#Seren Cousland | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kauriart · 21 days ago

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Hero

An NSFW Dragon Age fic for kaijuburgers as part of the 2020 @black-emporium-exchange | m!Cousland x Loghain | Read it on A03

Oren Cousland is drunk.

But not drunk enough.

There’s a serenity, surely, waiting at the bottom of a bottle that he hasn’t found yet. And he is nothing if not determined to find it.

Stubborn determination has carried him this far, after all.

He’s in the kitchens — second kitchens? Some over-stuffed yet tidy room near the wine cellar. It smells comfortingly of food and flame, and is as much a balm to his frazzled senses as the drink. Moreso perhaps.

There are oil lamps strung along the walls, but the fire in the room is smokey-low and dim, flickering erratically as though uncertain if it ought to go out. He lifts his latest bottle and pours. The glass fills so quickly some of the wine spills out over the rim and over his fingers. A puddle of deep burgundy forms on the table, glossy as velvet.

The first time they kissed, Loghain wore a burgundy tunic.

But that was years ago.

And he is not nearly drunk enough to go wandering into those memories, no matter how close they press to the surface.

Oren lowers his mouth to the glass, carefully slurping up the excess wine as the door to the room slides open, wood creaking and shifting heavily. Alastair blinks. “Sorry. Didn’t think anyone would be here. What are you doing up at this hour?”

The drunken detritus on the table should be obvious enough.

Oren lifts his wine glass carefully. It’s still rather full. “Celebrating.”

Alastair raises a single auburn brow, but makes no comment. Instead he crosses the room, boots dragging heavily across the polished floors and sits in the chair opposite his fellow Warden.

Or, ex- fellow Warden. No one has bothered to explain if Kings get to be Wardens after all.

“We won, didn’t we?” Oren says, voice rough from the wine. “Successful landsmeet and all.”

Only it doesn't feel that way. Not really.

Surely victory ought to carry with it some semblance of satisfaction. Of accomplishment.

Alistair is quiet and still. Brow furrowed. Everything about him has changed to a striking degree. So much at odds with the half-giddy, nervous energy he usually displays. “What do you intend to do with him?”

Loghain.

Strong hands and broad shoulders. Eyes like grey steel in the candlelight. A hard mouth, and hard kisses. Each one sweet, and salty, and stolen.

Oren dips his fingertip into the puddle of spilled wine, and tries not to frown. “You’re the King now. I should think that deciding the fate of prisoners to the crown falls to you.”

For the barest moment, Alistair looks old. Then he reaches across the table and snags Oren’s wineglass, draining what’s left in three long swallows. “Loghain’s crimes were foremost against the Order. You’ve been our Warden Commander for the better part of a year. Doesn’t matter that you were never officially promoted.”

“Weisshaupt might disagree.” Oren says drily, and pours Alistair another glass of wine.

“Weisshaupt can go bugger itself, for all the help they’ve been.” Alistair mutters. He swirls the wine in the glass, but doesn’t drink. “It’s your call. I’ll stand by you, whatever you decide. I owe you that, at least.”

“Poor thanks, if you ask me.” Oren’s mouth twists into something that is almost a smile. “Couldn’t you just shower me with riches and titles? Half-naked noble women?”

“I hear Gwaren needs a new Teryn.”

He gives Alistair a startled look even as his insides twist, unsure if it’s a joke or not. Alistair is rarely cruel, but…

… things have changed.

Alistair holds his eyes for a moment, copper gaze unreadable before he grimaces and heaves a tired sigh. “Sorry. It’s… it’s been a day.”

“I know,” Oren swallows hard. “ For what it’s worth, I’m… sorry too.”

“I’m sorry… your Majesty.” Alistair’s brow quirks up, and the line of his mouth eases, just a little. Just for a moment.

Oren snorts, and clinks his wine bottle against Alistair’s wine glass. “I’m sorry, your Majesty.”

Alistair takes a drink, and the line of his mouth twists. “In war, victory.” he says so quietly, it is almost to himself.

In the morning, when Oren wakes, it isn’t really morning. The sun is already climbing down from his peak, and he has the grain of the table etched into his left cheek, a monstrous headache thundering through his right temple, and a deep sense of regret for that last bottle of wine.

Or bottles. Plural.

He’s not even sure how many he regrets, because he’s not sure how many he had — some industrious soul has already dispatched the remains of the celebration. But it had been an expensive evening.

And for all his excess he had never quite reached that floaty place where he could forget about Loghain, their past, and the decision laid out before him.

Loghain had been found guilty of treason, and had been summarily stripped of his titles and position. Even his daughter had failed to speak in his defense.

Fereldan judgement is swift. Fereldan punishment, even swifter. The nobility may have backed them in the Landsmeet, but it would not go well for the new King were he to falter in the dispatch of justice.

But Loghain’s crimes carried a particularly personal sting for Oren.

So he bathes, and changes into his cleanest uniform, donning a warrior’s full plate. Even strapping steel to his hips. He doesn’t shave. His hands shake too badly to manage a blade, but the quarter-inch of stubble makes him feel unkempt — and the bloodshot eyes don’t help – too much like a year-old Warden who sleeps in a muddy tent, and too little like a man fit to judge the Hero of River Dane.

He tugs a hand through his dark curls feeling suddenly as though he were fifteen again, half in love with a man he’d known since boyhood, watching him cross the length of his father’s hall, and silently begging to be noticed.

He hadn’t been — not then.

But then, one year, there had been a kiss. And then another. And then it was more than just kisses. And Loghain’s yearly visits had become twice a year, and then, every few months, and then every month.

And Oren had thought—

But then Loghain’s visits had ceased abruptly, and without explanation.

That had hurt.

But what came next hurt even worse.

Rendon Howe, Loghain’s right hand, had swept in and murdered Oren’s entire family.

And everything that had happened from then until now had been a blur of grief and betrayal and bloodshed.

He frowns at himself in the mirror.

This will be the first time in two years that he has spoken to Loghain alone.

He remembers the last time, though they’d barely spoken then. Loghain had kissed him breathless in the hall outside his room. And inside…

Oren shakes his head as hard as he can to stop the memories from coming. Even so they punch through, bright bursts of starlight behind his eyelids. The drag of Loghain’s fingertips across bare skin. The feel of his mouth curling into a smile. The taste of him. The mass of dark hair in Oren’s hands. The rumbling sounds of pleasure Loghain always kept locked tight in his chest.

It feels like a thousand years ago.

Everything has changed.

Everything.

And yet as he takes the long way to the part of the castle where Loghain is being held, he has to pause, and lean against the wall, hand against his face to still his breathing. There’s a sick sort of unease in his belly. Giddiness and dread and enough wine that he’s still halfway to drunk.

Maybe he just needs a good vomit.

There are a pair of guards stationed outside the door, but he orders them away. Whatever he means to say is for Loghain’s ears only.

Oren takes a deep breath, and pushes the door open.

It is not what he had expected of a prison.

The room is large and richly furnished, with polished wood, and jewel-toned tapestries, and furs flung across every bare surface. There are no windows, but a fireplace is lit and well-stocked, casting the room in a warm, dramatic light.

There are benefits to being the Queen’s father, it seems, no matter one’s crimes.

Loghain is sitting near the fireplace, with a large book open on his lap, dark hair pulled back into a neat tail. He’s unarmed and unarmored, but Gwaren’s heraldic crest, a wyvern, done in gold thread, still winds down one of his shoulders.

Figures.

“Loghain.”

Loghain looks up slowly, supremely unconcerned. One finger presses to the page, marking his place in his book. “Has Maric’s bastard decided what’s to be done with me?”

Oren glares, hands curling into fists at his sides, though he refuses to rise to Loghain’s insult. “Your King,” he says instead, leaning heavily on the word, “has sent me.”

“You,” Loghain says, voice expressionless. He looks Oren up and down with a calm sort of intensity. And if he recognizes him — or remembers what they once shared — he doesn’t acknowledge it. He tilts his head, inviting an answer. But the shadows shift along the sharp planes of his face, and all at once he’s too hard to look at — too imperious, and starkly beautiful, even in his defeat.

Oren looks away.

The silence between them stretches before Loghain speaks again. “Do you know they call you the Hero of Ferelden?”

Oren clenches his jaw. “No one calls me that.”

“They will.” He snaps the book on his lap shut. The sound is startling enough that Oren looks back at him. “That should please you. You always did love… heroes.”

Oren’s heart gives a small, painful jolt.

“So you do remember me.”

Loghain looks at him for a long time. And the world spins and spins, flickering between what was and what is.

“At Ostagar you didn’t… you didn’t even…”

“What would you have had me do?” Loghain’s words are sharp, and his eyes even sharper.

Oren has no answer. Nothing that isn’t childish or petulant. Thousands died at Ostagar.

Duncan died at Ostagar.

Half of all living Wardens died at Ostagar.

He shakes his head, breathing heavily through his nose. He can still remember the stink of the battlefield, even before it began. An army is all noise and sweat and shit even before it is broken into pieces. And he and Alistair had watched it all from their tower. The tidal wave of Darkspawn crawling over the men below, and Loghain’s banners turning round, leaving them all to their fate. There’d been no sound –– they were up too high. But Alistair’s screams filled his ears, drowning out the tiny crack that splintered across his heart.

He really is a fucking child.

Loghain stands and moves closer, and Oren shifts from foot to foot. He won't back away, he won't. But having Loghain so close makes him uneasy.

The table at the center of the room is laden with food, mostly untouched. Loghain uncorks a bottle and begins to pour. “Wine?”

Oren makes a sound of disbelief. “No.”

“Ori—”

“Don’t call me that!” Oren roars. Rage rises up so fast it nearly chokes him. “My family called me that. Before Rendon Howe had them slaughtered!”

He doesn’t even realize he has his sword in his hand until Loghain moves to take it from him, grasping his wrist and twisting so sharply that for a moment everything goes numb from his elbow down. There’s a burst of pain, sharp and sweet, and Loghain has his sword.

This close his armor will make little difference. Loghain is well known for his unholy strength and brutality on the battlefield. And he has already tried to kill Oren. More than once.

More than twice.

A question burns his mouth. “Did you know?”

Loghain doesn’t answer, but his head tilts back slightly.

“Did. you. know.” Each word is as sharp as a slap, but it’s Oren who feels it. A bright broad sting across his heart. But he has to know. He has to.

“I did.”

Without hesitating, Oren smashes his forehead against the bridge of Loghain’s nose. Everything whites out in a starburst of pain. The two men stagger away from each other swearing breathlessly. Oren holds himself up one handed as the room tilts wildly before righting itself with a nauseating jolt.

Loghain is glaring at him, blood all down his upper lip and down his chin. His nose doesn’t look broken, but it’s already beginning to swell. “Idiot,” he says stiffly and uses the hem of his tunic to stem the blood-flow.

Oren chuckles, thinking he is definitely, certainly, still at least a little drunk.

And maybe brain-damaged now.

Loghain tosses the sword aside, still glaring.

Maybe they’re both brain-damaged.

“Ori,” Loghain starts.

“Fuck you,” he says.

Loghain sighs. “Why do you ask questions when you don’t want the answer?”

“That’s fucking retorical too.” Oren mutters. The bottle has tipped over, spilling a stream of wine onto the carpet below.

The first time they kissed, Loghain wore a burgundy tunic.

Loghain still has the tunic clamped over his nose. Fine linen spotted with blood. He pinches down a few more times, but the bleeding is already beginning to slow.

“Is it broken?” Oren asks.

“Probably.”

“Good.”

Loghain narrows his eyes and Oren nearly laughs again, still a little dizzy. “You don’t headbutt someone in a fight.”

“I didn’t realize we were fighting. I thought you were admitting to your part in the slaughter of my family.”

“No,” Loghain says, making a face at the splotches of blood all down his tunic. He peels it off, wads it into a ball and casts it into the fire. “You were asking questions you didn’t want answered.”

Oren wishes they hadn’t spilled the wine. It would give him something to do besides trying not to look at Loghain’s bare chest.

“Alistair gave you the choice, didn’t he?”

Oren grunts, and picks at the grapes on the table. “Why? Trying to seduce me into sparing your life?”

Loghain’s mouth twists into something too dangerous to be a smile. “Never had to seduce you before.”

Now it’s Oren’s turn to glare even as his cock gives a jolt in response. It never took much from Loghain to get him hard. But he’s older now, and hopefully not so easily baited.

But —

“Your birthday was two days ago,” Loghain says softly.

Oren freezes. Even his heart stops beating, if only for a moment.

“Every year I came you asked me for a kiss.” Loghain takes a step forward, then pauses, brows knitted into a frown. His hand twitches at his side, fingers clenching and unclenching in tiny, measured movements. “I never understood why. But I gave it to you.”

“You never understood why you kissed me?”

“I never understood why you wanted to be kissed.”

Despite everything, Oren’s chest feels tight with a sudden longing. “I was raised on stories of you. The Hero of River Dane. The right hand of the King. You,” he says carefully, “were like the sun.”

“Maric was the sun. He was the golden boy. I was only ever his shadow.”

“Not to me,” Oren breathes. “You were my first.”

“I assumed,” Loghain says dryly.

Oren bites back a dozen sarcastic replies in an instant, but he’s tired, and his head hurts. And all that is left to him is honesty. “I was in love with you.”

The sudden flare of anger in Loghain's eyes isn’t bright, but cold and bitter. He reaches out, almost calmly, and grasps Oren by the throat.

It’s so still and deliberate that Oren doesn’t jerk away, not until Loghain begins to squeeze. He tries to claw Loghain’s fingers off his neck, but Loghain barrels him backward, until the back of his legs hit the bed and they both tip over. Oren writhes trying to break away, but Loghain is monstrously strong, and has all the leverage.

He folds his hand into a fist and drives it into Loghain’s mid-section, but he uses the arm that’s still mostly numb, so Loghain grunts, but doesn’t let go.

“Murderer!” Oren hisses, thrashing ineffectually. “Fucking coward!”

Loghain has an extraordinary voice. Low, and rough and impeccably expressive. It could be bright, or thunderous, or sharply brittle as ice. But now it is so thin and thready it is difficult to hear. “You were never in love, Ori. You mistook hero worship for love, and now that you’ve finally grown up and realized the world isn’t made up of fairy tales, and happy endings, you want to blame me. Well go ahead.”

Oren grunts and tries to kick out, but Loghain’s weight is across his shins.

“One day there will be a boy who looks at you the way you looked at me. And you will have to explain to him that you became a hero because there was nothing, and no one that you weren’t willing to shatter to do what must be done.” His fingers tighten, mercilessly. “Heroes aren’t kind. Heroes aren’t just. They don’t have that luxury.”

Oren makes a choked sound as his breath falters. Tears run into his ears.

“And then he’ll look at you the way you are looking at me now,” Loghain says quietly.

Oren manages to get a couple of fingers wedged beneath Loghain’s grip, and sucks in a thready breath. “That’s... because you’re choking me, you fuck.”

“Or maybe all you ever wanted was a hand on your cock that wasn’t your own.”

Loghain leans in, the thumb of his free hand sweeping against Oren’s bottom lip and for a brief moment Oren thinks he might try to bite Loghain. But all he does is take a single, strained breath.

And wait.

His eyes flutter closed.

The grip on his neck relaxes a little.

And Loghain shifts closer, breath warm and unsteady. “Ori...”

The sound of his name in Loghain’s mouth twists inside him. He makes a tiny sound, dismay and distress and a bright streak of shame at his own inexplicable arousal. But then Loghain is kissing him, and the tumult of emotions dissolves into pure shock.

Loghain smells the same. Feels the same. Tastes the same.

And Oren cannot help but press deeper into the kiss, even as his hand comes up to the broad expanse of Loghain’s chest, hovering, certain at any moment that he’ll push Loghain away.

But then he feels Loghain fumbling first at his belt, and then at the laces of his breeches, and then Loghain’s hand is cupping his bare cock.

Oren’s head spins. He makes a sound that's a sob and a prayer, all harsh and broken and begging.

But his hand slips down Loghain’s chest, and starts working his trousers open. Loghain’s nearly entirely hard, and the shape of him in Oren’s hand is familiar and strange and overwhelming.

What is he doing?

He ought to squeeze the fucker’s balls until they pop.

Loghain slots their bare cocks together, wraps them in his large hand.

And Oren makes a shuddery sound through his nose. Maker, it’s been so long...

“Did Maric’s boy not do this for you?”

“No,” he manages. “Fuck you.”

Loghain chuckles, the sound a low rumble. And Oren realizes he’s never heard him laugh.

And he wants…

Maker what does he want?

Loghain’s grip on his throat eases deliberately. “Take a breath,” he says.

Oren does. A full, sweet lungful, even though it hurts, and it hurts when Loghain grips his neck once again, clamping down.

It goes quick after that. They’re both too riled up to savor anything. Loghain twists his hand around the pair of them as Oren tries to thrust up. There isn’t enough slick, but the sensation is still dizzying — sharp and insistent and demanding. Waves of pleasure rocket up Oren’s spine and radiate through his core. He grabs a handful of Loghain’s hair tugging him down for another kiss, until he’s thoroughly breathless and quite literally seeing stars.

Their cocks slide together, Loghain’s thumb brushing over the wet tips and the hand at his throat is like a vice, anchoring him, even as he drifts higher and higher and far far away. And Loghain growls something, rhythm suddenly jerky and harsh, and there’s a sudden slick of heat between them, and yes yes—

He bows off the bed as he comes, thrusting hard into Loghain’s fist. Any sound he might make is choked out of him, and there’s only a strangled silence and the quick sure sound of Loghain’s hand, as he guides Oren through his orgasm.

Then all at once the hand at Oren’s throat is gone, and Loghain shifts, bending, taking his spent cock in his mouth, sucking hard enough it feels like he may bruise.

Oren makes a startled cry, jerking bonelessly as the sensation rises, so sharp it’s almost painful.

But it’s gone nearly at once, and then Loghain is kissing him again, mouth tasting of copper and salt and sin.

A goodbye kiss.

They both know it.

“Loghain…” Oren’s voice cracks. Broken, ragged thing. “For the crimes you have committed against Fereldan, you will be put to death.”

The room is perfectly quiet. As is Loghain’s expression. But he reaches down and brushes the backs of his knuckles across the faint stubble on Oren’s cheek. The only bit of tenderness he has shown the entire night.

His eyes shine faintly with approval.

Oren slides a hand across his own abdomen, half expecting to find himself gutted and bleeding though Loghain had tossed away the sword. It hurts just as much.

More, even.

He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, as much to stop the ragged sounds of his breathing as to scrub away the feeling of the kiss, of the taste of himself and Loghain in his mouth.

It is a small group who gathers in the early morning for the execution. The weather in the courtyard is properly morose. The sky, a solid sheet of grey, dark with the threat of rain. It is wet everywhere, the trees droop, heavy with dew, and the ground is scattered with silver-brown puddles.

It is a rather peaceful place to die.

None of Loghain’s supporters are present. Neither is the Queen. But Alistair is there, dressed in his Warden armor, and hefting a great, two-handed sword. He has a wide silver band upon his brow, not precisely a crown, but a clear mark of his new status. With his hair slicked back, and his expression dark and severe, he looks nothing at all like the young man he’d been — and every inch a King.

In turn, Loghain looks like the man he’s always been. Straight backed and severe, head to toe in black doeskin and velvet, with his hair loose upon his shoulders. He looks like the whole affair is beneath him. The spectacular bruising across the bridge of his nose and beneath both eyes is all that is out of place.

“Loghain Mac Tir,” Alistair’s voice cuts through the silence. “For crimes against Ferelden and her people, and for grievous harm done to the Order during a blight; the Ferelden Wardens sentence you to death. Kneel.”

Nothing shifts in Loghain’s expression as he drops silently to his knees. He obeys, but concedes nothing.

Alistair raises his sword, the weight of it dragging against time itself. Slowly slowly the world stills.

A drop of rain suspended in the sky.

It might be blood. It ought to be blood.

Red. Crimson. Burgundy.

The first time they kissed, Loghain wore a burgundy tunic.

Oren closes his eyes. Hears his own breath begin to splinter apart.

He knows what happens next. The slice of the sword. The thunk and squish of finality. The silence. Long, dark hair spilling across the flagstones, still and wet. Grey-blue eyes unseeing, slowly filling with rain.

Oren gags.

“L-Loghain…” His voice is weak. Scratchy and half-broken from the bruises from Loghain’s hands that ring his throat. He coughs, nearly retching, and steps forward. “Loghain…” He takes another, and then another, and then his feet carry him, tripping over himself, stumbling as he rushes forward faster than the blade can fall. “I conscript you to the Wardens!” It feels like something tears, and he clutches at his throat, coughs again, and spits out blood. “Loghain Mac Tir, I conscript you to the Wardens.” This time at least, his voice is clear.

Stillness.

Silence.

No matter how long he lives he’ll never forget the look on Alistair’s face.

A raw thing, torn open and bleeding for the world to see. Then Alistair swallows it all behind a mask of utter blankness. He lowers the sword slowly. “Out.”

No one moves.

“Everyone, out!” Alistair bellows.

It takes a moment. Long, shocked moments of silence and shuffling feet before the courtyard is cleared. Only the Wardens, and the new Warden conscript remain.

It begins to rain.

Loghain turns to Oren, still kneeling. “Have you gone mad?” he asks mildly.

“The Wardens need men.” He answers Loghain, but looks at Alistair, pleading. “Whatever they’ve done... their crimes are erased once they are conscripted and take the joining.”

Alistair’s shoulder’s shift, a nervous sort of twitch like he wants to shake his head, but can’t.

“I’m sorry,” Oren tells Alistair raggedly.

“I told you it was your decision, so I’ll stand by it.” A breath, and Alastair flings the sword to the ground in a clatter of steel, expression stony. “But I won’t make that mistake again.”

He stalks away just as the skies spill in earnest. The rain becomes a downpour, a rush of sound that swallows even the broken sounds of Oren’s breathing. A single flicker of lighting arcs across the sky.

Oren closes his eyes, thunder in his ears. Rain sting the back of his neck, and slide beneath his collar. He doesn’t realize he’s tipping over until he feels his knees slam into the wet cobblestones.

He feels Loghain’s arms come up around him, fingers at the collar of his uniform, undoing the buttons, easing the constriction against his throat. It takes a few moments kneeling together in the rain, but Oren’s breath comes easier.

“He hates me now,” Oren says hoarsely.

“It’s me he hates.”

Oren shakes his head wearily. “I’ve married him to a woman who doesn’t love him. Bedded him to a woman who can’t stand him. And now this.”

Loghain snorts. “If keeping his favor was so important, you should not have spared me.”

Oren feels something slide down the bridge of his nose. Tears, or rain. “Why is throwing people away so easy for you?”

“You mistake what is easy, for what is necessary,” Loghain sighs. “I’m not sure you’ll make a very good hero.”

“Unlike you?”

Loghain takes a deep breath. “I am not so concerned with being good.”

“Well that’s a fucking revelation.” Oren mutters.

Unbelievably, Loghain laughs. It isn’t a cruel sound. Or a bright one. It is soft and strangely warm.

It is still raining heavily.

And Loghain’s arms are still around him.

Oren swallows hard. “Why is it so easy to fall in love, and so hard to fall out of it?”

Loghain doesn’t reply.

And he doesn’t let go.

“I didn’t spare you,” Oren elaborates after a moment. “You may die in the joining. Or get promptly eaten by an archdemon if you don’t. And the uniforms are itchy.”

“I consider myself unspared.” Loghain says solemnly.

And together they sit in the rain, not speaking. Not moving.

And for a brief moment, Oren thinks he feels the touch of a feather-light kiss upon his brow, but he can’t be sure.

1/1 my tumblr writing masterpost

#dragon age orgins #m!Cousland x Loghain #cousland x loghain #my fic

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apostaterogue · 6 months ago

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~Masterpost~

🌌Denerim Writer's Cafe🌌

- A discord for dragon age fans- readers and writers alike!

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

Canon OCs (each has their own post):

Warden- Penelope Cousland

Hawke- Emery

Inquisitor- Seren Lavellan

Rook(s)- Nell & Remy

#dragon age #dragon age discord #da fanfic #dao #da2 #dai #dragon age origins #alistair dragon age #zevran #fenris #anders #iron bull #dorian #dragon age fandom #dragon age the veilguard

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danaduchy · 9 months ago

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On Aedan Cousland’s fourteenth birthday, the Cousland estate was abuzz with celebration. The castle seemed even more vibrant that day as bannermen, servants, and nobles all came to honor the second son of Teyrn Bryce and Lady Eleanor Cousland. Among the many gifts Aedan received, one stood out above all: a sleek, powerful mare of his very own. She was a beautiful chestnut horse with a white blaze down her nose and kind, intelligent eyes. Aedan’s heart leapt with excitement as he gazed upon his new companion, whom he promptly named Ashara, after a legendary knight his mother used to tell him stories about. His father chuckled, clapping him on the back. “She’s yours now, pup. Treat her well.”

Over the next few weeks, he spent every free moment in the stables, learning how to care for her, how to feed and groom her properly. He practiced riding in the castle courtyard under the watchful eye of his father’s horse trainer, and soon he was allowed to ride beyond the gates—but always with a guard in tow. It wasn’t long before the constant presence of the guard began to feel stifling.

Riding through Highever with a guard following behind was not the adventure Aedan had imagined. He loved the sense of freedom that the wind in his hair and the rhythmic thud of hooves against the dirt gave him, but the presence of a watchful eye weighed down his spirit. He longed for true freedom, to ride without someone hovering over him, and soon enough, the rebellious streak he had inherited from his mother began to stir.

One evening, he made up his mind. He would sneak out. He hadn’t told Fergus, knowing that his older brother would either stop him or insist on coming along—and Aedan wanted this moment for himself. Under the cover of dusk, he saddled his mare quietly in the stables and led her out through a hidden path in the walls, one he and Fergus had used for mischief in their younger days. Once on the road, he kicked his heels into the mare’s sides, and they took off like an arrow loosed from a bow. Aedan’s heart soared as he galloped down the road, the wind in his hair, the world stretching out before him with a sense of freedom he'd never felt before.

For a time, everything was perfect. Aedan reveled in the feeling of riding alone, far from the castle and the ever-watchful eyes of his parents or guards. He ventured further than he had ever gone before, riding down the winding road that led toward the woods outside Highever. The air was crisp, the sky painted with the last embers of the setting sun. But as night fell, the peaceful serenity of the woods turned into a dense, looming forest. The trees, tall and ancient, seemed to close in around him, and the mare's demeanor changed. Her ears twitched, her steps became hesitant, and she snorted nervously. Aedan, inexperienced with handling a horse in such a setting, tried to calm her, but it was no use. Without warning, a sudden rustle in the bushes startled her, and she reared up in panic. He barely had time to grasp the reins before she bolted, galloping off the main road and into the dense forest. Aedan clung tightly to the mare’s neck, branches whipping at his face as they sped deeper into the woods.

The ride became a blur of trees, the fading light making it difficult to see where they were going. The mare’s wild dash through the underbrush eventually came to an abrupt halt when she leaped over a narrow brook, sending Aedan tumbling from her back. He hit the ground with a thud, landing in the icy water, the cold soaking through his clothes and chilling him to the bone. Dazed and disoriented, he struggled to his feet, but by the time he looked up, Ashara had already vanished into the dark woods. Aedan stood alone, shivering and unsure of which direction to take.

The forest, once a place of imagined adventure, now seemed vast and unwelcoming. The shadows between the trees grew longer, and the temperature dropped. Aedan tried to orient himself, but everything looked unfamiliar. Panic began to set in. For hours, he wandered aimlessly through the forest, the trees looming high and unfamiliar around him. The woods were vast, and he had no idea how far from home he had strayed. The thought of wolves or worse creatures lurking nearby made his heart pound in his chest.

Hours passed as he wandered through the forest, his soaked clothes clinging to him, each step growing heavier with fatigue and cold. Just when he thought he’d be lost in the woods forever, he heard a soft rustle nearby. Turning, he saw an elf stepping out from the shadows—an older, weathered man with tattoos on his face and a bow slung over his shoulder. Aedan had never met a Dalish elf before, but he had heard the stories. The elf regarded him curiously, and though he could have easily left the boy to his fate, something softened in his expression. He extended a hand, and said, “Come.”

Relieved, Aedan followed him deeper into the woods, where the elf led him to a small, hidden camp. There, a few other Dalish hunters sat around a fire, cooking the evening’s meal. They eyed Aedan with suspicion, their guarded expressions betraying the wariness they felt toward a shemlen boy, especially one so clearly out of place. But the elder hunter spoke to them quietly and their tension eased.

Despite their initial wariness, the elves welcomed Aedan, offering him food and a place by the fire to warm himself. As the night wore on, Aedan asked them countless questions, his curiosity bubbling over. The elves answered sparingly at first, but as the night wore on, they seemed to warm to the young shemlen boy’s enthusiasm. They even taught him a few words in Elvish, which he practiced eagerly, though they laughed at his attempts to mimic their speech. By the time the fire had burned low, Aedan had learned a handful of Elvish words and phrases, enough to impress his brother Fergus once he got home—if he ever made it back.

At dawn, the Dalish hunter who had found Aedan offered to guide him back toward the road leading to Highever. True to their nature, the elves kept their distance from the human town, ensuring they were not seen by any of the locals. They left him at the edge of the forest with a final warning: “Shemlen lands are not safe for us. Take care where your horse may wander in the future.”

Aedan thanked them profusely and watched as they disappeared back into the trees, feeling a pang of regret that he would likely never see them again. With a deep breath, he began the long walk home.

When Aedan finally reached home, it was to the sight of his frantic parents and a battalion of guards who had been scouring the countryside for him all night. His mare, Ashara, had returned to the castle on her own, stirring alarm when Aedan was nowhere to be found. His mother, Eleanor, nearly collapsed in relief at the sight of him, while his father’s stern face barely masked his worry. He received a harsh scolding from his father for his recklessness, though beneath the reprimand, he could sense his father's overwhelming relief. For weeks after, he was grounded, forbidden from leaving the castle grounds as punishment for his impulsive actions.

From that day forward, his father decided that Aedan’s energies needed to be better directed. Swordsmanship training became his new outlet. Aedan threw himself into the lessons, determined to prove his maturity and capability. Under the tutelage of the castle's master-at-arms, he quickly showed a natural talent for swordplay, learning to balance strength with agility. His early matches with the other squires and guards ended in victory more often than not, and he earned the respect of his peers.

He became a skilled swordsman, even winning a few bouts against older, more experienced opponents. His father, though still calling him "pup," began to look at him with a mixture of pride and acknowledgment. Despite his misadventures, Aedan had proven that he was not just a reckless boy but a determined young man with the heart of a warrior.

Aedan’s brief adventure into the woods had changed him, igniting a desire for independence and a deeper understanding of the world beyond the castle walls. Yet it also left him with a newfound respect for the responsibilities that came with his station—and for the people, both human and elven, who inhabited his world.

#dragon age #headcanons #origins #cousland #wardens

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heylavellan · 11 days ago

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Any hints on honey and ginger tea for the WIP game? It sounds Intriguing.

this is part of The Domestication of Dorian Pavus arc of dadquisition. theres no way the inquisitor goes a whole year without getting sick. since baz has children... he has to get really sick at least once, right?

this one is about halfway done? its a short drabble

here's a lil snip under the cut!

In the faint moonlight, he examined that usually serene face beside him. Covered in crud, dried saliva and probably some snot for good measure. He looked exactly like Tavish there, which wasn't a great sign for a man in his mid thirties. Unfortunately, even looking bedraggled as Baz was, Dorian still found him unfathomably attractive. The bastard.

He reached over to grab Baz's bedside water cup, but it was empty. Fine. Let it be known the Tevinter altus was willing to do menial tasks for his beloved. Dorian found a jug of water and filled up Cousland's cup. A few kisses to his chin roused the man and he sounded absolutely terrible. "Hmm?" Baz rasped.

"Drink some water, amatus," he whispered, pressing the cup to Baz's lips and tilting the cup a bit. It was terribly domestic of him to know how to help someone drink. Mother would be fuming if she saw him taking care of another man and his children. How unbecoming of a future magister! At least the Couslands were of noble stock. She couldn't begrudge him that.

#my wips #wip ask game #inquisidorian #dorian pavus x inquisitor #dorian pavus #baz cousland #da:i

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dujour13 · 5 months ago

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25 and 26 for your Warden, Hawke and Inquisitor?

Ah thank you Seren! 🥰 I reblogged the DA questions for reference because I don’t have time to replay before Veilguard comes out. Desperately trying to remember my world state. Thanks for asking because this got me thinking about them again! And these are good choices to summarize their arcs.

(some spoilers for the first 3 games)

25. What did they plan for their life to look like before the events of the game happened?

Sulian Cousland – Didn’t become ruthless, power- and revenge-obsessed until her family was massacred and she was thrown into the front lines of a blight. She was pretty cool before that. Happy enough to let Fergus take the responsibility for the Cousland lineage while she got to do what she wanted. She did have a sense of pride in her family name and would not have embarrassed them or married outside the nobility, but as long as the onus wasn’t on her she was going to enjoy her freedom, hang out with elves, get up to some under-the-table dealings, sleep with whoever she wanted. That changed when she became the last of her line.

Sparrow Hawke – Small-town mage flying under the Chantry radar, he didn’t dare dream big for fear of attracting attention. Wings clipped. Not much hope of a chance to shine until he got to Kirkwall, and then he found that the way he shines isn’t what he expected – he used to think he wanted to escape a peaceful family life, but now that’s what he’s working for and what he’s best at: looking after his people.

Alar Lavellan – Desperate for it to be anything but this – guardian and hunter for his clan. He loves them, he’s fiercely loyal to them, but he’s hungry, lonely and most of all, bitter. Nothing but a bleak future stretching out before him – scraping by on scarcity, and not just food-wise.

26. Do they get a happy ending?

Sulian Cousland – Largely unhappy and wholly her own fault. Revenge is a dish served cold. She survived the blight, destroyed her enemies and put a Cousland on the throne; and Alistair is miserable. He hides his resentment but she can feel it in every sigh as a another royal duty is heaped on his shoulders. She’s barren and knows the days are numbered before she leaves Ferelden to the wolves, with the Calling already haunting her dreams. Nightmares about the darkspawn mothers and her own inability to produce an heir and what lies in store for her in the Deep Roads.

Sparrow Hawke – I am embarrassed but I can’t remember. I can’t even remember what he did with Anders. He romanced Merrill and supported her research but it’s all a blur for me now. I think it worked out for him, as well as could be hoped.

Alar Lavellan – Not sure what counts as a “happy ending” for a Dalish Inquisitor. Not unlike another of my OCs, Alar got a case of megalomania as the Inquisition unfolded. He drank from the Well of Sorrows, tried to stay friends with Solas, and ended up in a heartbreaking long-distance marriage with Dorian, unable and unwilling to go to Tevinter without stirring up a war. He went back to his clan for a while but was too restless to stay and ended up traveling around desperate to keep busy and keep from spiraling.

#thanks for the ask!!#serenbach86 #da musings

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grimweaver · 7 months ago

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"Meravas: Asala" P1

An encounter with a scavenger, near the northern docks of Lake Calenhad, reveals the first solid lead in the exhausted search for Sten’s lost sword. Rejuvenated hope clashes with new anguish in him– finding Asala means his honor will be restored and he will be able to return to Seheron, but he will be obligated to leave everything he had grown to love in Ferelden… including his Kadan. It will be a bittersweet reunion. ~*~

It was two hours past the last breath of daylight when the search for Brother Genitivi led the Wardens and their companions to the northern docks of Lake Calenhad. Its serene, delicate air was broken by a battle cry when they had exited the inn, minutes after being warned by the innkeeper that asking around about Genitivi could get them killed. The scents of gutted fish and lake greenery were quickly overpowered by that of smoldering flesh and leather when Morrigan called forth chains of lightning to strike a considerable number of cutthroats that ambushed them.

Aithne was always pleased when she and her comrades could emerge from a battle without sustaining major injuries, but had wished they could have kept at least one assailant alive to press them for the answers that the innkeeper could not give, in addition to their reason for attacking. It forced them to conduct the grueling task of searching the bodies for anything that might hint at where they should search for him next, hoping that none of it had been damaged during the battle.

“Morrigan! What spell did you throw at these guys??” Aithne shot out. A line of bodies had led her up the steep slope and to a pile of skeletal remains, tented by dense shrubbery and pine branches.

Morrigan hurried over to Aithne and joined her inspection of the gruesome heap. “I didn’t do that ,” she said, wincing in disgust at the sight and smell of them. “These poor sods were dead before we got here… long before.”

There appeared to be seven of them altogether, all male and well over six feet tall, with only tattered ligaments of leather greaves and gauntlets dangling from bones, consumed and stained by an accumulation of weeds that grew around the shallow areas of the lake. “Horns!” Cousland noted, when she came across the only body that still had its head attached to it. “I think they’re qunari!”

Hearing this had jarred Sten, but he kept himself well composed. His approach to the remains was calm and dignified, showing no signs of the alarms echoing through his body from his head. There was no mistake about their race– all of the skulls had a humanoid appearance, but their canine teeth were sharper than common man’s, and there were two sets of horns on either side of the cranial area. That doesn’t mean that they are my brothers, he thought. They could be Tal-Vashoth mercenaries– they frequent this area .

Alistair, whom had scaled the slope just then to have a look for himself, inched the torch in his hand forward to broaden the reach of its light, which revealed details that were not so easy to see in the black shadows. More horned skulls could be seen, scattered around the area with other dismembered pieces, and– seeing the distinguishing features of the horns– Sten knew they were the rest of the Beresaad with absolute certainty. “Yes,” he confirmed. “They are qunari.”

Their corpses were not supposed to mean anything to Sten… but they did. Aithne could tell, seeing the unblinking stare of hardened eyes filling up with a mixture of distant memories– the pleasant and the horrifying. He seemed completely unaware that his dormant anger and terror was visible until Aithne’s voice snapped him out of his hot, red trance when she asked him in a soft and sympathetic manner “They are your brothers… aren’t they?”

“Yes,” is all Sten said, clear and unbroken by the mournful howling inside.

“Back off!! I was’ere first!! ” blasted a male voice, as a human figure leapt out at them from blackened bushes. It startled them all back several steps– Alistair almost fell onto his backside tripping over a loose root.

Sten instinctively drew the red steel broadsword and stepped in front of Cousland. “You would be wise to not take a step closer, human!” he growled with intense viciousness. What a fine display of self-discipline it was, not allowing his current state of mind to become a slave of instinctual responses. But even when torch light had revealed the man to be just a ragged, wrung-out, harmless-looking old man, he did not lower his sword. “And explain to us right now what your business is with these bodies!” Aithne added.

“Aw, these blokes ‘ere?” asked the man. “I did not off ‘em and I don’t know who or what did tha– large animals I’d guess, by the looks of ‘em. I just got’ere to take my claim.”

“Take your claim? ” Aithne grunted.

“There was a guy ‘ere before me that sold me this spot–said he’d found giants and all kinds of crazy valuables. But he didn’t mention that he’d taken everything but the bones and the dirt already!” Giving the pile of remains a frustrated kick sent one of the skulls flying up into the air. It landed on a steep grassy incline a short distance from where the group stood, then rolled down the slope until it was stopped by the side of Sten’s left leg. To everyone’s surprise, there was very little reaction from the qunari. Truly, he was boiling over inside, but he kept himself together and just glared bitterly at the one that had severely disrespected one of his closest friends. The scavenger desisted fuming when he saw murder burning in Sten’s eyes. Fearing for his life, he backed several inches away from the qunari, and looked like he was readying himself to flee for his life.

((CONTINUE--))

(( All fics are locked for anyone that is not registered to A03. I've read that it's a good way of preventing AI from using them to generate "content". I'm on the fence about believing that it's 100% effective, though. Can anyone confirm that doing this has helped at all? ))

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Origins #Sten of the Beresaad #Female Cousland #Qunari #headcanon

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queenofsliferred · 7 months ago

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Due to character limits, this will just be names of my OCs. You can get more information by clicking this link. I welcome nearly any question about my silly mary sues.

Adventure Quest: Chalia

Akira: Kuroda Emi

ATLA: Rimon Suu

Big Bang Theory: Alex Munroe

The Big Chill: Veronica Heather

Big Hero Six: Mati Spence, Masuyo Smith

Bleach: Chikako Aizen, Hotaru Kurosaki, Halcyon Boosalis

Buckaroo Banzai: Sage Spence

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Isolabella Dawson

Cats & Dogs: Aurora Lee Phantasm

Chainsaw Man: Moe Nagamine

Channel Awesome: Avalon SexehTwilight Mary Sue, The Black Widow

Charlie the Unicorn: Jenniffer the Pegasus

Cowboy Bebop: Hazel Prince

Cyberpunk 2077: Himiko Otomo, Vidya "V" Zenith

Danganronpa: Sumire "Owlyn Srebrenka" Hino

Deadly Premonition: Absinthe Maidstone Stonewall MacShakeit, Abigail Maidstone

Death Note: Katherine "K" Kilgore, Melusine "Meruko" Badeaux, Sora Kurohoshi, Jezebel Blackheart, Mitsune Sakura

Devil May Cry: Beatrice Lacrimae, Lavinia Sparda-Amata

Devilman: Astraroth "Astra"

Digimon: Hana Otogi

Disastrous Life of Saiki K: Moemi Saiki

Dragon Age: Coriander Tabris, Craig Cousland, Dove Surana, Lieselotte Brosca, Princess Aeducan, Lovewave Lavellan

Dragon Ball: Remin, Unshiu

Earth Girls Are Easy: Andromevak "Andy"

Eltingville Club: Seraphim "Sera" Herrera

Fallout: None, Nothing

Fate: Cosette Everild-LaAnimus, Delphine Everlid-LaAnimus

Final Fantasy: Jehfa Fakthu

Fire Emblem: Briar, Delshad, Dreamer, Euphemia, Florian Gloucester, Historia, Marguerite Ciar, Primrose Gloucester, Solanine, Wander

Free!: Akira Hanamura

Friday the 13th: Lynn Curtis

Ghostbusters: Aisling Redhead (2016), Aisling Redhead (1986)

Goosebumps: Rosalind "RL" Greene

Gorillaz: Clotilda Culpepper

Grand Budapest Hotel: Cvetka Kovacs

Gundam: Atlus Darkwater, Nnyley Romantica

Halloween: Alice Linklater, Bijou Hart, Brianna Willow-Winters, Dolores Orth, Jason Lee Cranston, Lynn Curtis, Moon n Stars Morris

Harry Potter (All created when I was in middle and high school. This was before JK Rowling shat her diaper. I do not condone Joanne and her hateful bullshit and just wanted to share OCs I made as a kid.) : Akemi Akiyama, Cassandra Finnegan, Harmony Dumbledore, Jaycelynn "Jacky" Lavgine, Kendra Pepper

Independence Day: RL Stineler

Inuyasha: Aihime, Kiki (2004), Kiki Shiina, Usagi Hinode

Jennifer's Body: Christie Fatt Cox

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Fiori Stelline, Jonah Joestar-Angelakos, Kanon "Eileen Diamandis" Shiina, Otome Tanaka, Passion Angelakos, Sakuro Gackt-Myers, Stephanie McCormick

Jujutsu Kaisen: Chidori "Chitose" Iori

Jurassic Park: Anna Rose Morgan, Gillian Mayham, Jen Morris, Joy Tootoosis, JT Malcolm, Marina Malcolm, and Miharu Hamano

Kingdom Hearts: Kitana, Nerissa

Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou: Dazzle Kovacs

The Lorax: Cipher, Avalon and Story

Mario: Princess Velvet

Marvel: Allie N Blumsford, Genesis, Jamie Johnson, Jocasta "Cipher" Macbeth, Makelsolakveder, Zelda Kirkness

Mass Effect: Adette Shepard

Metalocalypse: Maiko "Manko Kechaman" Roberts

Mortal Kombat: Amaya, Emberlynn Augus, Feather Dance, Stryker's Dad, Kandace Stryker, Laytanya Moore, Marina "Monsoon", Kirke

My Hero Academia: Rin Amamiya, Kirameki Sarashina, Youmu Yumemite

Naruto: Akiko Haruno, Asuka Hatake, Hoshiyo Kanmuri, Kazuma Hanamori, Subaru Kanmuri

The Office: Cam Keeper

One Punch Man: Sumika Nagisa

Ouran High School Host Club: Bunko Matsushima, Ryunosuke Kanagawa

The Outsiders: Josephine "Joey" Wiehler, Serenity "SW" Wiehler, Sincerity Travis

Passengers: Dr. Galaxy Pepper

Persona: Jun Adachi, Junya Daidara, Marina, Momoka Mishima, Minako Iori, Sayaka Sakamoto, Stephanie McCormick, Tomoko Nakajima, Hamuko Arisato, Minako Arisato, Rin Amamiya, Yuka Narukami

Pokemon: Amanda, Altreis, Catalina, Dolores "Lolita-chan", Emilia, Isobel "Izzy", Galan, Gabrielle, Gelato, Medee, Muffy, Paloma, Pycal, Tila, Twinkle, Wasabon

Power Rangers: Emi Johnson, Dawn "Milky" Garson, Jacintha Cranson-Park, Lady Johnson, Lady Johnson (2017), Octavia Clearwater, Serena Ryder, Tamsin "Tami" Oliver, Thomas "Tommy" Oliver, Wednesday Neckoway, Yumeko Takahara, Ashton Redhead, Derek Ng, Jaiden Lawliet, Lux Cranston, Morgan Valentine, Nicholas DuBois, Scout Park, Saintan

Rance: Aellae, Ashelotte, Desu, Cosmia

Resident Evil: Ianthe Hawke

Rise of the Guardians: Eros

Riverdale: Winona "Sodapop" Bighetty

Sonic: Blossom, Purple, Jeff, Mango, Mist

SPY x Family: Lyubov

Stardew Valley: Stella

Star Wars: Hiak Ray "Talarth"

Steven Universe: Imperial Topaz, Nokomis Queens

Stranger Things: Heather Ranger

Street Fighter: Neroli

Sugar Sugar Rune: Akiko Sakura, Cerise Incroyable, Sugar Graves

Tezuka: Daiya Mondo, Melody Serendipity

Tokyo Ghoul: Teruko Yumemiya

Touken Ranbu: Kanon Tachibana, Momoe Tachibana, Tokiko Minami

Transformers: Carly Rae Jepsentron

Twin Peaks: Eden Hill

Until Dawn: Moon n Stars Morris, Rosario Hicks

View Askewniverse: Artoo "Ari" Hicks, Alyce Linklater, Bijou "Rhapsody" Hart, Jaycelynne "Squall" Thiffault, Nova Phoenix

Voltron Legendary Defender: Forever, Harper Thiffault

XIN: Myth

YuGiOh: Aikako Hisahama, Airi Sarahi, Hitomi Nakajima, Hotaru Tenjouin, Jason Trudeau, Jaycelynn Trudeau, Kairi Sarahi, Masuyo Tachibana, Momoe Yukimura, Naomi Sarahi, Ringo Hinagiku, Raven Sarahi

YuGiOh GX: Ai Yuki, Aika Hana, Anais Kuroda, Anastasia Rosseau, Emi Jounouchi, Hitomi Nakajima (GX), Jaycelynn Rosseau, Kaori Tenjouin, Katsuro Jounouchi, Marina Mikan, Naomi, Soul Yagami, Yuudai Yuki, Kaori Torimaki, Koden Saotome, Moira Tenjouin

YuGiOh 5Ds: Barbie O'Neil

YuGiOh ARC V: Shinju Sawatari

Zack and Miri Make a Porno: Pepper Culpepper

Crossovers: Jaycelynn Yuki, Aqua Marine, Desu

In History, Maybe - A coming-of-age story starring Hazel Nylan and her on-again-off-again girlfriend, Stephanie McCormick just trying to make it in the third biggest “city” in Manitoba.

Hazel Nylan , Stephanie McCormick

Nobody of the Luck - A fantasy-isekai story about depressed popular boy getting sucked into a fantasy themed eroge called Nobody of the Luck and saving the world by accident.

Tristan Stark, Aellae, Freya

Fractured Faerie Tales - Tristan is sucked into yet another eroge, this time its fairy tale themed.

Tristan, Cendrillion

RandoRanger - A team of spandex technicolour clad heroes are here to defeat the hentai tentacle monsters!

Masuyo Kusanagi, Ryota Matsuda

Starry Starry Night - Akiko Valentina constantly wished that she’d take that advice to heart for once in her life. Growing up, it seemed like every wish she’d make would come true. Life should’ve been a breeze… and it was for a while. Her family had won the lottery a few years ago, along with her mother’s seaweed gin distillery taking off which brought the Valentina Family even more fortune. Classes would be cancelled, boys asked her to the dance, her favourite TV shows would suddenly be back even when they were cancelled whenever she seemed to will it. Though, like a bad 90s kids horror series, there was always a cruel twist at the end.

Now living alone in the penthouse apartment her now dead family’s fortune got her, Akiko spends her free time overindulging herself in luxury, to distract herself from the dark. Things had gotten stale after two years of spoiling herself rotten.

“I wish something would happen in my boring life.”

One night, she’s approached by a stranger on the way home from partying…

Amber “Akiko” Valentina, Akira Angelus, Blair Princeton, Charles Broadmoor, Cheyenne Princeton, Fafnir, Gaylene, Kirk Grimme, Nyarou, Thorn

Fairy Ring - A small town on the border of southern Manitoba that hides some magical secrets.

Antigone, “Kisecawchuck”, Dorothy, Carly, David Young, Abigail Maidstone

Roseburough - A city with a dark past–its first settlers were a group of cultist for a demon of lust–that has a proclivity for less than pure activities.

Amelie, Anita Wood, Aurora, Circe, Dani Michaels, Daniel Michaels, Eitaro Satou, Emiri Satou, Genesis “Genni” Jones, Joey Spence

Eidolons and Eudaemonia -Eudaimonia is a world where each country worships a particular element. Each country has a temple and a candle that must be lit at all times to prevent a calamity. Its said that the candles represent hope, the one thing that kept ‘humanity’ going after the first calamity. Every few centuries, new candles must be created and infused with magic and blessings from each country before being placed in the temples and lit. It’s a ritual that has been carried on long before the formation of the Church of the Star Bringer, which eventually took control of candle duties.

Team Disatisfaction: Anita, Arlis, Milk, Opal, Rubia, Vesta, The Artist

Lovewave

The Demon Lords: Lovena

Kuroi

Mizuka

Magical Flower Maidens: Anemone, Cassiane, Ione, Renthe, Sayuri, Zinnia

Tristan's Party: Tristan, Akihime, Plum and Peaches.

Story-less OCs:

Stephanie "Desu" McCormick, Stephen "Boku" McCormick, Aisling McCormick

Rhubarb

Mermaid Squad: Arctic, Sea Bunny, Goffik

#my ocs #oc post #proselfship #self ship #proship please interact