#;; the madam of roses | vivienne ;;

[dragonagecompanions]

Companions reaction to the Inquisitor asking them to be their Maid of Honor/Best Man at their wedding? (Cassandra should've been at the wedding with Sera and my Inquisitor tbh)

(Setting this post Trespasser for continuity.)

Cassandra: The air is filled, immediately and impossibly, with hearts. So few of Cassandra's friends are free to promise themselves to a spouse, and so over the years the Seeker had relinquished that childhood dream to oblivion. But now there is such joy among her dearest friends, and no matter how long or short the engagement and planning Cassandra will be there for everything they need.

And on the day will cry more than anyone else. Everyone will be threatened into forgetting this about her.

Solas:

Varric: Now this is the happy ending to a story he can get behind. Promise an open bar and he is in.

For all of his bluster and faked nonchalance, Kirkwall's viscount is deeply touched. Over the course of this inquisition he has made friends to rival the ones in Kirkwall, and the fact that those sentiments are returned enough to merit such an invitation mean the world. Immediately he takes over logistics, and no matter if there is limited time to plan the wedding goes off without a hitch.

His speech is legendary. People cry. He's putting it in his next book.

Blackwall: It's ridiculous. It's a common request, from a friend, to stand up with them at their wedding. After all this time it shouldn't even be a surprise. But the question brings him to his proverbial knees. For so long, even after everyone knew the truth, Thom Rainier had assumed himself to be unlovable. Tolerated in a time of war for what he brought to the table, but not worthy of true regard.

This is a gift the finally unlocks those chains. He might not know much about weddings, but no matter what they need their would be warden does his best. Like Cassandra, he openly weeps at the ceremony.

Sera: Nothin' like love to make a wedding a party! This may be the one time Sera tones down the pranks, too focused on making sure both the little and big people are happy. Dorian is heavily consulted on clothing, and Skyhold's resident Jenny might even submit to a haircut.

The bakers in Thedas weep for her designs. They are perfect. Might go into the cake business, if cookies don't hold out.

Whole thing goes off without a hitch. Well, except for the actual hitch. That goes perfect.

Vivienne: Darling she is thrilled. No matter their venue or plans Madame de Fer is quick to make sure they have the best. Appointments open, caterers are suddenly free, and her tailors are on hand to make sure that everyone in the wedding party looks their best.

There is some distant sorrow later, watching the couple dance the first of the rest of their lives together, but not for all the gold in the world would she have traded her life with Bastien. That was more than enough for one heart-- it is no trial to be happy for her friends.

Dorian: No matter his travel plans or the demands of the magisterium, the moment they ask Dorian is firmly rooted in place. These people have welcomed him like no other, and to be honored with such a role is...he will not cry in public. It is unseemly for a magister.

Instead he make sure everything he touches is made perfect for them and all problems directed his way. Let them relish in the bliss of their engagement-- he will fight the florists until they realize Minrathous roses are the only way to go. And on the day, he sits patiently with both spouses until their cosmetics are perfect. But that time is also spent in quiet friendship, a moment of peace before their special moment.

Later he will refuse to ruin his own foundation with tears in public, and be quietly smug that his knock down brawl with the sommelier resulted in the best vintages at table.

The Iron Bull: There are flowers everywhere. From the moment he is asked Operation: Wedding is a full go for the Chargers. Marriage is unknown under the Qun, and so in true Ben-Hassrath form Bull takes it upon himself to learn exactly what this role will entail.

Three crashed marriages and a lot of cursing later....well, the venue is perfect, Rocky has invented a confetti cannon, and Krem has earned his place at the Maker's side for turning out a formal coat that will fit his shoulders in record time.

He cries at the ceremony. Few guests are brave enough to comment.

Cole: "Stand as a witness, the best man even if you aren't a man. Be there to celebrate, always a good friend and I want him at my side. I want that too!"

Any guest with ill intent conveniently forget the wedding date and location. One of the florists ties a bow on his hat. People cry, but the tears don't hurt. Its confusing, but he's happy to be there.

Turns out cake is something enjoyed on both sides of the veil.

[contreparry]

happy friday! :') how about "rose garden" from the summertime prompts? hope you have fun with it! uwu

Absolutely! Here's some Inquisitor Trevelyan and Vivienne for @dadrunkwriting!

The air was heavy with the scent of summer roses. Sweat dripped down the flat bridge of her nose, down the curve of her cheek, and further down her neck to sink into the linen of her shirt collar. The leather gloves she wore were stiff with age. It was hard to move her fingers, but at least this didn't require any delicate maneuvering. Evelyn set the blade of small sickle against a thorny branch and cut into it. Bright red petals fell around her like raindrops as she cut the dead wood out of the tangle of rose bushes.

The roses in the garden were out of control. She meant to see to them earlier, but there was simply no time. There was never time. And when she found a moment to breathe, she hadn't the energy to do much of anything. But this morning she made the time to see to the garden, and she mustered up energy. She had an entire warehouse full of energy now. Anger always did more to motivate her than reason, a shameful blot on her character that Evelyn would ruminate on later.

"Far too dangerous to rely on magic," she muttered as she hacked at the rose bush and pulled another long, whip-like branch out of the tangle. "Not a good use of time and resources. Work on your control, Inquisitor, and closing the Rifts-" She hacked at another rose, and the heavy white blooms brushed against her cheek as she reached into the bush to cut away at the overgrown branches. The velvet-like petals were soft on her skin. A moment later a thin branch followed the flower, and a thin line of pain burned across her cheek. Evelyn jolted back and pressed her gloved fingers to the cut. It wasn't bleeding heavily, she noted when she brought her hand down and examined the small droplets of blood staining the leather. A compress and bandage would solve the problem. It was all merely... frustrating. That was all.

"You won't defeat me," Evelyn informed the rosebushes. The flowers bobbed in the breeze as if they were taunting her. Try and tame us, they dared. Just try. If it weren't for the fact that rosehips were useful and the roses were rather pretty, Evelyn might just set the blasted things on fire. But that would be a waste of her time and energy, and certainly wouldn't be a good display of her control. It would be dangerous, petty, spiteful-

"At war with the roses, Trevelyan?" Evelyn instinctively straightened her spine and slapped her palm over her bleeding cheek as Vivienne de Fer rounded the corner and glided over the gravel path towards her. Evelyn drew on a little magic, just a little bit of ice, to halt the bleeding on her cheek.

"Ah. Madame de Fer. I-" Evelyn greeted the woman politely. She was so poised, so cool and commanding in her ivory silks and impressive headdress. Evelyn felt even more gangly and uncouth in comparison. But she squared her shoulders and offered the woman a cautious smile. Vivienne did not return it. She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow and cast her gaze from the sickle in Evelyn's hand to the rosebushes, to the pile of branches at her feet, and finally to Evelyn's face, where it lingered on her cheek.

The perfume of the roses hung heavy in the air.

"They needed trimming," Evelyn said, feeling pathetic and awkward. Can't even manage to do this without causing fuss, can't even breathe without someone noticing, can't even trim a rosebush without intervention.

"Not the season for rosebush trimming," Vivienne observed dryly. Evelyn shouldn't have been surprised. Enchanter Vivienne possessed a deep well of knowledge on many topics- she wouldn't have survived the cutthroat world of Orlais if she didn't know a little bit of everything. But Evelyn was surprised- surprised that she wasn't being chided for doing something that a gardener should be seeing to, surprised that Vivienne knew about the best time to prune roses, surprised that Vivienne chose to speak with her at all, considering the state she was in.

"The roses are growing into each other. Come autumn they might have strangled themselves to death," Evelyn replied. "And then there would be no roses."

"It can't be helped, then," Vivienne said. She lifted her head to the rosebushes, cupped a peach-colored blossom in her hand, and daintily plucked it from the branch.

"A singularly romantic flower, roses," she remarked. "Beautiful. Dangerous. There is a lesson to be learned in that, don't you think?"

"Not to judge by appearances?" Evelyn asked, and Vivienne almost smiled. Almost.

"And to have a care with beautiful things," Vivienne replied. She reached out, brushed her thumb along the cut on Evelyn's cheek, and then stepped away. For a moment- only a moment- Evelyn thought there might have been a trace of... something... in her eyes. It seemed thoughtful. Soft. She hardly knew what to make of it.

"That should hold better than your first cast, at least until you see fit to clean and bandage that cut," Vivienne informed her. "You possess a simple elegance to your spell work. Textbook. Very Ostwick." Vivienne left then, her ivory robes and headdress cutting an elegant, imposing figure as she walked down the garden path. Evelyn slowly reached up and traced her fingers along the ice that sealed the cut on her cheek.

It was cool to the touch.

[vir-tanadahl]

As the Moon Rises

Chapter 7: The Games We Play

I’m eagerly rewriting As the Moon Rises, which was originally written back in 2017, in anticipation of Dragon Age: Veilguard, channeling my excitement into refining the story. Summary: Isera Lavellan, at her mother’s behest, is sent to assist her twin brother, Banreas—the Inquisitor—in his mission to stop a force determined to bring about the world’s end. Together, they uncover long-buried secrets of their shared family history while Isera finds herself drawn to a mysterious non-Dalish elven mage whose knowledge of her heritage runs far deeper than she could have imagined. As the stakes rise, Isera must navigate this dangerous journey of discovery, where the past holds as much peril as the looming threats of the present. Solas x F!Lavellan.

[Ch1][Ch2][Ch3][Ch4][Ch5][Ch6] [Ch7]

Finally, the day had come. The Inquisition was staying in a small château a mile outside of the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. One by one, the members of the inner circle began to congregate in the foyer. Josie, Leliana, Cullen, Sera, Banreas, the Iron Bull, and Solas were the first to finish dressing, each of them bringing their own unique flair to the occasion. Josephine quickly began checking everything, ensuring that those representing the Inquisition were up to par. The air buzzed with a mix of excitement and tension, each member aware of the importance of their appearance as they prepared to step into the heart of Orlesian nobility

Vivienne followed, dressed in her signature style but with a twist. Instead of her usual pants, she wore a sheer skirt with a high slit, shimmering in silver and white, paired with high-knee boots that added an air of boldness. The high collar of her outfit was larger than normal, framing her face with an elegant authority, and atop her head rested the Hat of Majesty. Tonight, she embodied Madame de Fer—the Lady of Iron, exuding power and sophistication as she prepared to make her mark at the ball.

Cassandra steadfastly refused to wear a dress, opting instead for an ensemble reminiscent of a tailored pantsuit. Her top was a shimmering black, long-sleeved blouse that hugged her figure at the waist before flowing out and turning sheer at the hem, adorned with delicate red flowers embroidered along the edges. The pants were tight yet flexible, allowing her the freedom of movement she valued, paired with sleek black riding boots. Despite her elegant appearance, she unmistakably wore a look of displeasure at being there. Her mask, representing House Pentaghast, was a striking dark purple, adding an air of nobility to her otherwise rebellious stance.

Blackwall chose to have his formal wear crafted in the Grey Warden colors, opting to forgo a mask entirely. He believed in the Warden’s pledge to abstain from political entanglements, making a quiet statement with his appearance. In contrast, Varric donned a striking red leather jacket adorned with golden embroidery at the edges, exuding his signature flair. His mask was simple yet fitting—a red and gold Volto that added a touch of mystery without overshadowing his well-known charisma.

Dorian, as expected, donned an outfit that was distinctly fashionable in Tevinter. His robe was a rich dark green, featuring a high collar interwoven with golden threads that caught the light. His fingers sparkled with golden jewels, a nod to Tevinter custom. On the back of his coattail, a striking golden serpent was intricately embroidered, a symbol of his heritage. However, he refused to wear a mask representing House Pavus, opting instead for one connected to a rod. This choice allowed him the freedom to remove the mask easily, ensuring he could showcase his handsome features without concealment.

Isera was the last to finish, having argued frequently with the tailor throughout the process. Her dress sparkled with the enchanted fabric, featuring a sweetheart neckline adorned with embroidered roses that emitted the scent of real flowers. The deep red color was exactly what Leliana had envisioned, fading gracefully into a shimmering white. Despite the tailor's insistence on a pair of golden heels, Isera had adamantly refused, opting instead for simple golden flats that allowed her comfort and ease. As she stood in front of the mirror, she felt a mix of pride and apprehension, ready to step into the evening ahead.

Josephine began addressing everyone as they gathered in anticipation of the carriages' arrival. Meanwhile, Isera paid little mind to her words, her attention drifting as she nervously fidgeted with the fabric of her dress. She felt out of place, the weight of the evening’s expectations settling heavily on her shoulders. The vibrant colors and the elegance of her attire felt foreign, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider in a world that was both exciting and intimidating.

Solas stepped closer to her, his presence calm and reassuring. “Nervous?” he asked, appearing more relaxed and less guarded than usual. Isera turned to look at him, her expression a mix of anxiety and honesty. “Uncomfortable, mostly,” she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. The opulence of the setting and the gathering crowd intensified her feelings, making it hard to shake off the sense of being an outsider.

Solas glanced over toward Josephine as she continued her speech, then turned back to Isera. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice quiet yet sincere. Isera met his gaze for a brief moment before looking away, her cheeks warming at the compliment. “I—thank you,” she replied, her tone a mix of surprise and bashfulness. She turned her attention to Josie as well, focusing on the familiar energy of the gathering to help ground herself in the moment.

“The advisors will arrive first, followed by the Inquisitor, and finally everyone else if you haven't made arrangements already,” Josephine said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “All right, everyone, let's be off!” Her voice carried a blend of excitement and authority, energizing the group as they prepared to embark on the evening’s festivities. Isera felt a rush of adrenaline as the moment approached, her earlier nerves mingling with a spark of anticipation.

Banreas, Isera, and Solas were squished together on one side of the carriage, their shoulders brushing against one another. Iron Bull, massive and imposing, took up most of the opposite seat, leaving little room to spare. Sera sat comfortably beside him, her legs draped casually over his lap, a cheeky grin on her face as she leaned back. The cramped space felt lively with their banter, and despite the discomfort, Isera couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie surrounding her.

“All right, be on the watch for Venatori activity,” Banreas began, his tone serious as he turned to address the group. “Leliana informed me that she believes there is a magical elven artifact in Empress Celene’s possession. We should be looking for that as well.” The mood shifted slightly, the lighthearted banter giving way to a more focused atmosphere as they processed the information. Isera felt the weight of their mission settle in, the stakes of the evening becoming clear as they prepared to navigate the intricate dance of nobility and danger.

"What’s with the magic elf-y things? Strange, innit" Sera grumbled, her arms crossed as she leaned back against Iron Bull. Her expression was one of skepticism, and Isera could sense her unease with the idea of pursuing an elven artifact amidst the political intrigue. The contrast between Sera's casual demeanor and the seriousness of their mission added a layer of tension.

“Boss, we don’t need another magical object in play. We have the Venatori to worry about,” Iron Bull stated, nodding in agreement. His tone was serious, underscoring the potential dangers of adding yet another variable to their already complicated situation. The weight of his words hung in the air, a reminder of the formidable challenges they faced, and Isera could sense the tension building among the group as they considered the implications.

“Perhaps the Venatori are looking for it,” Solas added thoughtfully, his expression contemplative. The implication hung in the air, drawing the attention of everyone in the carriage. The stakes were becoming clearer, and the atmosphere shifted as they contemplated the dangers that lay ahead.

Isera turned her head to look at her brother, her expression earnest. “If it is magical, I could locate it easier and get it out discreetly,” she suggested, her voice steady with determination. The idea of using her unique abilities to help in their mission sparked a flicker of hope within her. She met Banreas's gaze, silently urging him to consider her proposal as a viable option in their quest.

“If we know about it, it’s safe to assume the Venatori do as well. Our agents didn’t gather enough information to specify what it is, but they confirmed it’s elven,” Banreas explained, his tone serious. Iron Bull shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a frown etched on his face. “Then how do we find something that we don’t even know what it is?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. The challenge of their situation loomed large, and Isera could feel the weight of their uncertainty settling over the group.

“I can,” Isera spoke up again, her voice firm. “I’ve done it before.” The conviction in her words drew the attention of her companions, and she felt a surge of determination. The memory of her past successes in locating magical artifacts fueled her confidence, and she hoped to inspire faith in her abilities as they navigated this complex situation.

Banreas raised an eyebrow at her, a teasing smirk on his lips. “You’ve smuggled elven artifacts out of a palace?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Isera frowned, undeterred. “I have smuggled ancient elven artifacts out of heavily guarded Circle towers before,” she argued, her voice steady and defensive.

Isera could feel the surprise radiating off everyone in the carriage. “You’ve… smuggled?” Iron Bull exclaimed, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. The unexpected revelation seemed to shift the atmosphere, transforming her from an uncertain participant to someone with valuable experience. She met their astonished gazes, feeling a swell of pride at having garnered their respect, even if only momentarily.

“She’s a thief!” Sera cackled, her grin wide as she playfully punched Iron Bull in the arm. The laughter that followed filled the carriage, lightening the mood and bringing a sense of camaraderie to the group.

Isera shrugged, her expression casual. “It was easy. I was twelve, and Mother heard a rumor that the Ostwick Circle had something she wanted. I just pretended to be a new mage, and the Templars took me in. I was there for a few months, found it, and left.” She shrugged again, as if the whole experience was just a minor adventure rather than a bold feat. The confidence in her tone intrigued her companions, revealing a glimpse of her resourcefulness.

"Banreas stared at her in disbelief, his eyebrows raised. "Mother had you… stealing?" The incredulity in his voice was palpable, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea of their mother orchestrating such a scheme.

“Yes?” she paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “Is that not normal?” Isera questioned, her tone earnest. “It isn’t like it belonged to them.” The conviction in her words hung in the air, challenging the group’s perceptions. “It wasn’t exactly stealing. More like... retrieving something that belonged to the elven.” The playful twist in her reasoning added to the intrigue, sparking curiosity among her companions. Isera could sense their hesitation, a mix of surprise and contemplation, as they processed her logic. To her, reclaiming what was lost felt justified, but she wondered how others viewed her past actions.

The carriages came to a halt, and a loud announcement echoed that the Inquisition had arrived. Isera quickly placed her mask on, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. Iron Bull and Sera stepped out first, their presence commanding attention. Banreas leaned closer to Isera, his tone harsh as he whispered, “No, by the way, that is not normal!” He gestured for Solas to step out first, as he was closest to the door, the urgency of their situation clear in his demeanor. The anticipation hung thick in the air as they prepared to face the Orlesian nobility.

Isera shrugged and followed Solas, who graciously offered his hand to assist her as she stepped out of the carriage. “They didn’t need it,” she muttered to no one in particular, a hint of defiance in her voice. Despite her earlier nerves, she felt a spark of confidence, bolstered by Solas's steady presence beside her. She was ready to face whatever awaited them at the grand event, even if it meant navigating the expectations of the nobility.

The Grand Duke was quick to engage with Banreas, steering the Inquisitor away from the group as the rest of them followed behind. Isera could hear the whispers among the nobility, their hushed voices filled with disbelief at the audacity of the Inquisition’s company being made up of elves and a qunari. A wry smile tugged at her lips as she imagined Banreas squirming with delight at the stir they were causing; it was practically blasphemy in their eyes. The tension in the air was palpable, and she felt a mix of pride and amusement at the chaos they had brought to the evening.

Josephine and Leliana had trained Banreas for weeks on how to navigate the treacherous waters of the political game. If he felt uncomfortable, he certainly didn't show it; instead, he carried himself with confidence, engaging the Grand Duke with a charming smile. Isera watched with admiration, noting how well he had absorbed their lessons. Despite the tension in the air, he exuded an air of ease, expertly maneuvering through the complexities of Orlesian society.

As Isera and the others entered the vestibule to convene with the advisors before continuing on to be announced in the ballroom, Josephine took the opportunity to emphasize the importance of behaving appropriately. Her gaze was direct, landing squarely on Sera, who was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. The tension in the air mixed with amusement as Isera watched Sera's mischievous expression, knowing that her friend was hardly one to conform to expectations.

“Isera, you will be announced following the Inquisitor. After you, the advisors, and then Solas, Iron Bull, and Sera. Once the introductions are complete, you’ll be free to roam around,” Josie informed them, her tone brisk yet encouraging. The weight of the evening’s expectations hung heavy in the air, and Isera felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety at the thought of being introduced to the nobility. She glanced at her companions, each one preparing for the role they were to play in this intricate dance of politics.

Isera nodded as the procession began, her heart racing with anticipation. Banreas was introduced right after the Grand Duke, and he looked remarkably relaxed, unfazed by the treacherous waters surrounding him. With a confident bow to the Empress, he followed the Grand Duke up the steps, embodying the poise and charm that had been cultivated through his training. Isera couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as she watched her brother navigate the moment with such grace.

“Mistress Lavellan, sister of Inquisitor Lavellan and a Seer of Rivain.”

Isera felt her body tense at the announcement, taking a deep breath as she began her descent down the stairs. With determination, she turned, bowed gracefully, and followed after her brother. As she moved, she heard the murmurs of approval ripple through the court, their eyes enraptured by her outfit despite her being an elf. The unexpected admiration filled her with a mix of pride and anxiety, reminding her of the precarious balance she was walking between acceptance and scrutiny.

Isera stood next to the advisors, with Iron Bull, Sera, and Solas positioned behind them. Banreas engaged the Empress in a cryptic manner that delighted the court, and Isera suppressed the urge to scoff at the theatrics. The Empress, with a wave of her hand, dismissed them to mingle, and Isera followed her brother as he began greeting those affiliated with the court. Each interaction was a dance of charm and wit, and Isera felt a mix of admiration and apprehension as she navigated the sea of unfamiliar masked faces.

Isera broke away from the group, heading toward Cullen, who looked far more uncomfortable than she felt. He was surrounded by admirers, and it was clear that the Commander was exceedingly uneasy with the attention. His back was pressed against the wall, arms crossed defensively as the crowd edged closer, their flirtations relentless. Isera couldn’t help but smirk at the sight; it was a stark contrast to the confident leader she knew him to be on the battlefield.

“Ah, Commander, if I may have a word,” Isera said as she stepped between the horde of nobles, her presence a welcome interruption. Cullen's expression shifted to one of relief as he spotted a familiar face beckoning his attention. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and Isera could sense his gratitude for the distraction as she offered him an escape from the relentless advances of the court.

“Oh! She’s the Inquisition’s sister!” a high-pitched, thick Orlesian voice chimed in, cutting through the conversation. “Are you two lovers?” The question hung in the air, drawing curious glances from the surrounding nobles. Isera felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and she shot Cullen an incredulous look, silently questioning how he would respond to such an unexpected insinuation.

“Well, that would certainly not concern you,” Isera replied sharply, her words more direct and biting than typical for Orlesian culture, especially coming from an elf. The noblewoman glared at her, visibly taken aback, and huffed as she fanned herself. “How rude!” she whispered, the offense clear in her tone. Isera felt a mix of defiance and irritation at the woman's reaction, standing her ground despite the stifling expectations of the court.

Isera walked away, glancing back to ensure the Commander followed her. He did, a look of relief washing over his features as they stepped outside onto the balcony. The air was fresh and crisp, a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside the Winter Palace. Cullen let out a deep sigh, his tension easing as he inhaled the cool air, grateful for the reprieve from the prying eyes and chatter of the court.

“They are like hounds,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to shake off the lingering discomfort. He coughed lightly, clearing his throat before turning to Isera. “What did you need?” he asked, his tone shifting from frustration to curiosity as he focused on her, grateful for the momentary escape from the pressures of the ballroom.

Isera shrugged, leaning against the banister as she gazed at the partygoers inside. “Nothing. You looked uncomfortable and needed a break,” she replied, her tone softening slightly. She took in the lively scene, the laughter and chatter echoing through the open doors, but it felt distant and surreal from her vantage point. The contrast of the vibrant celebration with the quiet balcony allowed her a moment to breathe, away from the pressure of expectations.

“Oh!” Cullen exclaimed, clearly shocked. “You didn’t have to do that. I will manage.” His tone was earnest, though Isera could sense the underlying tension in his voice. He straightened up, attempting to regain his composure, but the flicker of gratitude in his eyes spoke volumes. Isera couldn’t help but smile at his resolve, knowing that even the strongest leaders needed a moment of respite.

“Cullen, I have no doubt you can handle a swarm of women,” Isera replied with a teasing smile. “But you looked like you wanted to flee. As far as everyone else is concerned, I’ve taken you away to discuss an important Inquisition meeting…” She paused, a playful glint in her eye. “Or I’m your secret lover. I’m sensing the Orlesians love a bit of dramatic flair.” The lighthearted joke hung in the air, and Isera couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie building between them as they navigated the absurdity of the evening.

Cullen chuckled, a hint of amusement breaking through his earlier tension. “That they do,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. He sighed and began stretching his neck, attempting to ease the stiffness that had settled in from the pressure of the crowd. The light moment with Isera offered a welcome distraction, allowing him to briefly forget the expectations weighing down on him inside.

“If you walk around more, they can’t pin you down,” Isera suggested, her tone light and encouraging. She watched him with a knowing smile, hoping to alleviate some of his discomfort. “It’s a crowded room, but that means there are plenty of opportunities to slip away and find some peace, don’t you think?” Her playful demeanor was meant to remind him that he could still navigate the evening on his own terms.

He lightly scoffed, shaking his head. “They are everywhere,” he muttered, pressing his fingers into the side of his temple as if trying to relieve the mounting pressure. Isera could see the strain in his posture, the way he tried to maintain his composure despite the overwhelming attention. It was clear that the evening's festivities were becoming more than just a social gathering for him.

“A headache?” Isera whispered, glancing toward him with genuine concern. The tension in Cullen's shoulders and the way he pressed his fingers against his temple told her all she needed to know. She shifted slightly closer, ready to offer support if he needed it, her own unease momentarily forgotten in the face of his discomfort.

“They have been coming more often,” he continued, his voice low and serious. After a brief pause, he added, “Do you know?” Cullen’s reference to his decision to stop talking lyrium hung in the air between them, a weighty subject that had clearly been troubling him. Isera met his gaze, her expression shifting from concern to understanding, recognizing the struggle he faced in navigating both his duties and his personal demons.

Isera nodded slowly. “He told me,” she replied, moving to stand directly in front of him. Her gaze was steady as she considered her next words. “May I try something?” she asked, her voice soft but firm. There was a quiet determination in her demeanor, a desire to help Cullen in whatever way she could. She sensed the weight of his struggles and felt compelled to offer him some relief.

Cullen looked skeptical, his brow furrowing as he regarded her with uncertainty. Isera took a breath, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I want to see if my magic will be of assistance,” she explained, her tone earnest and reassuring. The air between them felt charged with possibility, and she hoped to convey that her intentions were genuine. She could sense his hesitance, but she was determined to help him find some relief from his discomfort.

Cullen stared down at her, weighing her offer before finally agreeing. Isera, standing at least a foot shorter than him, rose onto the balls of her feet, her determination evident. She pressed her fingers gently onto the nape of his neck, feeling the tension coiled there. Whispering a familiar ritual, she let her fingers glide around his ears and onto his temple, channeling her magic with focused intent. After a moment, she released her touch, stepping back to observe any change in his expression.

Cullen blinked a few times, processing the sensation. “Is... it supposed to feel cold?” he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he reached up to touch the back of his neck. The coolness of her magic was a surprising contrast to the warmth of the evening, and he furrowed his brow, trying to determine if it was a good sign or not. Isera watched him closely, gauging his response and hoping that her magic was indeed providing some relief.

“Yes, it will fade to being warm and then back to normal by the end of the night. Is it helping?” Isera asked, her tone filled with genuine concern as she searched his face for any signs of relief. She wanted to know if her magic was making a difference, hoping to ease some of the tension that had been weighing on him. The moment felt crucial, a bridge between their struggles and the comfort they sought.

He nodded, a hint of relief in his expression. “I believe so. Thank you,” he said, his voice warm with gratitude. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly, and Isera felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that her magic had provided him with some comfort. Their shared moment felt like a small victory amidst the chaos of the evening.

Isera smiled, her spirits lifted. “Well, come on, Commander,” she said, turning to head back inside. Leaving him to gather his thoughts, she stepped into the vestibule. The lively chatter of the gathering enveloped her, and she could hear Iron Bull's booming laughter as he flirted with a group of nobles nearby. Blackwall and Sera were tucked away in a corner, hiding out behind the Wall of Champions, their playful banter echoing softly. The scene was both chaotic and vibrant, a stark contrast to the quiet moment she had just shared with Cullen.

The elven servants stared at her longer than they would have with a human, their eyes lingering with a mix of curiosity and caution. Isera felt the weight of their gaze, acutely aware that she was an elf wearing a mask, thrust into the complexities of the Game whether she wanted to be or not. It was a strange position to occupy—both a part of the nobility’s world and yet still on the outside, grappling with the expectations that came with her lineage and the evening’s festivities.

“Drink, my lady?” an elven man approached her, bowing his head respectfully. His demeanor was polite, yet there was a subtle undertone of wariness in his eyes as he regarded her. Isera appreciated the gesture, though she could sense the unspoken complexities behind it. She offered him a warm smile, grateful for the courtesy in the midst of the swirling chaos of the gathering.

He continued to stand, a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Hallas are most beautiful, no?” he said, gesturing toward her mask with a smile. Isera could sense the weight of his words, the compliment both genuine and laced with the cultural significance of the halla in elven lore. He balanced a tray of drinks in his hands, the shimmering glasses catching the light. She felt a flutter of appreciation for the compliment, a small reminder of her heritage amidst the grandeur of the evening.

Isera stared at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Quite majestic,” she agreed, her voice steady as she took a cup from him. “Wild and enduring, much like the elves.” The man nodded in approval, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as if she were answering his unspoken questions correctly. “The Empress is quite fond of elves,” he continued, his tone slightly conspiratorial. “Many pieces of elven art are scattered throughout the palace, particularly in the eastern wing. Perhaps you should look.” His suggestion lingered in the air, a tantalizing invitation to explore the history and culture she held dear.

“Perhaps I will,” Isera answered with a thoughtful smile as the elven servant excused himself and walked away. She continued into another vestibule, her eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on Solas. To her surprise, he was leaning against the wall, appearing relaxed and at ease amidst the bustling atmosphere. His posture was casual, but there was a subtle intensity in his gaze as he observed the scene around him. Isera felt a warmth in her chest at the sight, grateful for the moment of familiarity in the midst of the evening's chaos.

“You look comfortable,” she remarked as she approached him. Solas turned his gaze to her, and Isera noticed a subtle brightness on his cheeks, a hint of warmth that caught her by surprise. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability that softened his usually enigmatic demeanor. She smiled, feeling a sense of connection as they stood together amidst the vibrant energy of the gathering.

“I do adore the heavy blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events,” he replied almost cheerfully, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I have seen countless such displays during my journeys in the Fade. Only the customs have changed,” he recalled, a faint smile gracing his lips. The contrast between his relaxed demeanor and the chaotic energy of the gathering around them made Isera feel as if they were sharing a secret amidst the masquerade, a moment of understanding that transcended the superficiality of the court.

Suddenly, two Orlesian nobles approached, their presence commanding attention as they introduced themselves to Isera. Their titles and positions became a blur, the formalities lost in the rush of their eagerness. They attempted to step between her and Solas, an unwelcome intrusion that made the air feel tense. Isera noticed Solas frown at the interruption, his expression darkening slightly as he regarded the nobles with barely concealed annoyance.

“Your accent is quite beautiful, my lady. Are you from Antiva?” one of the nobles asked, his voice smooth as he grabbed her hand. He was tall, wearing a yellow mask with a pointed nose that added an air of theatricality to his demeanor. Isera felt a flicker of annoyance as she tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tighter, his grip firm and intrusive. “Rivain,” she replied, forcing a polite smile despite her growing discomfort. The playful atmosphere began to shift, and she sensed Solas's irritation brewing beside her.

“You smell absolutely delicious. Roses? Who knew a heathen country could produce such a beauty?” he remarked, his comment dripping with insincerity—a thinly veiled insult disguised as a compliment. Isera felt her scowl deepen, irritation rising within her as she recognized the condescension in his words. The encounter was quickly souring, and she was determined not to let him get under her skin.

“Why don’t you come with us? We could… show you around,” one of the nobles suggested, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Isera scrunched her nose in disgust, her expression turning caustic. “And just where would you take me?” she retorted, the sharpness in her tone unmistakable. The implication behind his words set her on edge, and she wasn’t about to entertain their condescending offer.

“I have a key to the East wing,” the other man, shorter and dressed in blue, announced with a sly grin. “I could… show you around. The Empress has quite a collection.” Isera paused, a thought dawning on her. This might be her opportunity to explore the Winter Palace without drawing too much attention. The prospect of discovering hidden treasures within the palace intrigued her, despite the dubious intentions of her current companions. She considered her options, weighing the potential for adventure against the underlying motives of these nobles.

Isera hummed thoughtfully, a playful smile spreading across her face. “Well, do lead the way,” she flirted, her tone light and teasing. The shorter noble beamed at her response, eager to take the lead. Meanwhile, Solas looked alarmed by the interaction, his expression tightening with disapproval. He stayed silent, watching with a mix of concern and disappointment as Isera moved away from him, drawn into the orbit of the nobles.

[misspickpocket]

[ HAVANA ROSE LIU ] Alto, quem vem lá? Oh, é ANNELISE EVANGELINE CADIEUX, a selecionada da província de CHANTEMER de VINTE E CINCO anos, como é bom recebê-la! Não poderia normalmente comentar nada, mas saiba que você é uma das minhas favoritas, já que é tão CARISMÁTICA e PERSUASIVA. Só espero que não seja tão ORGULHOSA e AMBICIOSA quanto as revistas falam. Por favor, por aqui, estão todos lhe esperando!

A província de Chantemer foi tudo o que conheceu durante sua infância e adolescência. Annelise familiarizou-se com tudo o que podia do lugar - e com os bolsos dos pedestres desavisados, é claro. Seu pai, Alphonse, vinha de uma linhagem de banqueiros proeminentes e o Banque Cadieux era um dos maiores nomes do segmento. Contudo, a crise econômica enfrentada pela França o atingiu fortemente e os Cadieux declararam falência. Annelise, com seus 5 anos, se viu em meio às ruínas do que já fora uma grandiosa família. Sua mãe se tornou amarga e seu pai, nas palavras da matriarca, um inútil. Vivienne Luo Cadieux, no entanto, continuava tentando se mostrar à altura de seu sobrenome, mesmo após a falência publicamente declarada. Os vestidos luxuosos, casacos de pele - sintética, é claro, pois jamais conseguiriam pagar por peles reais -, sapatos e bolsas magníficos que Madame Cadieux se recusava vender enchiam os olhos da pequena Annelise, que frequentemente entrava no closet de sua mãe e os vestia, fingindo ser a herdeira de uma grande fortuna. Não demorou para que, contaminada pela amargura da mãe, Annelise achasse injusta a realidade que vivia e passasse a tomar tudo o que queria - no início por ganância, mas posteriormente por necessidade; as coisas em casa iam de mal a pior conforme os anos passavam. 

Quando sua mãe descobriu, Annelise achou que ela ficaria furiosa; enlouquecida até, pois como ela ousava manchar o nome da família como algo tão baixo como roubo? Mas a reação que recebera fora totalmente o contrário. Os olhos de Vivienne se iluminaram ao ver a quantidade de notas que a filha tirava da carteira de um desavisado e passou a incentivá-la. Sua mãe, ela descobriria, era uma bruxa gananciosa. 

Quando mais velha, aos 15 anos, Vivienne começou a inscrevê-la em concursos de beleza, a fim de explorar sua beleza inegável. Os prêmios, apesar de pequenos em quantias, ajudavam em casa e lhe garantiram muitos presentes (dados e roubados), os quais sua mãe vendia rapidamente, acumulando uma pequena fortuna com os valores que conseguia. Assim, os estilistas de Chantemer passaram a conhecer seu rosto. A princípio Annelise modelava para pequenas marcas, mas com as conexões de sua mãe (que via agora na filha uma chance de retornar à alta sociedade) e a coroa de de Miss Lancinver, a Cadieux alcançou as passarelas e editoriais de grandes nomes. Seus pagamentos pelos trabalhos eram maiores do que jamais sonhara - a crise parecia não ter afetado a todos, afinal, ela pensava com amargura -, mas Annelise jamais viu um centavo do que ganhou. Sua mãe controlava tudo; suas roupas, seu comportamento, suas companhias, sua vida social e seu dinheiro.

Annelise Cadieux continuava roubando, sim, mas em segredo. Aos olhos de sua mãe já não havia mais necessidade para aquilo, mas ela fazia sua própria fortuna e mantinha seu próprio tesouro escondido, pois Vivienne colocaria as mãos em tudo que tinha se descobrisse.

Quando a primeira competição de Miss França apareceu, Annelise não foi vencedora, mas isso não impediu sua mãe de fazer com que ela continuasse ganhando consecutivamente o título de Miss Lanciver para que continuasse participando da competição a nível nacional. Foi somente aos 19 anos que Annelise finalmente conquistou a coroa - em mais de uma forma. A família real francesa esteve presente durante a competição e Vivienne Cadieux notou os olhos da Princesa Tony sobre sua filha. Annelise foi praticamente empurrada por sua mãe ao encontro da princesa, o que, surpreendentemente, deu certo. 

Durante o período em que estiveram juntas, Annelise teve acesso praticamente irrestrito ao grandioso palácio de Versalhes e suas mãos ágeis e leves trataram de acumular algumas das riquezas deixadas por lá - algumas das quais sua mãe prontamente se apossou. Mas a Cadieux jamais vira sua mãe tão furiosa quanto o dia em que a notícia do término das duas a alcançou. Entre gritos e palavrões, Annelise foi chamada de desastre e decepção. Ouviu sua mãe berrar para quem quisesse ouvir  que ela tinha colocado tudo a perder e que havia desperdiçado a maior chance da família de serem grandes novamente. Contudo, tudo isso viria a mudar, pois Annelise conquistou novamente a coroa de Miss França e seu rosto e nome apareciam frequentemente em propagandas e desfiles. Quando a notícia de sua convocação para a Seleção da princesa a alcançou, Annelise ficou de fato chocada, mas acima de tudo,  curiosa. Apesar de ter certa fama, jamais pensou que poderia voltar a Versalhes depois do término conturbado de seu relacionamento com a princesa. Mas sua mãe, orgulhosa de seu feito, gabou-se na sala de estar que convencera a Marquesa Moreau a indicá-la para a seleção, alegando que o estado de Annelise desde o término era deprimente e que aquela poderia ser sua chance de tentar reconquistar a princesa. 

Annelise bufou. É claro que sua mãe tentaria aproximá-las novamente. A ideia de uma coroa em sua cabeça significava fortuna e influência intermináveis para os Cadieux, além da possibilidade de concessão de títulos e uma vida completamente nova. Ela precisava admitir, sua mãe era inteligente, apesar de intragável. E reconquistar a princesa não seria de todo mal. Sendo rainha consorte, Annelise se veria livre das garras controladoras de sua mãe e poderia viver como bem entendesse. Aquele era um objetivo ao qual poderia se dedicar.

[spainkitty]

WIP WEDNESDAY

AO3 link to Part 1

Part 2 Chapter ??

“Yes, exactly that kind. Since so many gathered for the Memorial, Josephine decided to follow the Orlesian tradition of holding a ball,” Adaar said. “Josephine wanted to celebrate the dragon slaying we did down near Redcliffe, too. She merged them together and somehow did it in the most charming way that it didn’t even seem a matter of convenience.”

The Ambassador waved a hand in an elegant ripple through the air. “It was nothing compared what I've had to do in the Antivan court.”

“And we should celebrate the dragon,” the Iron Bull said. “It was a good fight! Mmm, that little gurgle it makes before it breathes fire… Taarsidath-an halsaam.”

“What’s that? Sounded like gibberish,” Sera asked, nose wrinkling.

“Wait, don’t—” Adaar tried to interrupt, but the Iron Bull was already answering without a single qualm,

“I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect.”

There were several choked sounds or weary sighs around the table. Cullen actually put both hands on the table to hold himself up, his head bowed, but it couldn’t hide the bright red flush that burned from the tops of his ears to past his collar. Sera, of course, burst into high-pitched laughter. Lanil stared at the Iron Bull’s profile, too shocked and amused to do anything else.

“Wait, really? No way! Say it again so I can remember that!” Sera nearly shrieked.

Next to her, Dorian’s face was buried in his hand, but she could feel his barely repressed chuckles. On the other side, Solas was looking skywards, mouth moving silently in what was very likely elven. Her lips twitched, laughter bubbling up from her chest, but held back.

“This is getting out of hand. Please, focus,” Cassandra snapped, her face bright red.

Sera only laughed harder and tried to repeat the phrase, mangling the pronunciation in between her snickers.

“You all are acting like children. Do you really think we should deviate in such a way from the topic at hand, the Iron Bull?” Madame de Fer said, tone like steel and silk. There was one thing Lanil respected about her, and it was definitely how dangerously polite she could sound.

“Of course, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” the Iron Bull said, so contrite and so serious, it was remarkably like hearing a naughty little boy being scolded. That was Lanil’s breaking point; she barked a startled laugh and turned away to smother the sound behind her fist.

“Thank you, Vivienne,” Adaar said. Despite how composed she sounded, Lanil caught sight of her lips twitching, too. “I take it everything went well on the Coast?” she asked, gaze scanning over Lanil, Dorian, and the Iron Bull.

“It was easy,” Lanil said with a shrug. “Cleared them out, found the port they were using, took it back. We left the Blades of Hessarian to clean it up and make the port easier for the Inquisition’s use. The Iron Bull wanted to go kill another dragon we found on an isolated island, but I’m even more glad we told him ‘no’.” She cut a glance at the Iron Bull. “I’m never going dragon hunting with you.”

“You’ll give in eventually, Bruiser, you know we’d have a good time,” he teased. The Iron Bull gave her a little wink, and she snorted loudly. Incorrigible, she thought. He abruptly glanced at Madame de Fer uneasily. “At dragon hunting. Fun at dragon hunting.” Madame de Fer’s eyebrow rose and the Iron Bull ducked his head. Maybe a little corrigible.

“The more you say it, the more it sounds like a euphemism,” Solas pointed out in a tone so dry and flat Lanil had to press her lips into a thin line to hold back more laughter.

[dragon-age-codex-entries]

Codex entry: Vivienne: Madame de Fer

"Magic is dangerous, just as fire is dangerous. Anyone who forgets this truth gets burned."

"An assiduous and talented scholar, Vivienne rose rapidly through the ranks of Montsimmard's Circle. When made a full-fledged enchanter, she elected to join no fraternity, a decision that shocked colleagues but may have been a calculated maneuver. When she successfully applied to be appointed Enchanter to the Imperial Court, nearly every fraternity clamored for her favor in hopes of having a representative at the empress's ear. She was voted First Enchanter of Montsimmard at an age young enough to cause scandal. The Circle widely regards her as the most shrewd and disciplined mage in Orlais."

[girlbloggerlei]

vivienne westwood's modern marie antoinette in honor of dame vivienne westwood

[bunnitalks]

living in a fairytale ig: kenyona.jpg

[perfsonal]

current moodboard

[sinfulredemptions]

"Oh my, hmhmhm...looks like someone's a little sore for being turned down~" a pleased purr from the Madam as she lightly rubs at her wedding ring. "Sorry darling, that one's taken~"

[sinfulredemptions]

@snapshotxsinners

Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

[contreparry]

happy Friday Ann! For DADWC, perhaps "Mythical species, thought extinct, re-emerging in the present" speaks to you? :3

Here’s one for Vivienne and my Inquisitor Trevelyan for @dadrunkwriting !

“The hoof prints are all wrong,” Enchanter Trevelyan declared.

Standing ankle deep in mud in the freezing winter rain in the backwoods of Ferelden was not Madame de Fer’s idea of a good time, or even a tolerable one, but one made the best of their current circumstances. Vivienne cast a shield over their party, thanked the Maker that she had the good sense to have her tailor sew in some inner pockets into her robes so she could slip heat charms in them, and hoped that the oncoming night would convince the young enchanter that it was time to turn back towards camp. Seeker Pentaghast was already looking antsy, and the infamous Varric Tethras rather resembled a half-drowned rat. The less said about the state of her own robes, the better. The mud might never come out, which was a pity. Good silk was hard to come by.

There was little chance that they would move anytime soon. Vivienne was familiar with Ostwick mages and their insatiable curiosity, and Enchanter Trevelyan was a True Ostwick Mage. They may very well be stuck to this spot for days as she conducted all manners of tests and formulated a half-dozen theories over bloody hoof prints in the mud! Enough was enough. Vivienne cleared her throat.

“I do believe it is time to turn in,” she announced. Enchanter Trevelyan nodded, but her gaze remained fixed on the hoof prints.

“Cloven hooves,” Trevelyan murmured. “Definitely not a horse. But the gait is… bizarre. Almost as if the creature was… prancing?” She knelt down by the footprints (in the mud, the mud, dear Maker the woman was going to be soaked in the stuff)!

“If not a horse, perhaps a goat?” Seeker Pentaghast suggested, and Vivienne tried not to scream. Just what they needed, another theory to discuss in the pouring rain!

“Enormous fucking goat,” Messere Tethras muttered. “The Madame has a good point, mud’s up to my damn knees.” He shifted his weight, pulling out one of his legs from the muck with a loud, definite -schlorp-.

“… if it weren’t impossible I’d say these tracks belong to a… but that’s nonsense,” Trevelyan mumbled, even as Pentaghast caught her up by the elbow and dragged her upright. “But perhaps if I could make a casting…”

“In this weather? Nonsense,” Vivienne interrupted. No more of this, or else they’d drown where they stood in this damned rain! She spread out her hand and let the frost and ice settle over the strange cloven prints, until they gleamed a silvery-white in the gloom.

“That should hold until morning, I think. Now, back to camp before one of us slips and breaks a leg,” Vivienne declared. As if rising from a dream, Trevelyan shook her head and stirred. She rose to her feet, blinked her dark eyes, and seemed to finally realize that yes, it was raining and yes, night was fast approaching.

“Where did the time go?” she murmured as they began to walk down the muddy trail back to camp. Vivienne resisted the urge to say they spent a good portion of their time studying hoof prints and gathering weeds. She knew as well as any decent potion maker and alchemist that those plants were useful in medicinal draughts, and the hoof prints were (though it pained her to admit it) strange. Some new sort of demon, perhaps? Though four cloven hooves made Vivienne think of certain fairytales and stories that bordered on the fantastical, the impossible.

Vivienne thought, for a brief moment during the march back to camp, that she heard the faintest high whiney of a horse over the storm. She thought she saw, from the corner of her eye, the shimmer of a coat that seemed to have been formed from starlight and moonbeams. She thought she might have beheld a great horn formed of a twisted sort of pearl or seashell jut out of the head of the strange creature that darted through the forest at a canter on impossibly slender, delicate legs. It seemed to have been formed from the ice and magic she mastered so easily, disappearing and reappearing between the towering trees as they walked, but no one else seemed to have noticed it. And Vivienne… Vivienne shook her head and returned her attention to the task at hand: returning to her tent without injuring herself in the process.

But afterwards, when she was curled up in her bedroll and finally warm and dry, Vivienne lay on her back and carefully considered what she saw. Might have seen. It was all nonsense, of course. Unicorns only made themselves known to young maidens, not grown women!

But still. Whenever she shut her eyes she remembered the sight of that misty creature darting between the trees, prancing away on cloven hooves, the white spire of its horn cutting through the gloomy rain as it joyfully ran wild, away from all mortal understanding.

Some creatures, Vivienne thought with a small smile, should remain outside of scholarly understanding.

[ooffoonoo]

Least Favourite Female Characters

From top left to right

001. Sakura Haruno - Naruto 002. Marina Nunier Osuna - Elite 003. Ochako Uraraka - Boku No Hero Academia 004. Nami - One Piece 005. Yui Komori - Diabolik Lovers 006. Nijimi Anazawa - Magical Girl Site 007. Meiko Shiraki - Prison School 008. Blair - Soul Eater 009. Hermione Granger - Harry Potter 010. Misa Amane - Death Note 011. Tamaki Kotatsu - Fire Force 012. Yuno Gasai - Mirai Nikki 013. Lucy Heartfilia - Fairy Tail 014. Alvida - One Piece 015. Stockings - Panty and Stockings with Garterbelt 016. Mother Miranda - Resident Evil 8 017. Franziska von Karma - Ace Attorney 018. Cersei Lannister - Game of Thrones 019. Apple White - Ever After High 020. Michelle Richardson - Skins UK 021. Manny Santos - Degrassi The Next Generation 022. Red Queen - Alice in Wonderland 023. Mother Gothel - Tangled 024. Helga Sinclair - Atlantis The Lost Empire 025. Pink Diamond - Steven Universe 026. Katara - Avatar The Last Airbender 027. Vanessa Butz - Die Wilden Kerle/Wild Soccer Bunch 028. Claudia - The Dragon Prince 029. Trina Vega - Victorious 030. Moanatella Ghostier - Monster High 031. Aquamarine - Steven Universe 032. Dame Davin - Barbie Princess Charm School 033. Spectra Vondergeist - Monster High 034. Chloe Price - Life is Strange 035. Adelaide Wilson - Us 036. Harley Quinn - Suicide Squad 037. Queen Dagmar - Disenchantment 038. Bella Swan - Twilight 039. Vivienne - Dragon Age 040. Piper Chapman - Orange Is The New Black 041. Minnie May Barry - Anne With An E 042. Tori Vega - Victorious 043. Sabrina Spellman - Chilling Adventures Of Sabrina 044. Nemuri Kayama - Boku No Hero Academia 045. Charlie Magne - Hazbin Hotel 046. Carla Caleruega - Elite 047. Emma Bloom - Miss Peregrines Home for Peculiar Children 048. Monika - Doki Doki Literature Club 049. Karin - Naruto 050. Stella - Fate The Winx Saga 051. Hannah Baker - 13 Reasons Why 052. Phai - Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword 053. Dolores Umbridge - Harry Potter 054. Courtly Jester - Ever After High 055. Esme Song - Degrassi The Next Class 056. Fischl - Genshin Impact 057. Miss Valentine - One Piece 058. Gabi Braun - Attack on Titan 059. Dodge - Locke and Key 060. Maka Albarn - Soul Eater 061. Miss Merry Christmas - One Piece 062. Tiffany Dogget - Orange Is The New Black 063. Haley - Stardew Valley 064. Vanya Hargreeves - Umbrella Academy 065. Amy Rose - Sonic 066. Witch of the Waste - Howls Moving Castle 067. Ashley Kerwin - Degrassi The Next Generation 068. Yael Baron - Degrassi The Next Class 069. Betsy Bucket - Ratched 070. Boa Marigold - One Piece 071. Cho Chang - Harry Potter 072. Verosika Mayday - Helluva Boss 073. Angela Leon - Soul Eater 074. Mikasa Ackermann - Attack on Titan 075. Kaguya Otsutsuki - Naruto 076. Tsume Inuzuka - Naruto 077. Alisson Hargreeves - Umbrella Academy 078. Max Caulfield - Life is Strange 079. Sadie Miller - Steven Universe 080. Franky Fitzgerald - Skins UK 081. Toru Hagakure - Boku No Hero Academia 082. White Diamond - Steven Universe 083. Victoria Chase - Life is Strange 084. Big Mom - One Piece 085. Bloom Peters - Fate The Winx Saga 086. Arachne Gorgon - Soul Eater 087. Panty - Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt 088. Ibara Shiozaki - Boku No Hero Academia 089. Maya Madlin - Degrassi The Next Class 090. Karina Braun - Attack on Titan 091. Madame Suliman - Howls Moving Castle 092. Amber - Genshin Impact 093. Zoey Pierson - How I Met Your Mother 094. Mini McGuiness - Skins UK 095. Lola Pacini - Degrassi The Next Class 096. Morgan Fey - Ace Attorney 097. Prudence Night - Chilling Adventures of Sabrina 098. Lisa - Genshin Impact 099. Meng - Avatar The Last Airbender 100. Sadi - One Piece

[dreadfutures]

wip whenever

tagged by @rosella-writes​ and I’m going to tag @musetta3​ and @dalishkadan​ today, but if anyone’s excited about something consider yourself tagged too so I can be excited with you

this is vaguely nsfw but not really

Ixchel in Wycome really felt like she had no control and no power, which--for someone desperately trying to avoid past tragedies and with uncertain footing with reality due to her depression and doubts--would have been disastrous for her mental health...until Solas reminded her that she’s the woman who leashed Fen’Harel. Cue Solas getting topped. Cue Ixchel realizing that Solas needs to be topped--like a drowning man needs water.

She just...doesn’t know how yet.

So who better to talk to than Dorian? (I swear they were talking about serious magical theory before this.)

-:-:-:-

Ixchel scowled at him, and he snorted. "Here I thought I woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he teased. "Why don't you go take some of that frustration out on the able-bodied? Solas, perhaps?"

A flush rose to Ixchel's cheeks immediately. "Why does everyone keep suggesting that?" she demanded.

"'Everyone'?" Dorian echoed.  He seemed over the moons with this information, and Ixchel covered her face to avoid his far-too-wide grin. "Mula, you are a passionate woman. What else would you use him for?" he asked, voice tight as he fought back chortling laughter. "Tell me, have you used any of the lessons from your time with the Blue Wraith on Solas yet?"

Ixchel's ears were burning. "I can't believe—"

"I can," Dorian interjected. "You and I both know he's not as much of a stuffy old man as he pretends to be. Madame de Fer wasn't the only one who saw what you were up to in the hold."

Ixchel could have screamed, but instead the only sound that escaped her was a spluttered curse, and Dorian began laughing in earnest. Ixchel rolled out of bed and collapsed on the floor in a puddle of embarrassment.

"Alright, alright—mula. Ixchel!" Dorian stifled another laugh with a cough and wiped tears from his eyes. "Other ways to wake yourself… Let's see… It should be something reflexive, something explosive…perhaps even something enjoyable…"

"Dorian!" she cried, betrayed at the sight of his waggling eyebrows.  He doubled over with laughter again, and she swatted at him repeatedly.  "Get your mind out of the gutter!"

"You must agree, it would be a far more enjoyable alternative. You might even get Solas to help you!"

Ixchel decided she was fighting a losing battle against his devilish mood, and she suddenly gave up on any pretense of decorum. "Dorian, I can't wake up every time I come in the Fade. I'd never get any sleep!"

Dorian choked, his eyes wide at her admission. "Ixchel Lavellan, you astound me. Wasting your perfectly miraculous gift for lucid dreaming on something so base? Whatever will Vivienne say?!"

"At least I'm not doing it in public?" Ixchel rolled her eyes.

"Well now you have to tell me everything. Wait, I must guess first." Dorian steepled his fingers and peered up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I know what you like, but is that what he likes? Commanding the Inquisitor?" He hummed, not looking to see how hot Ixchel's face had grown. "Or is it the other way around?"

"Both." Ixchel's voice was thin and breathless, torn between laughing and shriveling up on the spot. "I think."

Dorian's attention dropped back to her, suddenly intent. His eyebrows had rocketed up to his hairline in surprise. "Oh? What's this?" He leaned over to tug on her arm and drag her back up into view. "’You think?’ Which part?"

Ixchel squeezed her eyes shut, but that did nothing to block out the sudden memory of Solas that last night in Wycome. She swallowed; everything about that night remained a drunken blur, faded in light of all that had happened in the chaos of Wycome and the siege of Skyhold. But she remembered his back arched so high above the bed it was as though he were levitating as he came for her, his hands bound above his head in the cords of his own necklace. She remembered how he had presented those hands to her—delicate, strong hands he had bound himself, unbidden—

"It's that good, then?" It was Dorian's turn to swat her, and she jumped. "The mere thought of it sends you running away into a daydream?"

"I just—how does Bull get you to shut up?"

"Excuse me?!"

"Solas is just always in charge, and he always knows what to say, and he's always saying it which means he's always thinking." The words tripped over each other as they poured from her mouth, but she had to get them out quickly. She pulled herself upright and faced him with a sheepish grin. "If there's anyone who can over-think as much as Solas, it's you." Dorian put a hand on his chest, aghast, and then Ixchel tipped her head to the side. "And Thom told me about the curtains."

Ixchel nearly fled for how quickly Dorian's falsely-affronted expression turned murderous. But she held her ground and waited, eyes wide and pleading, and tried not to descend into laughter herself.

"You would not be the first person to want to gag the man," Dorian said acerbically. “Why don’t you start there?”

[mistresstrevelyan]

Remember the little chat you can have with Vivienne where you can tell her that she is inspiring you with her impeccable sense of style and she warmly tells you that she’ll take you Val Royeaux to see her seamstress? I headcanon that this very stylish light rose outfit was the result of that visit. Vivienne seems pleased and Drusilla is head over heels in love with Madame de Fer. She doesn’t voice those feelings however because she respects Vivienne’s relationship with Bastien and would never believe herself worthy of such an amazing woman. Little did she know that the Fates were already spinning a new tapestry connecting them for the rest of their lives.

[theoretical-whore]

Red Roses (Fred Weasley x OC)

Fandom: Harry Potter Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Blood, vomiting, injury, mentions of death, Hanahaki Disease Words: +2k

A/N: oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god I’m actual hot garbage anyway so we’ve got some Hanahaki between Freddie dearest and my OC Vivienne Hollenberry. I’m trash I hate myself and I hate this I’m so sorry this was like six and a half pages long

Fred didn’t think much of it when he felt the first tickle in his throat. They were in Herbology after all, it wasn’t uncommon for one of the plants in Professor Sprout’s greenhouses to be an allergen. He watched as Vivi carefully trimmed their tenatcula, making sure it was just right. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, but her tongue just poking out the side of her mouth. Her scarlet hair was pulled back into twin braids, just how she wore her hair on her family’s farm when they were younger. His heart swelled with love as his throat continued to tickle. He cleared his throat and Vivi looked up at him. 

“Alright there?” she asked, the tiniest bit of concern visible in her blue eyes. 

He flashed a toothy grin at his best friend. “‘Course I’m alright. That tentacula doesn’t look alright, though.” He pointed at the plant, whose head was dangerously close to Vivi’s shears. 

“Oh!” She moved her shears away. “Sorry, little fella. Almost done with your haircut now, don’t worry,” she cooed to the plant. Fred laughed. Tentaculas were dangerous. Leave it to Vivi to call one “little fella.” He felt the tickle in his throat again, and this time he let out a small cough. 

Vivi looked back up at him in concern. “I’m fine, Vivi. Probably just allergic to something in here.”

“You’ve never had any allergic reactions before. Nothing’s different.” She placed her shears down, finished trimming the plant. 

He patted her shoulder affectionately. “The stuff in here is always changing. Why? You worried?”

“If you’re sick, you’re going to give it to me and your brother. I’m just looking after myself,” she said with a roll of her eyes. 

Fred gasped in mock offense, but the sudden intake of air caused another cough. Vivi raced to pat him on the back. “I’m okay, I’m okay!” Fred assured her. George and Lee were looking over from their tentacula. 

“Fred, you alright?” his brother asked. 

“Yeah, I think I’m allergic to something in here.” He raised his hand. “Professor Sprout! May I go to the hospital wing? I think I’m having some sort of reaction.”

Sprout looked at him with concern and gave him a nod. 

Fred turned back to Lee, George, and Vivi. “Just going to go get checked out, you know?” The three others nodded.

“Let us know as soon as you can if something’s wrong.” Vivi looked so worried. Fred’s throat tickled again.

He gently placed his hands on his best friend’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back for Defense Against the Dark Arts, don’t worry.” And he hurried off to the hospital wing, coughing every now and then. 

Madam Pomfrey gave him a Pepperup Potion to clear up the chest cold she assumed he was developing, but it did nothing. His throat still tickled. He still coughed. If anything, his coughs were getting more frequent and more violent. Madam Pomfrey made him stay through Defense Against the Dark Arts. He wasn’t allowed to leave until she could find out what was wrong with him. 

Vivi and George came in after Defense Against the Dark Arts. Fred felt a pang of jealousy at his brother’s arm around Vivi. He coughed again. “I knew you were getting sick,” Vivi said. “I knew it.”

Fred laughed, ignoring the urge to cough. He held out his hand, which Vivi took and squeezed. “I’m not sick. Madam Pomfrey just isn’t sure what’s wrong. Must not have been allergies, though. I’m still coughing.” As if to punctuate his sentence, he coughed again. 

“It’s worse,” George said matter-of-factly. “You’re coughing harder now.”

Fred nodded. “Yeah. Kinda feels like there’s something in my chest. My throat keeps tickling. Pomfrey is clueless about what’s going on.”

Vivi rubbed Fred’s knuckles with her thumb. “Well, you better get better.” She squeezed his hand again. “Can’t have you staying in here for too long.”

Fred smiled at the girl he loved so dearly. And then his chest tightened. He started to cough, but it was different this time. He doubled over in pain. It felt like something was stabbing at his lungs. The tickle in his throat had returned, but this time it felt like it was climbing up towards his mouth.

“Freddie!” George shouted.

Fred continued to cough and wheeze. Something was in his mouth. He spat into the hand that wasn’t still clutching Vivi’s, hoping to clear whatever it was. But nothing could have prepared any of them for what came out of his mouth. 

“Is that…a flower petal?” Vivi asked, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. 

In his hand, Fred held what looked to be a deep red rose petal, wet with saliva. How had that possibly gotten inside his mouth? He hadn’t been near any roses lately. But he brushed it off. Surely something had just gone wrong in Herbology. He tossed the flower petal to the ground. 

“Maybe someone jinxed you?” George offered. That made sense.

Madam Pomfrey returned to Fred. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mister Weasley. You’re free to go. If the coughing gets worse, return to me.”

He nodded and stood, leaving the hospital wing with his brother and best friend. Vivi’s hand was still in his. His throat tickled again. He coughed into his hand again, catching another rose petal. 

“Is there a jinx that makes you cough up petals?” 

“There’s a jinx to make you cough up slugs, so I wouldn’t be surprised,” George said as they headed to the Great Hall for dinner. “We can ask Flitwick in Charms tomorrow. See if there’s a counter spell.”

Fred nodded. Every now and then, there was a sharp pain in his lungs that made him pause and wince. He wasn’t very hungry at dinner that night. Every time he opened his mouth, he’d have to fish a rose petal from between his lips. He knew he was getting strange glances from other students. How uncommon was it for someone to have petals in their mouth? If it was caused by a jinx, it couldn’t be that odd.

“Professor Flitwick!” Vivienne leapt up from the table and rushed over to the tiny Professor who had just entered the Great Hall. Fred followed her, his hand on his chest to steady his coughing. 

“Miss Hollenberry, Mister Weasley. Good evening. Can I help you?” Flitwick asked with a kind smile. 

“Um, well…” Vivi reached for Fred’s hand again. He suppressed a more violent cough. He felt the petals building up in his mouth. “We were wondering what the counter spell is for the flower coughing jinx.”

“Pardon? The what?”

“The jinx that makes you cough up flower petals.” She looked to Fred, who was having a hard time keeping the petals in his mouth. He turned his head and spat into his hand, shoving the petals into the pocket of his robes. “Someone must have hit Fred with it.”

“Miss Hollenberry, there is no such jinx.”

Fred’s head snapped back to the Professor. “What?” he tried to ask, but was silenced by another violent coughing fit. Petals fell out of his mouth. 

Flitwick’s eyes widened. “That is not the work of any jinx I know. I’m afraid there is something else going on.”

Vivi nodded, making sure Fred was okay. “Thank you, Professor.” 

Flitwick gave the pair a look of concern before leaving the scene to join the other professors for dinner. 

“I’m not hungry anymore…” Fred mumbled. 

Vivi told George that they were leaving before retreating to Gryffindor Tower with a coughing Fred. Rose petals trailed on the floor behind them. 

“Not a jinx…” she mused, stroking Fred’s hair as he rested his head on her shoulder. The pair sat on the floor by the fireplace. Whenever new petals were produced, Fred would toss them into the fire. “A potion, maybe?”

Fred chuckled, causing him to cough and produce a few more petals. “If it was a potion, you’d know.”

“I think you should go back to Madam Pomfrey, Freddie.” 

Fred shook his head. “She said she didn’t know what was wrong with me.”

Vivi hummed. “She didn’t see you cough up petals though.”

Fred shrugged, craning his neck to look up at Vivi. The firelight reflected gorgeously on her crimson hair. He could see the embers sparkling in her eyes. Merlin, she was so, so beautiful.

He started to cough violently again, leaving Vivienne’s embrace. Petals flew everywhere. But something was different again. Instead of a tickle at the back of his throat, there were sharp pains. Like something was crawling up his throat, trying to get out. He gagged. 

“Freddie?” Vivi asked in a panic. “Freddie!”

He gagged again, and again, and then he heaved forward, vomiting onto the floor in front of them. 

But what he spat out wasn’t vomit. It was petals and blood and a single fully formed bloom. The thorns on the flower were clearly the culprits of the sharp pains in his throat. The lining of his throat felt like it had been torn, and he felt like there was a heavy weight on his chest. 

Vivienne practically dragged him back to the infirmary. 

Madam Pomfrey went white as a sheet when she saw him spit out another fully formed rose blossom, again stained in blood. Her expression was deathly serious. “Mister Weasley…”

“What?” Fred said between coughs. He was alone. Madam Pomfrey had chased Vivi out. “Do you…do you know what this is?”

“I’ve only seen it once before. My dear, I’m afraid you’re terribly sick.”

More coughs. More petals. More blood. “I am?”

The matron nodded. “It’s called Hanahaki Disease. And…it pains me to tell you that it’s fatal in most cases.”

Fred felt his heart stop. “Fatal?”

“It’s caused by unrequited love. The only way to cure it is for the love to be returned, or to have it removed. But the removal…comes at an awful price. You will lose all memory of the one you’d fallen in love with.”

“Lose…my memories?”

“And it appears yours is dangerously severe. Unless the disease is cured, the flowers growing in your lungs will suffocate you in a matter of days.” With a sad face, she asked the question he was dreading. “Do you have any idea who these feelings might be for?”

Of course he knew. It was Vivienne. It was always her. She occupied all of his thoughts. His heart, soul, and body yearned for her. And now…his love for her would kill him.

“It’s Miss Hollenberry, is it not?” Fred nodded gravely. “Is it possible that she returns your feelings?” He shook his head. “Then…I’m afraid you only have two options. I’ll leave you to think it over.” Madam Pomfrey gave him a basin for his flowers, and left to let him sleep. 

It wasn’t long before George burst in. “Vivi told me you coughed up a whole bloom! What’s going on?”

Fred mulled over his choices. He couldn’t worry his brother. “I’m fine,” he lied. “We…we think it might have been some sort of potion someone slipped into my drink or something.” He spat up another clump of flowers and blood. His throat felt like someone had taken a knife to it. He gave his brother a smile. “I’ll be fine. Just gotta stay here a few days until it’s passed.”

George looked as if he wasn’t sure he believed his brother. “Alright, well…hurry up and get better. I found Vivi sitting on your bed crying. Don’t keep us worried.”

Fred held in his flowers until his brother had left. He thought he could see the lining of his throat stuck to some of the thorns. Surely Madam Pomfrey was wrong. He’d be better in the morning. 

He wasn’t better in the morning. 

He awoke to dried blood on his lips, flowers and petals surrounding his head, and what felt like a vine growing out of his mouth. He severed the vine with diffindo. 

But the most concerning thing was how hard it had become to breathe. 

Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t let anyone come see him. The curtains were pulled around his cot, and he was utterly alone, coughing up flowers, bleeding, and suffocating. He knew he had dreamed of Vivi returning his love. Madam Pomfrey said that thinking about her or being near her was only causing the plant to spread faster. Several times throughout the day he heard people try to come see him. Ron, Harry, and Hermione came in, having heard from Vivi and George that he was sick. Madam Pomfrey turned them away. She turned away a nervous Ginny and a concerned Angelina Johnson. She turned away George and Vivi at least five times. By the third time, Vivi was in tears, practically begging to see him.

The sound of her crying made his heart ache and his lungs constrict even tighter. He spat up about five roses then, each one more and more soaked with blood. 

His throat was so torn up that he couldn’t even speak. He wheezed whenever he tried to take a breath.

And this carried on for a few days. He could feel the plant in his lungs slowly draining his life. Every day he coughed up more roses, more thorns, more blood. He knew he was dying.

It was on the fifth day that he asked Madam Pomfrey to remove the plant. He knew he couldn’t let himself die, even if it meant forgetting Vivienne. But his heart broke at the very thought. 

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over him, and hung her head. “My dear…I’m afraid it’s too late.”

Deep inside, Fred knew it would be. He passed out then.

Even unconscious, he could feel the plant growing and expanding, ready to claim his life at any moment. He heard crying. He recognized it as Ginny. He heard Ron and George’s voices trying to comfort her. He even heard Percy’s voice above him, sounding laden with sorrow and grief. He wanted to tell them he was sorry. He was sorry for taking so long to decide to save himself. Sorry that he’d never see Ron and Ginny grown, that he’d never see Percy become Minister for Magic, that he’d be leaving George alone. He wanted to tell them he loved them, to tell mum and dad how much he loved them, and how sorry he was for leaving them.

He felt pressure on his hand. A squeeze. He heard a voice call his name in the darkness. Vivienne’s voice. She was here. She was holding his hand as he died. He wanted to tell her how he’d loved her since second year. He hoped Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t tell her that it was his love for her that had killed him. He felt her rest her head against his heaving chest, he heard her crying for him. Oh, he loved her so much. His precious Vivienne. He hoped she would recover from this. He hoped whoever she ended up with treated her well.

It made sense, he thought. The roses were the same color as her hair.

He felt the darkness calling to him. It was time. Growing ever fainter, he heard Vivienne’s voice once more. 

“Come back to me…” she said. “I can’t live without you. I love you.”

Something changed in his chest. He felt the vines starting to recede. He drew in a breath. It came smoother than it had in days. The crying voices became clearer, the darkness less oppressive.

He opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was Vivi’s face over him, crying and beautiful. He felt the flowers in his lungs shrink and wither. He took in a heaving, gasping breath as he felt them vanish. The weight was gone from his chest.

His love had been returned. The disease had been cured.

Vivienne leaned back as he gasped to fill his lungs with the air that they had been missing so dearly for the past five days. He saw his siblings’ faces crowding around him. He tried to speak but nothing came out.

Madam Pomfrey helped him to sit and pressed her wand to his throat. He felt the tears stitch together and heal. Percy handed him a glass of water.

He looked at Vivienne, who had her hand clasped over her mouth. “I love you, too,” he said.