#bite plays Dragon Age: Inquisition

[bitethedevil]

if anything bad happens to my little elf dude and his boyfriend Dorian, I will kill everyone and then throw myself off something tall

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

man i forgot just how absolutely out of place june is for all this lmfao

[chantryexplosion]

man. replaying dai just pisses me off now bc why are there so many mages you can talk to that are just completely against the rebellion but not many that support it. like i don’t remember if there’s more later on but so far in this playthrough i have not encountered any that are pro rebellion 🧍they wanna “both sides” this so bad but where’s the other side then. lmaoo

[eruscreaminginthedistance]

It says something about my distaste for Inquisition's gameplay that it took me 3 months to get the motivation to start a new playthrough after 3 Origins and 1 DA2 playthrough

[sorceresssundries]

Stormbound

Pairing: Blackwall/Female Quizzy

Warnings: SMUT

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: Hello, here is my first attempt at some Dragon Age fic because I have been playing Inquisition and cannot get THIS SAD BEARDED MAN out of my head. LUCKILY, @orangekittyenergy is sharing the same brainworm as me, and I got to write this for her birthday.

(I have not finished the game yet, I am too busy climbing the wall)

“This armour seems… ill-functioning, my lady,” Blackwall murmured from behind her, his voice rough with the effort to remain composed. His hands, large and calloused, worked methodically at the knots, trying to keep his focus on the task at hand. But it was impossible not to notice how her skin felt beneath his fingertips, like silk stretched over solid muscles. She was well-freckled, they reminded him of the first drops of rain on a parched road. He wanted to count them all, follow them to the secret little places they fluttered away to.  

“You okay back there?” Fawn asked, her tone laced with a hint of amusement as she sharpened her dagger with a whetstone on her lap. The sound of the blade against the stone was rhythmic, almost hypnotic, “If you’re struggling, I could always ask Sola—”

“No” The word came out too fast, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to regain his composure. “I mean, that will not be necessary, my lady. I am well-practised in rope work. I have just… not seen it used as armour before.”

“Qunari,” she explained, her voice casual as she continued to sharpen her blade. The grind of steel against stone punctuated her words. “The tightness helps with my posture when firing arrows, and it’s light enough to keep me quick on my toes. Lumbering warriors with their fancy swords and heavy armour stand no chance.” She turned her head slightly, just enough to cast him a sideways glance, her lips curving in the way that made his heart stutter.

“No, we do not.” He said gruffly. He was grateful she was facing away from him, his thoughts were so fierce in his mind that they must be burning right there behind his eyes. The thoughts of her bound before him, the well-knotted rope biting into the soft parts of her flesh, gripping her like impassioned fingers. Him chasing the marks they left on her with his tongue… He shifted a little as he felt his cock harden in his breeches.  “How tight do you want it? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“It needs to be tight, Warden, to save my dignity on the battlefield.” 

Maker’s breath. An image of her with the knots slipping apart and the silk wrappings fluttering to the ground like a singed moth skated through his mind. How tempting it was to leave it loose. But he would not, he would do what was best for her. Always.

“As you say, m’lady.” 

Fawn stifled a surprised gasp as he pulled the rope tight across her back, forcing her posture upright and practically dragging her back against him. His legs caged her on each side, and he was concentrating so deeply on the intricate knots she could feel the soft warmth of his breath against her shoulder. She wanted to lean back a little, to force his lips to meet her skin, to feel the roughness of his beard against her, the nip of his teeth as he growle… 

She focused on sitting straight - taut as a bowstring, sharp as an arrow. She could not let these thoughts distract her, it was not the time or the place. 

There was a battle to win. 

The fight was a blur of steel and blood, the clang of metal echoing through the dense woods. The only sight of Fawn was the occasional flash of blades in dim light, the steel glinting like bared teeth as she whipped and sliced through the throng of bandits. She moved with the grace of a shadow and slipped between her enemies like water, her daggers dancing in her practised hands. She would jab them into the slim, exposed crevices hulking armour did not cover, and once a bandit was gored and felled, Blackwall’s sword would cut it’s way down to finish the job. 

The two of them moved together. Where she was swift and agile, he was a tower of iron and fury. He was the boom of thunder and her the silent flash of lightning, they fought like a storm and their enemies were caught in their wake like helpless leaves. 

Another bandit charged at the Inquisitor, a wicked grin on his face as he swung his sword. She ducked, but as she did, the edge of metal caught her shoulder blade, tearing through the rope and drawing blood. Her armour started to slip loose through the hard knots Blackwall had tied, becoming an ill-fitting distraction instead of the coiled harness which kept her muscles taut and focus deadly.

She hissed in pain but didn’t falter. Instead, she spun on her heel, driving her dagger into the man’s side before he could react. He stumbled, clutching at the wound as she wrenched the blade free, and then fell lifeless at her feet. There was no time to breathe, no time to think before the next attacker lunged at her. She turned to meet him too late, but suddenly, a strong hand grasped her waist and pulled her back with a force that sent her heart racing.

A shield struck out, cracking like a storm-swilled wave against the bandit who had dared to raise a blade to her.

It was Blackwall.

His eyes were fierce, scanning her quickly for injuries. Seeing the tear in her armour, he didn’t waste a moment. With a swift motion, he dropped his shield, yanking her toward him as his large frame shielded her from the chaos. His hands, rough yet gentle, moved with practised skill as he tied the frayed ends of her rope armour back together.  His fingers brushed lightly over her cuts and rope marks. She let out a breathy little gasp, and something inside him snapped. Before she could react, Blackwall spun her to face him and he captured her lips in a fierce, urgent kiss.

The world around them seemed to blur and fade—the clashing of steel, the shouts of the dying—all of it dulled. His kiss was fire and tongue, and Fawn could have sworn she heard him growl. Her mind spun, caught in the whirlwind of his rough beard scraping against her skin, his calloused hands cradling her face, the taste of him, wild and desperate.

But as quickly as it began, it was over. Blackwall pulled back, his eyes simmering with a mixture of desire and something darker, something he dared not voice. With a final tug to secure the knot, he released her, turning back to the fight without hesitation, leaving her breathless and reeling.

Fawn stood there for a heartbeat, her mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. The battle continued to rage around her, but all she could think of was the way his lips had claimed hers, the way he had looked at her—as if she was something precious, something he would die for. She twirled her daggers in her hand and flexed her muscles before darting back into danger.  There was no time for questions or second-guessing. She needed to focus, to be the breeze that guided his blade. They moved together once more, steel and silk, iron and water.

When the last of the bandits fell, an eerie silence settled over the battlefield. Fawn wiped her daggers clean, her breath heavy with exertion. She was aching, sweat-soaked, and utterly exhausted, but she turned to find Blackwall, needing to see him, to confirm that he was still there, that the moment they had shared hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. He was already striding across to her, he looked… almost angry.

“Thank you for th..” She started, but the gratitude on her lips was quickly replaced by his tongue and teeth and need.

He grabbed her, his rough hands pulling her close as his mouth claimed hers in another fierce, demanding kiss. This time, there was no urgency of battle to pull them apart. His hands roamed over her exposed skin, feeling the warmth of her flesh beneath his touch. She melted into him, the fire of the fight still burning in her veins now joined by a different kind of heat.

His hands slid down to her hips, pulling her closer still, until there was no space left between them. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands clutching at the broad expanse of his shoulders as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathless, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. 

“I… My apologies m’lady” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “I let things get the better of me. I should not have… I’m sorry.” 

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.  He was gone as quickly as he had come, leaving her with nothing but the ghost of his touch and the lingering taste of his kiss on her lips.

A week passed, dragging with it the heavy weight of duty and endless decision-making. Fawn found herself entrenched in the grind of leadership—strategic plans, tiresome debates, and the ceaseless meetings in the War Room. The reports were relentless: a new threat in the west, a diplomatic disaster in the east, and the perpetual need to balance discretion against diplomacy, stealth against soldiers. The endless bickering over the safest routes and the most effective tactics gnawed at her, draining her of energy and patience. Each day, after hours of strained deliberation, she would leave the War Room with a tension coiled so tight in her chest that she could barely breathe.

She would walk through Skyhold, her steps automatic, always ending in the same places—the battlements, the stables, the kitchens, the library, the undercroft—each time hoping to find him. But each time, she found herself alone.

He was never there.

Blackwall was nowhere to be found. Not in the stable, not in the training yard where his deep voice often barked orders, not in the barracks where he should have been resting after another gruelling mission. It was as though he had vanished from the fortress, the only evidence of him was his name in the trail of reports she devoured with an intensity she didn’t dare to admit.

Every one she read seemed to carry his name, and she found herself scanning them eagerly, looking for a mention of him, anything to know he was safe.

Warden Blackwall led a patrol around the perimeter… all back and accounted for.

Warden Blackwall and several others engaged in a scouting mission in the Hinterlands. They returned at nightfall with intel for the commander.

Warden Blackwall has been training new recruits in the field.

Each entry was a mixture of relief and fury, like a double-edged sword piercing her. Relief that he was alive and well, but fury that he seemed determined to push himself beyond his limits, to throw himself into mission after mission without pause. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fought the urge to storm out and confront him. He was driving himself into the ground, and for what? To avoid her?

The realisation twisted in her gut, a knot of anger and hurt that burned hotter with each passing day. Fine, she thought, if he wanted to run himself ragged, let him. If he was so determined to spread himself thin, to exhaust himself in a relentless cycle of duty and danger, then she would no longer take him with her on missions. She couldn’t bear to watch him self-destruct, couldn’t stand the idea of being the reason for it. If he wanted to avoid her, then so be it. She wouldn’t let him see how it hurt her. 

But then, just as the flames of her anger burned the hottest, she read the latest report, and the fire was doused in an instant, replaced by a chilling wave of dread.

Warden Blackwall patched up in the field but was sent back to base to recover.

The words hit her like a blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. The ice of it spread through her, numbing the anger, leaving only fear and something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name. Her hand trembled as she held the report, her eyes scanning the words over and over, hoping she had misread, but the cold truth remained.

He was hurt. And he had still tried to stay out there, pushing himself until he couldn’t anymore. The thought of him injured, of him in pain, twisted her insides in a way that made it hard to breathe. She wanted to be angry, to hold on to the fury that had sustained her for days, but all she could feel was a deep, aching worry. He was avoiding her, and she knew it. Well.. Tough. She would go to him, to make sure he was all right, to tell him how much of a stupid, noble, idiotic fool he was for thinking he could do this alone and he would just have to deal with it. 

She threw the report to the ground, and headed straight to his quarters before he found a way to escape the fortress again, to escape her again. 

His room was dimly lit, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Fawn, angry and impatient, knocked once and, without waiting for an answer, pushed it open. Her steps faltered when she saw him.

Blackwall stood facing a small, cracked mirror, his arm lifted as he  pressed a damp cloth to a wound on his side. He was shirtless, his broad, scarred chest exposed, the muscles taut beneath his weathered skin. Another wound marred his back, and an angry purple bruise bloomed across his collarbone, evidence of a recent fight. He looked as though he had taken a beating, but there was something in the set of his jaw, in the way he stood, that spoke of more than just physical pain. He looked tired. Resigned. Her fury slipped away.

"My lady... I was not expecting..." His voice was gruff, tinged with surprise and perhaps a trace of embarrassment. Yet, he made no move to cover himself. Instead, he straightened up, his posture shifting. The change was palpable—he was trying to compose himself, to hide behind a wall of duty and stoicism. Fawn recognised it for what it was, another form of armour, one she wished she could strip away and bury with his past back at the Storm Coast.

Without a word, Fawn strode toward him. She reached for the rag in his hand, her fingers brushing against his as she took it from him. His skin was warm, despite the dampness of the cloth, and she felt a shiver run through her at the contact.

"Let me," she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. She pulled a small vial of Oil of Elfroot from her pocket, adding a few drops to the rag. The herbal scent filled the room, mingling with the faint smell of sweat and leather.

He hesitated, searching her face for a moment as if he might protest, but then he gave a small nod, acquiescing to her will. She guided him to a nearby stool with a gentle push. “Sit down,” she commanded.

Blackwall sat, his broad shoulders slumping slightly as he complied. His head bowed, and for a moment, Fawn saw a glimpse of the man beneath the pride. She moved behind him, her fingers grazing his skin as she brought the rag to his back. His muscles tensed beneath her touch. The wound on his back was deep, the flesh around it angry and inflamed. She worked with gentle precision, dabbing at the wound with the oil-soaked rag, her movements slow and deliberate.

Every time her fingers brushed against his skin, she felt the heat of him. It was intoxicating, this closeness, this simmer that had never had enough space to flame into heat. She could feel his breath hitch with each touch, the way his muscles twitched in response, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether it was from pain or pleasure.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she pressed the cloth to the wound.

He grunted, a sound that was neither confirmation nor denial. "I’ve had worse" he replied, though his voice was rough, strained. It was a poor attempt at deflection.

Fawn bit her lip, focusing on the task before her. She cleaned the wound with care, her fingers tracing the edges of the cut as she applied the soothing oil.  She knew she should be concentrating on his injuries, but her mind kept drifting, her thoughts returning to the way he had kissed her on the battlefield, the way his hands had felt as they gripped her with a desperation she hadn’t fully understood until now.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. 

Blackwall stiffened under her touch, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs. “I’m not avoiding you,” he muttered, the lie clear.

“Liar.” Fawn’s voice was sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. She moved the cloth to his shoulder, her fingers brushing the edges of the bruise there. “You’ve been volunteering for extra patrols, taking on more work than anyone else. Seems like you’d rather go out and get the shit kicked out of you than spend another moment with me.”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and quiet. “What happened between us… that kiss… was a mistake.”

The confession hit her like a blow. A mistake? The word reverberated through her mind, unravelling something inside her that had felt so solid, so certain. What had been a moment of raw, unfiltered connection now seemed to collapse into nothingness, as though it had never existed at all.

Of course, she thought bitterly. What a fool I’ve been. How could she have allowed herself to believe that it meant something? The heat of battle had driven him to kiss her, nothing more. He was a stoic fighter, a man of iron resolve who had gotten caught up in the rush of adrenaline, just another soldier with a hard-on after a good fight. And she—she had been conveniently there, within reach. That was all it had been.

The realisation stung, cutting deeper than any blade. The vulnerability she had felt in his arms, the trust she had allowed herself to extend to him, now seemed misplaced, foolish even. He must think her a smitten little creature, a naive girl who had come to demand his affection, to cling to him like some lovesick fool. The thought made her stomach twist with humiliation.

“I understand, Warden Blackwall.” His head suddenly lifted at the sudden use of his full title. 

“The error is my own. I mistook what happened earlier as a display of something more meaningful.” She placed the rag back in the bowl and focused hard on breathing in and out, not wanting to show herself up. “The wound is clean. I’ll leave you in peace, I shan’t make a fool of myself again”

She barely had time to turn before he was gripping her. Before he stood, a shirtless bulk of a man inches from her. His large, well-worn hands circled around her wrists as delicate as swan necks. His eyes were so dark they reflected the fire, but he was soft. He was worried. 

Gently, as though handling something prone to breaking, he took one of her hands in his and placed it on his bare chest, right over his heart. She could feel it pounding beneath her fingertips, hard and heavy, like the relentless beat of a war drum. As though it was trying to crash its way out from between his ribs to get to her. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a trapped hummingbird in comparison.

His gaze burned into hers  as he slowly guided her hand downward. Her fingers grazed the thicket of dark hair covering his chest, and she could feel every muscle twitch beneath her touch. His breaths grew hot and ragged and as her hand travelled lower, she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the tension coiled within him.

When he brought her hand to his breeches, what she felt there made her breath catch. He was so achingly hard, so ready, and all of it was for her. The realisation sent a wave of heat through her, a fierce blush creeping up her neck.

“Please, do not leave here thinking you are unwanted,” he murmured.

He lifted her hand once more, guiding it to the side of his face. The rough of his beard scratched lightly against her fingertips as he closed his eyes, his entire body seeming to relax under her touch. He closed his eyes and his cheek pressed into her hand as if it were a balm and not a curse. A different kind of key, to a different kind of lock. 

He opened his soft eyes, and struggled to find the right words. “I am not.. I am no fair-haired commander in golden armour with an army at my side," he began, his voice low and pained. "Nor am I a dashing mage or a charming diplomat. Would that I were, my lady, I would grant you all I have. Each drop of magic, every easy smile, an entire army. But, this is all I have. Just me. And it is not enough. Not for you.”

Fawn’s frustration flared, and she couldn’t keep the bite out of her words. "And how about what I have?" she snapped. She pulled her hand away from him, her patience wearing thin. "Why do you think I am so much better than you? so far above? Because I survived the Conclave? Because of some cruel twist of fate?  My hand is now blighted by duty and some dark magic. What have I to offer you, Blackwall? Other than danger and burden."

His gaze was gentle, but the resolve in his voice was unyielding. "It is no burden," he insisted.

"Of course it is," she retorted, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

"No. Not for you," he said, shaking his head firmly. "It is a privilege."

Fawn’s heart clenched at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her frustration like a blade. She took a step closer, as she tried to make him understand. "Well, if I am your privilege, then you are mine"

“Maker’s breath, woman…” His voice was rough, and rolled down her spine. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Yes I do,” she murmured, leaning forward so she was just a breath away from kissing him. “I know exactly what I want.”

The tension snapped, and he closed the gap between them, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was fierce, almost brutal in its intensity. His hands slid up her back, pulling her against him as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go. She responded by tangling her fingers in his hair as she kissed him back, pouring all her frustration, her longing, her love into that single, searing kiss.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together as they tried to regain some semblance of control.

Blackwall's voice was thick with emotion as he spoke, the roughness in his tone softened by the weight of his confession. "I have not been avoiding you because I do not want you, m’lady. I have been avoiding you because of how desperately I do." His words hung in the air between them, heavy with the longing he had fought so hard to suppress.

He kissed her forehead, a chaste press of lips against skin - then her cheeks, her brow, her parted lips…

"But, I will not abandon you," he continued, his voice a low, fervent murmur. "I meant what I said—the world could turn its sword upon you, and I would remain your shield. I am bound to you."

Fawn's heart pounded in her chest, her breath catching as his words washed over her. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his, seeing the truth and the fear that lay behind those stormy grey depths.

"As a soldier?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, needing to understand, needing to hear him say it.

"No." His response was immediate, and the way he said it, so sure, so resolute, made her drop each trouble she had collected. She didn’t need them now.  "Not as a soldier."

She swallowed hard, her throat tightening with emotion. "Show me," she urged, her voice soft yet insistent.

“M’lady…” he began, the familiar title slipping from his lips out of habit, a wall between them that he had used to protect himself. But she wouldn’t let him hide behind it any longer.

“Fawn,” she interrupted, her voice steady despite the storm of feelings brewing inside her. “Please. Use my name.”

The request hung in the air, and Blackwall stared at her as though the very ground beneath him had shifted. It was such a simple thing, to say her name, but it carried a weight he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just a name—it was a bond, an admission that she was not just his commander or the Inquisitor. She was Fawn, the woman he wanted, the woman he loved.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, reverent murmur. “Fawn.” The sound of her name on his lips, the way it rolled off his tongue, sent pleasure through her that she could barely contain. It was as bright as a spoken spell, a low rumble that seemed to rise from deep within his broad chest, reverberating through her like the echo of some ancient, primal chant. It was as if she were a savage who had heard her name spoken for the first time. This is how it always should have been said — carved by his tongue, shaped by his voice… Her name was a flame in his mouth, and it made her burn. And she welcomed it, she would blaze and shimmer for as long as his voice, his touch, commanded it. She was a woman alight. 

His hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them. “Fawn,” he repeated, the word heavy with all the things he hadn’t dared to say before. In that moment, with her name on his lips, there was no more distance, no more hesitation. There was only the truth of what he felt.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, pressing her back against the cool stone wall. The ease with which he did it made her gasp, the sound escaping her lips before she could suppress it. She wrapped her legs around him and her hand reached out, clutching at the wall, her breath hitching as he leaned into her, his broad chest pinning her. The hard muscle beneath his scarred skin pressed against her, and he was so warm. 

“Let go,” he whispered, his voice a command that was as tender as it was firm. “I have you.”

It was a promise that made her heart race. Her fingers released their grip on the stone, instead tangling themselves in his thick, dark hair. The feel of it, rough yet soft between her fingers, sent a thrill through her, and she tugged lightly, drawing a low, primal moan from him. The sound reverberated through his chest, and the vibration rumbled all the way down to her marrow and soul. 

“Good girl,” he murmured against her ear, his lips curving into a smug smile as he felt her shudder. So, the mighty Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, enjoyed being praised? The realisation thrilled him. She deserved every bit of it, every word of admiration and every touch he could offer.

Blackwall was no poet; his words were often few, his expressions of emotion guarded behind a fortress of duty and honour. But for her, he would find the words, even if they stumbled and broke from his lips. He would give her words of sapphire, of saffron, of blood. Words bound in devotion and plated in gold. There would be no empty promises or hollow declarations; no pretty little songs with meaningless rhymes, no prayers whispered in the dark when all hope was gone. What he offered her were oaths, and he would use his tongue to paint her body with them.

Slowly, he began to move, grinding his hips against her, letting her feel just how hard he was. The friction was maddening, the pressure exquisite, and she couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped her lips. His thigh pressed between her legs, and she instinctively moved against him, grinding down as her breath came in shallow, desperate gasps.

Fawn hadn’t expected him to be so slow, so measured in his movements. The kiss on the battlefield had been all fury and flame, a desperate clash of lips and teeth born of the heat of combat. But this—this was molten. Deliberate. She felt herself bending under his hands, her body moulding to fit against him as if she had been made for this, made for him

“Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice low and rough, as he tightened his grip on her hips, guiding her movements. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

He groaned at her plea, the sound deep and guttural, sending a fresh wave of heat through her.

He murmured once more against her ear, “I’ll take care of you.”

He kissed her slow and languidly, each stroke of his tongue against hers deliberate and savoured, as though he were licking honey from a soft, ripe fruit. This is the way he wanted to kiss her cunt, but he would settle for her mouth first. 

She dragged her aching core across the thick, muscular trunk of his thigh, feeling the friction through the layers of her clothes. It felt glorious, and it felt filthy—this desperate grinding, still clothed, the heat between them building with every second. Her clothes were becoming soaked, not just with sweat but with the evidence of her need. The fabric clung to her, damp and hot. She was burning up, so needy that it was almost unbearable, but she didn't want to stop. The ache between her legs was almost too much to bear, and the slow, teasing way he moved against her only made it worse. It was maddening, intoxicating, and she never wanted it to end.

He licked the shell of her ear, and the sensation was so intense that she nearly came undone right then and there. A sharp gasp escaped her, and she had to bite down hard on her lip to stifle the scream building in her throat.

But Blackwall wasn’t having any of that. "No," he said, his voice firm. His eyes, dark and intense, met hers once more. He moved one of his hands from her arse to gently stroke her bottom lip, his thumb tracing the spot where her teeth had just been.

Fawn had thought he might struggle to hold her with one arm, but he was impossibly strong. With his muscular thigh pinned between her legs and his other arm wrapped securely around her waist, he was barely breaking a sweat. It was as if her weight was nothing to him, just another reason to keep her close, to hold her tighter.

"Do not hide any of your pretty noises from me," he murmured, his voice like a growl, vibrating with need. To drive his point home, he shifted his grip on her waist and pressed her down harder against the unyielding muscle of his thigh. The pressure made her whine, the sound high and breathless, and he responded with a satisfied rumble deep in his chest.

Each movement of his thigh sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, and with his command still echoing in her ears, she didn’t try to suppress the sounds that spilled from her lips. Every whimper, every moan, every desperate gasp was music to his ears, and he watched her intently, his gaze never leaving her face.

“Fuck.” He said “I want you to come apart like this. Fully clothed and rutting, can you do that for me?”

It took everything in him not to lose control. He could rip the clothes from her in one tear if he wanted to, he could spread her legs as though they were mere pages of a well-read book and he could devour her. 

But no, he would not rush this. She deserved more. She deserved everything. 

“Blackwall” she breathed, hot and laboured.

He nipped at the delicate flesh just above her collarbone, his teeth grazing the spot before he soothed it with his tongue, and the shiver that ran through her made his chest swell with satisfaction. He wanted to leave his mark on her, to make sure she knew she was his, just as he was hers

Fawn’s hands tightened in his hair, pulling him back up to capture his lips again, the kiss this time more desperate, more insistent. She wanted all of him, wanted to know what those hands could do, what promises his tongue could deliver. The grinding of her hips became more urgent, more demanding.

She whimpered and he knew she was close.

“Let go,” he whispered again, his voice a low, seductive growl. “I have you.”

With a final, desperate roll of her hips, she shattered, the pleasure crashing over her in waves that left her breathless and trembling in his arms. He held her through it, his hands steady and sure, his lips brushing against her temple as he whispered words of praise, of adoration, his heart pounding just as fiercely as hers.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. They were half-lidded with pleasure, her pupils blown wide, her lips swollen from his kisses. She was beautiful, more beautiful than anything he had ever seen, and the sight of her undone like this, all because of him, made something fierce and possessive flare to life in his chest.

He wanted to worship her. To take her apart piece by piece and put her back together again. To show her just how much he desired her, how much she meant to him. And he knew exactly how he wanted to do it.

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly knelt before her, his hands sliding down her sides and peeling her clothes from her as he went. The rough pads of his fingers grazed her skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake, and he could feel the way she trembled under his touch. He wasn’t a man of many words, but he wanted to tell her everything. How she made him feel alive, how she had reignited a fire in him that he thought had long since died. There would be time to tell her, he would make sure, but for now he wanted to show her. 

He helped her step out of her breeches, he kissed her calf, her knee, small scars and freckles on her thighs. 

He could lift her again if he wanted, press her against the wall, get her to wrap her lithe, glorious thighs around his head as he buried his tongue inside her - but he wanted to be on his knees in front of her. This time, at least. 

His gaze flicked down, and his breath hitched at the sight of her, bared to him, her cunt flushed and glistening. She was breathtaking, and he felt a surge of pride knowing that he had brought her to this state.

Fawn’s breath caught as she watched him kneel before her. The sight of this powerful, broad-shouldered man on his knees, his dark hair falling over his eyes, his gaze fixed on her with a hunger that made her insides twist, was almost too much to bear. She could see the tension in his muscles, the way he anchored himself to her, and it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in her belly.

“Blackwall…” she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. There was a question in her tone, a hint of vulnerability that made him look up at her, his eyes dark and full of promises.

“Let me,” he murmured - a plea or a command, she could not tell any more. 

She nodded, her breath catching and Blackwall needed no further encouragement. He placed a series of slow, deliberate kisses along her inner thighs, his beard scratching lightly against her skin. The scent of her, the heat radiating from her cunt, was intoxicating, and he felt his own desire stir, but he forced himself to focus on her, on the task at hand. This wasn’t about him. It was about her, about giving her the pleasure she deserved.

When his lips finally brushed against her centre, she gasped, her back arching off the wall. He paused for a moment, savouring the sound, the way her fingers tightened in his hair, before he flicked his tongue out, tasting her. The reaction was immediate. She moaned, the sound low and needy, and he couldn’t help the satisfied growl that rumbled in his chest.

He took his time, exploring her with a slow, deliberate pace that had her writhing against the wall, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. He licked, kissed, and teased, each movement of his tongue designed to drive her closer to the edge. His hands tightened on her thighs, holding her steady as he delved deeper, his tongue swirling around that sensitive bundle of nerves that had her crying out his name.

And then, the licking and kissing turned into something more fervent, more desperate. His initial slow, deliberate pace gave way to an insatiable hunger. He devoured her with a newfound intensity, his tongue moving in rapid, relentless strokes, each one more powerful than the last. His mouth was everywhere, leaving no part of her untouched as he explored her with an urgency that had her whole body trembling. His hand moved from her thigh to squeeze the soft flesh of her arse, to stroke behind her, between her legs, playing and teasing her as he ate her out like a man starved. She had never known pleasure like this. 

His name spilled from her lips in a breathless chant, each syllable punctuated by gasps and moans as he pushed her closer and closer to the brink. He could feel her body tightening, every muscle coiling with the tension of impending release. And still, he didn’t let up. If anything, he only grew more voracious, his mouth moving over her with a feverish intensity that left her breathless and begging.

“Blackwall…” she moaned again, her voice trembling with need. She was so close, he could feel it in the way her thighs trembled, in the way her body tensed under his touch. He focused on her clit, his tongue moving in a steady, rhythmic pattern that had her whimpering, her hips bucking against his mouth as she chased her release.

With one final, deep stroke of his tongue, he sent her spiralling over the edge. Her body arched, her breath caught, and her mind went blank as pleasure crashed over her in waves. He held her through it all, his mouth never leaving her as he coaxed every last drop of ecstasy from her trembling form, his tongue still moving with a rhythm that had her gasping for air.

When she finally came down from the high, her body slumped against the wall, her legs weak and trembling. He pulled back, his lips glistening, and he looked up at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction and something deeper, something that went beyond mere lust.

Gently, Blackwall rose to his feet and he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with utter reverence.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “I’ve been a fool.”

Fawn’s breath was still uneven, but a playful smirk curled her lips as she met his gaze. “I’ll consider forgiving you,” she teased, but her eyes still held the dregs of fear.  “Just please, no more running from me.”

Blackwall’s response was immediate and heartfelt. “Never.”

Her smile widened at his words, the fear draining. “Good, because I have some excellent Qunari rope I could put to use if you ever try that again.”

The sound of his laughter was like a breath of fresh air, a deep, genuine peal of delight that filled the space between them. For the first time, he seemed completely at ease, his armour dropped and the storm clear.

“Oh, trust me,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned in for another kiss. “I have not forgotten about the rope. I have big plans for it.”

[lychniis]

❝ i know who i am when i'm alone, i'm something else when i see you. you don't understand, you should never know, how easy you are to need. ❞

HOZIER , IT WILL COME BACK

WELCOME TO ATTAR

the perfumery shall open shortly. please register here [ taglist ], to book an appointment. CLICK HERE TO VIEW UPDATES.

fandoms : genshin impact, honkai star rail

i. WITH THE COMING OF OCTOBER, it's time to set forth kinktober '23! i really appreciate the amount of support i have received from you guys over the past year spent in this blog and i've decided to dip my toes into posting some mature content alongside my usual sfw works!

ii. LET MONSTERS AND HORROR serve our theme, where i hope to entice you with smut ( that has too much plot *shivers in qinxing in the mountain* ), all presented with an array of perfumes to chose from. many thanks to @crystalflygeo for prompt ideas kjhgvbhnj.

iii. PLEASE NOTE THAT THE SCHEDULE IS NOT A FIXED DATE. due to my own projects and college hounding me, the fics will be posted at my own time, though i will endeavor to try and keep them within the constraints of october. they might end up far longer than i would have originally intended.

COMING SOON ON OCTOBER

( note ) : the content linked below is unsuitable for minors. by clicking 'view more', you are verifying yourself as a consenting adult. if you are not of consenting age, then please dni with this post.

SCENT ONE : ( GARDENIA ) ❝ ARARE LITUS ❞ feat. neuvillette.

people round the port have gone missing in the recent weeks, their bodies found by the beaches, clearly having drowned to their miserable ends. neuvillette questions the motives of the person behind it, till he notices the presence of an inquisitive oceanfolk beneath the waters.

⚠︎ CW : mermaid ! reader, dragon ! neuvillete, mentioned murder, reader being very naïve in terms of how humans work, angst / hurt / comfort, fluff domesticity, give these guys a hug, canon compliant, first time, lingerie, temperature play, gentle sex, mutual masturbation, body worship, overstimulation.

SCENT TWO : ( PEONY ) ❝ RARA AVIS IN TERRUS ❞ feat. zhongli.

the world was a dangerous place, for one like you. as the hunters draw close, you seek refuge in a dragon's lair, hoping to find a way to live. the dragon in question lingers close and tolerates your presence. you wonder when he'd demand for more. birds, after all, were so easily torn apart by claws and fangs.

⚠︎ CW : bird hybrid ! reader, dragon ! zhongli, monsterfucking, trafficking and hunting, reader had a pretty rough past prior to this, angst / hurt / comfort, fluff, some attempts at world building, canon divergent / au, mating cycles / heat, breeding kink, orgasm denial, size kink, biting / scratching, bondage, sensory deprivation.

SCENT THREE : ( ORCHID ) ❝ TANQUAM EX UNGUE LEONEM ❞ feat. jing yuan

you try to live your life the best you can. you try to be a good person despite the world wearing you down. however, upon stumbling into abcast away angel with liquid madness running through his veins, the loneliness your four walls bring is replaced with something else. meanwhile jing yuan learns of human fragility and how simple it is, for memories to fade away.

⚠︎ CW : canon divergent, angel ! jing yuan, mara plays a part here, talks about mortality and existentialism, reader is terrified and touchstarved, angst and tragedy, bittersweet ending i suppose, sacrifices, face sitting, electrostimulation, strip tease, mirror sex, praise kink, blindfolds, dom / sub.

SCENT FOUR : ( HYDRANGEA ) ❝ ABYSSUS ABYSSUM INVOCAT ❞ feat. childe

you needed to run, run far away lest the monster beneath your bed devours you whole. childe, however, keeps the chase, for he hungers. he was a charming man, that you could agree with; but the demon he hides away scares you and his undying loyalty to the tsaritsa shall be your undoing.

⚠︎ CW : canon compliant, slight foul legacy ! childe, angst and betrayal, bittersweet ending, reader and childe are childhood friends, making a choice, self sacrifice, breath play, masochism, bruises, predator / prey, against a wall, rough sex, dry humping.

taglist — @silentmoths @crystalflygeo @moraxsthrone @hiraethsdesires @dustofthedailylife @celestewritestoomuch @genshinboys @kaelily @ofoceansandtombsanew

AINE | 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

[dreadfutures]

Rules: If you’re tagged, MAKE A NEW POST to showcase one fanartist and/or fanfic for any fandom you recommend (with links), and tag someone to give their recs next! Don’t forget to reblog the rec you were tagged in, and include these rules! :)

Bonus: Choose works by people you aren’t super tight with, or choose older works that maybe haven’t gotten some love in a while. :)

Today I'm featuring some bite sized fanfics -- mostly from an event I volunteer with called the Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle @dadrunkwriting:

Drunk Writing Circle is a Friday night event in which writers from all corners of the fandom and the world get together on Tumblr, prompt one another, and write Dragon Age fanfiction in a low stakes, inclusive, and all-around fun environment.

You can check out the updated FAQ for more info. (Drinking is optional!)

For now, here are some old favorites from my peers! They are all very small little ficlets hosted right here on tumblr!

In no particular order:

Fanfic

“look at me. you’re gonna be okay.” by @contreparry

Author's note: Here’s some Anders and Merrill blossoming friendship for @dadrunkwriting because I never cared for the canon antagonistic relationship so now I get to play around with it here!

Merrill brings Anders a patient in his clinic!

Fanfic

"you don't have to pretend with me" by @noire-pandora

I have always loved the teasing and camaraderie that Elluin and Solas have <3 Their banter is great and I love noire's writing.

Fanfic

"The comfortable chaos between" by @contreparry

Dorian and Solas rivalry and friendship is some of my favorite content to read. Here they are shooting barbs at each other as they sort through the library.

Fanfic

confessions of a teacher's pet by @shift-shaping

So this is actually a whole SERIES of DWC fills by shift-shaping with Professor!Solas and student!Surana and I ate ALL OF THEM UP as soon as I found them. student/prof is not usually on my menu but I loved every single little bit that shift-shaping wrote. This is one of my favorites, where Surana gives a presentation and Solas meets up with her afterward ;)

@shift-shaping also has several in-universe fics such as THE LIONESS AND THE WOLF (Surana/Solas):

In the foreground of history was Ozeni Adaar, proud leader of the shining Inquisition. Behind her, a former hero and a lost god found solace in each other.

Fanfic

"Anything else?" by @thevikingwoman

OKAY TECHNICALLY this one isn't for DWC but same idea sort of! Viking wrote this for an august writing challenge but all of viking's iwyn/solas modern au stuff just reels me in time after time.

On a solo vacation to fancy Arlathan resort, Iwyn is immediately attracted to the handsome bartender. She decides to be a little selfish.

And there are my recs for this week!

I'm tagging:

@heniareth | @kiastirling-fanfic | @inquisimer | @rosella-writes | @plisuu

@thebookworm0001 | @oopsallmabari | @galadae | @hanhula | @knightdawn

@shift-shaping | @stonebiscuit | @anneapocalypse | @idolsgf | @drakonovisny

[catcas22]

Gushing about my new campaign!

I'm four sessions into my first campaign (as GM) and it's going great! I volunteered to run a campaign to give three of our forever-gms a chance to play, which ended up being a great way for me to get my feet wet as a gm -- three of my four players are highly knowledgeable about the rules, good at improv, and love being in character.

I've got so many plans for upcoming sessions, but unfortunately I can't rant to my usual dnd friends because they're in the campaign and I don't want to spoil the plot (@thatboreddrake this is your warning to block #catsfallcampaignspoilers).

Said spoilers below, if anyone wants to hear me ramble.

The campaign takes place in a standard fantasy setting, but about fifteen years out from a zombie apocalypse. The king got tired of paying wages to his living soldiers and figured paying a couple of necromancers to raise him an undead army would be cheaper. Things went wrong in predictable fashion.

The players are as follows:

Alvar: A bloodhunter afflicted with dragon-flavored lycanthropy after he inadvertently picked up a cursed coin from the horde of a lichdragon. He can't get rid of the coin now, and is violently paranoid that someone will try to steal it from him. Since he killed quite a few people before he learned to somewhat control his curse, he now travels the land protecting innocents and slaying less scrupulous monsters as a way to pay back that debt.

Xenitor: An owlin abjuration wizard. A field researcher for a network of scholars working to gather and preserve as many spells and texts as possible, before they are lost forever in a zombie-induced Dark Age. The type to try to steal Alvar's coin out of pure scientific curiosity.

Hiro: Tom Sawyer-flavored bard. An optimistic young drifter just looking to make friends and go on adventures (who is a reborn and doesn't know it). Due to constantly flubbing his history/insight checks, he still sees Sebastian as a perfectly trustworthy, somewhat eccentric, but definitely-not-a-vampire gentleman. He has seen Sebastian walk on walls and bite people.

Sebastian Pietro Vasquez de Cornelio IV: Dhampir conquest paladin. A nobleman from a family that intermarried with vampires generations ago, recently cast out for mouthing off to the family patriarch. Talks like he's in the Spanish Inquisition, dresses like he's in the Swiss Guard. Having been disinherited by his family, his goal is now to start his own noble house, presumably with blackjack and hookers.

It took him five minutes to surprise-adopt Hiro to act as his herald.

After saving the small town of Alderford from an undead horde, the party did a bit of investigating and found that the town's palisade had been sabotaged. Asking around town revealed that the local liege lord, Barnabas Dunwich, had raised taxes to the point where the people of Alderford said he could take his troops and leave, they'd raise a militia to defend themselves rather than continue to pay his protection money.

A bit more poking around, and the party correctly concludes that Dunwich had left some men behind to deliberately lure the undead towards Alderford. Party sets out for the abandoned watchtower, where they believe Dunwich's men to be hiding.

This is about where the derailment started, but I'll write up the rest later. Suffice to say, I'm having a great time!

[choccy-zefirka]

Okay fellas, the Githyanki Dragon-Blooded Sorcerer poll has closed, with the Illegal Egg backstory in the lead, followed by Por Que No Los Dos, so I have made a Legal + Illegal Egg combo!

Behold! Isk'Irthos (Secret Star in Draconic! That's important!)

Isk is the result of the forbidden love between a kith'rak and their dragon, who'd often take a smaller, Dragonborn-esque form to adventure with them. Isk's kith'rak parent obviously could not bear her egg, as this union had not been sanctioned by Vlaakith, so her dragon mother, Malsvir, laid the egg on the Material Plane instead, hiding away and awaiting the promised moment when her partner would rejoin them.

Their plans never came to be, though, as the kith'rak was executed by the Inquisition for possessing forbidden literature on Prince Orpheus. So as days of waiting turned into months, and months into years, and the skies still showed no sign of her beloved, Malsvir had no choice but to raise the child on her own.

In their secluded home, in a clearing surrounded by a thicket of brambles that a dragon would easily fly over but few wingless two-legged would trudge through unscathed, Malsvir trained little Isk in sorcery and told her stories of her past glorious battles with the kith'rak. Isk grew restless, however, leaving Malsvir at a loss: she had little frame of reference for raising children, save for the Githyanki youths she'd observed in creches. The one thing she did know was that, even with their strict upbringing, the hatchlings were always surrounded by their peers in the creche dormitories. She obviously would never allow Isk to venture out and make friends her age, so according to her dragon logic, the next best thing would be to fly to the next village over and abduct some kids for her daughter to play with.

That obviously did not end well. The horrified and distraught parents hired a band of adventurers to slay the dragon and rescue their children. The quest... appeared to be successful (Malsvir did survive, but at the moment, she was gravely wounded, and everyone assumed she was dead, not taking the time to check because there was a crowd of traumatized kids to deal with). A grief-stricken Isk lashed out at the adventurers, but the fear in the children's eyes stopped her from eviscerating them with her ever-growing sorcerer powers.

She fled into the wilderness and made do for a while, a feral thing always covered in burrs and brambles, until she was captured by a hunter, who, never having seen any creature like her, brought her to a wandering freak show. The show's legal status was as dubious as its quality, and most of the other "exhibits" were hapless Tieflings in heavy makeup masquerading as succubi, and dead animals bizarrely stitched together into vague imitations of beholders and chimeras.

Isk, though, was the real deal, and the ring master was delighted to parade her around... When she was not kicking and biting and trying to toss fire balls at him. The safest bet, he found, was to cast a simple sleep spell on her and prop her up in a chair or on a couch on the stage for people to come and gawk at.

It was from one of those spells that she awoke one day, face to face with the prettiest human boy she had ever seen. He said his name was Wyll; his father was in the Flaming Fist, and he had discovered the underground freak show (all by himself!) and tipped the Fist off, which resulted in the operation getting shut down and the ring master being arrested.

The hideous stuffed animals were disassembled, and the staff were finally free to go back home... Except Isk, who had no home. Wyll generously offered her to stay with him, and they spent a few blissful moments — like a happy dream — exploring the city together. But that did not last.

Wyll's father was an important man, rubbing shoulders with nobility, and the cream of the crop of Baldur's Gate certainly did not treat Isk like the princess Wyll insisted on seeing in her. Vile whispers abounded, exacerbating Isk's teenage angst (already bad enough, after the trauma of losing her mother and being forced into a freak show). She started to grow distant from Wyll, terrified that he'd reject her budding crush on him, and in the vacuum that formed in his absence, ominous figures were quick to step in. The cult of Tiamat recognized her as the child of a dragon, and offered what Isk, at the time, young and confused, mistook for succor and meaning.

Eventually, she stopped seeing Wyll entirely, quietly disappearing from his home; the cult groomed her to take part in some manner of grand ritual, and in just a couple of years, she was more than ready to welcome Tiamat herself, the one entity they said would understand her pain.

Then, along came Tiamat's rival Zariel, and Mizora, and the confrontation with Wyll. They briefly locked eyes as he was laying waste to the cult with his newfound powers, and it was at that moment that Isk realized what she had almost done. Once again, she stepped away from the carnage, hidden under an invisibility spell, and witnessed Wyll's father banish him. She wanted to chase after him, to explain that Wyll was telling the truth, that there really had been a cult in the city... But she was intercepted by Githyanki warriors.

By then, through the followers of her ally Tiamat, Vlaakith had learned of a curious child, half-Githyanki, half-dragon; and there was nothing she coveted more than the child's sorcery-imbued soul. She sent her scouts after her; and while Malsvir had told her daughter some stories of the Prince of the Comet, all of Isk's subsequent torment had turned them into hazy half-memories, and she was easy to persuade that with Vlaakith, at last, she'd find the truth and purpose and sense of belonging she'd failed to reach with Tiamat.

Once again, she turned away from Wyll — perhaps for the best; her heart ached too much when she thought of him — and was taken to a creche on a different planet, where she was rigorously reshaped into an obedient tool for Vlaakith. Her coming of age was somewhat delayed compared to other youths, as she was a late arrival, but after ten years of Githyanki discipline, she was deemed worthy of her rite of passage and eventual ascension... Until along came a very peculiar ghaik vessel.

[bonyfish]

The Iron Bull: "And I can't tell you how proud I'm gonna be, watching you out there, addressing the whole Inquisition... with this big old love bite on your neck."

Hello friends I have been playing a bunch of Dragon Age: Inquisition and this line made me laugh myself into a tizzy with delight and then spend my evening drawing this picture. Please enjoy Lark Lavellan's Big Night.

[lugarn]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤

oh man oh man we're gonna have to go digging in my non-bl fic because there's a couple that i love and re-read often.

The Life I Choose (5472 words) Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Relationships: The Iron Bull/Cullen Rutherford Characters: Cullen Rutherford, The Iron Bull (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: POV Cullen Rutherford, Dissociation, Kirkwall-related Trauma and Recovery, Lyrium Withdrawal, Character Secretly Has Tentacles, Tentacle Dick, Brief Hypnotism, Body Horror Cullen discovers in Bull someone to share parts of himself that he hasn't shared since Kirkwall.

I wrote this for an exchange but now it's genuinely one of my favorite fics to give a little re-read when I'm sad. I love it very, very dearly.

Yes, And (10393 words) Fandom: Our Flag Means Death (TV) Relationships: Wee John Feeney/Frenchie Characters: Frenchie (Our Flag Means Death), Wee John Feeney, Original Trans Character(s) Additional Tags: Meet-Cute, Pre-Canon, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Fluff and Smut, POV Frenchie (Our Flag Means Death), Molly House, Alpha Frenchie (Our Flag Means Death), Omega Wee John Feeney, Intersex Wee John Feeney, Queer Themes, Nipple Play, Male Lactation, Knotting, Mpreg, Coming Untouched, Casual Sex Work Sometimes life throws you something you aren't expecting. If you're Frenchie and Wee John, you roll with it.

You know when you write the fic that you love the most but nobody in the fandom really likes it? That's this fic. I have an entire long AU with these two in my head that this fic is just the beginning of. I love it so much.

Sweetest Downfall Fandom: KinnPorsche: The Series (TV) Relationships: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham/Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun Characters: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun, Khun Tankhun Theerapanyakun, Big (KinnPorsche: The Series) Additional Tags: Grief/Mourning, Angst, Pre-Canon, Under-negotiated Kink, Belts, Bad Ideas, Bottom Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun, Top Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, Masochism, Sadism, Obedience, Anal Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, the cock is only mildly healing, in spite of everyone's best intentions "Should I kiss you?" he asks.   Dark eyes turn away and Kinn's lips press into a thin line. Tears gather at the corners of Kinn's eyes. "No. Kissing is only for people we love."   After Tawan's death, Pete helps Kinn.

THIS STORY. it still wrecks me emotionally when I think about it and I think I wrote the best Kinn I've ever written right here. The cock really is only mildly healing.

ruining me completely (1562 words) Fandom: เล่นจนเป็นเรื่อง | Playboyy (Thailand TV 2023) Relationships: Phop Piphop Srikaew/Nuth Nuthakrit Varindr-Vachararodch Characters: Nuth Nuthakrit Varindr-Vachararodch, Phop Piphop Srikaew Additional Tags: Self-Discovery, Gender Dysphoria, Character Study "I've tried it," Phop says, looking at the marigold-yellow dress that Nuth holds out like it'll bite him. "Dresses and stuff. Dressing up. It never fits right."

Nuth doesn't know how to say that he wants Phop to try again for him, so he says instead, "I picked it out. It compliments your color, and it's cute. Flowy, right?" It was the style Phop said he'd wear, if he could.

Writing this fic gave me so many feelings and now re-reading it gives me many more. I want to cover this Phop in flowers and all the pretty things he wants but distances himself from. The only non-explicit fic on this list!

ball and chain (2459 words) Fandom: เล่นจนเป็นเรื่อง | Playboyy (Thailand TV 2023) Relationships: Prom Prompitch Ponglert/Nont Nontnapas Saktawee, Prom Prompitch Ponglert/Nant Nantnarin Saktawee, Aob Anand Aiemwilai & Prom Prompitch Ponglert Characters: Prom Prompitch Ponglert, Nant Nantnarin Saktawee, Aob Anand Aiemwilai, Nont Nontnapas Saktawee Additional Tags: Coda, Episode 2, POV Prom Prompitch Ponglert, Character Study, when you crack a character open and the horrors emerge, Drug Use, Captivity, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Choking, Masochism, Masturbation, Under-negotiated Kink, hoping your boyfriend's twin is the evil one, brief Jason/Prom While the boy who isn't Nant is still draped over Prom, clueless, a message pings Prom's phone. Prom shifts away and looks at the screen, and of course it's Nant. where? did you go?? it doesn't take that long to smoke prompitchhhhhh

I think I am most pleased with how this fic came out, of all the Playboyy fic I've written. I hit everything I wanted to hit and the mood is so cohesive and lovely.

Thank you @cryptidafter for the ask! this was fun!

[simmeons]

hello Dragon Age Tumblr i have a very teeny little question

soon im going to be starting the DLC Trespasser for Dragon Age Inquisition. i got almost all the outcomes i wanted in the base game (save for Leliana- she is apparently "hardened" and i wasn't aware of that at the beginning of my play through so oopsie daisy) and im not sure if there are different endings you can get

now i don't want BIG spoilers- but im just wondering if there are end of the game good or bad endings. also, will Leliana bite me in the ass later

i just have an idealistic idea of my Inquisitor going down happily as a hero, and i don't want to somehow ruin his story because i wasn't prepared. any help is greatly appreciated. thank you for even reading this if you did

[queenaeducan-writes]

Celestine Black

Pairing: Josephine Montilyet & Solas (gen) Characters: Josephine Montilyet, Solas Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Archive Warnings: None Applicable Other Tags: Classism, Fantasy racism Summary: Though Skyhold's guests may be of noble blood, their manners often leave much to be desired. When one insults the Inquisition's resident magical expert, who just so happens to be an apostate, Josephine takes it upon herself to remedy the situation. In typical Montilyet fashion. Written for TheSilentBard on AO3 for the @solas-lovers-exchange

“Apostate!” The word is an accusation upon Lady Verise’s lips, cutting as the shattered glass on the rotunda floor.

Josephine catches no more than a glint in the corner of her eye before she hears it break. By the time she looks it has scattered, broken pieces crawling across the stone like a plague of translucent roaches. Wine slides down Solas’s temple. Thick and viscous, it dries a violent plum purple where it landed on his sweater. The delicate slope of Lady Verise’s nose rather resembles the bellows of an accordion as she snarls in his direction.

The rest of the room looks on in a mix of shock and amusement. A knowing smile curls beneath the porcelain moustache of Lord Maigny, a sure sign that she ought to have expected this. Anticipated it in some way. It had seemed improper, showing off the murals without giving the artist his due, especially not when he stood so close at hand.

But it was a mistake, that much has been made evident.

Solas is the first to speak, dabbing at his face with a paint cloth as he does. “It appears our guest is in need of another glass,” he remarks, in a tone remarkably dry for one so damp. He levels his gaze towards the guest in question, then ducks it, deferential. “You are of course correct, my lady. I have never known the Circle’s guidance, although the loyal mages within the Inquisition have made it their mission to remedy the oversights brought about by a hedge mage’s education. Should you have the opportunity to speak with Enchanter Vivienne while you are here; I am certain you will find her insight as to my insufficiencies invaluable, and how she has endeavoured to correct them.”

Josephine bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking (a critical skill for an elder sister and ambassador to possess). Although she possesses no limit to her admiration for Vivienne, she had sat in on one of their discussions long enough to become well-acquainted with Solas’s. Still, if asked, she has no doubt Vivienne will play along. She has tied her reputation to that of the Inquisitions, and undermining that, as well as her own influence within it, is not how the game is played.

“Madame de fer was among the few dissenters in Empress Celene’s court after she invited the swamp witch into our midst,” Lady Verise tsks. “Why would she abide an apostate’s company?”

Seeing the chance to retake the reins of the situation, Josephine steps in. “If I may be so bold as to speak on Enchanter Vivienne’s behalf: Master Solas has behaved with the utmost propriety since joining our ranks. Any reservations we had regarding his position here have long since passed.”

Read the rest on AO3!

[eye-of-yelough]

uhhh what would ur other ocs think of gort (me personally i love thinking about how he would break each one of my characters mentally & physically in a way specifically crafted entirely for them but that’s not an ask i should send i think)

so i thought the question was “how would gortash manipulate your ocs” and answered that question as well so. you’re getting the answer to both cos i don’t wanna delete. its kinda long so 👇

Leo Hawke, Dragon Age 2: kill kill kill bite devour mutilate. Gortash is everything he hates and everything she wants to be. cool, commanding, smart, feared, respected, loved, powerful. swag off the charts, i know he’d love the outfit.

How he’d manipulate him: easy. kill the only family he has left, Anders and Isabela, or keep them from her. actually yeah locking Anders up in solitary confinement, somewhere he spent an entire year before, that she regularly holds him about when he gets claustrophobic or has nightmares about. the thought of Anders in a small dark cell all alone with his thoughts would break him and he’d simply do Anything to ensure he’s not in there a moment longer than he has to be :/ that being said her first instinct would simply be to kill the man, and he’d definitely try, even if it’s a dumb idea. and honestly not to hype my own oc up too much but if anyone could, it’d be her. one woman (not really a woman) army of a reaver when a loved one is on the line. monster. could probably cleave his way through a dozen lackeys and at least 2 steel watchers solo before getting tired, and that’s only if they’re even in the way.

Slater Adaar, Dragon Age Inquisition: she’d be smart enough to know to be terrified of him. just be a useful tool while keeping as much distance as possible and keeping an eye out for the exits at all times. run at the first opportunity, no heroics.

How he’d manipulate her: i am realising i don’t actually know her all too well. autistic qunari sera romancing artificer pursedog butch lesbian who just wants a normal life away from politics and armies and magic and sainthood, damnit. that’s all i’ve really got on her. so, i guess using the promise of a normal life. tell ya what, she’d make a great deep cover secret agent. she is definitely an oc i could stand to make more interesting lmao

Vice, Skyrim: competition, quite simply. he has a thing about dragon imagery, right? subtler than the sun stuff, but it’s there? but is it about being a dragon himself, or subduing them. either way, they’d scoff at his posturing. underestimate him for sure, letting their ego and lack of respect for humans stop them from being smart. they have lawful evil no empathy aroace megalomaniac in common, so they’d definitely have an interesting time together :)

How he’d manipulate them: power. specifically the power to do their human experiments in peace. freedom from legal consequence, basically. it would be difficult to dominate or even get a good read on Vice and their desires tho, even for Gort. i mean. they don’t speak. and have pretty good control over their emotions. they’d be playing psychological 4D chess and it would be so entertaining. (remembers it doesn’t have to manipulation, it can be about breaking physically) OH YEAH. YEAH that’s the one. it would still be HARD to keep them down, draconic force of nature that they are, but i’m sure the gorster would be able to figure something out.

uhh . oh man is that all my ocs. i mean no, there’s my newish tav, “we have Romeo’s zeke at home” Ginger (half elf, same face shape, ranger, shart romancer??! i promise this is a coincidence idk how it happened) uhh i have a Khajit oc i’ve never talked about whose name is Ace and i have nothing else on him. OHHH GALE MY DRAGON AGE CIRCLE MAGE OC WHO DIDN’T WORK AS SURANA. uhh yeah he’d simply have no use for that old woman sorry. i need to change her name man can’t let her get confused with the bg3 wizard.

how could i forget Jack, Jack Valentine, my gta 5 guy i’ve had for like 3 years and also never once talked about despite loving him forever even if i’ve kinda forgotten him lately cos i haven’t played it in ages. kind of a self insert type, or at least the closest oc i do have to one, so. he’d make an alright lackey, i think. he’d probably hate the gort but ultimately fall for his shit after a while. like with gale he’d be very disposable.

man i need to think of better ocs these guys are boring

[quitefair]

1, 2, 18 for the Dave asks?

Yippee thank you for asking!! 1. What was the first Dragon Age game you played?

DA2, back in the middle of 2014. I was hearing a lot of hype about this brand spanking new game coming out in November that year, and that it had the word 'dragon' in it's name, and the only one of the two previous games that was playable on my Macbook (yes, I'm a filthy Mac user, I hate it.) was DA2. And well... the rest is history.

2. Which Dragon Age game is your favorite so far?

Inquisition. Despite its flaws, despite how much I keep ranting about it in various different DMs and servers and the like. The brainworms this game gave me have not stopped worming. Not for the past almost ten years.

I love the story and I love breaking it down and hot-gluing the parts back together. Playing the game feels like coming back home, more so than the other two, and more than DA4 will probably ever feel to me. This fuckin game saved me, in more ways than one, and got me thinking about writing again.

So yeah, as much as I gripe, Inquisition is really everything to me.

18. Which aspect of fandom are you most looking forward to? (e.g. reading/writing fic, the bounty of gorgeous art, getting to know new people, etc.)

Any and all creativity! I am so looking forward to the art and the fic, I'm biting and tearing and going feral about the potential lore that I can twist and make my own. I'm already excited at my friends who're already sharing their Rooks with me. Excited to start infecting more people with my Dragon Age brainworms.

People are coming out of the woodwork again, and I'm so fucking happy to see Dragon Age front and centre again!

[stayatsam]

srry further on dragon age. but i dont think open world works for it. dragon age inquisition had a very pretty open world with very little to compensate for its size. a lot of the fetch quests are lackluster and those few that have interesting stories behind them are either missable or don't have much to bite into.

for one, i loved fairbanks in the emerald graves. i really wanted to find more about him. the first two times i played dai i didn't pay attention to him, but the third time around i had blackwall with me and i actually thought about it. there's so few of that though...like the quests in the hinterlands of "find food for the refugees. find clothes for them." doesn't tell me something i don't already know.

elden ring gave me a brief opening cutscene, some quick lore in character creation, and gave me hidden lore for everything in the open world. you walk into the first part of the world with "what's that massive golden tree, hey early boss Tree sentinel is in golden armor, i'm going to find a connection here." "hey there's little golden trees, that give me an good item, i'm going to go find more of those *little trees are near important locations*"

i think dragon age's lore worked best with a format that da2 had. keeping it confined to one major location (kirkwall) and some few surrounding areas kept me interested in the story and lore. the side quests were important to the overall story too (ex: the serial killer). i had a lot of story to go onto already, and keeping it linear felt like i was playing a video game the he way i was reading a book, wanting to know what was next.

dai lacks on the open world format because it has a linear story to tell in the version of main quests that are separate from the open world. the only driving force for me to want to explore the open world is to build up currency to buy the main quest (power, i think it's called).

sorry i just. i liked dai a lot but i wish they utilized the open world better. i have hope for da4 though because keeping it in tevinter mostly makes me feel like they're returning to something like da2