#but inquisition at least has the opportunity to be played as either

[mythalism]

hmmm. thinking about how veilguard seems to subscribe more to the more traditional "video game as personal power fulfillment fantasy of heroism" than any other dragon age game, except perhaps origins, though origins does it more artfully.

[orlesianhennin]

I really feel like so many people who hate Vivienne for being power hungry do not fully grasp and appreciate the desperation that Vivienne feels because she conceals it so well… as little content as she got, she honestly is expertly written and presented and it’s why it disappoints me so much when people hate her for surface level reasons… her writer deserves so much more appreciation.

I think it is subtle because she hides it and you really have to care about the character to seek out these threads and understand her motivations… she is in danger of total irrelevance, being cast aside by society (and history), and she is forced to ride the coattails of some upstart organization because all of the institutions she is invested in have either totally failed her or cast her aside.

She is clearly a prideful person who does not readily admit this… but her true talent is how clearly she can evaluate this and understand her own position. She suffers no delusions. She knows the Circle’s standing in society is diminished to nothing if it doesn’t house and account for the majority of mages, and she is left with just meek Chantry loyalists and sycophants who are lost without her guiding hand, as even otherwise pro-Circle mages with any sense have abandoned ship and left both rebels and loyalists at this point to see where the chips fall (Ellandra) - and the Chantry itself has been all but decimated in terms of military and political power. The one lifeline she has is the Imperial Court, and the fickle nobility have moved on from her - the mages are now a threat that she cannot control or offer any meaningful opposition to, and Celene’s favor has turned to Morrigan, and Vivienne does not know if she will ever have it again. She knows Bastien is dying, and that all that she has left at court will be those who hold kind feelings towards her such as his family, and that is a position she can never accept - being at the mercy of others.

We meet Vivienne, this impressive, powerful mage, who has made a life for herself by maneuvering brilliantly, all to improve her own standing, at a point where she is in danger of losing everything she has. And she doesn’t let on, at least not explicitly, but she joins the Inquisition out of desperation - it’s obvious she sees it as an opportunity, but the gravity of the situation for her isn’t clear from the start. She refuses to lay down and fade away. Vivienne would never had joined this fledgling upstart organization if she was in a better position at Court or there wasn’t a vacuum of power. She is very close to having nothing left, and starting over - and so she does. Before the rug can be pulled from under her, she gets out and sets off for herself again.

Vivienne, often accused of pride, privilege, and self importance, comes to the Inquisitor out of pure humility. She knows she is reduced. And her gamble ultimately pays off, and the Inquisition becomes the political juggernaut that it does, and she becomes more powerful and important than ever just by association. And I like to think, especially with an Inquisitor who respects and befriends her, that she plays no small part in shaping the organization.

I think this is also why, potentially, she plays it so cool at the Winter Palace. She doesn’t get involved… she doesn’t need to. Simply being present is a statement to the court, and she truly doesn’t care about who wins; it’s not just the Game, it’s personal, despite what she claims. That they cast her aside, and now they are interested again… not necessarily in her, but still, she sees the paradigm shifting again. She is now a part of the organization who gets to change Orlais, and favor with the Inquisition is quickly becoming just as important as favor with Celene.

The whole arc is a subtle one as she really doesn’t get much attention, but if you pay close attention, it shows how expertly Vivienne plays politics. We already know she came from nothing and maneuvered into a powerful position. But I think not everyone realizes she is nearly back to nothing when we first meet her… and through the course of the game’s events, by allying with the right people, she plays the game well enough to become an advisor to the most influential person in southern Thedas… and potentially even Divine. But her initial plea to the Inquisitor, for all the great lengths she goes to keep up the appearance of strength and invulnerability, comes from a place of utter desperation.

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: sex workers reader and toji, wrestling, he puts you in a headlock, ass slapping

as a sex worker under an agency, you sometimes get the opportunity to perform certain tropes that you wouldn't think too much about doing on your own. there have been quite a few that your manager has thrown your way; medical play, light BDSM scenes, and now, mixed wrestling. you've done your fair share of oiled up fighting with other women in your career, but you've never wrestled a man before.

its all staged, much like real wrestling except—except you're not too sure why or how you were paired up with infamous actor Toji Fushigurou. technically speaking, you two aren't anywhere near the same weight class, but you're not sure if technicalities even count for a job like this.

there are a few rules: no actual striking of each other, take the others underwear off during the fight, no biting. as the ref lists off all the other little things you two need to remember, you both take each other in. Toji is, for lack of better words, fucking huge. he's got at least six inches on you, packed with muscle and a nonchalant kind of finesse that makes you just the slightest bit nervous under his stare. he stands only in a tight pair of black boxer briefs, and you can make out the outline of his soft cock, despite the fact that it still rests low on his thigh.

he grins at you when he notices your ogling, winking once when you frown at him. he's been in the industry for so long, he's more than used to being objectified, but something about your little defiance that shines in your eyes makes him want to tear into you, piece by piece.

"Go!" the ref announces once she's finished listing her instructions. Toji doesn't immediately attack you, instead grins at you, hands on his waist as he cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in your direction. with a, albeit weak, battle cry, do you lunge at him—

and quickly find yourself pinned. you don't know how he does it so quickly, maneuver you as if you only weighed a pound, but he does it. catches you in his arms and swings you around until your back meets the floor with a grunt, the wind suddenly knocked out of you. he's gentle though, where he pins you with his knees on either side of you.

"At least try to put up a fight," he teases you, pulling at the straps of your bikini. but you fight him off as much as you can, grunting and cursing at him, taking this entirely too seriously for what will ultimately end with you being fucked into oblivion by the man. doesn't mean you have to go out without a fight, though.

although, your fight doesn't mean much to Toji. by the third and final round, you're fully naked and he's still got his underwear on. your ass is slapped raw by how many times his too big hands have groped you, nipples pinched to sensitivity. you're not surprised when the ref announces your lost, tells Toji to claim his prize.

and he does just that. pins you on the floor, finally releasing the thickness of his cock. he's cocky the entire time, teasing, with how he pins you on your stomach, holding you in a headlock as he fucks his cock too deep inside of you to put up much of a fight anymore.

"Did you even try?" he asks, breathy, a smirk plastered on his face as he looms over your shoulder. "Or did you want to end up like this? With my dick in your stomach? The fight worked you up that much, huh?"

he taps your clit with too thick, mean fingers with his other hand, tightening his bicep around your throat when you try to get smart with him. he knows its all bark and no bite, if judging by the way your cunt sucks him in is anything to go by. you can only gurgle out a curse to him, eyes rolling back in your head when his wicked laugh only pushes you over the edge to climax.

(after the scene ends, he kisses your temples and squeezes your waist, telling you that you guys should do more scenes together. you only stick out your tongue at him, promising to get stronger so you can take him down next time. he laughs at you, more than happy to entertain your thoughts that will, truthfully, never come true.)

[draculasfavoritewife]

One Taste

Summary: You've always known there was more to your pale elf companion than meets the eye -- what kind of pact is sealed in the dead of night?

Pairing: Astarion Ancunín x fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood drinking, flippant talk of death, reader is an insomniac (definitely not a recurring theme in my writing, what a strange coincidence!) Astarion's particular brand of flirtation (idk what to tell you babes, I like condescension) and unnecessarily sexual themes in vampiric feeding (What? It's hot af, so sue me).

It was only a matter of time before I hopped on the Astarion bandwagon when my former roommate started playing bg3. I wrote the first draft of this about a year ago, Christmas 2023, because I had taken a deep dive and became much more than a little obsessed with that first feeding moment. Also for a solid six months -- I kid you not -- the only thing I listened to in order to fall asleep was the 8-hour compilation of all his lines from the game lol (look it up, it's a beautiful thing) so now this man's voice is in my head at all times. It's a glorious curse to be afflicted with. Also reader is a bard because I'm a musician :)

It’s so dark here, even with the halo of the fire smoldering low in the circle of woodland where your companions are camping for the night. Every time the group of you finds a new place to stay for a few days, it’s the same old argument all over again — just how big and bright of a blaze is too much to keep a low profile, but how much light is still needed to keep the more unfriendly denizens of the night away. 

You’re a fairly patient person, had to be to survive on the streets when you were abandoned as a child, but by all the gods, sometimes waiting for the perfect opportunity to charm persuadable passers-by into tossing you a coin for your songs was easier than waiting for these companions to settle a matter with any weight to it.

So call it petty, but if occasionally you were found tuning up your mandolin by the fireside in the middle of the night and the lighter sleepers woke up cursing your name and the name of your Bardic College, you weren’t sure “sorry" was exactly the emotion you felt. 

Perhaps it was something to do with that side of you that had inexplicably connected you to the party’s temperamental rogue. You hadn’t expected at all to be the one that he turned out to be oddly fond of, but sometimes life was stranger than fiction, after all. And even if your strange…friendship of sorts had begun with one of his blades at your throat and a snarl on his lips, what indeed was a little attempted murder between friends, in his own words. 

Friends. 

The word still feels foreign to you; it’s been a long time since you had anyone you would use it for. But as long as his violent tendencies worked in your favor and not against you, he was certainly a valuable ally to have, at the very least. 

And you can’t deny that he intrigues you. 

“Darling! I thought you’d be fast asleep by now. What in the sweet hells are you still doing up at this hour?’ 

Speak of the devil. 

You turn from your seat by the ring of embers to gaze up at him, standing inquisitively over you, and can’t entirely deny the confounding way your heart always skips a beat in your chest when you see him. There’s probably a measure of residual fear there, a nice little self-preserving reminder that he could very well kill you if you don’t keep your guard up, but it’s not entirely that, either. 

No, Astarion Ancunín is a beauty among men — tall enough, though not so tall as to be intimidating, lithe and light-footed as a cat, yet broad of shoulder and chest so you suspect power matches grace. The moon is out tonight, not hiding behind its gloomy clouds for once, and the way the light plays over his alabaster skin and finely shaped features reminds you once again that he must be a high elf, though he has made no mention of ancestry or background to you so far, aside from vague references to a former “employer” that may or may not even be fully true. 

His tongue is far too silver for you to completely believe everything that leaves his mouth. 

“Insomnia,” you offer with a smile, sliding your dagger back into its sheath now that you’ve finished cleaning and sharpening it after the day’s wear. “Ironically the only nighttime lover that’s stuck around me this long, I'm afraid.” 

He clicks his tongue in theatrical pity, lowering himself to the ground beside you; you note with interest, not for the first time, that most beings in such close proximity would radiate body heat to some degree, but as with the other few times he’s been this close, it’s as if no one is beside you at all to break up the steadily chilling atmosphere.

Like his body is as cold as his cutting tone when he’s angry. 

“Well, their loss, I’m sure, Pet. You seem far too intriguing a creature to let go so thoughtlessly.” 

It almost awes you, the sheer ease with which such phrases spill from his lips, that he never seems to run out of lovely words to flatter and fluster those around him. Of course, as such a long-lived being, you imagine he’s had decades if not longer to practice his art and perfect it.

You can only imagine how many before you have fallen under the spell of his hypnotic way with language. 

But you’ve dealt in poetry quite awhile yourself, and you know better than most that the prettiest words are not always without an ulterior motive.

So you play along with his game, whatever it may be. He’s admitted he’s not the most exacting of strategists, so you feel fairly certain he’ll tip his hand sooner rather than later. 

“You flatter me, Astarion.” 

“Of course I do, Love. I aim to please.” 

He’s tossed phrases like that at you before, and as with the other times, you catch the briefest sneer flash across his face before it instantly returns to its usual smooth expression of self-satisfaction. 

“What’s your excuse?” you prod lightly, disguising your real interest as small talk as you place a few more twigs in the fire. You both watch the brief, tiny flares of new flame as they rise and fall before he answers. 

His laugh is too free, just the smallest hint too bright. “I’m an elf, Darling. A few hours of trance and I’ll be fit to outlast any of these fools in a fight. Sleep is a luxury if I so desire, but not a necessity, as I’m sure you recall.” 

You try to send him an annoyed look at his superior tone, but it’s nearly impossible to stay that way when met with his dancing crimson eyes and that damn pretty grin that sweeps his perfect lips into such tantalizing curves. 

“Saucy bastard.” 

“Thank you, I try.” 

The two of you sit there in silence for a little while, and as the stars change position above you, you start to pick up that perhaps there really is more to Astarion’s immediate reasons for being here than he told you. There’s a tightly wound tension lurking underneath the surface of his body, betrayed by minuscule restless movements and shifts. You hear it when he opens his mouth once or twice as if to speak, but he gives you nothing more than a noncommittal hum each time.

Yet his gaze has been searing into you with increasing intensity whenever yours is fixed forward on the fire, and finally you realize it may be up to you to prompt this interaction he so obviously wants, or you may be stuck here in this limbo indefinitely. 

“Do you want something, Astarion?” 

His breath hisses in surprise; as quickly as the lapse in his façade happens it fades, smoothing over itself so when your attention reaches him he’s all unruffled charm again.

“Perceptive little thing, aren’t we.” 

“I aim to please,” you respond, mimicking his delivery of earlier.

Something in the air between you is taut and brittle, and you have the sense that how the next few minutes go is entirely dependent on how you react to him.

As far as you can tell, it’s been your ability to give back as good as you get in terms of wit that has kept you in his good graces so far. 

“This would have been so much simpler if you weren’t plagued with sleeplessness,” he laments. “But no matter. I suppose the worst you can do is refuse me, after all.” 

He leans in close, and now it’s your turn to lose your breath, faced as you are with those suddenly burning eyes, so intense that you find your own gaze flickering instead between the immaculate silver-white curl falling over his forehead and the way his tongue slides contemplatively across his teeth. 

“This may be a…strange request, for lack of a better word,” he admits, pinning you in place with that furnace-like focus. “But I’m utterly ravenous tonight, and I need something you could provide me with quite easily. If you’re feeling at all generous and not inclined to ‘stabbing-and-running’, that is.” 

In the muted glow from the embers’ light, you see at last what you’ve suspected in the back of your mind was there all along, barely hidden in the shadows of his mouth. 

His canine teeth are long, elegantly curving to razor points that glint sharply as his upper lip pulls ever so slightly back. 

Vampire. 

“You need a drink, don’t you?” you whisper, strangely more wondering than frightened. “You’re a vampire.” 

The dangerous red eyes narrow with genuine interest. “And yet your heart isn’t trying to dig its way out of your chest at the very idea. Does it not terrify you, to be faced with such an unholy creature — all alone — in the middle of the night, my Dear?” 

It’s a precarious game now; though you doubt Astarion would outright pounce and drain you dry, you do know better than to think he’ll do what you expect him to, and any wrong move could be one you would sorely regret. You can clearly see the desperate hunger now, clawing behind his carefully set expression — the twitch of an ear, a sweep of his tongue, his chest heaving briefly beneath the filmy white shirt that drapes his figure so finely before it stills again. 

“Believe it or not, you’re not the first vampire I’ve encountered,” you tell him softly. “And you at least had the decency to ask. I’m inclined to not be too difficult, if you swear not to kill me.” 

Astarion moves closer again, causing you to move slightly back.

And you notice that, despite his predatory body language, there’s also a bone-deep weariness in those captivating eyes, that the lovely angles of his face are drawn and even paler than normal. 

“I…won’t kill you.”

The words land somewhere between a purr and a growl, and draw a shiver up your spine like the surprise of cold rain. “I feed almost exclusively from wild animals, you know. But the hunting has been scarce as of late, and much as it pains me to admit it, I’m not in top form at the moment.” He looks away for a moment, something like disgust wrinkling his nose and curling his lip.

“I only require enough to replenish my strength for the hunt.” 

You turn this proposal over in your head, weighing the potential dangers against the advantages.

If he, in fact, doesn’t kill you either during or directly after he feeds, having Astarion in your debt could actually greatly improve your chances of survival on this journey.

It feels worth the risk. 

“Okay.” You nod, consciously slowing your breath to keep from appearing panicked about your choice. “You can take enough to refresh yourself. Don’t push it.” 

The disarming ripple of shock passes across his features, and for just a split second, his eyes look wide and almost soft before he’s fully back in control again, a wicked smirk taking the place of any potential vulnerability that could have been glimpsed there.

“I will be absolutely angelic for you, my Love. You’ll barely feel a thing. May I?” 

He reaches for you, and after a breath of hesitation, you nod your consent. 

The way he lowers your body all the way to the ground is impossibly tender, the complete opposite of the only other time the two of you have been in this position, when he was threatening to kill you. Although his hold is firm, warning you not to try anything rash, his one hand cushions the back of your head as you allow yourself to be guided downwards, and the way that hand caresses its way down your back to settle the rest of your body in turn is a touch of heaven, relaxing your muscles against your better judgment. His other hand cradles your neck, long, cool fingers stroking the sensitive skin between your ear and shoulder until the delicious sensation causes you to open the area up to him with a slight sigh.

Astarion bends over you, and there’s a possessiveness to his posture, a falcon mantling its prey. 

“You look so lovely from this angle,” he chuckles, and the unexpected compliment is enough to drop your guard for an instant, so he lunges forward, teeth bared. 

You gasp at the frozen stab of his fangs embedding themselves deep in your flesh, but before you can make another sound, the pain subsides as quickly as it began. Instead, all you become aware of is the hungry push-pull sensation of his mouth flush against your skin, and the almost erotic sounds of enjoyment that roll from somewhere deep in his chest as your hot blood bathes his tongue and runs down his throat.

And there’s a dangerous sort of pleasure that rises in answer in your own treasonous chest, at the knowledge that he’s taking his very sustenance from your body like this. 

If he doesn’t forget himself and drain you completely dry, maybe you would even offer this again when he’s starving the next time. 

Your vision suddenly blurs as your head spins, and shaken back into the present moment, you dig your nails sharply into Astarion’s bicep, hoping he’ll get the message and stop. 

The eyes that swing to refocus on yours are nearly mad with ecstasy, and as his brow furrows and his jaws tighten around the side of your throat, you start to genuinely fear that maybe he’s too far gone, and this was your final mistake. 

But after a moment that feels like it stretches on for centuries, he reluctantly unlocks his teeth from the depths of you, and with a gentleness that makes your already pounding heart flutter more, he closes up the wounds with a couple smooth laps of his tongue. 

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he singsongs as he rocks back on his heels to stare down at you. He could almost pass for someone pleasantly tipsy on wine, half-lidded eyes and probably the warmest grin you’ve yet to see crossing his face.

Only the thick scarlet rivulets lazily running from the corners of his smug mouth tell the truth. 

You’re still breathing hard, though you blink up at him as calmly as possible. “You'd better tell me I taste good, for the headache I’m probably going to have tomorrow.” 

“Oh, Love, you sell yourself short,” he remarks airily. “You taste much better than simply good. In fact, you’re rather divine, and I hope you realize that’s an immense compliment coming from me.”

Almost absentmindedly, he swipes the back of a hand across his lower lip, slowly licks the excess blood from his hand with a languid tongue, still maintaining eye contact with you as he does so. 

“Mm. Good. Otherwise I might not let you do this again.”

Your eyes feel so heavy now; much as you were planning on staying awake longer, you’re not sure you’ll be able to anymore.

You let your eyelids start to flutter shut. 

“Again — ? Well well, you are a wonder, aren’t you.” Astarion’s voice lowers to a silky whisper as he hesitates a moment, then lightly lifts your head to rest it more comfortably upon a folded blanket he moves beneath you for a pillow.

“And look at it this way, Pet — now I’ve gone and solved your insomnia problem for you! You can thank me in the morning, don’t worry, I’ll wait.” 

Your breathing has begun to slow and deepen, but even as your sight and hearing spiral away, you feel it with stunning clarity as his fingertips drift down your cheek, and his lips, still warm from the temporary life your blood has granted him, brush over the place where he bit you with all the shy adoration and reverence of a lover. 

You wonder if anything in that gesture is at all genuine. 

And that thought makes you wonder why the idea of it all being just an act is a cold one. 

He straightens up; you sense rather than hear him move away from you, a new prowling intensity to his stride as he no doubt heads back into the darkness to hunt.

His retreating words float back to you on the night breeze, and the promise of his future favor releases the last string tethering you to the world of the waking. 

“I promise I’ll not take this for granted, my Love.” 

[fangsandfeels]

Oct 23 - Favorite Inquisition companion

It’s a strong draw between Cole and Solas

Cole

Cole is a beautifully written companion that lets you explore the world through the eyes of a spirit. He is incredibly kind and compassionate, but also sometimes so alien in the way he perceives pain of others’, the way he can just disappear from sight and other peoples’ memories, the way he just sees through the souls of people around him – and even beyond.

You can easily understand why he can be unsettling, but you can also see what makes him so endearing and pushes even those averse to magic and spirits to care about him.

I also love how there are no bad resolutions to his quest. His spirit ending makes him more in tune with his purpose and restores him before coming from the Fade, while his human ending shows that spirits don’t necessary become corrupted from interacting with the world of living – they change and become something new, but only if there is someone to help them process that experience and support them. Both developments are absolutely fascinating lore-wise and I’m so glad for my boy in both of his endings.

Sybil didn’t think twice before inviting him in. After all, he found them, trying to warn them – if he was some kind of a spy sent by Corypheus, he did quite a bad job of not acting suspicious. Moreover, with his ability he could have killed all of them easily – but he didn’t. So, she was inclined to believe in his good intentions – and who would deny the opportunity to talk to an actual spirit? Or at least, someone who remembered being a spirit?

In turn, she provided the perspective Cole lacked in her conversations with him. She also chose to let Varric handle the situation with the templar who killed Cole because I don't believe in forgiveness and neither do my OCs fuck that guy. Sorry Solas, if you want to kill a group of mages who killed your friend, Cole has the right to be angry at the bastard. This boy didn’t deserve to be forgotten.

Solas

Solas plays a fundamental role in any Inquisitor’s life, but I enjoyed his dynamic with Sybil. Sybil genuinely liked the guy: how could she not? He was the one who saved her and nursed her back to health. He was the one who had at least some ideas about her mark.

Also, he was everything Sybil wished her Osterwick mentors could be – someone she actually wanted to listen to and take advice from. All his stories and experiences in the Fade were fascinating, so Sybil found herself visiting Solas’ study over and over – to either study the mural he was painting or to ask him thousand of questions about magic, the Fade, demons, and spirits.

Even prior to meeting Solas, Sybil didn’t have a strong anti-mage stance. As a little contrarian, she liked arguing about mages mostly because it annoyed her parents. However, then she saw a Tranquil vendor at the shop of enchanted and exotic goods – and it terrified her to her very bones. The empty expression, the twitch of facial muscles trying to remember how to smile, the droning voice – Sybil didn’t see a person. Everything that used to be a person was scooped out and thrown away, with just a body remaining. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t natural. It was revolting.

And yet, her family and her family’s circles considered Tranquility to be something good. Something safe.

Who needs demons when you’re surrounded by people like these?      

After close encounters with magic, demons, and spirits, Sybil expanded her knowledge and experience – and realized that magic isn’t good or evil. It’s just a force. You don’t condemn a storm or fire – you respect them and learn them, in a way. And Sybil did her best to learn and understand. When Solas asked her to help him save his friend, she didn’t hesitate. Oh, she is a corrupted spirit and can attack? Alright, good to know, but she is Solas’ friend, so it’s worth the risk. Solas spoke to her in a dream that didn’t feel like a dream? How cool is that!

Of course, it didn't mean that Sybil followed his every word. She asked for his opinion, but she also listened to her gut and preferred to do what felt right. For instance, she skipped the ritual at the Mythal's Temple because her people were dying out there and she wasn't going to bargain their lives for some ancient sacred tradition. Needless to say, she grew more mistrustful of Morrigan as a result and breathed a sign of relief when she realized that drinking from the Well would have bound her to an obsessed elven goddess.

Nevertheless, she considered Solas her friend. Moreover, the guy actually inspired her to try and make a difference as an Inquisitor. He was the first out of many few who saw her for who she was, not because of all that herald bullshit. He followed her because he believed in her skills and abilities. That meant a lot.

Sybil was thinking about her future after Corypheus, about the changes she could make. She thought she never cared about anyone’s opinions, but knowing that there were people believing in her (and not because she was supposedly connected to Andraste) gave her powerful motivation.

But then Solas left.

(I love it that you can awkwardly offer to try and glue the shards back together - Sybil has no clue how any of that works, but girl is trying her best)

And it turned out he was an actual elven god planning to bring about the end of the world. Sybil could have understood the deception, the lies and everything. But him solemnly telling her to enjoy her remaining life before everything is over?

Acting like he couldn’t stop it even though he started it? Like he didn’t trust her, trust them to help and maybe, think of a better solution?

That she couldn’t let go. Moreover, she remembered their conversation back in Skyhold, when Solas asked her what she was going to do with the power from Mythal's Well. Back then, Sybil shrugged and said she would restore things back as they were. In her thoughts, it meant merely removing the cataclysms and the Rifts and restoring a semblance of normalcy - so everyone could catch their breath and, maybe, tone down the religious hysteria a bit. But clearly, Solas made another conclusion from her words.

So, of course, she couldn't help but wonder - did she unknowingly push him to proceed? Could he change his mind had she responded differently?

I wouldn’t say that Solas became her enemy after revealing himself to be the Dreadwolf. But she disbanded the Inquisition and prepared to operate from the shadows with the goal to stop him rather than talk him out of it. Maybe, she subtly, secretly hoped she would be able to reach him – but with the entire world at stake, she would rather focus on disrupting his plans.

(I don't trust the DA:V writers to not make an Inquisitor who decided to stop Solas rather than to convince him to stop, an obsessed and unreasonable maniac, so I'd have to do some tinkering I guess)

[adobe-outdesign]

OK to Jynx Review?

While I'm not the biggest Jynx fan, Smoochum is okay. Jynx was always kind of a weird pick for a pre-evo, as it doesn't really feel like Smoochum's presence really enhances the line in any way, but it is nice to at least have one design here that isn't quite so questionable.

Visually, the pink and yellow palette is nice and there's a fair amount of emphasis on the lips, which makes sense as kissing things is Smoochum's entire deal. The hair is cute and has a nice shape to it as well. It's nothing all that memorable, and I'm personally not a huge fan of human-like baby Pokemon like this, but it's harmless.

Also, side note: Smoochum looks 10x cuter in its original GS art. The slightly wider body shape, inquisitive expression, and little buck tooth really make all the difference.

I've gone on record saying that Jynx is my all-time least favorite Pokemon and yeah, sorry, not a fan of this one.

Obviously the biggest problem here is its face, which is undeniably pretty racist and generally just uncomfortable. This is not helped by it being extremely human-like and vaguely sexualized, with the kissing thing and the chest. They did try to fix it a bit by giving it purple skin as opposed to the original pitch black color, which is slightly better—but purple's not that much different and they didn't really do anything to fix the face, so it's kind of a band-aid solution at best.

Speaking of which, I've noticed that most people try to justify Jynx's design with baseless speculation, which is weird because we know exactly why it's Like That. Here's a design from the beta version of Red and Green (the following information is courtesy of Helix Chamber):

This is either beta Jynx or a Pokemon closely related to it. Its name is Buu, which makes it obvious that it's based on the Ultraman monster Woo, which is A) female (note that Jynx is 100% female), B) a yeti-ish creature (hence the parka here and Jynx's inexplicable ice-typing), and C) a creature with a dark face:

There's no evidence to suggest that GameFreak meant any harm here, but that doesn't make either the beta design or Jynx itself less racist. Just kind of an unfortunate design all around.

Also, even putting that aside, there are just some other odd things with Jynx. It's abnormally humanoid, with hair, five fingers, a dress, and even boobs for some reason. I love humanoid 'mons, but this is a bit too much, and it's hard to see Jynx as something that lives out in nature normally. I also wish something in the final design reflected its ice-typing.

Here's a particularly good redesign that fixes most of my issues with Jynx but still feels like it captures the spirit of the original to some degree:

However, and this is going to sound weird: I think Jynx should get a regional.

Here me out: I get that GameFreak probably doesn't want to acknowledge Jynx too much, but a regional would be the perfect opportunity to redesign it— the regional could even be featured in place of regular Jynx going forward in things like the anime. There are some interesting elements to the design that you could play with—give it tentacles or fins and make it a water-type siren, make it normal-type and give it a viking theme, theme it after different kinds of dancing like Oricorio, etc.

Though on the bright side, Jynx's existence did at least give us one very pretty TCG card, so there's that much, at least:

[sea-side-scribbles]

Solas wakes up in the strange new world of his own making and it terrifies him. Ridden with guilt, he joins the Inquisition and begins his lonely research in order to correct his mistake.

He doesn’t expect to find consolation in the presence of a human who wields ancient elven magic without knowing it. Who is way too gentle for an elgar’thanelan, but doesn’t know that either.

Solas, for his part, doesn’t know how to stay away.

Dorian wonders if the mysterious elf just enjoys playing with a Tevinter. He wouldn’t expect anything else.

_____________________

Chapter 1- 13 | Right after uthenera, Solas is found by a Dalish clan. This goes well until it doesn’t. (Basically my excuse for world building and hilarious misunderstandings.)

Chapter 14 | Solas joins the Inquisition.

Chapter 20 | Dorian appears in Haven.

Chapter 38

Approaching the war table the next morning, Solas heard the advisor's voices already from far away. Now with the Herald back at the front, there was some direction in their dispute. They didn't speak all at once any longer, since Ellana demanded them to hear each other out. However, it was a heated argument about a point Solas could very well guess. He was sure to bring closure to their most dire problem.

Nearing the table, Cassandra spotted him first. “Solas”, she addressed him in her strict manner. “You appear to have a sense for rifts. Are there any nearby?” Looking around, Solas found four other tense faces, waiting for his answer. “Nothing to report, Seeker. The veil is strong in this area.” “Good. Then we at least do not have to worry about demons along our way.” “That means time remains our greatest enemy.” Cullen made a step towards Ellana. “Herald, I implore you, my proposal leads to the closest settlement from here. We cannot go hillwalking for weeks with a camp full of injured, untrained pilgrims.” The spymaster answered instead: “Your loyalty to the templars is honourable, but even you should not want to get so close to them again.”

Another quarrel ensued, with Josephine trying to soothe everyone but failing and Ellana pinching the bridge of her nose. She didn't know this area herself, so she had to make a choice based on these shems' opinions. Sometimes she missed even Corypheus.

She remembered Solas when he walked into her direction and gave him an apologetic look. For ignoring him. For the noise. For...everything. “Is there something else to report, Solas?” “I meant to submit a proposal myself. There is a fortress in these mountains, located in the north from here. We should arrive there within a few days. Considering its past use, it should have old trade routes we can repurpose to transport our own supplies. If we are looking for a new hideout for the Inquisition rather than to be at the mercy of other owners, it would be the most practical option.” Ellana furrowed her brows, surprised by the sudden solution. “A fortress? How do you know this?” “It has once been a very busy place. In ancient times, our ancestors used to visit it. Later, Fereldans came to claim it. Lastly, it was owned by dwarves. Such activity leaves traces in the fade.” “...that you just accidentally happened to pick up?” “I was aware of the fortress already in Haven, but there was no need to report it. Now, I think we should use the opportunity.”

Not everyone agreed. “I grew up in these lands. If there was a fortress in the Frostback Mountains, I would know about it”, Cullen protested. “Well, it hasn't been in use since after the Third Blight. I assume you Fereldans forgot about it.” “So it's a ruin? Probably useless? If it even exists?” “It looked well enough-” “-in the fade.” Cullen let out a desperate snort. “Herald, please, we can't let our soldiers search for...a pile of ancient stones, because an apostate dreamed about it. We need real shelter and supplies. Even reinforcements. Healers. Quickly.” “Well, at first, to get me listen to you in the first place, you must stop calling me Herald.” Cullen wiped his brow. “Maker's breath...” “And Andraste's flaming tits!”, Ellana shouted. “How hard is it to say my name? I know elves called Otargeniman and Sulahnadahlen just so you know you're lucky!” The Knight Commander scowled at her, then remembered who he believed her to be. “Miss Lavellan...”, he tried to say calmly. “Our people are running out of strength. And patience. This dream fortress should be out of the question.” He gave Solas a scowl now.

Solas took it without a wince. “Since you are concerned about time, how long to you plan your people to wait for the negotiations with whoever you are trying to form an alliance with in Ferelden? Remember, this organisation is running short of allies.” “That's why I suggested Orlais”, Leliana butted in. Val Royeaux has taken notice of us. I'd say impudence wins.” “But not with a group of apostate rebels in tow! We already spoke about this!”, Cullen flared up. “I mean, impudence and furtiveness.” “Assassins is what you say”, Cassandra clarified. “No, there will be no need for such methods. We will prove ourselves trustworthy to our future allies with peaceful negotiations”, Josephine begged.

“Guys, guys!” Ellana waved her hands in the air to make them stop. “Now that you expressed your opinions in your delightful human way, how about this: all your suggestions include going further north at some point, because nobody likes to risk meeting the archdemon again. Yes, even yours, Cassandra. So, we will look for that fortress on the way, it will be the closest destination. Solas should help locating it.” He nodded at her contentedly. “If we don't come across it, or find it to be a pile of useless rubble, we move on from there.” “And to where, I wonder?”, Cassandra narrowed her eyes. Ellana sighed. “We have time until then to make that decision.” Cassandra rolled her eyes while Leliana seemed to already form a plan in her head. “At least we're moving on.” Cullen calmed himself down.

Solas looked at the silencing group, satisfied with the result, as Ellana approached him quietly. “So...this fortress....you think our ancestors lived there? Ancient elves?” He lit up at her question, as if he had been waiting for it. “Indeed, however, finding a trace of our culture in the fortress itself will be difficult, since there have been many alterations over the ages. It should look rather dwarven now, with sturdy walls and sharp edges. But nevertheless useful for our cause.” “Does that mean you saw our ancestors in the fade?” Her expression was full of doubt. “Shadows of them, I heard fragments of their memories, the ancient tongue. I saw golden ornaments on crystal walls and a library bursting with tomes. Sadly, I believe we will not find them in the waking world.” Ellana blinked, overwhelmed by what she heard. “Do you believe everything you see in the fade?” “I still have my sanity and reason, if that is what you mean.” “Looking for answers in dreams is a dangerous ordeal”, she said, amusing Solas with the attempt of lecturing him. “I'm...curious what we will find in this fortress, if it exists.” “I never said not to be careful. I could be full of bandits.” She snorted. “Pirates with daggers in their mouths, counting their gold...” “Elven pirates then? Flying with aravels over the mountains?” She chuckled at the image and Solas regretted she couldn't really picture it.

He left the discussion soon after, because there was someone else who needed his attention.

Dorian's heart skipped a beat when he realized who visited him. Again. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Another inside joke they shared, save from Varric and Blackwall, who weren't there to spoil the moment.

He tried not to stare too much, at the elf's lean figure, his straight posture, the little strut he allowed himself despite insisting to be a modest hermit. The coat that, admittedly, looked as if a blind man had stitched it together with the oldest scraps of fabric within reach, was belted just tightly enough to emphasize a slender waist. His leggings accentuated his long legs, his thighs and...other parts Dorian didn't dare to think about. It hurt to admit it, but considering the resources this elf had on hand in the wilds, he...did his best.

“Good morning, Dorian. Did you sleep well?” Such a...common greeting, but feeling strange, directed at him. “Well enough, considering the circumstances...” Dorian just about stopped his complaint, because the elf hadn't been too fond of these so far. This time, Solas reacted with the most adorable look, tilting his head and eyeing him curiously. Then he offered him his hand. “You mind a more thoroughly analysis?” Dorian almost coughed, but turned it into clearing his throat. When he held out his hand, he noticed in shock that it shivered. The Tevene curse was on the tip of his tongue, but Solas didn't seem to notice. He curled his fingers around Dorian's and closed his eyes.

Then Dorian stared, shamelessly. At the sharp features that he had never expected to soften for him and the hand that began to glow slightly. Sensing the tickle that ran along his arm, through his body, he realized that healing had never felt like this. The sting of sharp needles was missing. The nauseating feeling of his bones and tissue being forced back into order, that would press against his tongue until he lost all his stomach contents. Well, he wasn't terribly hurt anymore, no need for such brute force. Still, he made a mental note to ask about it. It seemed that Solas had his magic under control again and what had brought them to lose their minds was now gentle and helpful. The glow faded as Solas opened his eyes.

“I feel...better now”, Dorian stated, giving Solas a surprised look. The elf only nodded as if he had done something trivial. “I wasted your energy yesterday”, he said quietly, full of regret. Looking up, he went on: “Where are Varric and Blackwall?” Dorian didn't like the change of topic at all. “They were in good hands, last I saw them. No, I don't mean to make any implications, they are swarmed by healers and admirers that seem to want them to either heal faster or get earlier into their grave. Not sure yet.” To Solas' startled expression, he added: “Don't worry, Varric is already writing the tale and Blackwall is yelling at soldiers. They're both tough.” Tougher than me, was the conclusion Dorian hadn't intended to make. Welcome back, taste of foot in mouth.

But the real conclusion Solas came to was that the Tevinter was left alone by those he saved. Talk spread, of course, about his noble deeds, but nobody except for the healers seemed to dare get close to him. Regret washed over him and he sat beside Dorian on his bed. Now unfortunately, his feelings created a lump in his throat and emptied his mind. Awkward silence was the outcome.

He didn't know that for Dorian, this silence didn't feel awkward. Of course, he wished he had something witty to say. But the simple fact that Solas was sitting next to him and expressed sympathy flattered him. He didn't even pick up on the easy tease. “How are you?”, Dorian suddenly came up with. Solas lifted his head, looking as puzzled as he should have been. “I imagine it must've been...hard for you....Having to say farewell to your friends. We didn't exactly plan to come back...And now healing us...I imagine nobody asks about how exhausted you are.” The elf regarded him, giving Dorian the impression that he said something unbelievably silly. Heat rose up to his cheeks while he recalled...it wasn't that stupid, right?

“You are right...”, the elf said surprisingly soft. “Alas, I am not the one who made the sacrifice. My well-being does not matter in this situation.” “It matters to me.” Now he really rose to award-winning levels of stupidity. The elf averted his gaze, possibly embarrassed. “...and to Blackwall...and Varric...and...Ellana...”, he went on, trying to salvage it. “I mean, we are your friends...” Solas was still looking away. Now, come on. Could a simple “How are you” do so much damage?

“Thank you”, Solas finally said, and it stung differently than a scolding. “...For reminding me...Sometimes I forget...” He couldn't say more. Dorian sat up, moved closer to the upset elf. “It's an odd place, this Inquisition...It seems all of Thedas is coming together for a greater cause. And borders and statuses become blurred. I didn't think it would be possible, but I begin to like these people, despite their lacking conception of hygiene and home comforts...” He saw Solas' ears twitch. Oh, how much he missed these. How much he liked these. Maker forbid if Solas ever got the hint. The elf's chuckle lifted a rock from his chest. The entire Frostback Mountains. And the violet eyes directed at him... Elven eyes were so very fascinating. Especially his.

“I feel the same”, Solas whispered. “The Inquisition surprises me every day.” “It's a place of wonders, indeed.” Dorian gave him a smirk. “May I ask again: how are you?” Confusion flashed over Solas' features. I...I am glad you are alive...” He huffed out a faint chuckle. “Do you accept this as an answer?”, he asked as if he was following an order. Nevertheless, Dorian's heart skipped another beat. Making a thoughtful face, he tapped his chin. “Huh...It's a short answer, lacking a certain self-analysis, but it's nonetheless appreciated.” Solas looked relieved. “That is...good, is it not?” “For now.” They smiled at each other, approvingly. It was a wonderful moment.

None of them noticed the Dalish elf that peeked through the tent flaps and pressed a hand against her mouth.

Notes:

Otargeniman: from Antiva Sulahnadahlen: song of the forest

[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

[persephoneggsy]

Warden | Hawke | Inquisitor

and finally, my Warden! Fiora Cousland! the Hero and later Queen of Ferelden!

as per usual, details are under the cut:

Underwear: Fiora starts out as a very spoiled young woman. Having grown up noble, she is accustomed to the finer things, including silk underthings. She knows how to be practical, of course, but she still has expensive taste.

Pre-Origins: Most of her time before the start of Origins was spent either flirting around, playing with her beloved nephew, or practicing with her longbow in the training yard. As such, she was usually seen wearing her training gear. If you couldn’t tell, her favorite color is purple.

Ostagar: After becoming a Warden, Fiora couldn’t think too much about her clothes. She had a family to avenge, a usurper to kill, and a Blight to stop (in that order). She just took the armor Duncan provided her at her Calling and went with it, caring little about appearance or alterations.

Landsmeet: By the time the Landsmeet comes around, Fiora is much more levelheaded. She’s upgraded her gear quite a bit. She’s put more of her noble roots into her armor, and made it easier for her to maneuver around in. 

Queen: After the events of Awakening, she’s more than happy to trade darkspawn and dungeons for nobles and politics, at least for a little while. She gets to wear her beloved purple instead of the Grey Warden blues, so that’s a bonus. And of course, she proudly displays the rose from Alistair at every opportunity (and i like to headcanon that she asked Morrigan to enchant the rose so it wouldn’t wilt. Morrigan wanted to say no bc ew, that’s sentimental and also it’s from Alistair, but Fiora did kill her mom for her. so.)

Inquisition: Now determined to save her husband and herself from the Calling, Fiora sets off and travels the far corners of Thedas looking for a cure. She keeps the rose with her as a reminder of what she’s fighting for. She doesn’t fully don her old Grey Warden regalia, however; she’s grateful for the chance the Wardens gave her, but after knowing the cost of the Joining, her view of the order has dimmed considerably. And just an extra unrelated headcanon: Oghren went with her. He has a family to live for, and his child is named after Fiora herself -- of course he’s gonna help her find the cure.

[thesummerstorms]

Either my Mercar or my Thorne are gonna have to have semi normal families because functional DA protagonist families are a bit thin on the ground in this household...

Niamh Amell's mother wept when she was taken, per Leandra Hawke, but Niamh wouldn't remember any of that.

Rowan Hawke probably got some nurturing from Malcolm...but I mean, y'all have played DA2. You know what Leandra was like.

Evanna Trevelyan's family is loosely inspired by Henry the VIII...so... She's her mother's only surviving child, her mother (the second wife of the household) died, and her father was always disinterested but became abusive when her magic manifested. Her elder half-brother is civil but too weak to stand against her father and have a connection with her. Her older half-sister is a Templar zealot who would have done well in Kirkwall. She has one former stepmother who escaped via divorce who now wants to use her for Orlesians politics. And a current stepmother who is younger than her with a very young brother she's never met. They provided a lot of soap opera inspiration for Thedas during the Inquisition.

Arsinoë's mother left her behind frequently in order to pursue her cause (mage rebellion). Arsinoë doesn't think her mother's cause was unjust, and arguably her mother was keeping her safe. But she knew from a young age she was mostly be looked after out of obligation. She never expected her mother to rescue her from the Circle or the Crows because her mother left her behind all the time.

For my "non-Warden/Non-Inquisitor" protagonists...

Therasenn Mahariel has a baked in tragic orphan backstory and her whole clan basically threw her a funeral as she left with Duncan.

Cattilara Tabris actually has close to a normal family, dead mom aside, but she's nearly lost them so many times she's become overprotective and the trauma fucked their whole dynamic.

Cecily Cousland's parents, sister in law, and nephew were all mercilessly slaughtered in front of her... By her husband's father's men. At least Fergus survived? (And did eventually give her two nieces in his political marriage to Anora) blame this one on the game though.

... I don't have a backstory for Echo Adaar actually... I meant to play her after Mahvirehn and never did... Let's assume her parents did a better job than Shathaan.

Mahvirhen Lavellan is probably winning right now! His mother escaped the Alienage with him to keep him safe and they actually have a very strong relationship. He's neutral with his stepfather and loves his little sister. Most of the conflict comes from being separated from them by the Inquisition and then from Dorian because he's the clan's first.

... I don't know my Dalish Warden/ Adris Thorne's backstory yet.

But I will admit I had toyed with the idea of having my Nikoletta Mercar being genuinely loved by her adoptive father, in his own way, but also he saw her adoption as a way to prove equality regardless of bloodline or magical ability when given opportunities... And that was ruined when she manifested magic and the rumor became he adopted a mage to elevate the family status. He never consciously took it out on her, but she always felt she was living with his disappointment in that regard.

[sleepymarmot]

Ok, now I really want to play a dwarf Grey Warden with the templar specialization...

You can only be all three in Origins. You can be two out of three in Inquisition (dwarf templar) and Veilguard (dwarf Grey Warden).

In Origins, I've already done Aeducan, so this would be Brosca. I've previously posted about a potential Brosca for a "maximum disappointment with human morals" playthrough:

Lose Leliana because you poisoned the urn (fail to intimidate/lie)

Lose Wynne because you poisoned the urn (either she’s present and you kill her, or she’s in camp and leaves)

Lose Alistair because you recruited Loghain (the Warden is not an elf, who wouldn’t forgive him for selling fellow elves into slavery)

Lose Morrigan because you refuse to help her preserve something dangerous and unknown (which eventually turns out to be a fragment of the soul of one of the tyrants responsible for the downfall of your species)

By the way, this combination means that the same worldstate will have Lyrium Ghost Leliana. I don't think I've mentioned my realization after the Veilguard reveals that spirit Leliana became embodied the same way ancient spirit did? Seems thematically relevant.

This Brosca seems fitting for a harsh choices worldstate. In this case, ghost Leliana will also be hardened, and probably also become the Divine. Like this.

What if all three dwarf protagonists are in the same worldstate? Imagine how Cadash would feel about Brosca, who was betrayed by half of their surfacer allies, then sacrificed herself to save their world anyway?

I've already had separate plans for a pious templar Trevelyan and a magicphobic artificer Cadash... What if I made Cadash a templar? My initial reason for artificer was 1) I loved the specialization and also wanted to try a weapon-agnostic build; 2) the specialization embodies down-to-earth, non-mystical and non-magical ingenuity — the polar opposite of Solas's (and my canon Inquisitor's) love for spirits and tendency to look at the big picture. But at this point... Solas already has a dwarven artificer narrative foil. Varric. Veilguard greatly enhanced his role as Solas's ideological opponent, so making an Inquisitor who's too similar for him might be redundant. So maybe Solas's rival Cadash instead feels strangely drawn to lyrium, which is partially how she got into the lyrium smuggling business, and then she jumped on the opportunity to start infusing herself with it. And! Unlike the tragically dead Brosca, Cadash will still be there for the big reveals that will finally explain her life!

Oh, but if all of these characters are in the same worldstate, then playing Veilguard as a Rook who is 1) a Warden 2) a dwarf trying to reclaim their past 3) uncompromising about their morals — would be agonizing. First of all, a Warden would either fall in love with Davrin or at least be best friends with him, but a dwarf obsessed with the titans would do everything to keep Harding as safe as possible. Also, as for Minrathous vs Treviso, a Warden would prioritise preventing the spread of the blight, but Minrathous is a strategic option that would make more sense with this worldstate's concept.

Yay! I'm finally at the stage where Veilguard inspires me to assemble new worldstates! Now I just need to finish it for the first time...

[queenaeducan-writes]

Pairing: Charter & Agent(s) of Fen’Harel (gen) Characters: Charter, Lace Harding, Agent(s) of Fen’Harel, Original Magister Character Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: T Warning: Discussion of Tevinter slave trade Summary: Charter attends a Tevinter party, hoping to deny the Dread Wolf another ancient Elvhen artefact. My gift for @dreadfutures​ as part of the @arlathanxchange​! Thank you again for the opportunity to write this!

Charter has never been one for parties. The air, always thick with the smell of incense and perfume, draws like a rope around her neck. Her high-collared uniform is doing her no favours, either, fabric drawing tight against her skin as she cranes her head to look around the room. Orlesians gossip from behind porcelain masks, their painted smiles jeering like actors in a play. They mingle in a crowd of Rivaini merchants with a wealth of gold rings hoarded on their fingers, and, of course, Tevinter magisters who seem indifferent, at best, to be in attendance at such an affair. Even if it was hosted by one of their own.

She’s loath to admit that, at least in this, they are in agreement.

She’s no stranger to them, but had always preferred attending them as a ghost than as a guest. Here, eyes stick to her before they slide away, lingering a second longer than she’s comfortable with.

For most of the evening, she listens. The conversations are light, any allusion of war and unrest veiled. An Orlesian and an Marcher commiserate over the difficulty of procuring Rivaini goods of late, any mention of the invasion implicit in the complaint.

And no mention of the Wolf that closes in on them all. Tonight, he may as well not exist.

Charter, however, does not have the luxury of feigning safety. She knows a race when she smells one, she only wishes she could tell what she’s racing to. Rumours swirl in crowds far below the one she swims through now that the Dread Wolf’s aim has turned to their host. An unenviable place to be, and she will lose no sleep when that arrow finds its mark, but what turns the Dread Wolf’s gaze now turns hers, as well.

When she finds herself engaged in conversation, she coaxes words from their lips that might trick the best-practised accent, but so far she’s learned nothing but the latest fashions from Val Royeaux.

Hopefully, Lace is faring better than she is.

The crash of a plate cuts through the chatter like a knife through a nobleman’s purse. All eyes snap to the sound, drawn to a gangling elven servant who now stoops over the mess in barely-contained panic.

Read the rest here on AO3!

[junowritings]

Hi! I love your writing and saw that your requests were open so I figured why not give it a go? I'm not too sure you if accept specific characters or just dorm leaders/vices/other characters as a group so if I'm wrong, please let me know!

May I request Riddle, Floyd, Leona, and Idia walking in to find a gender neutral reader singing and dancing their heart out to a spanish love song? And when the reader sees them, they begin to sing to them?

(I know this is a bit of a specific ask and I understand if you don't do it! Either way, thank you so much! Keep up the amazing writing:D)

Dw hun you're not wrong at all I do all kinds of characters not just specific groups~! This ended up being a potluck of reactions and honestly were really fun to write I sure hope you like it~!

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Riddle

♡ Riddle hears the soft croon of music filtering out from your room before he even enters. It’s not the first time that he’s heard this particular song, nor is it the first time that he’s heard you singing along to songs - it’s just that most of those instances have been behind closed doors, so he’s only had the chance in passing to hear your singing voice for himself. This time the door’s open however, and your voice is just soft enough alongside the music from your phone that he doesn’t quite hear it until he steps inside and sees you.

♡ Your arms are pulled close to your chest, hands resting over your heart and head tilted back as the lyrics flow from your lips in a soft tune; you sway along to the beat as though your very heart moves with every dip and crescendo - you know this song word for word and it shows in the way that you sing and dance around the room.

♡ He knows he should announce his presence, it’s the polite thing to do rather than just standing around gawking after all, but you’re so immersed in the moment that even Riddle is hesitant to break you from your reverie just yet. In the end he doesn’t need to, as the next time that you make a show of spinning around you catch sight of him standing in the doorway; your surprise morphs into a soft smile, and Riddle’s momentary embarrassment of being caught watching fades when you swivel to face him and motion him to come over.

♡ Still singing along to the music you beckon him over, watching him linger at the edge of your room for a few moments until your coaxing finally convinces him to move over and join you. He’s rather awkward approaching you, if only because he has no idea what to do when you’re standing face to face. It becomes apparent quickly that you’re not just singing to the air anymore; you don’t look away from his face as you sing, and when he’s close enough you move to brush a hand against his, not quite touching but the gesture is obvious enough.

♡ He does his best to keep his reaction in check, but there’s a tremble in his expression when you finally take one of his hands, holding it between both of your own and bringing it up between you as the song rounds onto the final chorus. Your voice softens just enough for him to still hear you sing by the time the last notes filter off, and beneath your gaze he fidgets, suddenly bashful with the attention that you’re directing his way. Riddle’s quite easy to fluster despite appearances, so having such undivided focus directed at him as you sing a love song directed towards him is flustering, to say the least.

♡ The song has long since finished by then. But you continue to hum the tune under your breath for a little while longer, and Riddle makes no move to shift away from you as you give the hand still clutched between yours a gentle squeeze, smiling at the sight of him flustered at the small act of affection.

Floyd

♡ Wherever there’s fun to be had, you’ll find Floyd; or, more accurately, Floyd seeks out anything that catches his interest. Something that peaks his attention requires investigation, and he’s more than happy to snoop a little if it means finding something interesting. It’s for precisely that reason that once he hears the sound of music coming from somewhere in the building he just can’t stop himself from wanting to find out exactly where it’s coming from.

♡ It’s not a song that he knows, but that only interests him further as he lets the noise lead him to an ajar door where the tune is coming from. If he wasn’t immediately going to peek inside and see what’s going on before, the sound of your voice coming from inside certainly seals the deal as his head peeks around the doorway. He spots you easily as you spin around the room, singing along to the lyrics of an upbeat melody that plays from the speakers, and Floyd immediately perks up at the sight of you practically beaming as you belt out the words.

♡ He doesn’t watch for very long, because he’s much more interested in joining in since you look like you’re having so much fun. So Floyd does exactly that, and you don’t even notice that he’s there until he calls out to you and crosses the space to reach you. Your voice falters when a hand grabs onto yours and spins you around, causing you to momentarily pause mid-song when you catch sight of Floyd. He gives you a toothy grin when he sees your surprise, but he eagerly encourages you to keep going - he loves the sound of your voice and you look so happy, he wants to see you smile even more!

♡ Whilst startled by the sudden audience, your voice slowly picks back up where the song left off, gradually working your confidence back into the words as the lyrics come back to you. It doesn’t take very long before you’re singing as you were before, a small smile coming back to your face when Floyd tries to match your movements until the two of you have settled on just swaying back and forth in tandem.

♡ Even though he doesn’t know a single word of the lyrics it doesn’t stop him in the slightest; instead, Floyd just plays it by ear and starts trying to sing along with you as best as he can. He butchers more than a few words but it’s the spirit that counts and he more than makes up for it by enthusiasm alone; he nails the chorus pretty well though, and takes any opportunity he can to get a laugh out of you. At one point you break mid-song when he dramatically pulls you into his side crooning out one of the lines, grinning triumphantly when you have to pause to snicker at the display.

♡ The moment the song ends Floyd whines about it being over too soon, and he’s quick to amble over to where your phone is to pick it up. You’re guessing that he’s going to find another song that peaks his interest, but you’re pleasantly surprised to hear the same song start up again from the speakers after a few moments of him messing around with your music library. You give him an inquisitive look, but the Octavinelle student only flashes you that same toothy grin you saw earlier in response as he hums that he wants to listen to it for a little longer - after all, why would he want to change it when he loves the way that you sing along with it~!

Leona

♡ Leona recognizes your voice over the music. He knows the song - you’ve hummed it under your breath when you think no-one can hear you more times than he can count so he knows that it’s you the moment that he hears your voice. Usually he wouldn’t be fussed and just leave you be; instead, he finds himself nudging the half-open door with his hip and stepping inside to see it for himself.

♡ Just like he suspects, he finds you in that room, swinging and swaying along with the vibrant melody of what Leona quickly realizes is some kind of love song. Your eyes are closed as you sing, simply enjoying the lyrics that flow in tandem with your voice - you look surprisingly peaceful, and the passion behind your voice is hard to miss. It’s a song from the heart, that much is clear to see, and it’s a surprisingly captivating tune that Leona spends longer than he would like to admit listening to as he folds his arms over his chest and stops by the door.

♡ He’s not exactly quiet, but it still takes you a hot second to notice that you’re not the only one in the room anymore. Your eyes flutter open upon noticing, and when you spot Leona watching you dance and sing you flash him a smile, turning your focus upon the dorm leader as you begin sliding over to where he’s standing. He raises a brow at the action, but doesn’t immediately move away and instead settles for watching to see what you’re going to do.

♡ You reach out to him, urging him to come over with the joking wave of your hands and a cheeky grin on your face. Leona rolls his eyes at the display, though he doesn’t make any moves to pull back or shift away when you take the initiative and approach him anyway. You reach for his hand, and with a gentle tug he relents and allows you to guide him to follow along with you as you backtrack into your previous position in the center of the room.

♡ Leona’s not one for dancing though he does know how, so you settle for singing directly to him, shifting your grip on his hand until you can slide your fingers between his. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why you’re doing this, but he humors your performance and watches as you start swaying along with the music again, listening to the croon of your voice upon reaching the chorus of the song.

Idia

♡ Idia’s attention is buried in his phone already listening to music when he comes barging into the room, as if his mind wasn’t already occupied he would have heard the telltale melody from a mile away. He’d ended up coming to your room only because you’d borrowed something earlier in the day and he needed it back - usually you’d be happy to bring it back to him yourself, but with today being one of the few instances he’d willingly left his room he thought little of just dropping by, picking it up and being on his way back to the Ignihyde dorm. It would’ve been a quick trip, he’d thought, and didn’t even expect to run into you outside of asking for his stuff back.

♡ His own music drowns out most of the other noises he would’ve heard if he was paying attention, so he doesn’t realize exactly what he’s walked into until he’s stepped through the door and spotted you mid-chorus, running a hand through your hair as you spin around. The two of you come face to face, and neither one of you apparently expected the sight of the other, as you both freeze up with a shout of surprise and it’s only when Idia yanks off his headphones that he finally hears the gentle cues of a spanish love song filtering through the room.

♡ Immediately his first reaction is to assume that he’s intruding and he spins on his heel fully intending to walk back out the way he came and promptly forget ever walking in. However, at the sound of you calling out to him Idia freezes up again, and he just about ready to sputter through any apology he was going to say when you take hold of his arm, offering him a blinding smile and asking him to stay for a little while - how about a dance~?

♡ Idia goes to refuse at first, and yet in the second that he looks between the door and you looking imploringly at him the boy caves, agreeing before he even clocks onto what exactly he’s agreeing to. You beam and beckon him to step further into the room, humming along to the song as he follows your lead and awkwardly shuffles alongside you.

♡ He doesn’t recognize the lyrics, but he’s heard enough lovey-dovey music online to know a love song when he hears it. Idia tries not to read too much into it - you could just be singing along because you like it, there’s definitely no reason why you’d be singing a love song to him right? Right???

♡ But it doesn’t help that you’re still holding onto him as you shift and sway along with the melody that plays from the speakers, and your smile is so warm and bright each time you look at him to check if he’s okay Idia fears that he’s gonna burn up if you keep giving him your undivided attention. He tries to just focus on the music, and how practiced the words flow from your lips as you sing along with the melody - you look happy, and he’s trying to burn the image into his head as a special event even after the music has faded away.

[justanotherblonde23]

I Want You - A Din Djarin Story

Author’s Note: Hey there, internet friends. So I had an ask from my friend @hdlynnslibrary that I can’ find to save my life. Luckily, I wrote it down! “Hi Kat! My darling! I must admit to feeling #horny okay? Soooo what about a prompt for my fav space man Din? Like maybe with an #inexperienced reader?” Oh Heather, my love, ask and you shall receive! What started out as a little somethin became 14 pages, double spaced, 12 point Times New Roman font. So my darling, I hope you enjoy this Din x reader fic, it was made with LOTS of love <3

Warnings: SMUT, there is definately sexy times going on over here, all aboard the horny train, leaving the station as we speak. Choo-fuckin-choo! Also, language because I am me and since I was born and raised in Boston and I have been swearing like a goddamn sailor since, well, ever lol. Oh, and there’s a slight breeding kink, just an FYI. I’m sorry, it just all came out and I couldn’t help it and Din Djarin wants his clan to expand, okay? 

Thank you to all who read, like, comment, reblog, etc. It warms my heart that you all are enjoying my work. Please let me know what you think of this one :-)

You had been traveling with Din on the Razor Crest for the past year or so. He found you on Arvala-7, working alongside Kuiil. You were good with your hands, fast with a blaster, and most importantly, you connected with the Child. From the second that kid saw you, he decided that you were his. He was the largest reason that you were here right now. How anyone could resist those big eyes, his floppy ears, and that cute baby smile. He turned your heart to putty. 

Your days were spent mostly on the Crest, keeping an eye on the little one and tending to the ship the best you could. The baby required a fair bit of effort, but you didn’t mind; he had become like your own child without you even realizing it. 

Somewhere along the way, you had become closer with the Mandalorian that you traveled with. Clipped sentences became more extended conversations as you gently urged him out of his shell. Soon, he became curious about you, asking all sorts of unimportant questions, ranging from where you grew up to what your favorite color was. Dinners alone with the kid turned into Mando joining you, lifting his helmet ever so slightly so that he could take a sip of the broth you made or a bite of the ration pack you heated up. Every time he did this, you made sure to keep your eyes on your plate, never wanting to disrespect his Creed in any way. 

As the months progressed, your feelings for one stoic Mandalorian grew. You caught yourself lingering in the cockpit more when after you put the little one down at night. You also caught yourself staring on more than one occasion, and you knew for a fact that Mando saw you, too. How could you not stare at that imposing figure that you shared a home with? The duality of the man was awe-inspiring, to be sure. He was a fearsome warrior, and you had witnessed his prowess first hand many a time. He brought bounties in nonstop, always jetting off to the next one before the last quarry had been frozen away in carbonite for a day. And then there was the gentleness that he had with the baby. You could tell that this was his first time taking care of another person by himself. Sometimes he was a bit rough around the edges, but he did try his best. He was learning how to be the best parent he could for the kid, and watching that play out warmed your heart. 

Often times, when he took the kid up to the cockpit so that you could use the refresher and wash the day away, you could hear him up there talking to the kid gently. Sometimes he speaks in Basic; other times, he speaks in what you assume is Mando’a. Every once in a while, you hear him sing the baby a lullaby on those restless nights where nothing seems to calm that sweet baby down. The first time you heard him sing softly to the kid, you knew that you loved him. 

You never felt right acting on your feelings; you didn’t know how he thought about you. Also, you were terrified of making a fool of yourself. Truth be told, you have never been in a man’s bed before. The life of a refugee of the Empire didn’t leave much time for amorous encounters. By the time you found Kuiil, all you wanted was to keep your head down and do your work. If you happened to meet someone along the way, fantastic, but you had more pressing matters to attend to, like surviving in the desert. 

That all changed one night when you least expected it. Mando had taken the kid to soothe him and put him to sleep, so you took the opportunity to use the fresher. You had been working hard that day, repairing areas of the Crest that needed maintenance while juggling an inquisitive little one. You took your time, relishing the way that the water felt against your bare skin, the warmth seeping into your muscles and soothing your bones. You wouldn’t tell anyone, but you viewed water as a gift from the Maker itself. For the first time in your life, you didn’t have to scrounge and save every last drop. You’d never had the luxury of using actual water the bathe daily; you’d never been in the financial position to have such a thing. For the Galaxy working class, a sonic was the best you could hope for most of the time. It cleansed the body of dirt and grime just fine, but it wasn’t pleasant like water was. 

In all honesty, your idea of a luxuriously long shower was well under ten minutes, but it was a dream come true for you. After you were clean and smelling of the fresh soap that you used, it was time for you to get out. You grabbed the small towel, drying your body, and then reached for your clothes. Your hands floundered around a bit until you realized that you had inadvertently forgotten to bring a new pair of clothes or your sleep shirt in with you. You had been in too much of a rush to hand off the baby and get just a few moments to yourself. 

You groaned at your flightiness. Kriff, that only left you with two options: you could either put your dirty clothes back on, or you could try to make your way back to your sleeping quarters wrapped in this tiny ass towel. Neither option particularly appealed to you, but your desire for cleanliness finally won out. 

You gathered up your belongings and quietly opened the refresher door, careful not to be too loud. It usually took a bit of time to calm the baby down enough for him to go to sleep, and you didn’t want to interrupt that process. The lights in the hold were dimmed, leaving you with the ability only to see a few steps in front of you. 

Unfortunately, your quest to be stealthy was in vain. You had forgotten that you had moved a particular toolbox during your work project this morning. Said toolbox ended up being placed right where you could smack your little toe on it. You yelped in pain, dropping everything in your arms in favor of hopping up and down on one foot and clutching the other in your hands. This caused the towel to also fall to the ground, leaving you bare. A noise drew your attention up, and your eyes met a helmet, staring right back. Mando was standing right in front of you, apparently drawn by the noise. 

You dropped your foot, standing up straight, eyes wide in shock. You didn’t move; you barely breathed. Your mind was short-circuiting, and you didn’t even have the sense to pick up your towel off the ground. Your body was overflowing with embarrassment, horror, and- was that arousal? Stars, you were standing here, completely bare, across from the Mandalorian who has every inch of himself covered. 

Ever so slowly, he reached down and grabbed the towel you had dropped, carefully wrapping it back around you. His hand accidentally brushed your breast, causing you to suck in a breath of surprise. He murmured his apologies, beginning to withdraw his hands, but you were faster. You reached out, stilling his retreating hands and placing them back on your body. You wanted this, you wanted him, and you wanted to make sure that he knew it. 

He tilted his helmet curiously, waiting for you to give him a prompt. He took in your labored breathing, your increased heart rate, the way you bit your lip. Your eyes met his visor, and he could barely even see your eye color because your pupils were so blown with lust and desire. He groaned a deep, low sound in his chest at your obvious reaction to his presence. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?” he ground out, trying to keep himself in check. 

You moved your hands, gently cradling his helmet where his cheeks would be, breathing in his scent swirling so close to you. You could smell the blaster residue, the leather, the metal of his beskar, the soap you both used in the shower, and that smell that was uniquely his. You’d never get tired of it, not in this life or the next. 

“I want you,” was your reply. “Touch me, Mando, please.”

“Din,” came his reply, almost in a whisper, as if it was something sacred. 

You frowned, your nose scrunched up in confusion. You studied this helmet, eyes searching for answers. 

“My name, it’s Din. Din Djarin.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, eyes wide with confusion. You knew the sacredness of a name in this Galaxy. Stars, you hadn’t even told him your own name for a solid three months. The only reason he had found out was because he overheard you talking to the kid one day. A name was even more sacred to a Mandalorian. It was precious, something to be guarded with the utmost care. You’d never even wagered that he’d give it to you, ever. 

“You can use it, but with just me and the kid around. No one else gets to know it, no one but you.” 

You nodded, understanding just how much it had taken for him to tell you. His name was a gift, something that you would keep close and cherish. 

“Din,” you spoke the Mandalorian’s name for the first time, testing it on your tongue, relishing the taste of it in your mouth. It was a good name, a solid name, a name fitting for the warrior before you. “Din Djarin, a beautiful name.” 

Hearing his name in your mouth set Din’s soul on fire. The way you spoke it, the way you had considered it and acknowledged the importance of what he had just given you, it made him want to hear it again and again. He wanted to listen to you moan his name in ecstasy, begging him for more, begging him for pleasure. He wanted to hear you yell it, mutter it, say it in everyday conversation. He wanted to hear his name drip from your lips for the rest of his life. 

That night was the first time he took you and gave you pleasure. You had come on his tongue and fingers three times before you were strung out and exhausted. You fell asleep in his bunk wrapped tightly in his arms. That was two months ago. 

You still had yet to take him fully, to allow him to be inside of you. You had admitted that you were nervous, that you had no experience to work off of. Din had been nothing but patient and kind, never pressuring you into anything that you weren’t comfortable with. He had told you that, “We have all the time in the world, sweet girl. There’s no need to rush.” You believed him wholeheartedly, but in the past weeks, you had found yourself wanting more. Sure, you were still frightened, you didn’t know what you were doing, but that burn and ache inside of you kept getting more intense as the days went by. You know that Din would take care of you. 

It’s been a rough day, and that’s an understatement. You helped with the bounty this time because the information you were given indicated that this quarry was heavily guarded. Mando couldn’t say no to an extra blaster covering his ass. Thankfully, this mission was on Tatooine, meaning that you could leave the little one with Peli. Maker knows that woman loves your little green bean; how could she not? Green bean loves her right back and seems to be particularly fond of the pit droids. You think it has something to do with the fact that he can bonk their noses to make them spring to life, but you can’t be sure. 

Unfortunately, it turns out that this asshole was much more protected than you had been led to believe. You would have some choice words for Greef Karga to pass along to whoever had commissioned this kriffing bounty. You both had more or less emerged unscathed, but there would most certainly be bruises covering you two from head to toe. 

Once the bounty was frozen away in carbonite, you could breathe a little better. He wouldn’t be giving you any trouble now. When Peli saw that state you were in, she insisted that she keep the little one for the night, which was a relief. As much as you loved that sweet little boy, you needed a breather. Hopefully, you’d be able to spend some much needed time with just you and your Mandalorian. 

You found yourself on Din’s lap with a blindfold covering your eyes so he could kiss you. You would rather not see anything at all and have his lips on yours than have your sight with his helmet on. You both were in your underclothes, your legs straddling him. 

That’s when the kisses began. There was something about kissing Din Djarin that was otherworldly. The way he poured all his love and care into a kiss never ceases to blow you away. He always started so gently, building you up and setting you on fire. How could anything be that good, that pleasurable? He licked into your mouth, moaning at your taste. Your Mandalorian loved to kiss you. He nipped at your bottom lip, causing you to gasp, pleasure shooting straight down to your core. 

He moved his kisses to your jaw and down the column of your neck, leaving bruising in his wake. Din whispered in your ear, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you tasted, how you were just for him. The thought that you were his, that this fearsome warrior had opened himself up enough to let you in, it urged you forward. 

You began to rock back and forth on his thigh, chasing that feeling of bliss. He stopped you for a moment, helping you wiggle out of your panties, before urging you to start once more. This felt even better, your slick dripping out onto his thigh, helping you create beautiful friction. By the sounds he was making, Din was enjoying it, too. The feeling of his muscles hard beneath you, your clit rubbing deliciously against him, was heavenly. You could feel the sparks in your tummy, the clench of your cunt around nothing; you were so close. 

Din urged you on, his hands at your hips, moving you. He muttered about how gorgeous you were as you took your pleasure on his thigh, how he wanted to see you cum on him, how he wanted to taste your sweet pussy after you came. His words were what finally did you in, the dam bursting and your orgasm hitting you full force. Your hips began to stutter, but your Mandalorian kept you moving, riding the waves of pleasure, extending your bliss. Finally, your whines led him to stop; you were far too sensitive to continue. You panted, trying to catch your breath. 

As you sat there, your head on Din’s shoulder, centering yourself once more, you realized what exactly was pressing against your thigh. You could feel his rock hard, dripping cock, just within reach. The thought of it made your pussy clench and your mouth water. You wanted Din Djarin, all of him, in every way possible. You wanted to feel him inside of you, wrecking you and making you see stars. 

“Din,” you murmured, “I want you.” 

He nuzzled his nose into your hair, breathing you in. “You have me, Mesh’la, any way you want me.”

You sat up straight on his lap, facing him. If you didn’t have a blindfold on, you’re sure you’d be looking him directly in the eye. “No, I want you. I want you inside of me; I want your cock, Din.” 

Your Mandalorian groaned at your admission. There was nothing he wanted more. He took in the earnest expression on your face, looking for any sign of hesitance or anxiety. He never wanted you to feel pressured into doing anything that you didn’t want to do. He didn’t want you to feel as if you needed to do something to please him. He wanted you to explore sex at your own pace, never another’s. 

“Cyare, are you sure? There is no rush for us. My satisfaction comes from the fact that I can satisfy you and that you trust me enough to allow me to be the first to touch you in this way. There is no timetable besides your wants, needs, and desires, mesh’la. I don’t want you to pressure yourself.” 

You smiled at his words, his voice so soft and sweet for you. He was always so considerate, never rushing you or telling you that you were going too slowly. The kindness and care this great warrior continuously showed you reminded you of this complicated man’s duality. You felt safe with him, and you wanted all of him. 

“Din, baby, no, I don’t feel pressured. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now. I want to feel you inside of me; I want you to make love to me, please.” 

He cradled your face in his palms for a moment, his thumbs gliding over your cheeks. Then, he kissed you. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was full of passion, sinking you deeper into arousal. He kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that he loved, and maybe he did. Perhaps you and the kid were his whole heart. His tongue expertly explored your mouth, causing you to mewl and moan. He knew just what would get you going. 

He pulled away, sucking in precious oxygen as you did the same. Carefully, he turned the both of you around and laid you down on his cot. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the galaxy, not by a long shot. It was designed more for efficiency than comfort. The thing was, though, you didn’t care. It was Din’s, and he was willing to share it with you. You could feel him hovering over you, his breath warm against your face. 

“Let me taste you, sweet girl. Let me get you ready to take my cock.”

You gasped, feeling his cock rock back and forth, covering himself in your slick. You were at a loss for words, so many sensations happening all at once. All you could manage was a nod, and a whimpered, “Please, Din.” 

Your Mandalorian kissed his way down your body, leaving behind bite marks and bruises where he wanted to cause heightened sensations. Before he even made it to your pussy, you were already painfully wet for him. You could feel his breath ghosting over the place where you wanted him the most. You lifted your hips in an attempt to spur him on, but all it got you was a muscular arm forcing your hips back down to the cot. 

“Patience, cyar’ika, I want you to feel every ounce of pleasure that I can wring out of you. Enjoy the moment, feel the suspense, don’t simply rush to the finish line, little one.” 

You yelped as you felt him bite into the juncture of your hip and thigh, sucking in hard to leave a mark. He soothed the skin with his tongue, so close to where you needed him, but not close enough. He repeated the process on the other side, marking you in a place only the two of you would ever see, like a secret that you both would share. 

Unexpectedly, his tongue licked a broad stripe from the bottom of your slit to your clit. You sighed; that was the feeling you so desperately wanted. He lapped at your cunt like a man starved, and you were the best thing on the menu. He knew how to work you into a frenzy, and quickly, he played your body like an instrument that he had been practicing on for a lifetime. You quaked and shook as your second orgasm of the night took hold, bursting and pulling you ever forward into the bliss you so desperately craved. 

Even after you had ridden out your orgasm, Din didn’t stop. He worked you over, inserting one finger and then another inside of you, hitting that one spot inside you that made you see stars over and over. His mouth never stopped, his tongue lazily drawing loose circles around your clit, never slowing down, but keeping a steady pace. Your hips fought to lift off the cot, simultaneously fighting and chasing that feeling of ecstasy. When he scissored his fingers inside of you and twisted his wrist just so, you lost it once more. A scream that sounded something like his name tore out of your throat as the stars exploded behind your eyes. 

You felt like you were floating in space, freely and without a care in the world. You reached a new height of pleasure that you’d never even imagined before. You could touch the sky and would never ever come down. You thought every encounter with your Mandalorian was pure rapture, but this was beyond anything you had ever felt before. You were panting, gasping for the oxygen your body so desperately needed, and you felt better than you ever had before. As your head left the clouds, you realized you had a dopey smile on your face, and your lover was covering you with kisses everywhere he could reach. 

Vaguely, you heard his whispers in the dark. You were so good for me, mesh’la. You looked so beautiful cumming on my fingers and tongue. You taste divine, starshine. Those words went straight to your heart and to your pussy, flooding you with more arousal than you had ever thought possible. A deep kiss on your lips finally brought you back to the present, the warm body on top of you centering your mind. 

“Are you ready for my cock, sweet girl? Do you still want to feel me inside of you? I promise I’ll go slow.”

You nodded in response, your words failing you. 

“I need to hear you say it, cyare. I need to hear you tell me that you want this, that you’re sure.” 

Your head lolled a bit as you processed his words, still feeling slightly hazy. 

“Din Djarin, I want you inside of me. Please, please, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.”

He chuckled at your pleas, a smile pressed into the crook of your neck. 

“I’ll be most delighted to give you what you want, sweet girl. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Are you ready for me?”

You breathed out a yes as you felt him coat himself in your slick, making sure he could ease into you. You knew he was quite large. You had curiously wondered aloud one day if all men were built like that. Even though his size intimidated you, you wanted everything he could give you. The excitement fizzled in your belly; you were getting wetter by the second. 

Ever so slowly, your Mandalorian lined himself up with you and began to press in. You gasped at the feeling of just the head of his cock inside of you, the blunt tip spearing into you. He paused before he began to move again. Slowly, inch by inch, he pressed himself into you, stopping ever so often to make sure that you had time to adjust to him. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the girls in your hometown had made it seem. Maybe they hadn’t been with the proper lovers, or perhaps the boys they were sleeping with were just inexperienced and too young. All you knew was that there was a pinch of pain, yes, but the pleasure outweighed any discomfort you may have felt. 

You could feel every delicious inch of him inside you, splitting you open and filling you up like nothing ever had before. You could feel every ridge and vein as he inched his way into you. You couldn’t even put a name to this feeling, but you wanted more. Eventually, he was fully seated inside of you; your hips flush against his own. You felt so full, stuffed to the brim, and Maker, you loved it. He waited for a minute or two, allowing you to adjust to him and have a chance to take in all these new sensations. You had thought his fingers were terrific, but they were nothing compared to the feel of his cock deep inside of you. 

He kissed you. It was all teeth, tongue, and lips, and stars; it was perfect. He devoured your mouth, taking what was his. You couldn’t help the little sounds that sprung up from your throat when he did that. He answered you with guttural groans of his own. You could feel the way those sounds made his chest rumble; you could feel it in your chest pressed against him. 

He grabbed your leg, propping it up on his hip, and he began to move. He never went too fast for you or too hard, keeping a steady pace that kept you comfortable but still dragged you forward to a fourth orgasm. You didn’t even know you had it in you until Din used two of his fingers to assault your clit, encouraging that bundle of nerves to give you one more burst of pleasure. The combination of his cock deep inside you and his fingers on your clit was enough to send you toppling over the edge once more. This orgasm was more intense than the others, blazing white-hot through your veins and setting your soul on fire. If you thought you had been screaming before, you were mistaken. You writhed and squirmed under your lover, your pleasure causing your body to shake like a leaf. You sobbed his name over and over, tears spilling out of your eyes from sheer ecstasy. 

Your Mandalorian groaned deeply at the feel of your pussy clamping down on him like a vice. You were so tight, to begin with, and your orgasm grabbed him and shoved him into his orgasm. As he emptied himself deep within you, he couldn’t help but mumble praises. “Oh Mesh’la, you’re so tight for me, so beautiful laid bare just for me. You’re such a good girl, a sweet girl, my girl. I’ll give you whatever you want, baby. Adventure, new experiences, my love- fuck if you want it, I’ll give you warriors, children of our own.” 

You both laid there for a while afterward, basking in the glow of post-sex haze. You carded your fingers through his curls, gently scratching his scalp as he pressed sweet kisses into your skin. He was still inside you; neither of you could bear the thought of being parted just yet. You could stay like this forever, caught in this in-between time, not yet floating back into reality. 

“I would like that,” you murmured, never stopping your movements in his hair. 

“Like what, cyare?” 

“For you to give me warriors of our own, Din.”

You could feel him twitch inside you, clearly interested. His head shot up, studying yours closely, looking for any falsehood or hesitance in your blindfolded face. 

“You mean it?” He breathed out. 

You grinned, feeling around for his face. You traced his sharp jawline, the proud cure of his nose, the pout of his plump lips. This was the face of the man you loved, the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Wherever he was in the Galaxy, that was home. 

“Yes, my love, I mean it. We have our little green bean, and eventually, he’s going to need some friends to play with. We wouldn’t want him to be lonely. And besides, there’s no one I’d rather raise warriors with than you.”

You heard a faint sniffle before his lips were on yours once more. You had a family, but there was always room to add more to this clan of three. 

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[realcube]

rq; could you possibly write a one shot about the reader having AD(H)D and has a really hard time focusing on core academics (math, science, english, history) because they feel scared about stimming and/or fidgeting in front of people and so they ask tamaki for help?

tw; very mild angst, fluff, stimming, i use the word ‘embrassing’ too much, swearing

words; 2.7k

it only took a moment of skimming over your latest progress report for you to understand the situation.

you continued to thrive in practical subjects like physical education, graphic design and manufacturing — the three main reasons you managed to secure your spot in the support course — but your core subjects seemed to be lacking.

for the last two years, you managed to score flying colours in all your subjects. but now, it was starting to appear as though your golden era was coming to a close. what was once a report with only scores greater than 90%, was now a range of totals anywhere from 90 to 50%.

this meant you were still passing all of your classes but these grades were only indications of how you were doing now; you knew that if you continued to struggle in all of your core courses, you might not finish your third year of UA highschool.

you simply wouldn't allow for your grades to decline further, so like any good student would, you made a list of ways you could improve.

number one was, of course, study more. however, you were almost certain that discipline and diligence aren't the causes of the issue.

number two was to ask for help from your teacher and although this was a completely valid option, you still felt like the problem ran deeper than your ability to comprehend the material. after all, you had made it this far without having to do so.

before you could even ponder number three, your pen ran out of ink. with a huff, you reach out to grab a new one from your pencil case, until you noticed that in the spot where your pencil case usually sits on your desk, there was nothing.

it was as though the void had caused all your memories of yesterday to come crashing down on you in an instant; it was almost nauseating. yet it, ironically, provided some clarity as to the location of your stationary.

two days ago, after school, you paid a visit to tamaki's house to deliver the gear he had commissioned. however, what was initially meant to be a casual interaction, somehow turned into a game of pictionary (with mirio and nejire there too, of course), for which you needed to bring your pencil case out of your bag. amidst your awkward goodbyes, you must've forgotten to put it back into your bag, hence your pencil case is probably lying dejected on tamaki's coffee table.

this left you with no choice but to throw on your jacket and begin your journey to tamaki's house. fortunately, he only lived a bus ride away from your home, yet you still mentally rebuked yourself for the whole length of aforementioned bus ride due to the fact that every time you would interact with tamaki, it felt like you were digging a deeper grave for yourself.

partially because you always found yourself oversharing with him — not that it was a one-sided ordeal — and you couldn't begin to explain why; he kinda just had a comforting aura about him. albeit you haven’t said anything embarrassing yet but the possibility of that happening was way too large. plus taking into consideration your complicated feelings for each other, leaving your pencil case at his house was a disaster waiting to occur.

or perhaps you were overthinking it. either way, you were now standing in front of his door with your school uniform and backpack on during a saturday afternoon because you had no idea what else to wear.

after ringing the doorbell, you stood as a patient statue in the cold until tamaki reluctantly opened the door and only poked his head out. “hello?”

emphasis on ‘only’, because he was truly committed to not allowing you to see him in his casual-wear, for some reason. a part of him reasoned that there was no way you would expect him to be wearing his school uniform on a saturday, but the majority of his brain was screaming about how he had to hide his clothes from you at all costs. especially since he was wearing socks, comfy trackpants and — most shamefully — a sweater with a small octopus design on it. and what would you think of him if you saw that his choice in loungewear was so childish?! it would be utterly humiliating.

completely unaware that tamaki was having a crisis behind the door, you pulled your most authentic smile and said the line you had been rehearing on the bus, “hi, tamaki. sorry for coming unannounced, but i think i left my pencil case on your coffee table when we were playing pictionary with mirio and nejire.”

“oh.” tamaki was almost too panicked to process what you just said but once he did, he immediately recalled the moment he noticed that you had left behind your pencil case. at the time, he planned on calling you to ask if he could drop it off at your house, but his nerves got the better of him and he decided to keep procrastinating the call until he completely forgot.

though, if he remembered correctly, the pencil case should be lying on his desk after he moved it there in hopes that the convenient location would remind him to return it; which it evidently did not.

“yeah. uh, i’ve got it. i’ll just go get it.” his face tingled with warmth slightly as he retracted it from the doorway, resulting in him finally realising how cold it is outside. in fact, since the eaves of his house shielded you for the climate, he didn’t even notice that it was snowing!

the polite bone in him got to work before the rest of him could react, as he blurted out, “come in, make yourself at home.”

fuck! i mean, it’s not that he doesn’t want you in his house — quite the opposite actually — but rather now he had to dart off to his bedroom before you could catch a glimpse of his sweater. but at least now this gave him an opportunity to change into something less embarrassing.

closing the door behind you, you were now left alone in tamaki’s living room. your eyes followed his figure as he dashed towards his bedroom, “odd.” you murmured to yourself. you weren’t exactly tamaki’s BFF but you were close enough to him that you could tell when he was acting weird.

but you didn’t think to much of it. actually, you were slightly grateful for this weird spike in tamaki’s behaviour because if he doesn’t want you around, that just means you are less likely to overshare and catch feelings, which means better outcomes in the long run, right?

after changing into a plain blue sweater and collecting your pencil case, tamaki strolled into the living room and handed it to you with a weak smile, “here you go.” he almost whispered, patiently waiting for your response so he could mentally prepare himself for goodbyes or another hour (or so) of conversation.

“thank you!” you basically squealed, pulling off your bag to stuff your pencil case back inside. while adjusting the straps on your shoulders, you took a moment to appreciate tamaki’s familiar attire, “oh, i love your sweater; i have a similar one with a cute little octopus on it.”

tamaki concluded that neither of you would be saying goodbye for a long while.

“thank you.” he responded with a soft smile, folding his arms over his chest as he made his way towards the kitchen, “um, so how are you?” he inquired, assuming that it was a pretty harmless question that would simply help get the conversation off the ground while he prepared tea.

“i’m good. but i don’t think i can say the same for my progress report.” you said with an awkward chuckle, standing aside as you watched tamaki put the kettle on. “and how are y--”

“what do you mean?” tamaki asked, disregarding the fact that he didn’t answer the question himself. although, simply put, this was because he found that conversation came more naturally to him when he was with you; or perhaps that is a slight overstatement. he tended to be more curious and inquisitive when talking to you and it wasn’t hard to tell.

until now you and mirio simply brushed it off as tamaki’s interest towards the support course, since you were the one who manufactured most of his gear. yet nejire always teased him as she believed that tamaki’s interest was caused by a different sort of passion.

nevertheless, regardless of tamaki’s motives, you still found yourself consistently answering his questions, “eh, well, i’ve just not been performing as well as i hoped.” you replied plainly with a shrug.

“is that all?”

no matter how many questions he asked, each one still managed to catch you off-guard. “um,” your throat ran dry, which might’ve been a sign from a deity to stop talking, but your swallowing was your way of proving that you did not care. although you will probably regret it later, talking with tamaki always relieved you.

“well,” you started, the lump in your throat growing by the second, “i guess i have a bit of trouble focussing in some classes too. but i mean, maybe it is because i drink too much caffeine? i’m not even sure to be honest.” that was lie, you were  90% sure of what the problem was, but you wanted to hear tamaki’s response before you proceeded, to determine whether he’d be open-minded about it.

“there is no such thing as too much caffeine.” he joked, handing you a cup of tea while he sipped on his own. “so it’s probably something else.”

he’s too good. it’s as if he knew you were withholding information.

“well,” you began once more, trying your best to appear clueless, “i guess moving helps me focus, but no once else in the class does it so wouldn’t it be embarrassing if i was the only one?”

“i don’t think it would be embarrassing at all.” he spoke softly, leading you back into the living room and offer you a seat on the couch beside him, which you graciously accepted. “but if you think it is, then i have something to help.”

before you could say anything, tamaki got up and headed towards his bedroom; leaving you to drink his heavenly tea while he searched. though, only a few minutes passed before you felt his arms slither over your shoulders to hook two clips together by your neck.

“there.” he said with a proud smile, “this is one of my cloaks that i use in my hero costume. you can tie it together so it covers the whole front half of your body.”

observing your reflection in the blackened TV, you smiled upon seeing for your own eyes that everything he said was true. it was like wearing a cape that goes around your whole body, and it had a nice hood! “wow, this is so adorable!” you cheered, then paused, “but how is it going to help me focus?”

“well, you can do whatever you want underneath it and no one will notice.”

ignoring the shady implications of that sentence, you moved your hand around underneath the cloak and he was right! no one would see you fidgeting underneath the cloak, and hopefully the professor’s voice would cover any sounds you made. plus, it looked pretty badass.

“this might work! are cloaks included in dress-code?” you joked, but you weren’t laughing for long as you turned to look at tamaki who was wearing an upset expression with his head hung low, “no.”

“oh.” you sighed, unclipping the cloak and handing it back to tamaki with a slight smile, “it’s fine. thank you for your help, and the tea. it was delicious, but i’ll probably have to start cutting back on the caffeine.” you gave it a chef’s kiss yet he didn’t even chuckle like he usually does. it was almost scary how your true emotions reflected onto him, as it seemed like the whole atmosphere had changed.

“(y/n).” tamaki uttered with a much more serious tone; eyes filled with determination yet trained onto the cloak in his hands. “you shouldn’t be embarrassed-- or at least, I, um, don’t think you should be.”

your eyes widened at how sternly he said the first part; granted, he became flustered when it came to the second part, but it really showed you how firmly he stood by what he was saying. you nodded for him to continue as he looked like he still had a lot on his mind.

“it’s unfair that you have trouble focussing because of what other people think. so my two cents is that you should do whatever you need to do, and, um, not care about other people... well, i mean, you should care about them, but just not what they think about you. because like, you can’t really control that--”

he found himself having to abruptly shut his mouth to stop himself from prattling on any further. especially since most of what he was saying was probably none sense that he mistook for inspirational, or at least that is what he gathered from the shocked look you wore; it was ironic how humiliated he was.

“that’s nice to hear.” you hummed, a kind smile gracing your features in place of the previous stunned expression, “though it’s hard to believe coming from someone as cool as you, tamaki.”

“cool?”

“yeah.” you chuckled, rolling your eyes at his baffled look which he must have been faking. surely he knows how highly thought of and respected he is throughout the whole school. he is in the big three, for fucks’ sake! “there is probably a better word to describe it, but you are one of the most badass people i know.”

“badass?” it was as if all he was capable of doing was repeating these words to you with an innocent yet confused gaze.

“yes!” you enthused, “so, is there anything you even have to be embarrassed about?”

“i do!” he almost whined, and without thinking, he stormed to his bedroom only to grab the sweater he cast aside earlier to show it to you, “look! an octopus sweater, isn’t this embarrassing?”

you deadpanned, unsure as to whether he was joking or not. “stimming is very different from a octopus sweater but go on.” however after a few moments of actually analysing the design on the article of clothing, you exclaimed, “oi, i have that exact same sweater! how is a cute little octopus embarrassing? plus, it would be extra cute on you because you have tentacles.”

in a moment of frustration and wanting to prove a point, he threw the sweater aside and began to sheepishly grab at the ends of his sleeves, “well, you know what’s even more embarrassing? having a crush on someone for three whole years and not having the balls to ask them out! and on top of that, being to nervous to return my crush’s stuff after you left it at my house.”

you weren’t sure if he meant to switch out ‘my crush’ with ‘you’ on purpose or if he was just confused. either way, you found yourself leaning in to wrap the poor boy in an overdue embrace, smiling against his chest as he hugged back. “that was..” you faltered, allowing tamaki to interject with “mortifying” but you were quick to correct him, “i think that was a very unique way to confess, and i'm just glad you did.”

your chuckle that followed was left to echo around the room as tamaki stood still and silent, simply enjoying the comfort in your arms as feeling the pleasure of time escape him. until eventually he whispered close to your ear, “so since i know more about embarrassment than you thought, will you take my advice now?”

you snickered, gently tracing shapes onto his back, “i was going to take your advice either way because if i don’t get good grades and remain in the support course, how will i graduate with you?”

“good point.” he hummed, not-so silently enjoying the relaxing sensations near his spine, “but we are not wearing matching octopus hats.”

how did manage to shoot down your idea before you even proposed it?

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twelve

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: this took so long bc ive been reading chain of iron and in general agonizing over things i cant control instead of being productive 🥴 that being said, absolutely none of the events in this chapter were planned in my outline, but here we are with something new!

***

December brings more snow and bone chilling weather, to the point where Cassian has to drag Nesta out of bed, either physically or by phone call, to get her to therapy appointments on time. 

She’s in the waiting room one freezing morning when, in her utter boredom, she musters up the nerve to turn to the girl sitting next to her. “What are you in here for?”

The girl blinks her large blue eyes, taking notice of Nesta for the first time. Nesta uses the opportunity to take in her freckle-painted face, a little wan but beautiful. Reddish brown hair hangs around her face and shoulders, creating a thick curtain from the rest of the world, and Nesta’s curiosity piques like she’s just found a shiny new toy.

It probably isn’t right to compare people to toys, but then the girl says, “This isn’t prison, you know.” Her voice is deep, almost sultry— completely at odds from her huddled-in posture and sickened expression. “I didn’t commit a crime to have to be here.”

Is she insulted by Nesta’s question, or is she poking a joke? Nesta decides to play it safe by murmuring, “Sorry, never mind.”

She starts to turn away when the girl says, “We’re trying a new type of trauma therapy today. I had to get here half an hour early because I couldn’t swallow my nerves.”

Nesta might lack many social skills, but she isn’t stupid enough to ask what kind of trauma the girl is being treated for. Instead, she nods casually as if she understands the struggle. “I’ve been coming here for weeks now and I’ve barely discussed shit. That’s mostly on me, but you know…” She actually doesn’t know where she’s going with her train of thought. “It sounds brave to do whatever you're doing,” she states finally. “I don’t think I’ll be able to open up that much about myself, ever.” 

The girl gives Nesta a weird look that she immediately recognizes. Nesta uses it every time she doesn’t know how to respond to someone who takes her by surprise.

The door to Lana’s office clicks open, and the woman herself pokes her head out with a plain smile. “Ready, Nesta?”

Nesta bites down on her frown. She has a feeling today won’t be as easy as her past sessions.

She’s about to leave without another glance at the girl beside her when that low voice speaks up. “I’m Gwyn.”

Nesta looks back at her as she gets up from her chair, and says the first reply that comes to mind: “Good to know.”

***

Nesta is contemplative hours after she gets back from her therapy session, bundled up in her bed with a coloring book. The repetitive motion of filling in the mandala drawing lets her mind wander, picking up and dropping different thoughts like she’s inspecting stones. 

She keeps her wrist light as she colors in with red. She finally said Tomas’s name in therapy today, though the action left a slimy feeling in Nesta’s stomach that lingers even now. She also spoke about her sisters, which somehow ended up leading to a discussion of her uterus. 

“How have you been dealing with the endometriosis news?”

Nesta shrugged. “I’m getting treated, and my last period was more bearable than usual—”

“I mean mentally, how are you doing? With how your condition could affect your future?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Affect me how?”

“Have you never considered the impact it could have on your ability to bear children?”

“Not everything in life is about bearing children, you know.”

“We’re humans. It’s definitely something to consider.”

“Not for me. I’ve never wanted kids.” A mistruth at best. “I don’t care what endo does or doesn’t do to me on those grounds.”

In a way, Nesta told herself, the health risks were actually for the best. If she ever did, by some stupid loss of sanity, try to have children, then her body would act as a safety net from her decisions.

Lana only said, “You’ll never know how much you care or don’t care until you talk out your feelings.”

“Then I guess we’ll never know.”

Nesta lets the memory of that conversation drop like a stone on a shore. That’s not something she has to face for a good long while. No, right now she has to face her past. 

Her sisters, and her ex, and even her father— 

I wonder if I came off too strong with Gwyn today. 

Her hand stops drawing, and she switches out her red marker for an orange one. This thought she doesn’t mind inspecting for a little longer: she and Gwyn ended up leaving their sessions at the same time, which meant they were forced into stilted conversation on the way down to the parking lot. 

Not forced, Nesta self-corrects. She willingly initiated a conversation, and it didn’t go terribly. She wonders if making friends in therapy waiting rooms is a real thing.

Her phone vibrates beside her, breaking her hours-long mental bubble. Blinking dazedly, she answers the phone call.

“How are you?” is the first thing Cassian says to her. He makes sure to ask her that at least twice a day, like a gauging of her temperature. It makes Nesta wonder what she’s ever done in her life to call for such… attention to her well-being. 

“I’m good,” she answers honestly. “My head’s a little loud right now, but I don’t mind it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’d rather hear you talk.” She slumps back against her pillows, coloring book forgotten. “What’s up?”

“Ah...” Cassian sounds hesitant for the first time since their relationship started. “It’s just that I haven’t gotten my Christmas decorations up yet, and I was going to ask if you wanted to help.”

Nesta takes a moment to absorb his words. “It’s December fifth,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You just seem like somebody who does their decorations the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Well, this year is a little different, with you moving out and being busy with school…” He pauses. “I was waiting to do it with you.”

When she doesn’t reply, Cassian adds, “I don’t even know if you care about Christmas. I know you and your family sort of ignored holidays. It’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll be over right now,” Nesta blurts. 

Half an hour later, Cassian swings open his door with a smug grin on his face; a vast difference from the stammering hesitance he displayed over the phone earlier. Nesta’s own lips want to pull up into a smile just at the sight of him, but she holds back and narrows her eyes instead. “What’s got you so worked up?” she questions as she steps into the warmth of the cabin and out of the freezing cold.

“The way you ran over here as soon as I asked.” He looks her up and down, still amused. “You didn’t even bother to change, did you?”

It’s true: she’s in the same sweatpants and long sleeved tee she wore around home, and her socked feet are shoved into slippers. 

“Get that smirk off your face.” Nesta flicks his nose before tossing her coat off. “If this is a competition about who’s got a bigger puppy-crush for whom, you already won when you delayed putting up your Christmas decorations for me.”

“Fair enough,” he grins. The words send an unexpected pang through Nesta, because it’s partly true, isn’t it? He cares more openly for her than she does for him. 

She looks away in guilt, not knowing how to fix the imbalance. Her eyes land on the living room coffee table, where their half-finished jigsaw puzzle sits. It’s been stored under the couch for the past few weeks, forgotten by Nesta and Cassian alike as they moved on with their lives, but now it’s sitting out again.

“Have you been working on the puzzle without me?” She raises an inquisitive brow, about to feel— hurt.

“Never,” Cassian promises, saving her from that irrational hurt. “I just brought it out because I figured we should get to finishing it one day.”

She pads over to the table, picking up a puzzle piece and turning it over in her hand. “I don’t know if you remember, but we had a terrible time working on this,” she scoffs lightly.

“Oh, I remember,” he says, coming up behind her and stealing the piece from her grasp. “I think it’s safe to say those evenings were the worst fights we’ll ever have together.”

Nesta leans back against Cassian’s chest and hums. “It made us a stronger couple, don’t you think?” She turns her head up and back to meet Cassian’s eyes, finding that he’s already looking down at her.

Hypnotized, she leans into his warmth. She only manages to land the smallest kiss against his lips when his hand squeezes her ass cheek. “You’re here for a job, remember?” He taps her butt before pulling away, gesturing to the Christmas tree in the corner of the living area with his chin. It stands bare. “You do tinsel, I’ll do lights.”

Tinsel is harder to work with than Nesta remembers. She only manages to get half the tree done before plopping onto the Persian rug, exhausted and covered in silvery material. She doesn’t mind laying there while Cassian continues working; it’s her revenge for when he napped on her bed while she moved in.

“You know the stair railings still need to be wreathed, Archeron.”

Nesta declines to respond, tilting her head on the carpet for a better view of her boyfriend’s ass instead. “All this decorating,” she starts. “Is it just for you?”

Cassian turns to her, surprised. “Well…”

She pushes up onto her elbows, catching her mistake. “Are we doing Christmas together? Or are your friends coming over?” She hasn’t bothered to celebrate Christmas in years now, and she doesn’t care much what Cassian’s plans are either way.

“I was hoping for both?” He sounds hesitant. “Christmas Eve is all the way over in Velaris, but I was thinking we could go together, open some presents, and come back and spend Christmas here.”

Nesta purses her lips. She doesn’t actually hate that plan. Both Feyre and Elain have been pestering her with the annual texts asking her to visit for Christmas, and for once, she feels like responding to them. The invitation is more of a formality than an actual request at this point; she doubts her sisters want her there after years of rejections, but… what’s the harm?

“Is that a yes?” Cassian asks at her unreadable face.

“Yes,” she states unflinchingly. She refuses to overthink the possible consequences of this choice and chooses to focus on the broad grin overtaking Cassian’s face. “Really?” he says.

“But there has to be rules.” Nesta sits up fully now. “No one can know we’re together, no matter how much you trust or love them.”

“We already agreed to that, baby.”

Yes, but Nesta knows the secret weighs on him heavier than he shows— even if he agrees with her that it's for the best. “It’ll be different when we’re together in the same room as everyone else,” she says. Cassian wears his beating heart on his sleeve, and she doesn’t think he’s ever had to hide it before.

“You’ll also be different,” she adds. “It’s a huge change of pace.”

Cassian drops the remaining strand of lights and smiles confusedly down at her. “What do you mean, I’ll be different?” He sits across from her, before the blazing fire. 

“You know how you get around your friends.” Nesta shrugs without a thought. “Like your personality readjusts to mirror the people around you. I used to find it a mix of sad and adorable, like a neglected puppy desperate for love, but now I— okay, I still feel the same way.” She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture.

By the look on Cassian’s face, he does not find her words so easily dismissed. 

Coldness curdles in the pit of Nesta’s stomach, the realization that she’s said something wrong. She can’t fix it until she knows where she fucked up, though.

“Is that what you think of me?” Cassian finally says lowly. His usually expressive mouth is drawn tight and narrow. 

“Um… What would you rather I think of you?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Seriously, Nesta?”

Nesta’s back stiffens, refusing to cower. “I only described what I’ve observed in the past.”

“And what you observed was a desperate puppy?” His voice is cold in a way she’s never heard before.

Okay, she’s starting to see how that might be offensive. She forges onward, “Tell me what you think about yourself in the presence of your family, then.” It’s a private victory that she says family instead of clown circus. But she’s not trying to turn this into a fight.

Cassian is silent, but his stare continues to rage at her.

“Tell me,” Nesta repeats.

His hands curl into fists on the rug. “I think I’m empathetic, easy to talk to, and easier to be around. Is it a problem if I’m likable?” Unlike you are the unsaid words.

Nesta inspects the space between them like it’s a chessboard. “And what part of yourself are you giving up to be so likable, Cassian?” she says quietly.

“Nothing.”

Nesta disagrees, if only because she’s been watching him out of the corner of her eye for years. “I think you base your personality off of those you love, and you lose a little bit of your true self every time you put others’ needs before your own.” 

She shuts her mouth, not having expected such honesty to come out of it. Cassian is taken aback, too, she can tell.

“And I guess it’s natural that you’d see all of that as a bad thing, considering your history of being closed off and self-serving to a fault,” he fires back with the flatness Nesta utilizes so often.

One for one. Fair enough. “We’re both right then,” Nesta says. “You work for your best friend because you have no ambition beyond serving your family, and I have no such family because I can’t bring myself to care about those things. Are we even now?”

Cassian furrows his brows, those defensive walls melting away as he realizes she’s completely serious. “What? No, Nes—” He shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe you’re right about me. Maybe I agree with you a little bit, but… If we see flaws in each other, then we should be working to overcome them instead of weaponizing them.”

Now Nesta’s the one shaking her head, quickly lifting a hand to stop him. “Relax there, sweetheart. I have no expectations from you or myself to go on some self-improvement journey now that we’re together. Talking about my feelings with a professional every week is hard enough.” Yes, agreeing to go to Feyre’s Christmas party is improvement. Slow, barely there improvement, but enough to wear her out for the rest of the month. For Nesta to fully let people into her life, to treat them as lovingly as she treats Cassian— that’s a long way away. She can’t envision it, doesn’t even know if she wants it.

Cassian must understand some of what she’s thinking, because he nods and backs off. He gets back up and returns to stringing lights, tossing a handful of tinsel at Nesta as if to say Get back to work. 

She stands and obeys, thinking their not-argument is officially over when Cassian says, “You’re wrong about one thing.”

She looks up from where she threads tinsel through fir leaves. He doesn’t take his eyes off his work as he says, “You do have a family. And deep, deep down, you care about them as much as I care about mine.”

***

Nesta catches Emerie’s eye as the dark-haired beauty walks into the pub. Raising a hand and waving, she gestures Emerie over to the booth she’s sitting in. 

“Look what I found,” Nesta says with a hint of pride, pointing to the redhead sitting beside her. “A third girl for girl’s night!”

“I was kidnapped,” Gwyn speaks up. “Jumped on the way to my car.” She’s out of her usual hoodie and in a tight-fitting blouse, looking stunning even while seeming out of place in the dim bar.

“She came here consensually,” Nesta retorts. “Emerie, this is Gwyn. We met at therapy.”

Gwyn offers Emerie an awkward smile.

Emerie slides into the booth across from them with raised brows. She looks between Nesta and the new girl and back again. “You invited her here? All by yourself?” she asks.

Nesta nods firmly.

Emerie breaks into a wide grin and reaches over the table to grab Nesta’s hand. “I’m so proud of you!” If Emerie were anyone else, she’d be squealing in excitement, but Emerie does not squeal.

Nesta waves off her friend’s praise, though a part of her wants to beam at it, too.

Gwyn glances between the two of them with slight amusement. “I mean, it’s not that impressive,” she says. “She came on a bit too strong, probably a five out of ten on the asking-someone-out scale.”

“‘A bit too strong’ is all you’re gonna get with Nesta,” Emerie says, lifting her hand to order drinks. “She’s all-or-nothing, and most people would pray she doesn’t give them her nothing.”

Nesta doesn’t know if that’s a compliment, but she supposes there are worse things that could be said about her.

“So, Gwyn, what do you do?” Emerie leans forward. “All our friends are law students and it’s starting to get boring.”

Gwyn goes off about her librarian job as Nesta orders their drinks, and Emerie rests her chin in her hand and listens eagerly. Christmas music plays softly in the background and snow flurries gently outside. Nesta thinks she can’t be doing that bad in life, if she’s managed to carve out this little slice of happiness for herself.

***

a/n: i promise shit actually happens next chapter! we're getting christmas with nessian and the ic in the same room for the first time

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