was where she went.

She landed in Kirkwall about a week after he and Hawke had descended into the Deep Roads. She ended up taking his position as healer at his clinic while she waited for him to come back.

When he did get back, he was already on edge sensing a Warden in his clinic, but then she sees him and she gasps his name as she runs at him, laughing and throwing herself at him so that she can wrap her arms around his shoulders and hug him tight.

She’s with him up until the Conclave. They have a bit of an argument about her going, but she insists as someone who has experienced both the life of the circle and the life of an apostate AND the life of a warden. Also as a hero of the blight. She had thought to bring about change—she hadn’t anticipated the whole inquisition thing.

#dragon age #Kira Cousland #kohava hawke #nadia surana #i am thinking about THEM

[crossdressingdeath]

Top 5 Dragon Age romances

Zevran!!!!!!!!!!!!! Zevran, Zevran, Zevran. My beloved assassin boi. I am a sucker for friends-with-benefits to lovers featuring the "Oh no we can't fuck now I've caught feelings and I don't know how to deal with it" plot beat. And that letter you get from him in Awakening? Where he calls you "my sweet" and talks about how he misses you and can't wait until he can return to your side (or until you can find your way to his)? His (bugged) cameo in DA2 where he talks about he's been away from his Warden for far too long? The way that he's the only DAO LI still beside his Warden in DAI? I cannot, it's too good, too soft. Also I am not immune to that accent. Bioware when will my husband come back from helping his husband cure the Calling.

And here we get to the tricky ones, so we're just gonna call 2 and 3 a tie because I cannot choose. So, because I'm currently romancing him: Dorian. Him being so sure his relationship with Quiz will end in tragedy—either because it turns out that Quiz isn't as serious about it as him or because Quiz's position as the Lord Inquisitor will destroy him, his chance of having a life outside of his role, or both—but going for it anyway because he can't not? His constant worry over what being with him will mean for how people see Quiz? Him being basically the only LI to show concern for Quiz pre-Trespasser (mostly because he, Varric and Vivienne are basically the only characters to show concern for Quiz pre-Trespasser period, but still)? The whole post-HLtA romanced conversation where he talks about how he thought he'd lost Quiz? He's so good, I adore him. Also the fact that if romanced Quiz will sneak into Minrathous to see him despite how insanely dangerous that is is delightful. Bull and Dorian meet on the border because it's incredibly unsafe for Bull in Tevinter, but the Lord Inquisitor just. sneaks on in to meet with his lover. Possibly the most high-profile guy in Thedas just casually strolling into the heart of Tevinter, it's so funny to me.

The second part of the tie: Bull. Naturally. Hnnnnnn BDSM friends-with-benefits to lovers my beloved. It also proves that Bull is aware of the weight being the Inquisitor is putting on Quiz in a way the others don't seem to be. I really love how the whole romance (unless you sacrifice the Chargers, which we Do Not Talk About) revolves so strongly around Bull wanting to give Quiz a safe place to put down the burden of being the Inquisitor when so much of the cast doesn't even seem to recognize that it is a burden! A particular favourite of mine is him choosing to dance with you in the ballroom proper at the end of WEaWH while the other LIs dance with you on the balcony, which to me feels like it's coming from the same place as his Trespasser codex entry and the bit where formalizing your relationship involves you very firmly telling your advisors that this is not a bit of meaningless fun and you intend to continue, before asking them if they have a problem with that in a tone that suggests if they say yes they're going to have a much bigger problem to contend with; your relationship isn't going to be some dirty little secret for people to titter at behind their hands! You two are going to rub your happiness and your romance in their faces at every opportunity and they are just going to have to deal with that. Also, so many good vibes in Trespasser. I mean they're also absolutely miserable vibes, but all Bull's romance banter in Trespasser is god tier. I especially love Bull referring to "kadan" as "a title of honour for the woman/man [he] love[s]", and the one after the bit where Bull can betray you where depending on chosen dialogue you can get Quiz saying "Just try to keep up, darling" (pet names are Good Shit) or Bull promising to always be by Quiz's side (which is tragic what with the whole "dying" thing, but still).

Fenris. I'm always going to have a soft spot for Fenhawke because that's actually what got me into DA in the first place; I saw ship art and got curious. Also, Gideon Emery's sexy, sexy voice. I am not immune. But also because I always play mages Fenris coming to learn that not all mages are like Danarius and him learning to trust Hawke is so good. Also him cutting and running from the relationship in a panic for three years while still wearing Hawke's favour constantly is so good, I love it.

Josie! Now I admit I haven't finished her romance yet (which honestly is part of the reason why she's fifth and not higher), but it's just so damn cute. Also, you fighting a duel for her hand and her getting mad at you over it is so much fun and such a Romance Thing! The "lady and knight" vibes are through the roof and I am all for that. Also, Leliana being Protective over Josie... good shit. She loves her friend so damn much and that really comes through in Josie's romance.

#dragon age #asks #anon

[soldier-poet-king]

sticks m legy out real far. do you have a custom hawke/do you have any consistent dialogue or story choices in DA2 besides the obvious ones? (like for example my hawke is usually blue but during All That Remains and if those events are brought up to him again he usually goes red)

DA2 MY BELOVED

i usually use default hawke appearances and names, but ive played both marian and garrett! my default ig is marian, but that's bc my character default in general is usually female mage

i almost always play mage, but i almost always play mage in p much every rpg if it's an option bc i am a Huge Ass Nerd

personality wise im less consistent? my default is blue bc that's what /i/ fran would instinctually choose, but i've done more purple playthroughs as well, and thrown in some red when i felt appropriate - usually if red is used it's brought up with hawke siblings, mage issues, slavers, kirkwall politics in general

i rarely argue with the companions tho bc I Am Too Soft and i just want everyone to be one big squad and ALSO i have MANY STRONG OPINIONS on some of the dumb choices made in the writing in da2 but i will SPARE you the anders and fenris should actually be GRUDGING FRIENDS bc of similar trauma and shared goals rant and also be nicer to merrill

most of my decisions are fairly typical - side with the mages and elves, spare betrand, etc - im probably gentler with cullen than i should be bc i cant help but frame it in terms of his dai arc which im weak for. i never ever ever kill anders bc That's My Comfort Character and also He's Me, which means sebastian always leaves (sorry Rose ;-; i wish he didn't force my hand)

ANYWAY da2 is my FAVOURITE GAME i will be on my deathbed defending it, the three act structure, the inevitable tragedy, the downwards spiral, the character development in the time jumps....it's chef's kiss ....

#sometimes i think about how good it couldve been if it was actually developed properly in a normal timespan #anyway. thank u percy #i love talking about da2 this made me less horrifically empty for five whole minutes #i was too busy thinking about my beloved <3 #da2

[electricshoebox]

writing tag

Tagged by the lovely @adventuresofmeghatron, thank you!

Tagging: @junemermaid, @molliehaswords, @desynchimminent, @valkyriejack, and @mercurymiscellany​, if you’d like to do it!

1.  How many works do you have on AO3? 

39. Holy shit. 

2.  What’s your total AO3 word count?

533,274 words. Holy shit.

3. What are you top 5 fics by kudos?

How to Share a Bed Without Killing Each Other: a Love Story (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, 5 Chapters, Complete) The trials and tribulations of literally sleeping together.

Rivers in the Sand (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) The Hissing Wastes unsettles Bull’s memories, and when he and Dorian are trapped together by a fallen pillar, Dorian helps him deal.

a soft place to land (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) When a letter from his father sets him off, Dorian turns to Bull for a distraction.

Always Good at Bad Ideas  (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) Bull gets injured fighting a dragon, which leaves Dorian frantic enough to blurt out the one thing he was trying to keep to himself.

Flashpoint (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) “One time he got so excited he set the curtains on fire.”

4. Do you respond to comments?  Why or why not? 

Yes, always! I’ve seen various opinions on whether authors should, but to me, engaging with and getting excited with readers is half the fun and half the point. I also just really want people to know how much it means to me not only that they read, but that they take the time to leave a comment. Comments are hard to write. I completely sympathize with that, sometimes you just don’t know what to say or how to say it, and I absolutely don’t begrudge anyone that doesn’t. It just means a lot to me when people do, even when it’s literally just “This was cool!” or something, and I want them to know that it’s appreciated!

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm. I guess that sort of depends on your definition of angsty. None of them have directly tragic endings, it’s just not in me to write that way, but I have one or two with open or less definitely, obviously happy endings. The rarepair DA2 oneshot I wrote for Merrill/Orana, Counting the Cost, has the most open ending, left completely up to interpretation. The Inception AU DAI fic I wrote for Dorian/Bull, In the Shadow of Dreams, has what I think of as an optimistic ending, and less a happy one. I tried to end that one with more romance, but it just didn’t fit the tone of the rest of the fic, so a quiet ending that signals a road to recovery was what I chose instead.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Most all of my oneshots have pretty happy endings. I guess I’m tempted say A Line in the Sand, my Deacon/MacCready start-from-scratch slow burn novel, just because it goes from antagonists to lovers and has the longest road with the most earned happy ending. I feel like the long struggle to get there makes it feel happier. 

7. Do you write crossovers?  If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really. Instead I’m sometimes tempted into AUs based on other media, but not full blown crossovers with actual different characters meeting. Even then, I’m really picky in what I enjoy. I’ve only written one, the Inception AU for Dragon Age that I mentioned above. Honestly, it requires no knowledge of Inception at all. I really just stole a bunch of concepts from it and then made my own modernized Thedas around them.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Thankfully no! I’ve received one or two kind of odd comments, but otherwise I’ve been very lucky and everyone’s been really nice.

9.  Do you write smut?  If so, what kind?

Hell yeah! I’ve written many kinds, really, whatever I feel like or whatever fits the fic. I’ve done plenty of your typical smut. I branched out into light BDSM with several of my Dorian/Bull fics, as well as waxplay and praise kink. I’ve also done some roleplay in the vein of “established relationship pretending to be strangers meeting at a bar” for Deacon/MacCready with By Any Other Name.

10.  Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. 

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! Two of my Dorian/Bull fics, Wishing Stars and No Patron Saint of Silent Restraint, both by the same lovely person: landanding on AO3. I don’t think I stopped flailing for a solid day when I got the request for permission either time.

12.  Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not since pre-AO3 days, beyond collaborating in a tabletop setting. I’m not completely opposed to the idea but it would have to be someone I felt really, really comfortable with and with whom I have really good communication. I’m really particular about my writing, and I’d need to know someone’s emotional comfort level with trading and changing and even eliminating ideas.

13.  What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh god that’s honestly really hard. I’ve written the most for Dorian/Bull and that ship will always have a special place in my heart. But I did write my first full-length novel for Deacon/MacCready, and they’ve already got me in the middle of my second. So they’re the ship that taught me I could do that, and they’re my beloved rarepair. There are a few more I absolutely love, but I think those are my top two right now.

14.  What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Definitely Uprising. It was the first time I tried longform fic, and it was meant to be an entire retelling of DA2 with Velanna as the Justice-bearing character, rather than Anders, because after learning the developers almost took DA2 in that direction, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I had a lot of plans for it, for how Justice might develop differently, for what it might have looked like if elves had been more of the battleground issue instead of mages vs. templars, for some angsty bittersweet long distance Nathaniel/Velanna and some complicated Fenris/Hawke and Merrill/Orana. But I drifted away from Dragon Age fandom in interest a long time ago, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get the steam back for it. I’m proud of how far I did get, though.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I feel pretty confident with dialogue, I can usually make a scene flow with it pretty well and I spend a lot of time trying to be meticulous about character voice. I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback on my descriptions, which I appreciate and wouldn’t have considered a strength, but my readers have been kind. I think I’m pretty good at including body language, too, though maybe to a fault.

16.  What are you writing weaknesses?

Much as people have been kind on the feedback, I really feel like action scenes are a weakness for me. I don’t enjoy writing them and I struggle a lot to make them feel like they’re flowing over just bulletpointing. I also feel like I struggle to make them exciting. I feel like I struggle with exposition scenes as well, and keeping them interesting over info-dumping. 

17.  What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’m generally in favor of including them, but with the caution of doing thorough research if it’s not a language I speak. I shy away from it if I can’t be completely sure it’s accurate, because I don’t want to risk putting off a native speaker reader, or saying/doing something offensive. I’d expand that to include anything about another culture, really. For example, I’ve been slowly picking away at writing a Fallout fic for my Sole Survivor Anthony and Preston, and part of what has been slow going is just making sure I’m getting Anthony’s culture right. His parents immigrated from Vietnam, and I want his experiences with them and with his culture to be as accurate and respectful as possible, not falling into any stereotypes but also being allowed to be complicated. 

18.  What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Depends on what we’re measuring. The first fandom I ever wrote fic for of any kind was Sailor Moon. The first fandom I actually put fic on the internet for was Lord of the Rings, on good old fanfiction.net. The first fandom I published on AO3 for was Dragon Age.

19.  What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

God this is such a hard question to answer, my feelings on my writing change so often. I think it’s hard for A Line in the Sand not to be my favorite for the reasons I’ve already mentioned, it’s my first successful novel-length fic, I accomplished a lot with it and learned a lot from it, and it’s a rarepair I got to kind of develop from scratch in my own way. 

But if I look back at my whole repertoire so far, just to branch out from the usual answer, I’d say I’m also really fond of To Have and to Hold, which was the first time I ever participated in a minibang, or really any kind of writing challenge. It’s a Dorian/Bull established relationship fic set during Trespasser, and it’s kind of a meditation on Dorian’s past and present and how they’ve shaped his feelings on love and commitment and marriage, all while he’s trying to decide his future. I’m proud of how it came out, and I think my Dorian voice still holds up okay. Plus I had two incredible artists working with me who put together stunning work for it, and how could I not be super grateful for that? 

It’s funny, most of the top ones up there for kudos are ones that I don’t personally think are my best, it’s a lot of my very early offerings for Dorian/Bull that I think I could improve on a lot of if I tackled them now. I’m grateful people like them but I feel like they’re more an accident of timing, being published early in the ship’s popularity. 

#writing tag #writing memes #my writing

[potatowitch]

Fenris, Isabela, Merrill for impression meme!

MY BELOVEDS YES (send me a character and I'll tell you my impressions of them)

Fenris

First impression - HOT GLOWY ELF WITH HOT VOICE HELLO WHAT

Impression now - I love this dude, honestly. If you had to ask me what my favourite DA character is he'd be like, only just beaten out by Anders and Justice. He's so complex and he's got potential for brilliant amounts of character growth - I say potential because the writers of DA2 kinda stalled on the character growth in Act 3 for a lot of characters but Fenris especially, and I'm salty about it. That's my guy, Bioware, c'mon. He deserves so many good things and I love taking him everywhere I can in DA2 bc his sense of humour is absolutely legendary.

Favorite moment - There's lots of Fenris moments that make me unbearably soft, but him telling a non-romanced Hawke with high friendship that he wants to stay with them in Act 3 ... ough, they're BUDDIES. Also "ah, Hawke stepped in the poopy".

Idea for a story - I've got many, but I really want to do something with either Fenris getting to grips with Hawke being his bestie but also a blood mage (bc I think that'd be an interesting thing to figure out) or something to do with a lot of his dialogue with Aveline where I lowkey want to fistfight her on his behalf -

like. what the fuck, Aveline?? I want Anders in particular to hear that and go "hm. hey Isabela. fancy busting into Aveline's office and destroying some records."

Unpopular opinion - a lot of his "broodiness" is fanon and not actually canon, tbh. like yeah he's a broody dude, he's got a right to be, but he's nowhere near as angry or prone to outbursts as I've seen him written in a lot of fic, and he does tend to say nasty things about mages when facing his trauma but he will apologise for them. he's also a massive, massive dork and laughs at a lot of purple!Hawke's really shitty jokes.

Favorite relationship - Anders, obviously. They could be so good for each other, they're so similar and could understand each other better than anyone else, with Isabela being the only other companion that comes even close to getting them the way they could get each other with just a little bit of work, and I'm obsessed with that potential. They're made for each other, fam, idk how else to put it. I've also read a couple very good Fenris/Merrill fics, and I love a casual friends-with-benefits situation between him and Isabela that helps him get more comfortable with intimacy. Also since I'm messing with a WIP of the main DA2 crew meeting with the Inquisition, I think Bull and Fenris would be great together, in both a platonic and romantic/sexual sense.

Favorite headcanon - he's always cold, therefore he is an incorrigible blanket thief and an unconscious cuddler with someone who he really trusts. Also he's touch starved, but a combo of his markings hurting and TraumaTM makes him touch averse to like 98% of people - but when he's close with someone, he's all over them in private.

Isabela

First impression - potato.exe has stopped functioning, basically. Her intro in DA2 had my jaw on the floor.

Impression now - Very fond of her. I love her outward pirate queen persona, but she's got that lil heart of gold that you see over and over again that makes me adore her.

Favorite moment - a lot of her dialogue with and regarding Merrill really has me feeling Some Kinda Way, bc Isabela's the only character other than Varric who looks out for Merrill in a genuine way.

Also this -

Idea for a story - Y'know how she invites Hawke and their LI to join her crew after she gets her ship back. What if post DA2 they actually did that and she had to deal with her idiot friends with no sailing experience who are also on the run from the Chantry trying to learn how to be pirates. I think Varric would give her a massive headache, just sat there bitching about his seasickness and how uncomfortable his bunk is the whole time.

Unpopular opinion - She's not as callous and uncaring as both she and a good portion of the fandom would have you believe. She's afraid of commitment because of her past, but even with a high friendship Hawke she's very dedicated and loyal, and when in a relationship shows Hawke she loves them, even if she's not comfortable saying it.

Favorite relationship - Love her with a purple Hawke, love her with Merrill, love them as a little triad, love the idea that she fucked Anders when he was at the Pearl, love them being besties during DA2, love her being Fenris' confidante for a lot of things.

Favorite headcanon - She can cook pretty damn well - a lot better than you'd expect, for a pirate, tbh. It's spicy, though.

Merrill

First impression - cute and spooky!

Impression now - cute and spooky and very very smart oh my god so much smarter than she's given credit for. And also very good at standing up for herself in conversation. Also love that ADHD rep, so much of what she says is relatable to me bc of it.

Favorite moment - there's a lot. there's so many like 80% of what comes out of this woman's mouth makes me do intense heart eyes at my screen but this -

this shit makes me cry. also this:

Idea for a story - what if trying to Silence a mage only really works on mages who are using mana. what if a templar tries to pull a Silence on Merrill thinking it's going to be easy to take her down but then she takes out a knife, uses blood magic and fucks them up royally. a whole group of them, all on her own. idk I want more Kickass Merrill Content

Unpopular opinion - Merrill was right and you should all start listening to her and also Marethari was a dick

Favorite relationship - I think I've covered Merrill/Isabela/Hawke and Merrill/Fenris but a potential friendship with Anders is VERY important to me too, they could learn a lot from each other. Also love the idea of Merrill meeting Sigrun and Velanna.

Favorite headcanon: She knits. Not too well, at first, but she likes making scarves and hats for her friends, and they all keep them. Fenris has a blanket she made him on his bed. Anders has mittens bc she noticed one winter that his knuckles were going blue. Isabela has a shawl, Varric's got a little hat. She makes little scarves and tea cosies for the other elves in the Alienage, especially the children, who love her.

#character impressions #tag game

[pikapeppa]

Samson/Roman Hawke: Peace

A Friday offering for my beloved @schoute​! 

In which the brewing mage-Templar conflict starts to get to Samson and Roman. 😭 Featuring Act 3 angst, arguments, make-up sex. CW: BDSM sex that might feel like dubcon if you aren’t familiar with these two and their dynamic. Please pass go without reading if that’s not your thing. ❤

~9000 words; read on AO3 instead.

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

- ROMAN -

Roman stepped into the mansion and kicked the door shut, then exhaled and leaned back against the door. It was late and she was fucking tired, and she just wanted a second of peace.

“Bird? Is that you?”

Samson’s voice was calling from the kitchen. She opened her eyes, then propped her staff against the wall before trudging through the mansion. 

Sure enough, Samson was in the kitchen. He was leaning against the kitchen island and eating some chicken and roasted potatoes while Monty sat at his feet looking up at him with a pitiful expression. 

Roman grunted and went straight to the enchanted icebox. “You better not be feeding him people food. He’ll get fat.” She picked out a bottle of cider, and when she turned around, it was to find Samson looking vaguely guilty.

She wilted. “I told you not to feed him fucking people food.”

Samson scowled and popped another piece of potato in his mouth. “This mabari’s a real pain, you know,” he said as he chewed. “It’s like he doesn’t understand me.”

“You’re just a soft touch,” Roman said. “Of course he understands you. He’s a smart boy.” She crouched beside Monty and scratched his jowls. “You’re a smart boy, aren’t you?” she crooned. “Samson shouldn’t give you people food, no he shouldn’t.”

Monty wagged his tail, and Samson huffed. “You’re back late. Picking fights at the Hanged Man, were you?”

“Yeah, I was,” she said belligerently.

Samson shot her a long-suffering look, and she rose to her feet and frowned at him. “Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t my fault.” She pulled the cork out of the bottle and took a sip. 

“It’s never your fault though, is it?” he asked, and he reached for the bottle of cider. 

She shot him a dirty look but handed over the bottle. “It really wasn’t my fucking fault this time, okay? It was Fenris’s. Well, not Fenris’s,” she amended, “but it was related to Fenris.”

Samson lowered the bottle in surprise. “I thought he didn’t like getting involved in your fights.”

She rolled her eyes and snatched the bottle back from him. “I told you, it wasn’t my fight, it was his. His former master showed up.”

Samson’s eyes widened. “Former master? You mean a Vint magister was here in Kirkwall?”

“Yeah,” Roman said, and she took another sip of cider. That wasn’t the worst of it, though. Roman still couldn’t believe Fenris’s own sister had tried to sell him out to his former master. She didn’t mention Fenris’s sister to Samson, though. She and Fenris didn’t agree on much, but they both valued privacy. If Roman was in Fenris’s place, she wouldn’t want strangers knowing her business either.

Samson scratched his whiskered chin. “And here I thought the Templars were helping the city guard to crack down on who comes in and out o’ Kirkwall.”

“Templars,” Roman said scornfully. “They’re corrupt as fuck, even if precious Meredith doesn’t want to see it. Grease the right palms and practically anyone could get in here.” She took another sip of cider, then set the bottle down and picked a piece of chicken from Samson’s plate. 

“Hey, get your own,” he said, but with no real heat.

She huffed and chewed the chicken and ignored Monty’s pleading eyes, and for a moment they were quiet as Samson selected another chicken thigh from the platter on the island and started cutting it up. 

He broke the silence. “If there was a Vint magister here…” He shook his head. “Maker. If there was anyone I’d think the Templars would try to keep out, it’d be magisters.”

Roman scoffed and stole another sliver of chicken from his plate. “Yeah, because more mages are the worst thing that could happen to this shithole,” she said sarcastically.

Samson didn’t reply. He was frowning slightly, and Roman narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you agree.”

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his chin again. “I’ve been hearin’ things,” he said slowly. “Down in Lowtown, and in Darktown too. A lot of abomination attacks, sounds like.”

Roman aggressively bit the piece of chicken in her fingers. “Yeah?” she said in a hard voice. “Have you also heard how the Templars have started punishing the Circle mages even more harshly? Anders said that a full quarter of the Circle mages are Tranquil now.”

Samson flinched at this, and Roman felt a pang of guilt. She knew that the Tranquility process was a sore issue for him, given what had happened to Maddox after Meredith had thrown Samson out of the Templars. 

She swallowed her bite of chicken, then pushed the bottle of cider across the counter toward him. He picked it up and took a sip, then set it down and jerked his chin in the direction of the main room. “You got some letters, by the way,” he said. “Both from the Gallows.”

Roman sighed loudly. Two letters from the Gallows always meant the same thing: both Orsino and Meredith were trying to get her help with some bullshit task. “YFuck that. They can wait until tomorrow.” She plucked a piece of potato from Samson’s plate and ate it while she brooded about Meredith, then picked up the bottle of cider. “The fucking gall of that bitch, trying to get me to help her,” she complained. “She’s just trying to find an excuse for her fucking puppets to drag me in.”

“Better not give her one, then,” Samson said.

She gave him a dirty look. “I know, Samson. I’m not a fucking idiot.” For the past month or so, she’d cut down on her use of blood magic, doing it only when she was working a spell at home or when she was outside of the city limits. It infuriated her to play into the Chantry’s bullshit sanctions against blood magic, and if she had it her way, she’d keep using blood magic in her perfectly safe way even within Kirkwall’s bounds. 

But Roman didn’t just have herself to think about. She was famous here now — or infamous, depending on who you talked to — and her actions were under scrutiny, no matter how much she tried to keep to herself when she was out and about. Anything she did would reflect poorly on the people close to her… particularly on Carver. 

Fucking Carver, she thought angrily. She couldn’t give the Chantry an excuse to make her brother a scapegoat for her choices. 

She and Samson continued to eat silently from his plate. As the minutes stretched on with no further commentary from Samson, she started to watch him suspiciously. He was usually more talkative than this. Not that he was a huge talker or anything, but he usually had more to say than, well, nothing.

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”

He glanced at her. “Nothing. This chicken’s good.”

Roman grunted, and they fell silent again. When his plate was cleared, she frowned at him. “Seriously, what is your problem?”

He raised an eyebrow and reached for the cider. “What are you on about?”

She gave him an arch look. “If you’re trying to do some kind of ‘strong and silent’ bullshit, it’s not working.”

Samson lowered the cider bottle from his lips and shot her a chiding look. “You sure about that? It seems to be getting your knickers all twisted.”

She scoffed and grabbed the bottle of cider from him. “My knickers aren’t fucking twisted.”

“Too bad,” he said. “I was going to offer to untwist ‘em for you, but…”

She ignored his innuendo. “Are you pissed about what I said about the Tranquil?”

His sarcastic little smirk slipped away. “No.”

“I wasn’t being an asshole,” she said defensively. “I was — it’s just the fucking truth.”

“I know, Bird,” he said tiredly. He sidled past her and headed for the front door.

Roman put her cider down and followed him. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to get more of the dust,” he said, and he slid his feet into his worn-out shoes.

She raised her eyebrows. “Now?”

“When else is a man supposed to go meet his illegal lyrium dealer?” he said sardonically. 

Roman pursed her lips but didn’t reply. Samson bent down to tie his shoes, and she leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms as she watched him. She knew he needed the lyrium; she’d seen what happened to him when he ran out of it, and she didn’t want to see him suffer like that again. But still, sometimes she wished…

She discarded the fleeting thought. There was no point wishing Samson didn’t need the lyrium. He’d told her long ago that he would die without it, and she had no reason to not believe him. It wasn’t like she knew any Templars who had ever quit taking lyrium. 

She pushed away from the doorjamb and wandered over to him. “I’ll come with you.”

He looked up in surprise. “Eh? What for?”

To hit back if someone hits you, she thought, but she wasn’t going to fucking say so. She shrugged, and Samson smirked as he stood up. 

“You going to be my knight in shining armour again?” he taunted.

She scowled. “No. Fuck you.”

He raised an eyebrow, and she scoffed and looked away. “You know what, whatever. Forget it.”

“All right, good,” he said affably. “Gettin’ into a brawl kind of defeats the purpose of going out in the middle of the night.” He chucked her chin playfully.

She smacked his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

He suddenly gripped her chin. Before Roman could snap at him to let her go, he was kissing her: a quick firm kiss on the lips — so quick that she didn’t have time to bite him or push him away before he released her. 

He opened the door. “Go eat some more. I’ll be back soon,” he said, and then he was gone. 

She wrinkled her nose at the closed door. How dare he kiss her? He was such an asshole. 

Beside her, Monty sat back on his haunches and tilted his head curiously. Roman looked down at him for a second, then sighed and crouched beside him. “Go with him, okay?” she murmured. “If he gets hit, you jump in and bite back for him. He’s a fucking idiot, he won’t defend himself.”

Monty stood and wagged his tail, and Roman opened the door for him. He bounded away into the darkness, and Roman went back to the kitchen with a sigh. 

She picked up the half-empty bottle of cider and took another sip, then wandered over to her writing desk to check out her letters. She pushed away the ones from Orsino and Meredith without opening them, then paused when she saw a thicker envelope with Varric’s handwriting on it.

She frowned as she opened it. The envelope contained a bunch of worn journal pages that were variously dirty and bloodstained, topped with a short note from Varric. 

Hawke,

Remember that old journal page we found wedged into a brick wall that one time — something by the “Band of Three”? I had a couple sharp eyes looking out for more pages, and this is what they found. I put them together in the order I think they’re supposed to go. Kind of hard to tell without dates, but this is the best I could do. 

Come on down to the Hanged Man after you read them and let me know what you think. You’ll probably want a drink, anyway. I always knew shit in Kirkwall was weird, but this takes the cake.

 - V. 

That’s cryptic as fuck, Roman thought. She took the pages and her bottle of cider to the study and plopped down on the couch in front of the fireplace, then began to read.

- SAMSON -

Samson sidled into the shadows as he made his way through Hightown. There was a faint feeling of unease in his gut, like a hint of nausea, and it revolved around the mages in Kirkwall. 

He’d been hearing stories down at the docks: stories about people cutting their wrists and getting possessed by demons and exploding into monsters who gobbled up their whole families. Samson was too jaded and skeptical to believe any old story he heard on the streets, but he’d been hearing tales for weeks now, versions of the same stories, and he’d been able to put together enough pieces to know that not all of the stories were made up. 

Kirkwall had always had its share of horror stories involving mages, most of which Samson had heard in the course of his business of smuggling mages out of the city. This familiarity meant he was all the more aware that there were more stories than ever before, and they were getting more and more bizarre. 

Mysterious deaths involving ice and lightning, flash fires with no evidence of kindling or fuel, people behaving strangely and talking in tongues, people going missing… He knew Roman didn’t want to hear it, and he didn’t even want to believe it himself, but the truth was this: there was a mage problem in Kirkwall.

Roman was right too, though. Samson had heard things from the Gallows, whispers from the merchants and the few visitors who came and went from that ghastly fucking place, and he knew that Roman was right: Meredith was handing out the Tranquility sentence these days like a Chantry sister handed out blessings on Satinalia, and Samson’s former brethren were feeding right into her tyrannical attempts to control the mages. 

Samson sighed. He’d heard enough and lived through the nugshit for long enough that he could see all the moving parts in this Maker-forsaken place, almost like looking at the inside of a clock: the Templars were getting more controlling and punitive, and the mages were getting more desperate to protect themselves. The hysteria of it all was bleeding down from the Gallows to Kirkwall proper, making the city guard more fearful about magic and making the hidden apostates more fearful than ever of persecution. If something didn’t change, if things continued down this route, the city was going to explode like one of those qunari gaatlok barrels. 

His troubled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy breathing behind him. He barely had time to be alarmed before a heavy muscular body rammed into his hip.

He stumbled, then caught his balance on a nearby wall and stared in surprise at Monty, who was standing beside him and wagging his tail so enthusiastically that his whole body was shaking. 

Samson gathered himself and frowned at the mabari. “What are you doing here, eh?” 

Monty sat and gazed at Samson attentively, and Samson wrinkled his nose. “Did she send you after me?”

Monty let out a little bark, and Samson jumped before scowling at him. “Quiet, dog,” he scolded in a whisper. “You’re going get people looking. If you’re going to follow me, you have to shut your trap.”

Monty panted but didn’t bark again, and Samson gazed at him a little resentfully. It looked like Monty really did understand him. Just not when Samson was saying ‘no’ to feeding chicken to the big furry fucker.

He sighed. “All right, come on then. But be quiet,” he said severely, and together they continued on their way to Lowtown in silence.

Samson watched the mabari from the corner of his eye as they walked. It was so strange having any kind of company when he went… well, anywhere really. Monty, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease as he trotted along at Samson’s side.

Within the space of a couple of minutes, Samson had adjusted to Monty’s presence. It helped that Monty was almost entirely silent. He was a big bloody dog, and Samson would have expected him to make some noise as he walked, but he was pleasantly surprised at how quiet Monty was. 

He shot the mabari a sideways glance. “She really sent you along, eh?”

Monty looked up at him with his mouth agape in a wide doggy smile, and Samson huffed. “Let me guess. She told you to attack anyone who attacked me, right?”

Monty wagged his tail, and Samson pursed his lips. Bloody bird, always acting like he was some kind of coward for not picking fights like she did. He’d told her time and time again that it was smarter to run or hide than to fight back, especially for someone like him: someone powerless, someone that the city guard wouldn’t move to protect if something really went wrong. Besides, he did fight back sometimes when he was attacked — if fighting back was the smarter move. Roman was hotheaded and angry, always looking for the next person she could justifiably throw a fireball at, but Samson wasn’t like her. He wasn’t strong like her.

Leave it to the damned bloody bird to be the strong one, he thought tiredly. I’ll do things my own way. Samson might not be strong anymore, but at least he had his street smarts. He’d just keep sticking to the smarter course, whether it meant hiding or fighting back. He’d keep doing what he needed in order to survive.

He and Monty were about to step into the market when he spotted something strange: two men and a woman talking in low and urgent voices in a corner. He slowed down and placed his hand on Monty’s head, and Monty slowed down to a stop as well. 

Together, they sidled a little closer to the furtive trio. Samson couldn’t move close enough to hear what they were saying, not without making himself and the mabari visible, but as they edged a little nearer, Samson had a jolt of recognition: he knew one of the men — or at least, he thought he did. The man’s blond hair was shorter than Samson remembered, and he had a beard where his face used to be bare, but Samson was fairly sure this blond bloke was a Templar.

On shore leave from the Gallows, looks like, Samson thought. Then, with another jolt, he realized that he recognized the woman too: she was a known mage sympathizer. 

Strange, he thought. He watched the trio for a minute longer, trying to determine if he could conclusively identify the blond fellow as being a Templar, but he really wasn’t able to get any closer without being seen. When the three people made signs of looking like their meeting was coming to an end, Samson quickly ducked into a nearby alleyway with Monty to hide.

When the trio had dispersed, Samson patted Monty’s head. “Let’s go, dog.”

They quickly slunk through the market and into the lower-class suburb that led toward Lowtown, and Samson pondered what they’d witnessed. A Templar and a mage sympathizer having an amiable little late-night meeting? Meredith wouldn’t be too chuffed about that. Or maybe the mage sympathizer wasn’t as sympathetic as she seemed and was feeding information about apostates back to the Gallows, in which case old Orsino would be the unhappy one. 

Samson and Monty made their way through Lowtown proper. As usual, Lowtown was more active — and more dangerous — at night than Hightown was, and Samson listened furtively as he made his way to the usual meeting spot for his lyrium-smuggling contact down by the market. The gossip was the same as he’d heard earlier today: mentions of a fish merchant closing down for the week after selling some clams that made people sick, talk of a few lingering qunari out on the Wounded Coast, reports of a young elf getting dragged off to jail by a guardsman after stealing a few apples for his family, the usual grim fare. But one piece of gossip in particular deepened his worries. 

It was a corrupt city guardsman talking to some other human. “... those knife-ears still cleaning blood and guts off of that big tree in the alienage. You know, the one they tie all those poncy ribbons to.” He chuckled. “That’s what happens when apostates hide out in the alienage: all that knife-ear nugshit makes ‘em blow up. Too bad and serves ‘em right if you ask me.”

Samson frowned as he slunk past the guardsman and his friend. He knew about the incident in question because Roman had been directly involved. Meredith had forced her to track down three runaways from the Circle by making indirect threats toward Carver, and one of the runaways was a possessed mage — a mage who had, as indicated by the guardsman, become an abomination and ultimately exploded into a shower of blood when Roman was forced to kill him. 

“Is that a mabari?” 

“What’s a mabari doing with that homeless fellow?”

“That’s not… it’s not Hawke’s mabari, is it?”

Maker’s balls, Samson thought in  exasperation. He knew he shouldn’t have let Monty come with him. The damned dog was drawing far too much attention, including curious looks from the corrupt guardsman.

He shot Monty a resentful look. Monty ducked his head and tucked his tail between his legs, and Samson immediately felt bad. It wasn’t Monty’s fault, after all; it was Roman’s. He’d have to have a word with her when he got back to the mansion.

He quickly met up with his contact and traded a few silver for lyrium powder, then selected a more convoluted but quieter route back to Hightown so they wouldn’t be stared at. As they silently made their way back to Roman’s house, Samson brooded over that abomination incident in the alienage. 

He’d always known there were apostates hiding throughout the city, but he’d somehow not thought much about how much harder it had to be for the apostates who were elves. He’d helped to smuggle out dozens of apostates in his time, and he count on one hand the number of times they’d been elves, and the reason was obvious: they didn’t have the coin. Mages who didn’t have the coin to smuggle their way out of the city must be even more afraid, which made them more prone to possession — more prone than they already were if they hadn’t had any training at the Circle.

He rubbed his forehead. Maker’s balls, I’m tired, he thought, and he continued on his way to Roman’s house.

When they got back to the house, Samson let Monty in before following him inside and closing the door. “Oi, I’m back,” he called. He took off his shoes and padded through to the main room, and when he didn’t find Roman there, he peeked into the study. 

Monty was already lying on his belly in front of the fireplace, and Roman was sitting on the couch and scowling at the fire. There was a sheaf of papers beside her and two empty cider bottles on the floor, and another half-finished bottle in her hand.

Samson wilted slightly. Roman had been drinking less since he’d started sleeping at her house. This was the first time in a while that she’d had more than one drink in the evening. 

At least she’s not drinking rum or whiskey, he thought. “You can’t send the dog with me again,” he said as he entered the room. “Everyone was staring. A guardsman was giving me the eye over ‘im.”

She looked up at him. “Kirkwall is a fucking mage trap.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Eh?”

“Look at this.” She picked up the sheaf of papers and thrust it at him, and he took them gingerly. 

The papers were journal entries by some group called the Band of Three who’d been investigating the history of Kirkwall during Tevinter occupation. The more Samson read, the more discomfort he felt twisting in his gut. Secret Vint plans, hundreds of slaves going missing, the city designed in the shape of magical glyphs, gutters in the sewer system meant to channel vast amounts of blood…

By the time he finished reading the pages, the hairs were standing up on the back of his neck. He held the papers out to her. “Where’d you get these from?” he rasped.

“I found one of them. Varric scrounged up the rest.” She stood up and plucked the papers from his hand. “You know what this means, right?”

He pulled a face. “Er—”

She cut him off. “The Veil is thin here,” she said. “That’s why so many mages in the Circle fail that fucking Harrowing ritual bullshit. That’s why some people turn into abominations for doing a single little spell with blood magic. It’s this fucking city. It’s…” She waved her arms in an angry expansive gesture. “The whole environment is against us, and the Templars just make it worse!”

Samson blinked at this. “Hang on.” He rubbed his face with both hands, then gazed wearily at her. “You’re telling me that Kirkwall is a… a bad place for mages, but the Templars are the problem?”

“They’re definitely not a fucking solution, that’s for sure,” she retorted. “Everyone knows that demons are attracted to fear.”

“And to anger,” Samson said pointedly.

“Exactly,” Roman said angrily, missing his point entirely. “And think about what’s pissing me off. It’s the Templars!” She waved the journal pages. “It’s already hard enough for us to live here, and they’re just making it harder.” She tossed the pages on the floor and drank from her half-finished bottle of cider, and Samson frowned. 

“What is it you want, then?” he said slowly. “You want to just… get rid of the Templars or something?”

She lowered the bottle and gave him a frank look. “Sounds like a good fucking plan to me.”

He stared at her with growing disbelief, then laughed. “You’re not bloody serious.”

“Do I look like I’m fucking laughing?” she said. “It’s the Templars that are making the mages so desperate that they’re turning to… to summoning demons and other shit that they don’t understand.”

“And when they summon demons and do that shit, someone needs to be able to stop them,” Samson retorted.

Her face went slack with disbelief, then twisted back into anger. “You can’t be fucking serious about this. You’re defending them? They threw you out!”

“That bitch Meredith threw me out,” he corrected.

She threw her hands up in frustration. “So what, now you think the Templars are justified? Now you think it’s okay to keep the mages locked up in a fucking tower with no freedom?”

“No,” Samson said loudly. “That’s not what I’m bloody saying. I’m just….” He sighed and rubbed his face again, then looked at her once more. “Think about it, Bird. Say the Templars get dismantled. What happens to ‘em?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she said impatiently.

“What happens to Templars who have no use anymore?” he said, and he gestured sarcastically at himself.

The fury in her face loosened slightly, and Samson gave her a humourless smile. “You didn’t even think about it, did you? Well, you should. Think about Carver there. The Order falls apart, and he’ll end up like me, just a ruined—”

“You’re not fucking ruined!” she bellowed suddenly.  “Stop saying that!”

Samson closed his mouth and stared hard at her. An ugly pause ensued, electric and tense like the brewing of a heavy summer storm. The longer he and Roman went without speaking, the more he felt the old memories rising to the front of his mind, like bloated corpses cut loose from the bottom of the sea: his disbelief at being kicked out of the Order and out of the only home he had, all for something so trivial. The betrayal and the loneliness. The shakes and the nausea when the withdrawal first set in. The delirium, the beatings, the confusion, the raging thirst and hunger during the moments when he was lucid, the horrific hallucinations when he wasn’t. The humiliation of having to find a black-market lyrium dealer, and the slow erosion of his soul as his muscles and his purpose and his confidence wasted away bit by bit. 

For a first time in a long, long time, the old injustices were burning in his belly and burning through the shroud of his usual world-weary passivity, prompting him to take an aggressive step toward her. “I am ruined, Roman,” he said in a hard voice. “You didn’t know me when I was in the Order. If you did, you’d know I’m a bloody shadow of the man I used to be.” 

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Samson, for fuck’s—”

He interrupted her. “Is this what you want for Carver?” he said harshly. “You want that big brute to end up like this, all wasted away and jonesing for the dust?”

She opened her mouth again, but Samson didn’t let her speak. “You going to write to Her Divine Holiness and tell ‘er to dismantle the Templars?” he said aggressively. “Tell her to let every one of ‘em end up on the streets like beggars?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If you really think that’s what would happen to them, what does that say about the Chantry and your precious fucking Order?”

He exhaled hard and glared at her, furious at not being able to find a reply. Roman leaned away and planted her fists on her skinny hips. “Besides, it’s not like complaining to the precious fucking Divine would do anything,” she said. “You think she’d break up her personal army for the good of the mages? Not a fucking chance.”

“They’re not supposed to be her personal army,” Samson snapped.

“And the Circles aren’t supposed to be jails for mages, but look where we are,” Roman drawled.

All of a sudden, Samson had had enough. “Fine then, everything in the world is shit,” he shouted. “Are you happy now?”

She recoiled slightly, then sneered at him. “No, actually. I’m fucking pissed.”

“No different than all the fucking time, then,” he said acidly, and he strode away to the kitchen. He threw open the enchanted icebox and stared unseeingly at its contents. Truthfully, he hadn’t been planning to get anything out of here. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be around Roman right now.

Unfortunately, she didn’t get the hint; a second later, she was storming up to him. “What the fuck is your problem?” she yelled. “Why are you being such an asshole?”

He slammed the icebox shut. “Me?” he said incredulously. “I’m just tryin’ to survive, Bird. I’m just trying to make the best of this bullshit that we’re living through.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Roman demanded.

“You’re trying to pick a fucking fight,” he snapped. “I can see it in your face. You’ve never tried to keep your head down. You want a war with the Templars, don’t you?”

“I don’t want a fucking war, but that’s what’s coming,” she yelled. She shot him a scathing look. “And don’t act like you don’t know it’s coming. You’re one of the smartest people in this fucking city. You know exactly what’s coming.”

He raised his eyebrows, thrown off by her compliment in the midst of her vitriol. “So… so what, you think there’s a war coming and nothing can stop it?”

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I think.” She took a slow step closer to him and belligerently lifted her chin. “There’s a war coming between the mages and the Templars. And if you won’t pick a side, you’re a fucking coward.”

Coward. The word shot straight through his chest like an icy spear. It wasn’t that she was wrong necessarily, because she wasn’t. Samson wasn’t brave or principled or any of that shit, so if he didn’t have any of those precious virtues, that must mean he was a coward. But to hear Roman saying it to his face…

His chest squeezed painfully, almost as though she was digging her nails through his rib cage to rend his heart. He swallowed hard and glared at her. “Fuck you,” he spat, and he pushed past her and headed back to the study.

He sat down heavily on the couch. Monty sat up and whined softly, but Samson ignored him; he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes.

 A moment later, he heard Roman’s strident voice. “What in the Maker’s fucking ballsack are you doing?”

“Cooking a four-course Antivan meal,” he said flatly. “What’s it bloody look like?”

She barked out a nasty little laugh. “You’re fucking sleeping down here, then? Is that it?”

He opened his eyes and glared venomously at her. “Yeah, I am. I’m sleeping here tonight, and I’ll get out of your hair first thing in the morning so you don’t have to share your fucking fancy house with a coward.” 

Her jaw clenched visibly, but she didn’t speak, and Samson’s heart twisted. She really did think he was a coward, then.

He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes once more. “Go away, Roman. Leave me alone.”

She scoffed. When she spoke again, her voice was moving away toward the stairs. “Fuck you too, then. See if I fucking care.”

He didn’t bother to reply. A few seconds later, he heard the slamming of her bedroom door. 

He drew a deep breath and ignored the swelling feeling in his throat. Then something nudged his back.

He jolted in surprise, then sighed loudly; it was Monty snuffling around him. 

He shifted his shoulders in annoyance. “Leave off, dog,” he said quietly. “Go upstairs.” 

Monty whined and nudged him again, and Samson shrugged irritably. “I said leave off,” he snapped. “I don’t want your company.”

Monty whined again, but the nudging stopped. A moment later, he heard the distant sound of Monty’s scratching nails, followed by the opening and closing of Roman’s bedroom door.

Feeling even shittier now, Samson sighed and slowly stood up, then shuffled around the lower level of the house putting out the oil lamps and chandeliers. When the house was dark except for the lingering flames in the fireplaces, he lay back on the couch in the study and folded his arms behind his head. 

He stared blankly up at the ceiling for a long time, exhausted but unable to sleep. His gut was a buzzing mess of agitation, and his chest felt like there was rock sitting in the center of his ribs. His mind kept running fruitlessly over all the negative thoughts in his head — and there were a lot of negative things to go over: abomination attacks, a quarter of the Circle’s mages being Tranquil, Meredith blackmailing Roman to do what she wanted, Roman wishing she could dissolve the Templars, Roman yelling about a war that no one could stop, Roman telling him he was a coward…

His heart twisted painfully, and he breathed slowly to quell it. She was such a bloody bitch: telling him he was smart one second then calling him a coward the next, and sending her mabari to follow him as though he was a fucking child who couldn’t look after himself. She was so fucking stubborn and hard-headed, always carrying on about how fucked up the Templars were and how fucked up this entire city was.

But she’s not wrong, he thought as he remembered those papers she’d shown him. That history of the Vints doing some kind of mysterious horrible magic right here in this city — this city that was built in the shape of a magical glyph, this city where the Veil was thin and demons were just a whisper away from the minds of its mages…

And Roman was even more vulnerable than most. Rage-filled Roman Hawke, with her fearlessness and her ferocity and her fucking blood magic… A pulse of fear pierced through his heartsick anger. Sure, she had good control over her own magic, but if those journal pages had the right of it, she was in danger no matter what. She was in danger just by virtue of living in this fucking place that she refused to leave.  

What if she becomes an abomination? His gut clenched at the thought. He’d asked her once if she was afraid of becoming an abomination, and she’d told him that she was. What if she did become an abomination, though? What if she became the very thing she feared? What would happen then?

What would Samson do then?

An icy sort of fear was spreading through his chest. Don’t think about it, he thought. He couldn’t think about what he’d do if that happened — not that he could do anything, really, since he wasn’t a Templar anymore. The lyrium he bought off the black market was enough to keep the edge off of his cravings and his withdrawal, but it wasn’t nearly pure enough to channel into any kind of power. If Roman… If something happened to her, there was nothing Samson would be able to do to help her. 

He rubbed his face wearily. He couldn’t believe he was even having to think about this. Truthfully, given the political situation and the ugly history of this city, Samson knew what he and Roman should both really be doing: fleeing this city before it had a chance to explode. 

And that’s why she thinks you’re a coward, he told himself scathingly. But was it cowardly to survive, or was it just the smart thing to do? Who gave a fuck about being called a coward if it meant you got to live?

Then again, what was the point of living the way Samson had before Roman had wandered into his life?

He was suddenly reminded of something else she’d once said: that it wasn’t enough to just survive, to just eke out a living from one day to the next. That people needed something to live for. But Roman herself had admitted that she didn’t know what she was living for. Did Samson know what he was living for, either? 

He sighed. Maybe he really was a coward. Maybe this bloody mage-Templar problem would force him to find something to live for. Maybe Roman was right, and what he really needed was to pick a side. Support the mages, or support the Templars? Support the monsters, or support the people who made those monsters what they were? 

Support the freedom of mages, or support the freedom of the Templars who’d been leashed and brainwashed just as he had been?

Maker’s fucking balls, he thought morosely.

He lay in the dark on the couch for a long time sliding in and out of a restless sort of doze, unable to settle his mind enough to properly sleep. He was vaguely aware of the fire slowly dwindling down to mere embers until the whole study was wreathed in shadows. When a shadow broke away from the gloom to move toward him from the stairs, he thought it was a dream.

The shadow paused at the end of the couch. “Monty won’t shut the fuck up,” she said. “He keeps whimpering.”

Samson frowned at her through the gloom. “So?”

She folded her arms and said nothing for a moment, and Samson stared at her, half-convinced she was just a figment of his imagination. 

“Come upstairs,” Roman muttered.

He raised his eyebrows. “Eh?”

“I said come upstairs,” she said a little more loudly. “I don’t think he’ll shut up until you come upstairs.”

He blinked blearily at her. In the feeble glow of the dying fire, he could just make out the glimmer of her silk robe and her customary pouty scowl. 

He frowned at her, then closed his eyes. “I’m staying here, Bird.”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re telling me you like sleeping on the couch?”

“That’s right,” he lied. Truthfully, his lower back was hurting, but it was still better than sleeping on the ground in Lowtown. Most importantly, it was better than doing what Roman wanted.

For a second, there was silence. Then she poked his shoulder hard. “Come on, don’t be so fucking stubborn. I know your back must be hurting.”

He scowled. Bloody know-it-all, he thought. “It is not,” he muttered.

“Then why do you complain about it all the time?” she said archly.

He opened his eyes and glared at her. “Go back to bed, Roman. I’ve had enough of your nugshit.”

She stared stonily at him. Then, to his surprise, she started to climb onto the couch.

He hastily tried to shuffle away from her, but she doggedly settled herself over his hips. He grabbed her hips and started trying to lift her off. “Bird, quit it—” 

She untied her robe and opened it, and Samson stopped breathing: she was naked under the robe. Naked, no panties, no bra, her dusky little nipples hard… 

His cock pulsed, and his mouth was flooded with a rush of saliva. Infuriated by his own traitorous body and at Roman for making him this way, he gripped her bare hip and tried to push her away. 

She pulled his hand away and placed it on her breast. “Come upstairs,” she said. 

Her nipple was a perfect taut little bud. He roughly kneaded her breast, then twisted her nipple suddenly, wanting to hurt her and make her purr at the same time.

She gasped and arched into his hand, then fisted her hand in his hair and pulled his head back, and Samson burst out a groan: her mouth was suddenly on his neck, her teeth nipping at his skin and sending jolts of pain and pleasure from his throat down to his groin. She nipped the base of his throat then started to suck, and for a moment, Samson let himself enjoy it. He wasn’t giving in, mind — he was just… letting himself enjoy this for a second before pushing her away. 

She sucked hard at his skin and started rubbing his cock through his breeches, and he groaned and lifted his hips. “You bitch…” he moaned.

“Come upstairs,” she whispered, and she bit the side of his neck. 

He jolted at the pain, then gasped with pleasure as she squeezed his cock through his breeches. Then she was grabbing his hand again and pulling it between her legs, making him touch her wet curls– 

She pressed his fingers into her folds, and a red-hot roar of lust tore through his body. She was sopping wet and spreading herself over his fingers, and he wanted her so badly that it pissed him off. 

She groaned and undulated shamelessly over his hand, and Samson tried — rather feebly — to pull his hand away. “Not here,” he hissed.

She tightened her grip on his wrist and continued to rub herself against his fingers, and Samson stared at the meeting point of her pussy and his hand for a second before forcing his eyes back to her face. “I said not here,” he complained, and he tried to pull his hand away again. “Get off.”

She dug her nails into his wrist. “Make me,” she breathed.

Make me. Her provocative words, these words she said on purpose when she was trying to rile him into roughing her up... Something hot and angry and wild suddenly snapped inside of him.

He wrested his hand away from her and grabbed her by the throat, and her lips fell open in a gasp. She clawed at his wrist and tilted her hips down toward his groin, but Samson didn’t let her make contact; with his hand at her throat, he clumsily forced her off of his lap until they were both standing up.

He released her throat to grip her chin instead. “Get upstairs,” he bit off.

She curled her lip. “What happened to ‘I’m not going upstairs’?”

He lifted her chin higher. “If you’re going to rub yourself on me like a bloody cat in heat, I’m not letting you do it down here.”

She laughed mockingly. “Let me? Like you can tell me what to do.”

He tightened his grip on her chin — enough that it had to be hurting her — then squeezed her buttcheek in his other hand. “Get upstairs, Bird,” he snarled. “I’m sick of hearing it.”

“No,” she said belligerently. “I want to fuck down here.”

He spanked her suddenly, satisfied when she jolted and gasped. “Get upstairs,” he commanded.

“I said no,” she spat.

He dug his fingers harshly into her buttock until she gasped in pain. “Then I’ll just have to take you upstairs,” he hissed. Without warning, he bent down and hefted her over his shoulder in an undignified carry.

She squawked, then thumped his back as he made his way to the stairs. “Hey! Put me down—”

He spanked her upraised ass. “Shut it, Bird,” he ordered. He began carrying her up the stairs, and he was secretly pleased when he realized that carrying her was easier than it had been a couple months ago before he started sleeping in her house. 

Must be those three square meals Orana makes, he thought idly. Then, just for the hell of it, he spanked Roman’s ass again.

She yelped, then thumped his back. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” she hissed.

He huffed, and without replying, he flipped up the hem of her robe and pressed the tips of his fingers into her pussy. 

She jolted and gasped, and Samson smirked, satisfied at having found a way to shut her up. He continued to caress her slick folds as they ascended the stairs, and by the time he was stepping into Roman’s open bedroom, she was breathing hard over his shoulder. 

Monty was resting his chin on his paws in front of the fireplace. When Samson and Roman came in, he sat up attentively. 

“Go to the washroom,” Samson ordered, and he unceremoniously dumped Roman onto the bed. He still wasn’t used to having the mabari stand witness when he and Roman were doing the deed. 

Monty dutifully trotted away, and Roman struggled to sit up and push her hair out of her face. “Don’t tell him what to do,” she snapped. “He’s—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Samson said coldly. He kicked the bedroom door shut, then started unlacing his breeches. 

Roman leaned back on her elbows and sneered at him. “Look at you, the big strong boy throwing me around. You want to shut me up, hm? How’re you going to do that?”

His blood roared at her taunting tone. He pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches and stalked toward the bed, then crawled between her legs and wrapped his fingers around her throat.

He pushed her down so her back was flush to the bed, then started rubbing his cock between her legs. Her lips parted on a moan, and the sound of it made his blood thrill even more. 

She thrust her hips toward him, and Samson squeezed her throat. “I’m going to fuck your mouth, and you’re going to like it,” he snarled. “You’re going to like it so much that you’re going to rub your pussy until you come with my knob in your throat.”

She mewled and jerked her hips, pressing her sleek heat against his cock. Overcome with the pleasure and the heat of her, he leaned in and kissed her hard. 

She parted her lips and licked his tongue, then bit his lower lip, and he grunted as the sharpness of her teeth sent yet another tantalizing pulse of pleasure pounding to his cock. He shoved his tongue ruthlessly into her mouth for a moment before pulling away, then crawled over her body until he was straddling her. 

He lifted her chin with one hand. “Open your fucking mouth,” he snapped. 

“Fuck you,” she breathed, and she obediently opened her mouth.

Without any hesitation, he leaned forward and slid his cock between her lips. She suckled the head of his cock, and a jolt of ecstasy tore its way from his groin up to his throat in a helpless gasp. 

He curled his hips toward her and grabbed her hand. “Touch yourself,” he rasped.

She pulled her hand out of his grip and reached between her legs, and he watched raptly as her eyelids fluttered with pleasure. Soon she was writhing beneath him, her lips a tight suction on his shaft, and Samson thrust into her mouth with greater zeal as his pleasure rose in time with her own. 

A breathless minute later, she released his cock to cry out in climax, and Samson greedily watched the pleasure twisting her pretty face before taking hold of his cock. “I said to come with my knob in your throat,” he snarled, and he pushed his cock toward her lips.

She eagerly lifted her head to take him deep, and he grunted and thrust into her mouth as she moaned her pleasure around his cock. When the shuddering of her climax had stilled, he finally pulled his length from between her lips.

He crawled off of her and kneeled between her legs again, then ruthlessly looped her knees over his arms and planted his palms on either side of her hips. “I’m going to fuck your brains out,” he gasped, and he plunged himself inside of her.

She cried out, a hoarse and guttural cry of pleasure, and Samson slammed into her in a rough and mindless rhythm, riled almost beyond reason by her taunting and his anger and the beautiful lanky length of her naked body beneath him. Her fingers were digging into his forearms, her nails biting into her skin with little pricks of pain that only served to enhance his ecstasy, and as his pleasure continued to rise, he dipped his head down and took her nipple in his mouth.

He suckled hard, hard enough to bruise her flesh, and Roman arched beneath him as best she could despite the constraints of her legs over his arms. “F-fuck!” she cried. “Fuck, fuck, come on, fuck me hard…”

He slammed into her even harder, so hard that he would have sworn it would hurt her if not for the rapture that was twisting her face. She moaned and scraped his arms, and he gasped against her chest, and when his climax suddenly crashed over him, he bit her nipple. 

She keened with pleasure and writhed beneath him. “Fuck yes,” she sobbed. 

He didn’t reply, too busy gasping and thrusting jerkily into her as he came. Then, in a final fit of spite, he pulled out of her and thrust against her belly instead.

A few thick white spurts landed on her belly, and Roman twisted her hips. “You asshole,” she whined.

He didn’t reply, focused instead on catching his breath. When his heart had slowed to a less-than-frantic pulse, he sat back on his heels and smirked at her. “Serves you right,” he said.

She shot him a dirty look, and Samson smiled more widely at her, feeling oddly at peace. Roman looked so thoroughly spent, and her body bore the obvious marks of his work: his toothmarks on her breast, his semen on her belly, her own wetness smeared on the insides of her thighs and on the bed. For some reason, seeing her look this way made him feel more relaxed than he’d felt all day.

He pulled off his shirt and flopped down on the bed beside her. “I guess I’ll stay here and get some sleep,” he said.

She huffed and sat up. “Whatever. Do what you want, I don’t care.” She slid off of the bed and went to the washroom to clean up, and Monty trotted out of the washroom. 

Samson hastily tucked his cock back into his breeches, then gave Monty a sheepish look. “Sorry about before,” he muttered. “She just… she drives me up the wall sometimes.”

Monty wagged his tail and gave him a big canine grin, and Samson smiled faintly at the mabari before shuffling under the blankets. When Roman emerged from the washroom a couple of minutes later, Samson was glad to note that she was wearing her usual slight frown instead of an angry one.

She took her robe off and hung it on her painted changing screen, then put out the bedside lamp and crawled under the blankets. She settled on her back beside him, and as they lay there side-by-side, not talking nor touching, Samson began to wonder if he should say something.

Roman spoke first. “You’re not a coward,” she said quietly.

His heart flipped. He didn’t reply, unsure what to say. After all, he wasn’t totally sure that he wasn’t one.

She spoke again, and her tone was a little harder this time. “I don’t think you’re a fucking coward, Samson.”

“Then why’d you call me one?” he said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I was... mad.”

“You’re always mad,” he pointed out.

“Would you–” She broke off, then exhaled sharply and sat up on her elbow to look down at him. “I didn’t mean it, okay? Sometimes shit just comes out of my mouth and I – I didn’t fucking mean it. You’re not a coward.”

“You still think I need to pick a side, though,” he said.

She was quiet for a moment. Then she laid down and rolled onto her side facing away from him. “I didn’t think it would be so fucking hard to know which one you’d pick,” she said. 

He gazed morosely at her naked shoulder blade. She wasn’t wrong; he had no real reason to side with the Templars, after all. It wasn’t like he’d joined them because he believed in their cause. Really, he had every reason to hate them — or not the Templars per se, but the Chantry’s control over them. Whether Roman saw it or not, the Chantry controlled the Templars just as much as they controlled the mages. The leashes they used were just of a different kind. 

Really, if it came down to a war between the Templars and the mages, there was no reason for Samson to side with the Templars. He just wished… 

He sighed. Honestly, he sort of wished he could be a Templar without joining the Order again. If he could just get his hands on some real lyrium, the real good blue stuff so he could have his Templar powers back, then he’d be healthy and strong again. He could walk through this city with his head held high, and he could fight back when anyone tried to beat him down. And he could use his powers for a good purpose, too — to be the kind of Templar that Roman would tolerate: the kind of Templar who stepped in to stop the abominations and to talk the scared mages down from doing stupid things. 

If he had his Templar powers back, he’d be able to do something if Roman became an abomination. Maybe he’d be able to stop her or calm her down so she didn’t need to die.

His gut writhed. Stop it, he thought sternly. There was no point thinking about this any further; it was all a pipe dream. There was no way he would get his hands on real lyrium again. 

He gazed at Roman’s naked spine with an aching heart. Then he rolled toward her and pulled her back against his chest. 

He hugged her around her waist, and she tsked. “You’re squeezing me.” 

“Yeah,” he said huskily.

They laid together in silence for a moment, her spine flush to his chest and his knees tucked behind hers. Then Samson spoke quietly into the dark. “I know you don’t want a war, Bird.”

She scoffed. “Obviously.”

He didn’t reply. A minute later, she spoke again. “I don’t get in fights because I want to, you know.”

He frowned slightly. “Then why’re you always fighting all the time?”

“I’m not the one picking the fucking fights,” she snapped. “The whole world keeps picking fights with me.” Her voice cracked, and Samson felt her body tensing in his arms. 

His throat started to ache. He swallowed and hugged her harder, and she wiggled her shoulders slightly. “You’re crushing me,” she complained.

Her voice was thick with tears. Samson closed his stinging eyes. “Shut up, Bird,” he whispered, and he kept hugging her.

She sniffled quietly, and Samson held her in silence until her body started to relax. When she spoke again, her voice was hard, as though to make up for her tears. “I just want a fucking moment of peace. Just a fucking second of calm. That’s what I really want.”

He breathed quietly in the ensuing silence. Her hair smelled like vanilla and almond and sweat, and her skin was soft against his chest. The room was dark and her sheets were warm, and the only sounds were his breathing and the soft rumble of Monty snoring on the carpet by the fireplace. 

“It’s pretty calm right now,” Samson murmured.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she pulled his hand away from her midriff. 

She twined her fingers with his, and a nearly-painful spear of tenderness pierced his chest. She was such a pain in the ass, fighting with him one second and making him angry-fuck her the next, then being just a little bit sweet like this and making him feel bad for fighting with her in the first place… 

Bloody damn bird, he thought. She was fierce and angry and so fucking vulnerable, and Samson wished he could do something to save her from herself. If only he could be a Templar without actually joining the Order again. If only he could get access to some proper lyrium again…

His guts were knotted with longing. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair, and eventually he fell into an uneasy sleep. 

#samson #raleigh samson #da2 samson #samson da2 #samson/hawke #samson x hawke #romanson #pikapeppa writes

[lethendralis-paints]

Get To Know Meme/20 Questions

Tagged by my dearest @pikapeppa​ (thank you, my friend!)

Rules: Answer 20 questions, then tag 20 bloggers you want to get to know better.

Name: Lethy or Daria if you want to make my heart melt

Nicknames: Lethy, Leth, that crazy Fenris lunatic...you can propose me your own, but make it endearing!

Zodiac Sign: until that bunch answers me why are they ignoring the existence of the 13th zodiac constellation and at least 3 planets, I ain’t playing these games.

Height: 5′7″-ish

Languages: Russian, Ukrainian (bilingual), English (damn proud of myself for finally learning it), bits of Polish and German.

Nationality: Russian

Favorite Season: October and May. The air just has this quality to it in these months, I can’t even explain.

Favorite Flower: forget-me-nots

Favorite Scent: woodsy, smoky scents along with sharp citrus ones. Mix them up - and I’m done. Sandal wood, bay leaf, bergamot orange, cedar are among my favourites.

Favorite Color: all of them.

Favorite Animal: can’t choose. I like living things, cute or scary. But if we’re talking about having animals as companions, I would go for a horse, some cats, dogs and a big bird al at once.

Favorite Fictional Character: *looks around her blog* ahem.....yeah....

But also Lessa and F'lessan from Chronicles of Pern, Lucy Pevensie and prince Rilian (hello another broody, cursed brave warrior!) from Chronicles of Narnia (are all my beloved books ‘Chronicles’ of something?!), Sherlock Holmes from the books, and lots more.

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: all of them!

Average Sleep Hours: um....it varies a lot.

Dog or Cat person: both

Number of Blankets Slept With:  one + a fleece soft blanket in winter

Dream Trip: anywhere..I’ve never been abroad in my adult life.

Blog Established: 3 years ago, I think? But it sat there, empty until last February when I decided to pick up digital art again

Followers: I hope these people are all real...awkward, otherwise!

Random Fact: My friend once told me that my hands look like those of a lemur....I think they are right...

Bonus: Have a pretty Fenris wallpaper, guys! If you send me screens with it on your phone I will love you forever XD

Tagging forward to: @kourvo​ @midnightprelude​ @tryvyalsynnes​ @the-rogue-mockingjay​ @aban-asaara​ @schoute​ @mago-emplumado​ @dovabunny​ @levikra​ @stella-minerva​ @shayafury​ @the-upper-shelf​ @cerisiacos​ @mirror-mere​

and anyone else wishing to do the meme (no pressure of course!)

#tag meme #20 questions #bonus art #my art #dragon age #da2 #fenris

[elveny]

2019 Writer’s Round-Up

I was tagged by @pikapeppa​ - thank you so much!! ... even though I’m afraid I’m utterly useless in calculating all this. I really am rubbish at keeping track of all of this. (For those interested in everything writing-related, I answered an Author’s Meme a while back that has equally great questions!)

Okay, I’m gonna try it. Let’s do this.

Tagging forth to ALL of my writer friends here - you know who you are! @kunstpause​ @curiousthimble​ @midnightprelude​ @faerieavalon​ @captainderyn​ @serial-chillr​ @honekitteh​ @greyias​ @storyknitter​ @keldae​ @jaydzia66​ @kauriart​ @bdafic​ @thevikingwoman​ @elvenbeard​ @buttsonthebeach​ @kita-lavellan​ @cornfedcryptid​ @anchanted-one​ @corey-067​ @defira85​ @andveryginger​ and everyone I forgot. ❤️

Word count

Okay, so, this is hard. Seriously, because I write so much together with @kunstpause​ (including chapters we write together, no chance to find out how many words are by whom...) and because we threw so much away that was already written - AND because we wrote a lot last year already and rewrote, and and and... But I’m gonna try my best estimate.

210866 is the number I have definitely written alone - that’s is my Solavellan story Spark of Hope, Fic-or-Treat stories, my chapters of our Fictober Horror AU, my Fenhawke Modern AU, and various solo works. (And what I could find on my tumblr with answered prompts. I do need to be more consistent with my tags...)

Adding to that the 422821 words Anna and I have written (and in parts discarded) for Precipice of Change. I’m not sure how much of that is by me and how much is actually older than from 2019 but has been rewritten.

There are another 134024 words we have written for out DAI OT3 Adriene Hawke/Amara Lavellan/Iron Bull and for the Hawke Twins in Skyhold - a lot of scenes that are now null and void because we decided in March to completely overhaul what we had already written for DA2 and which of course has effects on DAI.

So, if I just take what kunstpause and I have written together and just divide it by two then add my solo-211k, I end up with an approximate 489288 words this year. 

Number of smut scenes

15. Thehe. Well. I had too much fun counting this, and it’s just those with actual action, not nearly-action. (It kind of felt like more LOL - but then, my part of the romances in Precipice of Change is yet to come...) Oh and no, not all of them a are published.

New things I tried this year

I wrote an AU for the first time! Family is What You Make of it is a Modern AU with Fenris and Adriene that was inspired by kunstpause’s utterly adorable and sweet Coffeeshop AU featuring Cullen and Cassia. And there’s even another story for Solas and Lyssa in a sort-of-WIP status set in the same universe.

For our Fictober Horror AU project, I also wrote for and from the POV of characters I normally don’t write for, that was awesome as well.

Oh, and I took and answered much more drabble prompts than ever before!

Favourite thing I wrote this year

I hate this question because I cannot for the life of me choose!! I write what I love. 

I am ridiculously proud of specific chapters, though, and Halamshiral is one of them. I think it’s the best smut I wrote so far.

I do have a soft spot for my Modern AU as well. That just... flowed out of me.

Favourite fic I read this year

I didn’t read as much as I wanted this year, and some of those I *do* read are still unfinished. 

take my hand (so i know you’re the real thing) by @hermiowngranger​ / sarsaparillia absolutely blew me away. Alistair/Bethany was a pairing I didn’t know I needed! I LOVE that fic and her Marian Hawke is one of my fav Hawkes.

Sunshine in the Dark by @kauriart​ fed right into that Alistair/Bethany need and I am in love with her depiction of the Wardens.

beloved by @cedarmoons​ was an equal eye-opener. So raw and amazing, Solavellan hell at its best.

There are so many more... Let me tell you - if I comment on anything you write, I love it. Promise. Also, January is supposed to be my Fic Reading Month ;)

Writing goals for 2020

Finish Spark of Hope. Letting that one go will be so, so hard. I love this series so damn much. But maybe I can add little things, write some scenes outside of the series or give them the modern AU I started? We’ll see where inspiration strikes.

Finish Precipice of Change. Finish writing it, at least ;) I think we will be able to do it, even if the posting will carry us into 2021.

Start something for Fian and Zevran. They deserve more love! And what I already have feels outdated...

I also hope to get more fanfiction reading incorporated into my schedule because Inspiration(TM)!!

Those are the things I really want to do. I also have some more ideas, but those will have to take a step back; at least until Spark of Hope and Precipice of Change are done. One of them is the Tranquil AU (oh yes, it’s as evil as it sounds), and then, there is an idea bouncing around in my head of a Modern Girl in Thedas setting, but that is still super vague. Oh, and I am absolutely sure that one day, kunstpause and I will have a complete series of our Double Trouble Dragon Age Universe: two Wardens (Fian Tabris and Aren Surana), two Hawkes (Adriene and Cassia Hawke), two Inquisitors (Lyssa and Amara Lavellan).

Words of Thanks

This year has been amazing, creatively. I have met so many new people here this year, I have been tagged in writing memes and asked for advice, I have received SO MUCH LOVE by all of you. Your comments, your support, your asks and ideas and feedback mean the WORLD. There have been times when this support was the brightest part of a week.

I want to specifically mention @kunstpause​, my partner-in-crime, creative soulmate and best friend one could ask for. 

My and our betas, @curiousthimble​, @corey-067​, @edencalder​, @knallbart​ and lately @cornfedcryptid​ also deserve some major love. Your work makes our work so much better. Thank you.

#fanfiction #elveny writes #year-end roundup #writer's roundup #2019 #I do love you all!! #writing

[mushroomfen]

I need to get back into writing things, and I have a WIP that I’ve been wanting to work on for months but don’t have the energy to continue and have just been editing it to HELL and back. I’ve finally decided to just throw the intro up here for my fellow Dragon Age friends to garner some feedback and/or opinions on if it’s actually something people would want to read??

Anyway its supposed to end up being a bridge between my canon DA2 and Inquisition, and then put some more DA2 characters into the mix of the Inquisition problems as well. It’s also supposed to end up being Fenders, but it’s a slow burn and there’s nothing suggesting that in the intro. For reference, my canon Hawke romanced Anders. I still don’t have a title don’t @ me... pls let me know what you think and if you’d be interested in more!

-

The Champion stood, panting heavily as he watched the charred corpse become simply ashes in the wind. It was done, everything was over. The menace of Meredith was gone and Orsino’s hypocritical corpse lay dead in the tower. Garrett Hawke’s face was stony, a straight, almost downturned line replaced the playful grin that always seemed to grace his lips. Kirkwall, his city, was in ruin, burning down around him once again. Today was a day of sorrow, of war, of a city crumbling to ruin, and Hawke knew he was the only one that could lead these shattered people into the beginning of an end.

Garrett’s gaze shifts, taking a second to rest on each of his companions, silently accounting for each and every one. He ignores the pain in his side that reminds him there’s a deep gash oozing a steady flow of blood, and instead starts to call attention to Merrill who’s currently rummaging through her bag for bandaging. His voice catches in his throat when his gaze falls on the final companion though, the cause of this mess.

No, that’s too harsh, he’s the cause of the beginning of the war, of this start. He’s what gave mages the chance, the courage, and the ability to fight back. He’s not the reason this happened, and it needed to happen. But... to go this far? To cause this much devastation?

With a heavy sigh, Hawke shakes his head and turns away from the man he loved… no, loves... and makes his way across the courtyard to Fenris. The warrior frowns when he spots Hawke, shaking his head in disapproval at the gash in Hawke’s side. Despite Hawke’s protesting, Fenris rips off some cloth from a nearby tapestry to wind around Hawke’s middle, “Hawke-”

Before he could get his chastising out, Fenris was cut off by an unusually low and serious voice, “Fenris, I need to speak with you, after this mess is cleaned up. Meet me in Hightown when you can.”

Hawke’s voice raises the hair on the back of Fenris’ neck and his eyes narrow. Despite the unusual tone however, Fenris finds only honesty and pleading amongst the anguish in the amber depths. His stomach drops, “I’ll be there.”

Once back at his manor, Hawke took to pacing. He knew Fenris wouldn’t be coming till late that night, but it does nothing to calm the turmoil within him. At first Biscuit, his mabari, whines and snuffles at his heels, but quickly admits defeat after receiving only a gruff “goodnight” from Garrett. With a worried whine, he trots obediently upstairs, leaving Hawke alone with his troubled thoughts.

Hours later, it’s just as he’s climbing the stairs to try and sleep that Hawke hears the door cautiously swing open and Fenris announcing his presence. Hawke’s chest tightens in anticipation and worry, calling for Fenris to join him in the main room.

“You look distressed, Hawke.” Fenris starts as he joins him in the room, watching as Hawke takes a seat on one of the plush chairs by the fire.

Sighing, Hawke can only nod in agreement, hands coming up to rub at his face, “You might want to have a seat, you’re not going to want to hear this…”

“This has to do with the mage, doesn’t it? Maker knows you love him, Hawke, but this? He went too far-”

“I know!” Hawke snaps, cutting Fenris’ scathing words off. The fire in Hawke’s eyes dims when he meets Fenris’ icy glare and he continues more softly, staring into the fire instead, “I know... that’s why I need your help.”

It takes several long moments, Fenris’ narrowed gaze searching Hawke’s defeated form when finally, with a soft huff, he takes a seat.

“I’m listening.”

“Thank you, Fenris,” Hawke lets out a relieved breath, but the anxiousness stays, this could still end badly, and he knows it. Even with hours upon hours of playing conversation after conversation over in his head, he still has no idea where to even start. “I… Anders… well...he-”

“Spit it out, Hawke this isn’t like you. Where is the mage anyway? I figured he’d be here, hiding.” His voice is gruff, frustrated, and now he’s gazing around, looking for Anders.

“No, no he’s at the clinic, and I’m going there after this to make sure he’s alright.” Hawke says warily, rubbing the back of his neck, “He has to pack up his stuff.”

“At least he has some sense to leave before the second wave of templars come-”

“You’re going with him.” Hawke blurts, the crackling of the fire only adding to the crackling tension between the two.

“What?” Fenris’ words feel like they’re made of steel, slicing through Hawke’s very being.

“Please, Fenris, just hear me out. I’m doing this for a reason, I’m asking you for a reason.” Fenris just regards him with a stony stare for several moments and eventually the silence prompts Hawke to continue, “I…I truly believe that Justice, though with no ill intention from either him nor Anders to begin with, is now corrupted. No good spirit would condone murder of innocents to prove a point-even a spirit of Justice.” Hawke gets a terse nod from Fenris and watches as he ever so slightly sits back in the seat, a sign that he was listening, and it spurs Hawke on, “E-Ever since he first mentioned the potion to separate himself from Justice, I started doing some of my own digging. I’ve heard stories of an Avvar hold in the Frostback Basin, that they have a ritual to separate spirits from their people. I don’t know if its just rumors or if it’ll be any good, or if it won’t work with Demons but-”

“You want me to take him there.” Fenris finishes, tone completely flat.

“I… yes.”

“No.” Once again Fenris’ voice cuts deep into Hawke as he stands, “If your lover was dumb enough to get himself into this mess, he can get himself out of it. You go with him if you think it’s worth it.”

“You know I can’t leave Kirkwall like this! It’ll destroy itself-”

“So, let it, Hawke! This city isn’t your child!” Fenris snarls in frustration, turning to leave, “Say for some Maker damned reason I do go, then what, Hawke? I’d sooner kill him before we even reached the Frostbacks!”

“Exactly!” Already in the entryway, Fenris pauses, ears twitching, “And exactly why I cannot do it myself.”

“What are you talking about?” Fenris murmurs, voice thick with suspicion, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity now, turning back to find Hawke also stood by his chair, “Are you asking me to kill your beloved mage?”

“Maker no!” Hawke recoils harshly at that, “I beg it doesn’t come to that-but… I need someone with him that wouldn’t hesitate to…to put him down if he-”

“Becomes an abomination.” Fenris finishes roughly, “Hawke, what makes you think he isn’t one already?”

The question, though accusatory, is sincere, and Hawke has to bite his tongue before he speaks. “I know he’s said he is merged with Justice and that there is no separation, but I cannot believe that. Abominations have shown to lose control over their own bodies when threatened, and they cannot hold human emotions, show restraint, or act upon the kindness and generosity Anders does…” Hawke bites his lip before continuing, “Do you remember when he almost killed the mage girl we saved in the tunnels?”

“Yes…” Fenris’ skin prickles at the memory, hair standing on end.

“Think, Fenris… Would an abomination be able to stop that course of action? Would Anders have been able to hole himself up in a clinic and wallow in guilt and remorse and self-hate for days on end because of something he couldn’t control?”

“So he can’t control it!“

“But he can Fenris! He stopped Justice! There’s still an Anders in him!” Hawke is practically shouting now, but catches himself and continues much more softly, “Please Fenris, just try and look past the spirit-the demon. Anders puts up this… this wall for everyone but it’s because he’s scared and knows deep down he made a mistake! He’s doing everything he can to hold himself together when a demon of vengeance is wreaking its havoc on his body!”

“It is well deserved for his foolish decision to harbor it in the first place.” Fenris’ lips curl, shaking his head in distaste.

“Andraste’s tits-Fenris please, please, just this once, see Anders. The good, kind, well-meaning man that gives everything to the people in Darktown to have a better life. Doesn’t that man deserve the chance to make his life better too? Doesn’t he deserve the chance to separate himself from the mistake he made?” Hawke is pleading now, gaze holding firm against Fenris’ narrowed one.

“You want me to give the mage who betrayed you a second chance. To take him across Fereldan on my own to a rumored possibility that most likely won’t work to separate him from something that has proved dangerous and that he insists is fully merged with his being.” Fenris repeats slowly, the words feeling like blades against his tongue, “Do you realize how stupid you sound right now?”

“Yes.” Hawke hisses, but there is no malice, only desperation, “Do you realize how spiteful you sound, Fenris? How merciless and inconsiderate? A man, a man you have fought beside for 9 years now, is suffering, has been suffering and all of us have just... stood there and let it happen…” Hawke trails off with that remark, clearly haunted by his own inability to see the clear signs of distress, to notice what was going on with his own lover. “I know you both have your differences and I know you don’t see eye to eye, and I know he’s said horrible things to you and I take blame for that too, but… I’m not asking for you to be friends, or even friendly. I do know you can respect each other and can take care of yourselves, and you know each other well. All I’m asking from you, Fenris, is to be an escort, you’re the only one I trust to take him down if… if he goes too far. Please, Fenris. I need you.”

Hawke holds Fenris’ calculating gaze, before finally he looks away, takes a seat again and stares into the fire. Still, Fenris is silent as Hawke waves a hand dismissively, “I’m sorry. I realize I’m asking too much of you, Fenris. I would like a moment alone before I go to Darktown if you don’t mind.”

“When does he leave?” Hawke almost doesn’t register the quiet question, but after a moment he lifts his head to look back at Fenris in the entranceway, “What?”

“I asked, when does he leave?” Fenris repeats, a bit more forcefully, eyes averted and arms crossed, defensive.

“I… I have a ship that agreed to quietly sail two passengers across the Waking Sea to Amarathine. It leaves the docks at dawn.” Hawke murmurs, still wary but feeling a spark of hope flare in his chest.

“I’ll be at the clinic before first light.” Fenris mutters gruffly, forcefully slamming the door closed behind him. For the first time that day, there’s a small smile on Hawke’s face.

#dragon age 2 #da2 #Fenian writes #wip tag

[kajilia]

Storm and Smoke

Short one shot about leaving Kirkwall after the end of DA2 and the thoughts Hawke has on a particular decision she made.

Pairing: Fenris X ruthless female Hawke

——-

Greer Hawke could still see Kirkwall on the horizon, long after the boat had set sail. She also noted how not all of the fires had been put out, smoke painting an unrestful night sky, as she watched the city she had called home grow smaller and smaller.

Her grip on the railing tightened, making her wounds twinge but she paid it no mind, her thoughts still stuck in the city. Perhaps that was why she only noticed someone’s presence behind her when they spoke in a raspy voice. “Hawke.”

Greer shook her head, a small almost invisible movement, but didn’t turn around. A salty breeze picked up, playing with the tendrils of her hair that had escaped its tie. Wind kissed her face almost reverently, as if to calm her stormy insides. When time had passed without her giving an answer, her companion moved closer standing at her side with his hands on the railing. Fenris tried once again to engage her: “You have barely said a word since we set sail. Even Isabela is starting to worry at this point.”

She still didn’t answer, just stared at the shrinking city, thinking about the flames she left behind there.

A sigh followed the silence, weary and frustrated. “This is not like you.”

Greer’s eyes flashed but she didn’t turn them towards him. “I suppose you’ve always been the one more skilled at brooding.” She snapped, a poisonous sting in her voice.

Fenris answered immediately, seemingly relieved she finally responded.

“Just like how you seem to favor that icy stare of dominance,” he paused, then chuckled. “Ah, just like that.”

Greer gritted her teeth. “Of all times, now you choose to be playful?”

Quiet once again, a moment of hesitation, then a touch upon her shoulder, so soft it was barely there.

“Forgive me. Varric seems to be much better at lifting your spirit. He coaxes smiles from you so easily.”

Greer’s shoulders had already relaxed when he touched her, but at his words she turned her gaze towards him, meeting it at last.

In those stormy eyes he knew so well, Fenris found a bone deep sadness, a sea of unrest and hidden guilt. She sighed as she spoke.

“There are many who has coaxed things from me. Mostly things I allow. But other times...”

The elven warrior by her side shook his head in disgust. “You were right in killing him.”

Greer stepped back away from his touch at those words. “Of course you’d think that. You’ve let hate rule you for so long, you think there’s no other option.” Her voice dripped with bitterness and the quiet that settled was tense. She looked like she wanted to take her words of anger back, but she didn’t. Instead Greer turned towards the sea, to the burning dot of a city and thought of another man who had made her smile. A friend who was a friend no longer, just a shadow now. Biting down on her tongue did nothing to ease the stinging behind her eyes.

“Do you want to know why I killed him?” She asked softly.

Fenris only paused briefly, considering. “I think you want to tell me.”

“It wasn’t for Kirkwall. It wasn’t for the lives lost or the chaos he created. It wasn’t even because those lives are my burden to bear now since I helped unknowingly.”

Greer leaned clutched the railing so tightly, the wood groaned, her battle roughened hands turning white at the strain.

“I killed him because he betrayed me. I gave him my loyalty and trust and he abused it. Because he hurt me, and I thought killing him would make it hurt less.”

“...But it didn’t.”

The champion of Kirkwall made a sound in the back of her throat. A small too vulnerable sound for a usually fearless hero.

A couple of clouds moved away and unveiled a bright moon, spilling light everywhere, making the ocean shine and glitter. It was pretty and bright enough that Greer simply watched for the longest time. Then she breathed in again. “Do you wish I hadn’t stopped you from killing your sister?”

This Fenris has a hard time answering. He stayed quiet, looking at the silver light, banishing shadows and playing with the waves.

“I.... don’t. Not anymore.”

And there was that look in her eye again. That terrible, lost and broken look. Fenris wished he could somehow take it away.

“I wish you would have stopped me.” She said.

The elven warrior, started to say something, an apology perhaps but trailed off when she turned from the ocean and towards him.

Slowly as always, giving him plenty of time to move away she raised her hand to his face. Then she trailed rough fingers against his cheek, pushing some hair that had blown into his eyes away.

Greer looked at him softly, a look he saw rarely those days. “We should do something about this hair of yours, it seems to be way too cumbersome and impractical.”

Fenris leaned forward to subtly encourage her ministrations. A small smile quivered at the corner of her mouth as she obliged, running fingers through the fine strands. As Greer caressed his hair she spoke lightly, almost with a sense of cheer. “I say we do something about these shaggy sides and leave it long on top, I’m sure it will look rather handsome.”

Fenris allowed himself a small smile, despite knowing that the haunted look in his beloved’s eyes would not go away for quite some time, maybe never. “So eager to change me are you?”

“No,” she shook her head drawing even closer until their noses almost touched. “I never wanted anything to change.”

She would never ask to be embraced. No Greer Hawke, never asked for comfort. Fenris didn’t know if she even knew how. So he simply wrapped his arms around her, letting her bury her face by his neck, letting her hide away from the world for at least a little while. Her hair smelled of smoke and dust and it reminded him of all they had left in Kirkwall.

Things weren’t going to be easy in the future. People may think Greer Hawke was a glorious champion sent to save people who were oppressed. A hero to all who were in need.

But at that moment on a boat sailing away from everything she had built, she was a refugee like so many others. One who had lost loved ones, one who had fought with everything in her power and still lost things that mattered.

And she was so very, very tired of fighting.

#da2 #Dragon age 2 #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #fanfiction #fenhawke #femhawke #hawke #fenris #kirkwall #varric #anders #isabela #da spoilers

[theladyofdeath]

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty​ and I decided to team up for a sweet daddy Ro OS. We went back and forth - sometimes sentence by sentence, sometimes paragraph by paragraph - for this fluffy collaboration. I love writing with my bff. She reminds me why I love writing so much. I hope you all enjoy. :)

————

Based on the prompt: “Can you help me up? Your child is pretty heavy.”

Aelin sat in her study, a book resting on her rounded stomach, a strong pot of cumin tea steeping on the table beside her. It was rumored to induce labor, and after the longest 9 months of her life, she was willing to try anything. Of course, sex and long walks also induced labor, but drinking a cup of tea sounded far less exhausting, even though Rowan kept suggesting the former. With a heavy sigh, she set her book down and ran a hand over her belly. There was a sharp kick to her ribs in response.

Aelin groaned, loud, long, and dramatically. “Rowan!”

When he didn’t answer, she yelled his name louder, “Rowan!”

The sound of heavy footsteps and something that sounded suspiciously like their dining table being scraped across the floors reached her. The door of the study burst open.

“What’s happening? Are you okay?” He was looking her over and seemed to realize she wasn’t in any mortal danger. “Is he coming?”

The excitement in his voice brought a warm smile to her face.

For just a second, Aelin forgot about the utter state of agony she was in and said, with a gentle smile, “No, unfortunately not. But, I’ve got to get up and move around. I feel like I’ve been sitting here for days.”

She had never been good at sitting still. Or relaxing in any way.

Rowan’s shoulders sagged as he laughed softly. He crossed the room and perched on the rolled arm of Aelin’s chair. Squeezing her shoulders, he crooned, “And what can I do for you, my queen?”

The purr in his voice had Aelin rethinking her chosen method of attempting to induce labor, but she held her hand out and said, “Can you help me up? Your child is pretty heavy.”

Rowan chuckled and held out his hand, pulling her to her feet. With her hand on her lower back, Aelin whined. Her feet hurt. Her ass hurt. Her breasts hurt. Her legs hurt. The heartburn was so bad that Aelin wanted to set something on fire, just so it would know how her insides felt.

“Get this baby out of me,” she begged, to no one in particular, but Rowan lifted a brow. Sensing his thoughts, she rolled her eyes. “A walk. Let’s take a walk.”

He smirked, but wrapped and strong arm around her waist and walked her outside. From across the gardens, she saw Fenrys talking to a slim woman with grey blue eyes that seemed to burn with a fire so unlike her own. The sound of tiny feet running towards them distracted her from the elegant stranger and before she knew it, a small body had slammed into her husband and wrapped itself around his legs.

“Daddy, Rayna is here!” Layten cried, his green eyes - his father’s eyes - sparkling in the winter sun.

“Of course she is, sweetheart,” Aelin crooned, running a hand over his blond hair. “She’s here with her mother and father so she can meet your baby sister when she finally decides to make an appearance.”

“Or brother,” Rowan cut in, throwing a wink at his son.

“I wanna sister,” Layten said, small arms crossed. “And a brother. I want a sister and a brother.”

Aelin cringed. “Sorry, sweetheart. Momma’s only having one,” she said, with a muttered, Thankfully, underneath her breath. Carrying one was hard enough. Two at one time? No, thank you.

She heard Rowan chuckle under his breath and opened her mouth to call to Lysandra and Aedion, who were crossing from the magnificent fountain that sat in the center of the gardens, when she felt a sharp pain, unlike the kicks she’d begun to grow accustomed to. She gasped and looked to Rowan, squeezing his hand tightly.

Rowan froze, green eyes growing wide, scanning every inch of his wife.

“I-“ she began, gritting her teeth until the pain began to ease. “Call- call for the midwife!”

————

Rowan had been pacing in their rooms for over eleven hours. A glance at the clock on the wall told him it was well past three in the morning now. After her fifth round of contractions was so sore that Aelin almost lost consciousness, Yrene administered a tonic that was supposed to help relax her lower body. Shortly after, she and Elide had kicked Rowan out, and a hesitant knock on the door ended with him snarling at a now-terrified servant, coming to offer dinner to the growing royal family and their guests.

Rowan fell into a chair, and looked around before he let his head fall, holding it in his hands. Dorian and Manon were dozing on the small chaise in the corner. Lysandra and Evangeline had volunteered to watch Layten and Kerayna, as well as Chaol and Yrene’s son, Velian. That left Aedion to prowl the rooms just as Rowan was, a worried mess for his cousin and queen.

The telltale shink of a blade being sharpened filled the room repeatedly. Rowan lifted his hands and glared at Lorcan, where he sat on an adjacent couch, whetstone in hand.

“Must you do that right now?” He asked, his voice as cold as the steel in his corner commander’s hands.

Lorcan blinked, halting his sharpening, only for a second before continuing and saying, “What else are we going to do? We’ve been waiting for hours and I’m sure we’ll be waiting for hours more.”

Aedion rolled his eyes from where he paced on the far side of the room. “Can’t even be pleasant on the day a child is entering the world?”

Lorcan didn’t look up as he said, “No.”

Fenrys just laughed from where he sat at the small dining table. “I can’t wait until you get Elide pregnant so we can all see how on edge you get when someone-.”

The doors leading to Rowan and Aelin’s suites cracked open.

Elide’s tear stained face peeked out from behind the door. Both Rowan and Lorcan were instantly on their feet, albeit for vastly different reasons.

“Is she okay?” Rowan asked, the words so soft that he was worried her mortal ears would hear them. Dorian was nudging a groggy Manon and Chaol was noticing he was leaning on his cane much more than he had been an hour or two before.

Elide’s eyes softened as she smiled. “Would you like to come and meet your daughter?”

————

As Rowan entered the room, Aelin’s lips were pressed against the small tufts of silver hair, murmuring quiet oaths of love and protection as she cradled their newborn daughter.

When the door quietly clicked shut behind him, Aelin met his gaze, turquoise eyes shining brightly.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” he whispered, back, sitting on the edge of their bed and pressing a soft kiss to his mate’s forehead.

His fingers brushed the top of their daughter’s head, and she opened her eyes in response, revealing eyes identical to her mother’s. “She’s so beautiful, Fireheart, I’m so proud of you.”

Aelin’s eyes welled up as she rested her forehead gently against her husband’s.

Yrene and Elide had left the room, allowing them a private moment with the young princess. Rowan ran a gentle finger down her arm as Aelin said, “We didn’t plan any names for a girl.” She pressed a soft kiss to her nose. “What’s your name, sweet girl? Who will you be?”

The name left Rowan’s lips in a reverent breath. “Raisa, the beloved.”

“Raisa,” Aelin breathed. “Raisa Whitethorn Galathynius. Princess of Terrasen.”

They sat together for a long while, staring in awe at the beautiful creation they had created. Once Aelin had drifted into a much needed sleep, Rowan rocked Raisa in the corner rocking chair, unable to set her in the bassinet due to pure adoration.

The others had visited throughout the early morning, quick visits just to see the newest addition to their court, their family.

It wasn’t until the sun crept up from behind the hills of Orynth that the door creaked open and a small, green-eyed boy entered the room with a smile on his little pink lips.

“Daddy!”

Rowan huffed a laugh, pressing a finger to his mouth. “Let momma sleep, use your quiet voice.”

Layten nodded, pressing his own fingers to his lips before dramatically tiptoeing to the corner of the bedroom, where Rowan sat.

“Meet your sister, Layten,” Rowan smiled, watching his son’s reaction. “Raisa.”

“Raisa,” he repeated, high voice light and gentle. “Sister.” He looked over to Aelin. “Is Mommy okay?”

“She’s perfect, buddy, just very tired from having Raisa.”

“Oh okay.” His little lip pulled in between his teeth as it so often did when he was thinking. “Daddy, where do babies come from?”

Rowan coughed, trying not to startle his sleeping daughter as he scrambled to answer Layten’s question.

“Ask that again when you’re much, much older,” came a sleepy voice from the bed.

“Mommy!” Layten cried, and climbed up onto the bed. “I met Raisa.”

“I see that, sweet boy,” she smiled, pushing his blonde hair out of his eyes.

“Is she a prince, too?” For the first time, a little wariness crept into his green eyes.

Rowan perched on the edge of the bed, still cradling Raisa as she began to fuss, began to wake up. “No, she’s a princess. And she’s yours to protect, just like Uncle Aedion protects mommy. Can you do that?”

He jumped to his feet on the bed and stood proudly. “Yes!” He looked down at the tiny bundle in his father’s arms. “Can I hold her?”

“Sit down,” Rowan ordered. His son quickly, excitedly, obeyed. “Put a pillow on your lap.”

Aelin fondly handed her firstborn a bed pillow and he sat it on his lap, wiggling his fingers in Raisa’s direction.

A smile tugged on Rowan’s mouth as he laid Raisa in Layten’s arms.

“Be careful,” Rowan whispered. “Be gentle.”

As she settled in Layten’s arms, Raisa’s eyes opened. She gazed up at her older brother and opened her mouth in a wide yawn. “Hi, Raisa,” he said, not quite able to pronounce her name. “I’m your big brother.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she began to doze. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

Rowan wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she began to cry, seeing the bond that was already forming between her children.

Never in a millennia of years did she think she would be lucky enough to call this her life.

“It’s real,” Rowan whispered, sensing her thoughts through the bond. “It’s real, we’re here. We made it.”

They had conquered hell itself for this life, and it had been worth it.

#fanfic #fanfiction #rowaelin #daddy ro #shelby and tara writes #rowan #aelin

[mythvoiced]

@intergalacticxmisfits​ - 💬 (SPILL THE TEA!) — send 💬 and my muse will say what they really think about yours.

---

Saeyoung > Mariah

“What?! It’s no secret what I really think about my wife, my beloved, the love of my life, the brightest star in my night-sky, my spaceship spouse and companion, my adored and beautiful pig wrestler.”

Apple red curls continue to bounce as he joins his hands in front of himself, continuing his dramatic delivery of monikers and titles, one after the other, that he truly believes in, even if his exaggerated relaying might make it seem otherwise. But then he stops, the energy fading from his shoulders as they slump, a sigh slipping past the lips that had been showcasing a dorky grin, moments prior. His hands sink.

“I love her. She’s, she’s so ridiculously smart. And strong. And she’s the bravest person I know, maybe even the bravest in the entire world. She never looks scared, even when she is. And she won’t ever give up on anyone. She didn’t even give up on me, even though I gave her no reason to keep fighting for me. For us. Hell, God knows I gave her plenty of reasons to walk away, but she never did. She saw through me, and all my bullshit, and stuck around despite it. At first, I thought she was just stubborn.”

He shrugs, a fond smile playing at his lips now. “But now I know. She is stubborn. And the best human in the world.”

Others below the cut.

Hyeongjong > Minjae

“He’s my best friend, obviously.” The statement is delivered like an affirmation one would be a fool to even think of second-guessing. He doesn’t even look up as he says it, as if it is a truth so deeply ingrained in the very reality of the universe that neither eye contact nor intensity is needed to bring the point across. Soulmates, platonic ones included, are pre-written by whoever wrote the stars into the sky.

Why would you second-guess something like that?

He looks up to smile, instead, from corner to corner, bright and delighted. “He’s a genius. A prodigy maybe, even, although I wouldn’t know because I didn’t know him as a child. But he’s so incredibly smart. Smarter than anybody else I know. His knowledge about the universe is almost like the universe itself, never-ending! But that’s not all!”

He lifts a finger, as if to maintain attention. “It’s not even the half of it, and I could be talking about his brain for hours, but there’s another very important thing I need to mention: his heart. Not the thinker organ, but Minjae’s is as well developed as the one in his skull. He’s there for others, almost unconditionally. Not really unconditionally, but if he thinks you’re a good person, he’ll probably try to take the moon from the sky for you. And you know what’s craziest? He’s probably gonna succeed at it too. All in all, he’s incredible, he’s our generation’s Einstein! And as kind as Mother Theresa. Imagine that.”

---

Fenris > Theo

“I don’t like to share my thoughts, let alone those I withhold of other people.” It’s a charmingly kind way to put it, tilted head, gentle tone, look in his eyes resembling that of an uncle or perhaps the father he’ll never be, trying to explain why he might relent today, but definitely won’t the next time he’ll be asked to play this game.

It’s the kind of giving in that happens with little to no malice, a resignation that is only a bit of play pretend, the ‘alright, you can have the cookie, but just this once’. It’s a great contrast to the beast he used to be. And he does, in part, believe, it is also thanks to people like Theo, living the example he has unknowingly lived by.

“Besides, I find it rude to speak of her in her absence. So I shall only say this: history is written by those who fired the gun, not by those left crippled by the bullet in their leg. Theodora walks with a metaphorical limp through life, given to her by I’m assuming a difficult past I have no further information on. She’s intent to continue using that very leg to deliver her blows, digging around in that bullet wound, believing to be deserving of punishment for deeds I’m, once again, assuming where caused by life simply... making her believe it is all she was made to do. Yet she continues to rise, continues to learn how to accept people holding her elbow or clutches offered to her. She is strength and she is resilience, and every time she feels she falls, she’s taken another step towards victory.”

He blinks. “Quite admirable, don’t you think?”

---

Hoon > Kailee

“There’s nothing much to say here, I believe.” Ever the reserved, Hoon only ever seems to roll up his sleeves to wash his hands before surgery, and never to reveal the strongly beating heart so stubbornly refusing to rest on his palm.

Even for those, or rather the one, who’d managed to make his heart beat hard enough that he’d failed to continue to neglect he possesses one in the first place, buried deep beneath the layer of ice he himself had covered it with, almost like a soft blanket of refusal, of pushes being made to avoid being pushed first.

In Kang Hoon’s eyes, his heart doesn’t belong anywhere but in the dark and cold hole, he’d shoved it back into, where it was safe. Or rather, where he was safe from it. “I don’t... I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about her. A lot of... There’s a lot. No matter how much I know, there’s always more. More I’d like to know. More I don’t want to know. More I’m afraid to know. But no matter what it is, as long as it’s hers, I don’t think I’ll be able to turn my back on it.”

---

Yoshino > Minjae

“He’s the best space guy I know!” She throws her hands in the air, as if trying to grab the sun from the sky and gift it to the one she thinks would deserve it most. For her, Minjae is perhaps the closest thing to the sun itself that she might be able to find in a single person.

Warm and welcoming and there even when you can’t see it, blinding in its brightness, always providing, always ready to help, somehow within her he... “He’s also kind of like summer,” she puts her finger to her chin, pensive. “He’s warm and super fun, he reminds me of fireflies when he looks at the stars, because I look at fireflies like he looks at stars... I wonder if he’ll agree to catch some with me. And the sky is always brightest in summer which obviously reminds me of him, because the sky is basically space and space is basically Minjae! It’s like, his friendliness and his heart, are as large as the universe itself! Which is pretty large, he’s told me so.”

She folds her hands behind her back. “I’m glad we’re friends. I really am. He’s always got my back. And I always want to have his! I think anyone who’s his friend should consider themselves lucky to be. He’s the greatest friend to have.”

#intergalacticxmisfits #the last route;intergalacticxmisfits #you're the debug command to the code of my heart;saeyoung & mariah #the dancer;intergalacticxmisfits #down the street;hyeongjong & minjae #the wolf;fenris #the surgeon;guest muse #the incredible adventurous tales of tanuki and space boy;yoshino & minjae #the tanuki;yoshino #THE TAGS ARE A LITTLE MESSY BUT I HOPE I DIDN'T MISS ANYONE <3 #you said all of them if i'd like and i did like >:) #i didn't include the android au bc we haven't written in it yet ;3 #AND i wasn't sure about arthur's android and ellie == SO I LEFT THEM OUT for the time being tho <w< #hoon's a lil cryptic bc there's actually NO WAY he'd be honest he's being held at gunpoint by me as we speak #even tho he'd probs not care even then lmao #GAH I'M SO SORRY yoshi's so short ;;

[ladyinthebluebox]

🍵 and 🎨 for each of your OC. ^^

🍵 Are there any rumours about your OC hanging around? Nasty ones or just good-humoured? Got any gossip to share about them?

There are quite a few rumours flying around Heleus Cluster concerning mostly the company Sybil Ryder keeps while the Tempest docs in the Kadara Port. People are whispering about her relationship with the certain smuggler, his shady associations as well as how much influence he has over the young human pathfinder. Not all rumours about her are like this, however. Around the Nexus you can hear the stories about her roasting members of the Nexus’ leadership.

When it comes to Scorpius Ryder, for quite a while not much was known to the wider population of Andromeda about him, except for the fact he’s kept in the Hyperion’s medical bay. Later, when he was finally awake from his coma, people began to talk about how there are crates of tech delivered to his private room in the hospital wing and what the pathfinder and her twin might be up to, When the Initiative’s personnel has finally been allowed to set an embassy on Aya, the rumours started spreading around the angara about there supposedly being not one Ryder, but TWO of them. 

There are many, and I mean MANY rumours flying around the famous or infamous Commander Shepard, especially that so many of the missions she was a part of both as an N7 operative as well as the first human Spectre, are surrounded with layers, upon layers of red tape. Some rumours are good, some are bad, and others, like the ones concerning what exactly took place on Torfan, are just disturbing. Very popular one suggests that Andromeda faked her death, though the reasons for it are unclear, ranging from infiltrating Cerberus to being a part of some sort of dodgy Council businesses. Meanwhile, some people believe it was the Council itself who planned the attack on the Normandy to get rid of the human Spectre and her ship. Then ofc, once it becomes clear that somehow, she was back, there are all sorts of rumours about the ragtag group making up her new crew and their association with Cerberus. Then, for a while, there were rumours spreading around the Citadel about Commander being seen in various parts of the station in the company of her turian crewmember.

There are quite a few rumours travelling around Thedas about the dalish elf, who became the Herald of Andraste and later took over as the Inquisitor. Most of them, however, are surprisingly positive. Smallfolk are often talking about Lady Lavellan being unusually kind, spending much time in places like the refugee camps and infirmaries. There’s one story about how she supposedly gave away a pair of her own boots to a girl who was close to getting frostbite during one of the long, cold fereldan nights, her family spent in Hinterlands’ refugee camp. Ofc there are some nobles gossiping bout her relationship with a reclusive elven scholar from her inner circle as well that together they are trying to push some sort of elf agenda but those are a minority. Later on, some whispers can be heard here and there about Deirdre’s strange connection to dragons, of how supposedly she was able to call one during the last stand in the Temple of Sacred Ashes but barely anyone believes it.

There aren’t many rumours about Falon Lavellan. One would be that supposedly the Inquisitor has a sibling somewhere, but he’s never mentioned anywhere in it. The other, spreading out between his clanmates concerns the reason why, at the age of 33, Falon still hasn’t invited a woman to his aravel and started a family. As clan Thelen isn’t upholding the traditions related to the Emerald Knights, the big wolf following him everywhere is also met with some suspicion.

Nobles living in High Town can’t stop talking about Keres ever since she and her mother moved into the old Amell’s residence. The rumours are wild, talking about how it’s not possible that her mother is actually who she claims to be. There’s also a matter of a rather suspicious company coming and going to the manor and how the strange, tall young woman is actually a mage. 

Most rumours about Renan Mahariel concern either her influence over what happened during the Landsmeet and the coronation of king Alistair that followed it. Other is related to her relationship with the assassin from the guild of the Antivan Crows and how they have been working as mercenaries in Antiva for a while. Later on there are many rumours about people who saw the Warden and her companion in the western parts of Thedas, while some other rumours suggest that she’s sucumbed to the taint.

🎨 Is your OC artistic? Can they draw or paint or do they prefer another medium? Are they a writer or musician or do they do something else? Give us a quick rundown of what they can get creative with!

Sybil isn’t artistic or any sort of creative kind of gal. She’s always been more into sports and other physical activities. I guess that the only exception for the rule fitting under this question, could be when, back in the primary school she used to be a part of a drama club. One thing she’s got left from this experience is a secret soft spot for theatre, mostly watching plays though. 

While his sister joined the drama club, Scorpius, began learning to play the piano. After two or so years, however, he’s exchanged it for violin, which he plays still. He doesn’t write music, never have been, but he can transcribe melodies to notes. Scorp is most creative in the field of computer science. He’s writing programs, scripts and constantly coming up with new upgrades for his beloved drone.

Andromeda is probably the most talented of all my OCs. In fact, her mother wanted her to go to an art school to study art history and further develop her painting and drawing skills. Andy, however, chose the Alliance instead. It’s not a very well known fact, but during long, sleepless nights, Commander often takes out her sketchbook and draws everything from the environments of the recently visited planets, faces of her crewmates to the snippets of her twisted dreams. While working on the Lazarus Project Miranda (ofc) got wind of this, and allowed herself to leave a leatherbound sketchbook with a bunch of pencils in the Commander’s private quarters right before Andromeda took command over the new Normandy. After the Reaper War was finally over, Andromeda went back to painting and for quite a while she was trying to get rid of the atrocities of the war stuck in her system by creating paintings similar to some of the surrealist works of Zdzislaw Beksinski [1] [2] [3].

As a lore keeper and earlier, a disciple of Sylaise, Deirdre was taught at least the basics of various arts and crafts practised by the dalish elves. She’s no master of any of them, though. For instance, she’s decent at singing but she’s especially worthless at embroidery. However, at some point during her travels between clans living in Free Marches, Antiva and Rivain, Derry began writing some notes, which developed into full-on journaling during the time of the Inquisition. Her journals are made of notes, dried flowers, picked up in the places they visited as well as for doodles of some things of interest.

In his spare time between hunts and learning young hunters the ways of Vir Tanadhal, Falon can be found sitting by the fire with his wolf companion lying at his feet, either carving little figurines out of wood, bones or antlers. Over the years he’s become quite skilled especially at carving out animals and many of clan Thelhen‘s kids are playing with the figurines made by him. Sometimes he’s also making necklaces and bracelets either using craved out pendants or animal teeth.

Keres has never been especially creative, except for finding out new ways to get into trouble. However, when got bach from the Deep Roads with buckets full of treasure, she discovered a taste for fashion and finery and she began bothering seamstresses around Kirkwall with her ideas for new garments. None of her ideas has ever been in line with the current fashion trends coming to Kirkwall from Orlais and other places, but Keres never cared much about it and continued to order new doublets for her, and later on for Fenris as well.

Before she became THE Warden, Renan used to be an apprentice to the clan’s Sabrae Mastercraftsman. As such, she’s learned the art of carving out wood and working with metals as well as decorating weapons and armours with traditional ornaments. She’s never mastered the art, but when she went into Vigil’s Keep forge, she‘s made a lot of weapons decorated with intricate hilts and handles and when she was about to leave, to join Zevran in Antiva, she made a pair of beautiful, decorated daggers especially for him.

Ask me maybe?

#liaorban #lady replies #20 OC questions #ask me maybe #and with that... I need to go to sleep

[witchling13]

The time has come!

I am posting Chapter 1 of Her Cadre below.

You can also find it on Ao3 here or search for my name live_manon. 

I split it into three chapters because I’m forcing myself to stop editing it and just live and let live. Chapter 1 is primarily build-up because I got a little carried away with the storyline, but I think it makes the whole fic more enjoyable in the long run. Chapter 2 (and chapter 3 if I finish it) are exclusively sex and it gets very lemon. I will be posting those soon. Guys, when I typed the whole thing out on Word it’s over 36 pages long....and chapter 1 is the smallest part! *fans face

xo

------------------------

Fenrys chuckled as he entered the main bed chamber of the suite and spied the largest bed he’d ever seen lining the back wall. The ridiculous amount of fanciful throw pillows and fluffy duvet cover had been removed and placed neatly on the adjacent decorative chairs.

As promised, there was ale and fairy wine with plates of fruits, meats, and cheeses on the three large ottomans in front of the oversized fireplace. A roaring fire crackled in the grate.

He examined the bed again. It was wide enough to sleep six grown men across.

If Rowan and Aelin had a similar one in their chambers, why the hell did they ever leave? In this weather, he’d bury himself in the mounds of covers and sleep or read all day— preferably not alone…with breaks for other pleasurable activities.

So this was the Stag Suite.

It was one of those palace secret compartments very few knew existed and even fewer knew how to access. Designed as a getaway chamber primarily for the King and Queen of Terrasan, the suite was at the top of the West Tower and outfitted with an excess of luxury comforts.

Rowan stood on the balcony overlooking the forest. There was eleven feet of snow on the ground not including the two feet of fresh powder that had fallen overnight. A big storm had moved in nearly two weeks ago, the remnants of which still feathering the countryside in a constant blanket of white. All of their latest attempts at regular travel and communication had proved futile.

Fenrys slid a hand along the soft white sheets of the bed. He was tired of playing chess and easily besting the Queen’s guard in competitive wrestling matches. And wandering around the castle in his wolf form. Although Aelin or Evangeline came to accompany him often. The little girl had taken a liking to exploring the castle while riding atop his wolf’s back.

The quiet feet of a female escort reached his side, inquiring if Fenrys wanted to begin with a massage. She smiled and he eyed her appreciatively. Her long gauzy tunic did little to hide her shapely figure and intricate undergarments underneath.

She was pretty. Very pretty.

Fenrys hauled his wool-lined tunic over his shoulders. The chamber was warm and he was tired and his limbs a bit frozen from scouting the countryside. He and Rowan had shifted and left the castle grounds during a brief respite of snowfall to check on nearby towns and villages.

He stretched his neck sideways. Infinite points of approval for Aelin’s idea of relaxation ”preparation.”

Of course, the few women in attendance had volunteered and would be paid well beyond what they charged for their services. Ever since they had returned from their latest visit to the Kaghan’s court on the Southern Continent, Aelin had discreetly removed the ban on escort services in Orynth. It was a trial, of sorts, to allow those who chose the profession willingly to make money under consensual circumstances but included strictly enforced laws on safety and fair treatment. The law also banned brothels or pleasure houses in hopes they wouldn’t pop up in the rebuilding city.

Fenrys wouldn’t be able to stomach it otherwise.

He shoved the thoughts away, declining the linen breeches she offered him, opting to lounge naked on a chair in front of the fire to sip on some ale and thaw himself.

Rowan returned to observing the sunset over the treeline, a cup of wine in one hand. He drank to ease his brooding.

The truth was, the whole inner court had become intimate—friends. Or at least, that’s what they told themselves.

Several years had passed since the war against Maeve and Erawan and Aelin’s blood-sworn cadre including Lysandra and Elide had become a devoted family. The demands on the inner court for decision making and coveted attention from nobility kept them consistently convening together in Orynth.

But the winters in Terrasen were long and hard. During bad weather, such as this godsforsaken blizzard, they were often confined to the castle grounds.

The result being they spent a lot of time together. It was easy to go a little stir crazy, the Fae in particular. But the pranks made that bearable.

Rowan tried to suppress his smile as he remembered last Mid-Winter’s Eve when Fenrys and Aedion had somehow dressed a piss drunk Lorcan in a tutu and tights and dumped his incoherent ass in a pile of hay in the royal stables.

He inhaled. But this.

This was a whole new level of “intimate.”

Why couldn’t it have stayed a simple game of strip poker.

He sighed in slight amusement remembering just how well that had played out last night. Drunken words, naked bodies, and playful touches. The males had become experts at dancing around the feelings and desires that pushed the boundaries of devotion to their queen.

 Rowan looked towards the chamber entry way. Aelin had arrived, Lorcan, Elide, and Manon in tow. Followed by two lovely escorts in long sheer tunics and a servant bearing a small trunk, a few books, and a mysteriously sealed black box.

Rowan kissed her on the forehead, “how long are you planning to be here?”

“I thought I’d come prepared. You males may be comfortable walking around naked whenever it suits you, but I prefer my silky adornments to appease my inner goddess,” she batted her eyelashes, “don’t worry, I didn’t bring the gold one.”

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

Truth was, he didn’t care what she wore. Nothing made him happier than Aelin’s pleasure after all she had sacrificed.

He drew her into his side and bent to murmur in her ear, “presumptuous of you to think you’ll have a chance to dress up at all…or that you get to decide when to put your clothes back on.”

It was like a weight dropped straight to her mound. A thrill of desire wound tight in her core from the anticipation that had been building since their group “discussion.” They’d come to an arrangement with a few stipulations and she’d be damned if she didn’t allow them to pleasure her and take their fill until the satisfaction drowned them all.

Manon had come from the Wastes for a trade agreement meeting over a week ago when the snow storm hit. She and Abraxos had the misfortune of being cooped up, drunk under the table, and even serenaded from this lot over their stay.

Fortunately, for Aelin, Manon’s “evolving friendship” with Elide had been enticing enough to prompt the witch to accompany her beloved friend tonight.

They’d all observed the two women’s suppressed attraction to each other over the past few years, even Lorcan, and wondered when on earth either one of them would get a clue and make a move. Not that Manon and Elide would want their other respective relationships to be affected long-term, it seemed. They just enjoyed each other’s company, and Lorcan thought there was little reason for them to hold back when they happened to be visiting and spending some quality time together.

Whatever made Elide happy made Lorcan very happy. There was no issue, only pleasure.

Elide was surprised with herself at how eager she was to come here with them both. She’d teased Lorcan as they shared breath amongst their pillows the night before, “I know you hold back with me sometimes so don’t think I won’t thoroughly enjoy seeing you come undone.” She meant his tendency to be dominant and make love to her until she was incoherent didn’t afford her as many opportunities to see him in such a state.

Aelin asked the servant to diffuse some jasmine and lavender oils in all the suite’s rooms for relaxation as she, procured a large piece of cheese and shoved it into her mouth.

Rowan chuckled as her cheeks bulged with the large bite.

“I didfnt havfe lunch.”

“Why not, my love?”

She swallowed. “I was too busy concocting lies about my inner court’s absence from meetings tonight to remember.”

Rowan drew her close and laid broad hands on her shoulders, kneading away some of the tension.

She sighed in contentment, continuing to stuff her mouth with food. Fenrys glanced up at her from the chair.

“I see you’re quite comfortable already.”

“My balls are quite toasty now, thanks for asking.” He smiled and reached up, undoubtedly asking for a chunk of cheese. She swatted his hand away.

“There’s a full platter right in front of your lazy ass.”

He chuckled and she reached a hand to run her fingers through his short hair.

“And what did I do to earn this petting?”

“Simply being my favorite Moonbeam.”

He smiled again, “I’m your only Moonbeam,” and winked up at her, “but I thank you, my Queen, lover of such fine things—like myself.”

Rowan hid his amusement.  

“Unbutton me?”

She half turned to the male behind her, placing a hand on his chest before angling her head so he could claim a soft kiss.

“With pleasure.”

She let her gown slip to the floor in a heap and kissed him again in thanks before striding away to the bed, claiming a large piece of fruit on her way.

Fenrys watched her intently. Prancing around in her lacy undergarments in front of them all like it was the easiest thing in the world. He’d seen her naked many times before, but the more he watched her happiness grow as Queen, the less the horrific memories plagued him. Aelin was whole and healing now and being in her court had redeemed his own sense of comfort. Of home.

His mind drifted while he watched her stretch her torso and lean arms over her head. There were still parts of her he hadn’t seen. Her soft blond hair had concealed them at the time. The opening in her mound…the delicate lay of her folds that probably peaked out from the slit. He wondered if they were just a deeper shade of pink than the peaks of her breasts. His cock began to harden.

A hand interrupted his thoughts and he welcomed the escort’s skilled ministrations to his neck and shoulders. With a gentle tug, he pulled her into his lap and a smile lit her eyes as she used deft thumbs to press along his neck muscles.

The sun had set fully now. The relaxing smells of lavender and jasmine, fragrant in the air, were accompanied by something else. Something that hinted at spice and stirred up desire.

Lorcan hadn’t even bothered with a hello before stripping bare and lying face down on the bed. His head was in Elide’s lap and she toyed with his jet black hair and points of his ears as a pretty escort rubbed hands along his oil soaked back.

Except for the crackle of the large fire, it was quiet, but the air was charged with anticipation and the scents of their arousal.

Aelin stopped at the side of the bed and dragged a lazy finger up the back of Lorcan’s massive hamstring until it halted below his ass. He growled low. “Lorcan dear, in our rush to get here, you didn’t say hello.”

He waited a moment. On his own time then.

“Hello.” He ground out into Elide’s trousers.

Aelin’s finger hovered, drawing small circles on his war-toned muscle.

“It’s nice to see you too grumpy face.”

Despite the tumultuous nature of their relationship, Lorcan had softened to Aelin while being in her court, and she to him. She imagined he was like that teenage older brother she’d never had as a child. Except he wasn’t. He was dark and menacing with a bravado and sultry eyes that mesmerized even her.  

“You keep drawing circles like that and I’ll bite that finger off. And it will never grow back.”

It was Elide who suppressed a chuckle.

Aelin scowled. “I haven’t seen you for days and your literal first voluntary words to me are a threat to maim my royal hand.”

His hurumph was muffled, but he turned his head to look up at her as she moved to hover over his shoulder, “royal hand, royal pain in my ass,” he sighed. Then roamed her body with his eyes, narrowing on her undergarments.

“Those look expensive.” She saw the glint of desire in his expression and heard the unspoken words. Better take them off before we get to them first.

Her skin prickled under the intensity of his attention. She squeezed his hand and brushed his shoulder as she leaned in to kiss Elide lightly on her cheeks. The girl smiled amused and returned the gesture.

“Care to join me in the birchin, Manon?”

Manon sat observing behind them, both arms splayed across the back of chair.

“What’s a birchin?”

“The small chamber in the bathing room heated by a stove with hot rocks. It’ll make you sweat your worries away.” She wiggled her eyebrows and Manon stared at her confused.

Aelin shrugged. “I read about it in a book and it sounded exotic, so I had it installed.”

She had indeed, been reading her new favorite series A Court of Thorns and Roses and several scenes conjured up delightful images of her cadre all piled in a birchin sweating their asses off. She had yet to convince them to try it out, but the few occasions she’d used it herself after training sessions had been extremely relaxing.

Manon sighed and rose, arching her back in a stretch. “What can it hurt. Better than sitting here stewing in all your scents.”

Rowan had taken a big chair by the fire next to Fenrys and stripped except for the linen pants offered by an escort. He closed his eyes as the shapely brunette rolled up his pants to the knee and worked his tight calves and shins. Her hands were firm, but skilled and her long hair hung loose, tantalizing his skin as she worked.

Passing them on the way to the bathing room, Aelin halted. She inspected the beauty in Fenrys lap, the gentle eyed woman winding her fingers through his hair and grinning wide at his flirtatious whispers, no doubt, promising and skillful. Aelin was surprised at the possessive twinge that hit her heart.

He was fine. He was in good hands. Even if she felt she had every right to be just as protective of the male as he was her.

She squeezed Rowan’s shoulder, sliding her hand down his chest until it drifted lower on his bare abdomen and the tips of her fingers slid under his loose waistband. She leaned down and kissed his neck.

“Be good. I’ll be done soon.” She inclined her head towards the bathing room.

He growled and the fingers of his hand reaching around the back of her thigh dug into her soft skin.

“Soon is quite a promise considering your bathing habits.”

There was need in his grip.

“Pushy, pushy,” she smirked into his lips as she kissed him one more time. “This one,” Aelin pointed at Rowan as she rose and spoke to the escort, “is all talk. If you want him to be quiet, tickle the back of his knees.”

“Aelin--,” he growled again.

“Or lick up the lines of his war-honed abs. Whatever seems best to you.” She waived a hand in the air dismissively, scampering out of the way as he reached for her. His eyes followed her into the bathing room, hips swaying, until she was out of sight and Manon followed, unceremoniously stripping as she walked.

————

 A half hour later, Aelin emerged, hair towel dried from the quick dip in the bath they’d taken to wash off the sweat from the birchin. Manon had donned a plush white robe, but Aelin had simply wrapped a short towel around her torso.

She strode to the oversized chase lounge where Rowan’s strong, sinewy body lay face down in the pillows, dozing after surrendering to a fully body massage.

Aelin climbed up his back and kissed his tan face. “Enjoy your nap?” As he stirred, she moved to sit on his backside so she could sweep her hands from his shoulder blades down the groove of his spine.

“You smell good,” he mumbled.

“Thank you. I used your soap because I forgot we ran out of mine last time we were here.”

Rowan grunted. With no hesitation, he shifted, toppling her into the blankets and rolling so he hovered over her face on his forearms. His lips were an inch from hers and the weight of his abdomen and legs pressed fully into her body. The heat radiating from his skin and breath made her heart pound.

“Use it always.”

He kissed her deeply and she opened for him, melting into the pillows as his tongue tasted her own.

Aelin’s hand clutched his back as the other drifted into his hair. He slid a hand down her curves until he found her thigh and pulled it to the side so he could settle between her legs.

She sucked in a breath.

He was naked and his cock was fully erect brushing against her towel. With one shift, he could push up the edge of the flimsy fabric and slide into her welcoming heat.

But he had something else in mind; something they needed to prepare for later.

And it was time to play.

--------

@theilliumbluebell10 @highladyofherondale @running-with-thieves @lestrangelady20 @fantasylover1996

#Her Cadre #throne of glass smut #tog smut #throne of glass fanfic #tog fanfic #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #aelin x aedion #aelin x fenrys #fenrys moonbeam #aedion x aelin #elide x lorcan #rowaelin #elorcan #manon x elide #lysaedion #Lysandra #lorcan salvaterre #rowan whitethorn #aelin x lorcan #my fics