#Iron Bull: threads

[immortalmuses]

A Closed Starter for @turpisdeus, because they're finally giving me the OTP that's spawned over a decade of brainrot!

ㅤㅤㅤNever let it be said that The Iron Bull isn’t a patient guy. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEspecially when it comes to Dorian Pavus.

ㅤㅤㅤIt’s been three days of this shit. Of missions with frosty silences, meals marked by scathing refusals for company, and always (always) the weighted heat of Dorian’s Glare™ directed at his throat, or between his shoulder blades... pretty much anywhere that isn’t Bull’s mouth.

ㅤㅤㅤ( It's nearly enough to make him regret kissing the ridiculous Vint in the first place..... Nearly.) ㅤㅤㅤAnd, ok. Maybe The Iron Bull acted a bit rashly, with the kissing. But the way Dorian had sucked on his lower lip… At the time, it hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea.

ㅤㅤㅤBut now it's clear that Pavus is thinking. Which of course means overthinking, which leads to regretting, because that's just how some people work. And Bull (who knows plenty about thinking and regretting, but not so much about Tevinter Mages with perfect hair) is just about ready to tell the other man to go ahead and fry with him with lightening bolts, if it would mean him getting over this snit.

ㅤㅤㅤThing is... Dorian might actually do it.

ㅤㅤㅤ“Alright–” The Qunari grunts, setting down his maul in the courtyard and rounding on the Mage before he can slip away to the library again. They're fresh from the road, dust and a lingering stench of red lyrium still clinging to their clothes. The Iron Bull doesn't care (even if Dorian does), and he's sick of the disapproving looks he keeps getting from the Inquisitor.  ㅤㅤㅤ“– c'mon, just… out with it." He says, gesturing to Pavus in a come at me kind of way, "You’re angry, Congratulations. Now tell me what I should do so you'll put an end to the theatrics." 

[immortalmuses]

ㅤㅤㅤThe way Dorian calls Rockslides refreshing startles a laugh out of The Iron Bull, and he leans back on his heels to give the other man both a bemused look and a little more space. Even a potential gut would hasn't blunted Pavus's wit, it seems. The Qunari takes it as a good sign.

ㅤㅤㅤDespite Dorian's attempts at deflection (commission a portrait? Really?), Bull's eye follows the other man's gaze down to the torn fabric of his robe, material matted with blood. He frowns, reading between the lines of the Mage's bluster, "…So. You didn't take a hit to anything vital, then? I don't wanna worry about you getting sepsis before I can find us a way outta here."

ㅤㅤㅤIf it were one of his chargers, The Iron Bull would press the topic, insist on seeing the wound for himself. But he can sense that Dorian is teetering on some kind of emotional precipice, and Bull has enough self-preservation not to light the match that might burn down this tentative truce between them. When the mage starts to list forward, he automatically puts a hand out to steady him, his grip on Dorian's shoulder gentle.

ㅤㅤㅤAt the Mage's impatient question (Can we please fetch something to stop this bleeding?), The Iron Bull slants Pavus an bemused incredulous look. He replies, slowly, as if speaking to a rookie, "In case you haven't noticed, tough guy, we're not exactly trapped in a healing ward here. The options for staunching your wound are…" He glances around, down at his billowy trousers, then at Dorian's own dusty robes. "Well, they're pretty limited."

ㅤㅤㅤNothing for it, then. Bull reaches to grip part of Dorian's vestments, locating the least soiled section of the fine fabric and tearing it free with a great Riiip!

ㅤㅤㅤ"--I could have always torn up my pants," He says blithely, "but then I'd be naked." Because of course The Iron Bull doesn't wear underwear. The Qunari pauses shredding the fabric piece into useable strips, smirking at Dorian from the corner of his mouth, "…… unless that's something you'd like?"

ㅤㅤㅤWithout waiting for a response, Bull folds a strip of the fabric and tucks it into Pavus's hand, instructing, "Press that against your hip, hard. I'll use the rest as a binding for pressure."

Bloody bastard. Perhaps he's ought to share his inclination towards cats with him! With his claws ready, the Tevinter would be happy to provide.

Unfortunately, while the pain leaves him not exactly like a panther, Dorian gives off what he hopes is indignant tabby. Alas, it doesn't seem to have much of an effect, calm and patient as the Iron Bull's determined to stubbornly hold onto. In fact, it seems to gentle him further, his lone eye searching and those great, great palms maddeningly steady. A slight sound leaves him, some quarter parts a whine and a very testy huff. What a shame he's holed here with this menacing Qunari, but then...

Well, with Bull's penchant for his safety, perhaps this is a good thing.

"On the contrary, I'm here very willingly. The South offers so many experiences. I was expecting more spitting at my feet and creative insults about my mother. The rockslides? Refreshing. The attempts on my life? Less so."

Funny, huh? Looking out unto the unending chasm, it's then that Dorian is glad to realize he's not the least bit claustrophobic. All the same, pushing off Bull, he still sees the tinnying of his vision dull about its edges. That, he decides, is worthy of at least a modicum of concern. He swears thinly under his breath looking down at the smear of red against his palm. From this angle, too, he catches Bull kneeling down when the stare he's met bears down entirely encompassing.

"Never better. I look incredible in red. If you're determined to commit the image to memory, I might suggest commissioning a portrait," he snaps weakly. It almost makes him feel bad. Dorian knows Bull's ankle isn't exactly at its best, and the genuine sense of care bare in that blasted brow--! It makes him sigh in a very put upon manner. "I'm not exactly jumping for joy, but it could be worse. I could be crushed under rocks in a dank cave like some lost Fereldan child who'd thought himself a gopher. I suppose I could have been had you not whisked me away." Is that what he wants? A thank you? A great big christening as his devilishly horned knight in naked armor? "So, lucky that." It hurts. Dorian teeters forward but refuses to grab him. Steady, goodness. Steady. "Now, can we please fetch something to stop this bleeding?"

[stxriesfromasharchive]

Open Starters

"Love is all starlight and gentle blushes. Passion leaves your fingers sore from clawing the sheets."

He takes a large gulp from the tankard full of foamy beer, nearly finishing half while leaving bits of liquid traces in his mustache.

[immortalmuses]

ㅤㅤㅤThe Iron Bull is close, closer than Guin probably realizes. For all his bulk, he's long been a presence in the Inquisitor's blind spot, filling that space that would otherwise leave her vulnerable, exposed. A thing Trevelyan cannot afford to be, especially not now.

ㅤㅤㅤSo Bull makes sure he's at the Inquisitor's flank when she's taken by the throes of her Reaver Rampage. In the moment, it's Glorious. And Savage. And so damn Bloody they could paint the world red. But when all that ends… yeah. Blood's the only thing guaranteed to stick around, even in rain as heavy as this.

ㅤㅤㅤThe Iron Bull is all-too-familiar with the fallout of a Reaver mindset, of how an unstoppable warrior's energy suddenly funnels away like water through a sieve. He spots the minute tremble in Guin's shoulders, careful not to touch her as he takes a step closer. When Trev turns to seek his gaze, Bull angles his horns down and looks back without reservation, his gut clenching at the sight of tears. This is not the glory they dreamed up in the Hinterlands, like children on a day-trip. They are well past that, on the backside of a war that Iron Bull had hoped Guin would never have to see.

ㅤㅤㅤHe opens the arm not holding his great axe, close enough that Trev can fall into him and be caught by the breadth of The Iron Bull's massive ribcage.  "Boss." He says in a low rumble, acknowledgement and invitation in one. "I got you."

All she can hear is her blood racing in her ears, a chorus of rage as her quarry slams into the ground below with a tremor. She can see nothing; not her companions, not the field of battle as it tunnels on the slit pupil of the dragon's eye peering up at her.

She does not hesitate.

There was almost no color left in her irises as the blade sinks deep into the creature's skull. Obsidian strands cling to her neck from sweat and rain, rain that continues to pelt down on them; she's as if a woman possessed. Rain water clinks against the metal of her armor as the roaring death rattle of the dragon subsides, leaving them in silence. She's panting, nose bridge creased viciously from the exertion.

It is done.

The rage ebbs away as the adrenaline and fire from her wounding subsides, and she's—tired. Her shoulders shake from the grip she keeps on the blade as her chin trembles, the blue of her eyes slowly returning as they flood with tears not yet shed. The rain continues as she tries to breathe.

She's tired of being this, she's tired of the responsibilities stacking and stacking; is it still yet not enough?

No, it never is.

She dares only look in the direction of one companion, needing to make sure he stands. Her port in a storm, her true north, emotion swelling within her chest as she's afraid if she lets go of her blade—she will collapse altogether.

@immortalmuses

[vtriol]

with all their talents and experience, the heat of the forbidden oasis (or rather, the direction they supposed it was) made the trudging through sand all the more miserable. they had made it all this way, hadn't they? surely they were entitled to a complaint or two.

“ think we should get a palanquin or something for next time, boss? ” says @hissrath, ever the one to encourage some banter. to their misery, the inquisitor laughs and replies, “ and get cullen down here to help with it. i could make it happen. ”

the mention of the commander only incenses the mage further, their face turning red from a combination of the sun heat, embarrassment, and anger. spite is an excellent motivator, and thana's pace overtakes the insufferable qunari and his inquisitor. “ i am orlesian, i have been 'marching' in these Maker-cursed sands since i could stand on my own two legs! ” they say over their shoulder, and turn forward just in time to catch the steep, sandy dune at its peak before tumbling over.

thana was never one for discretion. in that, playing into the mysterious mage-warden was easy enough, and the whispers were manageable. but Maker, did the teasing not drive cullen up a wall like it does them? perhaps not, with the speed the inquisition seemed to find out.

“ if cullen ever coddles me like that, i'd set all of skyhold on fire. and if i let him, strike me down. ” thana swears, then sees the ever-increasing expanse of sand in front of them and swears again. “ no ancient temple is worth this trek, and i hold my right to whinge however i wish. doubly so if i have to fight any of those damn venatori. ”

[xxstxriesfromashxx]

The Countess & The Qunari

@adeadlysong liked for a random CANON GREMLIN and got IRON BULL

"Oh, Maker! These are absolutely delicious, Countess!" Iron Bull, the tall and bulky Qunari warrior exclaims as he all but scarfs down the pastry (which looked absolutely tiny in his large hands) offered to him by the Inquisition's new guest. His wrinkled and scarred face lit up as he savored the taste of his next bite, the sounds he couldn't help but make causing some onlookers to stare curiously and a bit strangely without the context.

"I've never had something so sweet yet so full of flavor before!" He was not much of a pastry or dessert guy - meat of any kind was much more preferred, something chalk full of protein and usually either roasted to a crisp or slathered in juices.

[vaguely-concerned]

I understand and agree with a lot of the frustrations about the shortcomings of Inquisition as a story. but sometimes when I hear people complain about the chosen one narrative in it I do want to just be like... you know it's a deconstruction of the concept more than anything, right. the inquisitor isn't actually chosen by anything except stumbling into the wrong (right?) room at the right (wrong?) time because they like, heard a noise or whatever. or if you think they are chosen, as many do in-universe, that's something you have to take on faith, the maker-or-whoever moves in mysterious ways indeed-style. the Inquisitor isn't actually a Destined Chosen One, they're a Just Some Guy in a fancy hat, self-delusions of grandeur to taste as you'd prefer.

a running thread that goes through all of the personal quests of the companions is the concept of a comforting lie vs. an uncomfortable truth, upholding old corrupt structures vs. disrupting them, and the role of faith in navigating that. (blackwall the warden vs. thom rainier the liar and murderer. hissrad vs. the iron bull, or is that the other way around? cassandra and the seekers -- do we tell the truth about what we find, even if it means dismantling the old order of the world? and so on.) and your inquisitor IS at the same time a comforting lie (a necessary one, in dark times? the game seems to ask) and an uncomfortable truth (we are the result of random fickle chance, no protective hand is held over the universe, it's on us to make a better world because the maker sure as hell won't lift a divine finger to help anyone, should he against all odds exist). faith wielded for political power... where's the point that it crosses the line into ugliness? is it before it even begins? what's the alternative? will anyone listen to the truth, if you tell it?

interesting how you also get a mix of companion agency in this -- you have characters like dorian who ALWAYS choose one side of the comforting lie vs. uncomfortable truth dichotomy. he will always make up his own mind to go back to tevinter and try to dismantle the corruption of the old system no matter what you say, or how you try to influence him. meanwhile iron bull is on the complete opposite side of the spectrum -- so psychologically trapped and mangled, caught in an impossible spiritual catch-22, that his sense of identity is left entirely to you and your mercy. you cannot change dorian in any way that matters; you can be his friend or not, support him or not, but he is whole no matter what. you are given incredible and potentially destructive-to-him power over bull's soul. it's really cool (and heartbreaking) to think about.

this is a game about how history will eat you even while you're still alive, and shape you into whatever image it pleases to serve it, and for all your incredible power right now you are powerless in the face of the gravitational force of time -- of more than time, of History. you won't recognize yourself in what History will make of you, because you belong to it now. you don't belong to yourself anymore and you never will again. the further you were from what it needs from you to begin with, the more you will find yourself distorted in its funhouse mirror. (why hello there inquisitor ameridan, same hat!)

and to me this is so much the core of what Dragon Age is about right from the Origins days -- how and by whom history gets written, the inherent unreliable narration of it all. I hope you like stories, Inquisitor. You are one now.

I do think it's probably still the weakest of the games narratively, and it's hampered by its structure and bloated systems. but I also find it disingenous to say that there's nothing deeper or actually interesting going on with it, thematically. if you're willing to engage with it there is Some Real Shit going on under the high fantasy-tinted surface.

[immortalmuses]

@turpisdeus sent from Guin to The Iron Bull: i love you. if i can find you, i will. if not, stay alive.

ㅤㅤㅤ"No... Boss, No!" The Iron Bull's voice sharpens with an edge of desperation, gaining volume as he drops the head of his maul in the blight-soiled mud and takes a step after Guinevere. Darkspawn are... everywhere, or at least all over South Thedas. Their shrieks echo in the darkness like gulls on the Stormcoast.

ㅤㅤㅤSkyhold barely stands, and Bull knows.. he fucking knows that Guin intends to make for Minrathous, no matter how treacherous the journey.

ㅤㅤㅤ"We go together, remember?!" The Qunari counters, his weight leant on the haft of his weapon, easing pressure from the brace strapped to his left ankle. Ten fucking years since a world ending cataclysm, and The Iron Bull isn't getting any younger. Evenso, he jabs a finger at the former-Inquisitor, "--None of this splittin' up shit, that's how you get yourself killed!"

[tsukii0002]

Imagine a Lucifer collapsing over an insignificant thing. Let me explain. Imagine that Lucifer has been under enormous stress for a couple of weeks, more intense and exhausting than usual.

In a few days he has had to deal with a group of demons trafficking in human souls in the habitable borders of Devildom; he had had to expel several students for bulling that went to the extreme of endangering the lives of the victims; a group of witches had openly threatened Diavolo for restricting the trade of certain herbs exclusive to Devildom; had stopped a rather dangerous stalker who was after Asmo (Thanks to his father that his brother hadn't found out); Mc had been attacked by a faction of the Sorcerer Society that hated Solomon; Belphie had gotten angry and taken his word away, because he hadn't made it on time to a classical music concert that the younger one had arranged well in advance. … and a lot of other things, which had been piling up on him to such an extent that he couldn't stand it any longer. And the straw that broke the camel's back, the last thread that broke the string, was the most absurd and insignificant situation.

Mc: Lucifer? Are you-

Lucifer: *draining his tears silently*

Mc: *running to his side worried* Lucifer????!!!! What's wrong?

Lucifer: I… I can't find my black embroidered handkerchief….

Mc: ?? *looking around* the one with the peacock eyes?

Lucifer: *nodding as he closes his eyes*

Mc: Well *panicking a little* don't worry *kneeling down next to him and holding his hands* I'll help you look for it.

Lucifer: *staying silent as tears stream down his face*

Mc: *seeking his gaze* …

Mc: It's been a hard few days, hasn't it?

Lucifer: *nodding without opening his eyes*….

Mc: *moving his hand to his face*….

Lucifer: *relaxing to the touch*…

Mc: It's all right now, everything will be all right *sitting down next to him* so let off some steam.

Lucifer: *hugging the human* This is stupid….

Mc noticed how their shoulder was getting progressively wetter, while Lucifer's breathing was accelerating, the few tears had turned into a silent cry. Mc tried to comfort him, he must have been overwhelmed by everything that had happened. How many times would he have been like this on his own? Because, although the brothers could sense that their brother could not cope with everything no matter how much he insisted, surely no one would have seen him like that, no one would have accompanied him in those overwhelming moments.

Mc: It's not…

Lucifer: It's a fucking handkerchief…. And yet...

Mc: It's not just a handkerchief Luci, it's important.

Lucifer: *closing his eyes tightly again* …

Mc: *caressing his back* I have an idea, let's go to sleep and when we wake up we'll look for your handkerchief together.

Lucifer: I still have a lot of things to do.

Mc: *smiling* Don't worry, leave it to me.

And so, while Lucifer slept peacefully in Mc's arms with swollen eyes, the human made a few calls. And soon after, Satan and Levi had taken care of dismantling the demons' base on the border, Beel had located all the expelled thugs and had a talk with them; Mammon had taken care of establishing an agreement with the witches without any consequences; Asmo, who already knew about his stalker, made sure that he would not be a nuisance to his family again; Solomon intervened in the warlock association and made sure that if they had problems with him they would solve them with him; and finally when Lucifer woke up Belphie was waiting for him with his freshly ironed handkerchief, accompanied by a hug.

Mc smiled, maybe if the first born would turn more to his family and friends, he wouldn't go to that extreme.

.

.

I am strongly convinced that Devildom and the RAD have serious, serious problems. And that Mc had no idea at the beginning, they were protected from them because they were human, but that they got involved as they became more and more relevant. Sometimes they wondered how their demons had been able to carry everything, especially Lucifer.

Thanks for reading 🩷 .

.

.

[hattedhedgehog]

Here's the small-scale colour sampler for my newest Dragon Age tarot embroidery: The Iron Bull! As usual this is just a test for how the threads look together and not the final stitches I'll be using. I've actually wanted to do this one for a while, but then Solas' card took priority with the upcoming game. It's hard to believe this will be my 5th one!

I adore this card; it's so cool that after the Demands of the Qun mission, it appears the most tragic card out of the outcomes, but ends up being the best one in the long run. (You'd better have chosen the outcome that got you this card btw...)

My other Dragon Age embroideries: (X)

- [If you want to get Dragon Age: The Veilguard on PC and also support me making crafts like this, you can use promo code HATTEDHEDGEHOG at checkout through the EA app or Dragon Age site, and I receive part of the proceeds! Applicable to ANY Dragon Age title too, not just The Veilguard.]

[angstandhappiness]

LMAO ADORABLE

@drown-the-bitten Oughghgh Chinese family moments are stored in the making of food....

[felassan]

Taash's art piece is just so beautiful! With how windy it looks (her hair blowing around), the blue-green background, and the wave-like pattern in the background, it gives the impression of the rushing sea. (and with the rushing sea, it has a sense of adventure!). The ocean background makes sense - she is affiliated with the Lords of Fortune, a group with a cephalopod logo and who are based out of Rivain, a nation almost completely surrounded by the sea. Their vibe/aesthetic has been described as incorporating a pirate-y element, they have ships, and they were said to hold dominion over the coasts of Rivain. We've also seen in-game shots now of a Rivaini shore that we will visit, complete with bright blue-green sea. the eye-like pattern in the sea in the top right and some of the 'triangles' in the sea remind me of dragons and sea-serpents.

With Taash's design, the 'protruding' parts of her armor, like around her shoulders (two, three) look like they could be dragon-scales. Trophies from dragon hunts? :) In Thedas, armor can be made from dragonscale. I wonder, is the jade-looking horn (the same color as the sea) a covering for that horn, or a straight-up replacement horn? We can see here that it has polished planes and cut edges in the manner of a cut gem. Gold coins fall around her, fitting for someone affiliated with a piratey, treasure-hunting faction. The red threads, rope-like in appearance, remind me of that aspect of some Qunari armor/clothing. In this piece they sort of flow around her in places, but we can see here for example that they're an element of her clothing. I wonder if she's Qunari, Tal-Vashoth or Vashoth. Being associated with a group originating in Rivain, maybe she's from Kont-aar or its surrounds, a coastal city in northern Rivain that is the only peaceful Qunari settlement on the mainland continent? Her gold jewelry and items are beautiful. Jewelry seems to be a notable part of clothing in Rivain, and among the Lords of Fortune, those that survive for more than a few years wear their treasures, charms and other items. It seems like Taash is a successful Lord of Fortune(/adjacent), someone who has found/won many treasures and accomplished great feats. The gold dragon at her collarbone is a cool touch.

Maybe it was Taash who wrote this Codex, and the title is alliterative, "Taash Talks"? The writer comes across like a dragon enthusiast and it references being near the shore/sea. Iron Bull once said "So, when you face a dragon, does it get your heart pumping? Do you breathe a little faster, feel the blood racing?" (in the DA:TV trailer, Varric says that they will need someone "with fire in their blood" to face dragons). And from this blurb, something has been unsettling the dragons in Rivain, in a way that dovetails in the Lord of Fortunes being concerned with it:

Upon eastern shores and sunkissed sands, the Lords of Fortune no longer hold dominion over the coasts of Rivain – not when dragons are growing bolder and laying wastes to their ships.

[source]

[landofadonises]

The Encounters - Locker Room; June 26th, 2017

Brad was finishing up his 4-hour long workout session, like any other day (every day of the week), when some shorty with some toned muscles and a tight ass walked up to him and asked, "Hey, big guy, you need any help gettin' washed up? Watched you the whole time out there, you damn muscle hog. I know for a fact you can't reach behind that huge back of yours."

Brad was never one to refuse a bit of attention from a thirsty twink, so he agreed. "Just be careful, lil' man. You don't want me gettin' riled up." As they started walking toward a stall, Brad then mentioned, "You're only helpin' me with the bod', bro. I was plannin' on jackin' it since I'm all packed and juiced from my sesh, and you ain't gettin' that." The twink smirked. "Whatever you say, big guy."

Why Brad ever thought he had control of the situation is beyond any listener that hears this from the gym desk agent that had to escort a completely-spent Brad out from the completely clogged and coated shower. Things started smoothly enough, the two of them playing a bit of dress-down, the twink feeling like he was working at a car wash more than helping a massive beefcake wash all his nooks and crannies. His hands started traveling, though, and surely enough, a particular grazing of Brad's inner thigh made him snap to attention but already reeling from the sensation. "B-bro... you gotta be c-careful... for fuckin' real! These are compression so my horse cock ain't floppin' out of my shorts while I'm pumpin' iron! E....e-expensive, man!"

The twink grinned fiendishly as each word Brad muttered was accompanied by a thread of fabric snapping, ripping, as his enormous meat-rod surged forward to life, causing the twink to run in fear of being pierced on that impaler and not having the chance to tell the tale. He scurried away from the guttural, bass-y moans and thudding occurring in the stall as the virile bull went into a frenzy.

[findroleplay]

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ Hello hello! 21+ mun (they/them) looking for STRICTLY 18+ roleplay partners and roleplays. I would prefer to write over discord in a server I create, since I can be a bit picky about it. I'm particularly looking for either fandom OR fandomless roleplays. I write lit to advanced lit (novella but only on occasion), and write in third person ONLY. I will not write in first, sorry!

Some fandoms I would be interested in would include…

House of the Dragon // Game of Thrones // Hazbin Hotel // Legend of Zelda (Breath of the Wild or Tears of the Kingdom specifically) // Dragon Age

For each one, I have some things I'm specifically looking for, and I'll listen them below.

♡ House of the Dragon — CCxCC mostly, however I am open to OCs if they're well developed and make sense. I'd like someone to write against my Rhaenyra, no matter the pairing, relationship, etc. (Preference of a Daemon, Laenor, another Targaryen, Aegon, or Alicent. However any CC welcome!)

♡ Game of Thrones — CCxCC mostly, too, however same as above. OCs welcome if well developed. I'd like to write a few characters, however I focus heavily on the Starks, particularly Sansa, and Daenerys. I'm willing to write against anyone. (No preference, but romance lean ideally.)

♡ Hazbin Hotel — CCxCC mostly, as I'm not fond of OCs for this. I can write a few characters: Charlie, Alastor, Angel Dust, Lucifer, Adam, Lute, Vaggie, and otherwise. Open to all manner of things here. No preference of who to write against, but I've been in the mood to try these characters out or write them again.

♡ BotW / TotK (Legend of Zelda) — CCxCC, not open to OCs for this. Particularly looking to write Zelda, Sidon, or Ganon against a Link. I can also write Link, but that's just not my preference. Open to other options but these are my priority. Also open to do something poly related between the four, but only with some decent development and plotting.

♡ Dragon Age — OCxCC only. OCxOC could work but I'm very selective here. I'd like to write some of my OCs against some canons, but I'm more than willing to write a canon for you in return. Preferences of Alistair, Leliana, or Zevran from Origins, Fenris or Merrill from DA2, and/or Solas, Iron Bull, Blackwall, or Josephine from DAI. (Open to Cole, Cullen, other Hawke's, and a few others.)

As for fandomless, I have a plethora of OCs I'd love to throw at people. For this, I typically like…

♡ Fantasy, pirates, magic systems, solarpunk, apocalyptic (zombies or not) themes, dead dove themes, god/sacrifice, mythological creature/human, found family, medieval themes, historical fiction, war, aliens, modern fantasy, and more. (This is generalized, and can be discussed further.)

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ Some things I'd really really love to include consist of — romance, angst, dead dove themes (we can discuss in private what that looks like), whump/caretaker, reunions, and so on. I'm a big fan of drama, and angst. I'll write multiple threads if I really vibe with someone, especially if we share a few fandoms. I generally shift and headcanon canons with their own identities, so please bear that in mind and be open to queer identities. I'd like to add some smut to this, from anywhere to a 50/50 to 80/20 plot to smut ratio, but that can be discussed. Do not bring me subby/bottoms, I will not only write top/doms. Kinks will be discussed privately. (Open to all manners of ships, mxm, mxf, fxf, anyxnb, poly, etc!)

&&&& I like to make friends with my roleplay partners. I do not ghost/block without good reason, and I refuse to engage with drama. If I have a problem, I voice it. Thanks for reading! If this sounds like it works for you, give a like and I'll reach out!

-

[hikolu]

Qunari in Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

So there is the controversy going around that the qunari look "too human"

I've also heard that there is a degree of what we've seen is just what people have made in the character creator, so it's been their choice to make em smooth and humany.

However I take issue with the "this is such a downgrade compared to previous versions" previously we've almost exclusively seen members of the Antaam the fighting force. In da2 it's literally a dreadnoughts worth of Sten and all the tal vashoth in the area are defectors from that force, so we don't see any variation because... In Inquisition The Iron Bull explains that the tamassrans(sp?) choose who breeds with who and we know that in the Qun you have defined rolls so it makes sense that all the Sten and the Arishok are built like that.

Also in Shinobi's Twitter thread with gameplay we see more "traditionally" built Qunari, who are most likely Sten or similar members of the Antaam. While the Inquisitor and Rook are not part of the Qun, with the Inquisitor explicitly being born outside of it. Being born outside means that it was not the tamassrans making the decision on who their parents are, but an interpersonal decision between their parents.

Tl:Dr we've only ever seen one type of Qunari in the games really, so stop bitching that there is variation to them

[chibifox88]

Sneak Peak of Chapter 3

I checked the time on my phone.

3:14 a.m.

Too early to be up. Too late to call this “last night.” Too restless to pretend I could sleep.

So I grabbed the lukewarm Dr. Pepper—because apparently, I was the kind of person who drinks soda at 3 a.m. now—and headed out into the corridor. I figured if I was going to be awake, I might as well head toward Red’s room. Maybe he had some gadget tucked away that could chill the drink. The guy had machines that did everything except brush his teeth for him.

The walk to his wing of the mansion was long. The halls were dim, quiet, lit only by the occasional flickering wall lantern. Most of the staff were asleep. The clones were off-duty. And the whole place had that strange, echoing stillness you only got in old buildings after midnight—like the mansion remembered every conversation it had ever heard and was holding them all in its walls.

I was halfway there, turning the corner near the east corridor, when I froze mid-step.

He was standing there.

The Demon Bull King.

Massive, unmoving, dressed in a long velvet night robe embroidered with faded golden thread. He stood like a statue—shoulders squared, arms at his sides, back perfectly straight. His horns caught what little light there was, casting long, curved shadows on the marble floor.

He wasn’t looking at me.

He was staring at a painting on the wall.

I followed his gaze and felt my chest tighten a little.

It was a portrait I’d passed dozens of times without much thought. One of those sentimental ones that blended into the decor. 

It showed the family, years ago. Red was just a baby, curled in his mother’s arms. Lady Iron was smiling—gently, like she wasn’t the sharp force she is now. And DBK? He looked… calm. Proud. There was warmth in his face, in his eyes. A quiet, gentle pride I had never seen on the real version of him.

Looking at it now, I felt a pang in my chest.

That family didn’t exist anymore. Not really.

Centuries of war, betrayal, heartbreak, and bloodshed had carved them into what they were now—wounded, furious, powerful… and alone.

Then his head turned.

Slowly.

His gaze leveled on me, and I was immediately hit with the weight of it. Not just his physical size—though that alone was enough to make anyone pause—but the raw presence he carried. Like staring down a mountain that might fall on you if you breathed wrong.

He looked at me for a moment longer, and then, finally, he spoke.

“Feline…” His voice was low, roughened from age and fire. But softer than I’d ever heard it. “You smell of blood.”

The words weren’t accusatory. Not hostile. Just… observant. Heavy.

My grip tightened slightly on the warm soda can in my hand.

Because he wasn’t wrong. 

I hadn’t bothered to shower or change my clothes after tonight’s little outing. My earlier “nighttime activity” still clung to me—on my skin, my clothes, and, apparently, in the air around me. Demon Bull King’s eyes swept over me slowly, like he was cataloguing every detail.

Was he… trying to make conversation? Just wanted someone to chat with?

I had no idea. But there was no reason to be a bitch right now, so I kept my tone neutral.

“Yeah,” I said with a shrug, “I had another job outside the family tonight. One of my assassination contracts. They needed proof of the kill, so I guess the smell’s still in my clothes.”

I wasn’t particularly surprised he could pick up on it. Demons had incredible senses of smell—way beyond anything human or animal. They could scent blood, magic, even emotion, sometimes. I, unfortunately, didn’t have that blessing. That sense stayed frustratingly human for me. While he could probably smell the blood… and the alleys I’d walked through… all I got was the faint metallic dryness clinging to my coat.

He gave a small nod, thoughtful. “Do you take on many jobs outside of the family?”

His eyes drifted away from me again, settling back on the painting—still studying it like he might be trying to remember what it felt like to smile like that again.

“At this point? Not many,” I answered honestly, stepping a little closer as I spoke. “The contract I made with Lady Iron only allows outside work if it’s sealed with a magical contract. And those aren’t exactly common these days. Not many demons are keen on the idea of dying if they flake on the terms. Plus the side effects also put most off as well.”

Now I was standing in front of him. A few feet away. Close enough to see the flicker of memory in his expression as he stared at the portrait.

“I see…” The words left him in a slow breath.

Silence settled between us. Heavy. Uncomfortable.

What was I supposed to do? Walk past him? Wait for him to leave? Was this a test? A trap? Or just a weird, awkward middle-of-the-night hallway moment?

Ooof is this the first time Shiro's talked to Lord Ox one on one? Yes, yes it is. What do you all think will happen next? Is it going to be wholesome or will I throw more trauma at you?

No you guys aren't allowed to have a brake from trauma it's what makes you sassy- :D

-Chibi