#cdhurricane

[cdhurricane]

Some sketches to illustration I had in mind from a long, long time...

[icy-warden]

Homesickness

for @cdhurricane​ 💙 a late birthday gift ✨

Rating: Teen Pairing: Frey Mahariel x Zevran Arainai Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Angst and Feels; References to Depression

Read on AO3

The camp is quiet.

There are people going about their evening routine and they aren’t exactly very quiet. But for him it’s not as loud as what he’s used to. 

Still is used to. 

Noises, smells and feel of their small camp are completely different.

Here, he’s alone.

Frey’s brows furrow at the thought, hands pausing in their task. Skinning rabbits for tonight's dinner. Earlier, he went into the forest to hunt and get the feel of the place for one last time before they left Brecilian for good. Who knows when he’ll have the chance to step into the forest again. 

If there’ll be a place to come back to. 

If he’ll even be alive to do that.

There’s no going back, one way or the other. And he knows it. He knows it but he can’t accept it. Still can’t, won’t accept it.

He bites the inside of his cheek long enough until the tightness in his throat passes and resumes the work of the knife in his hand. Cut apart the skin from meat, then from bones. There’s almost no fat. Neatly slice the meat in long strips. Rinse it in water until the blood isn’t there anymore. Dry it, add some herbs, and put it into a pot over the fire. Wait. His pouch with herbs is getting lighter by the day. Special blend, picked in the forest. His cooking won’t taste the same when he runs out of it.

Another small thing that adds to his silent misery. Because he’ll miss it like he misses that distinct air and noises of the clan. 

No one bothers him when he sits alone by the fire, curled over with his knees up, chin on crossed arms. He’s glad. He needs a moment to think.

Last week felt like a fever dream. 

Mad dash through the forest so full of magic his skin itched with it. Stepping into a Dalish camp, the only thing that brightened his mood even for a little while. Meeting creatures that he only heard about in passing stories. Stumbling upon a curse. Finding a way to the lair of werewolves through levels of ancient ruins full of animated corpses and spirits. Sentient and talking werewolves. Lady of the Forest and Zathrian. 

Frey presses his forehead over his arm, breathing slowly through his mouth. 

Zathrian. 

He felt his pain when the Keeper talked about the origins of the curse. He felt his anger, an old wound that never really closes over to turn into a scar. Zathrian hadn’t let go of his sorrow of lives lost and he wonders if this was what kept him alive for so long. Because the Keeper was old, very old. And Frey knows that what he did was right, that ending the curse with Zathrian’s life intertwined with the spirit he once summoned in his grief was the wise solution.

But he forced it.

He forced the Keeper to give up on his revenge. For the good of his people. For the clan. For their future.

But why does it feel like he killed any bright future they had?

The Keeper is the clan's heart and he had a hand in demanding a sacrifice of life. It was right but why does it feel wrong? 

Zathrian’s First is eager but so young.

No, not the First anymore. 

Lanaya became the Keeper the moment Zathrian’s life ended. Still, it is a bitter thought. To lead a clan when being inexperienced with the position could be a disaster. He hopes it won’t.

He didn't notice when Zevran sat beside him. Humming quietly under his breath as he stirs bubbling stew so it doesn’t stick to the pot’s bottom.

“You seemed far away.”

Frey’s aware of the opening without Zevran asking him straight about his thoughts. He can easily change the subject if he wishes so. Or say what’s on his mind. He chooses something in between.

“I wish for Keeper Marethari’s wisdom. She’d know what to do.”

“Your clan leader?” 

Frey nods. 

“Is she like the one we had a pleasure to meet?” 

The curiosity in Zevran’s voice makes him look at him properly. He hasn’t talked much about his Keeper or the clan. That Zevran wants to know more about him, even if tentative about his words, uncoils the tightness in his chest.

So, slowly he starts to tell him about his Keeper. Former Keeper, his mind oh so helpfully supplies, but he ignores the bitter pang of longing and focuses on other details. He’s speaking quietly enough that Zevran shifts to sit closer to him, their arms almost brushing while they breathe. 

Frey tells him a story about one harsh winter, when the food was scarce, people weakened by the cold and illness and how Marethari’s leadership and magic kept them from losing more than they would lose if not for her decisions. He respects her and it must be clear to Zevran with how he speaks about her. 

But Frey doesn't tell him the most recent miracle she performed, how she saved his life from the Blight, how she fought for him when he wanted the pain to just end. Not now, he can’t tell him about it now. Not when it’s still fresh, months later. The flesh wounds can scar over but the one in his heart is still bleeding and the memory of his friend, his vhenan lost, abandoned, is just too much. So he keeps silent about that, masking the sudden sorrow with another little story, just to keep himself away from thinking.

If Zevran notices the wistfulness that keeps sneaking into his voice when Frey talks about his past life, he doesn’t say anything.

Meanwhile, the stew is ready and the camp’s alive with voices when the party gathers around the fire to eat. 

He listens to them talking, Zevran a warm presence at his side when he joins the conversation. Frey sees how Alistair keeps sneaking the pieces of carrot bread to the dog and grins at him sheepishly when he notices Frey watching. Leliana’s gentle lilt mixes with Morrigan’s sharper voice and it’s a background noise he’s used to by now. He stares at the fire, spoon scraping at the remains of his meal in the bowl.

Closing his eyes briefly he lets himself be lulled by the atmosphere - warmth of the fire and body next to him, smells of the food long gone, sounds of his companions.

It isn’t the same as what he’d known all his life. It’s different. But it isn’t as bad as the silence of his own mind that he sometimes finds himself in.

He still isn’t sure what he should do with different. 

There’s no other way for him but forward. Different must do. Though, maybe he’s not as alone as he had thought.

[apocryphacomics]

Anathema - #1 Cover Reveal

As discussed in the previous post, the cover illustration of Anathema #1 is by the amazing @cdhurricane​!

Without further ado, here’s the jaw-dropping piece by this amazing friend:

Anathema #1 will be released on D4 Day!

And a reminder of the ongoing giveaway! Check this post to learn more and participate!

[valerie-royeaux]

The wonderful gift from @cdhurricane arrived!!! With a wonderful surprise of real, tangible, handmade art for my wife @bloodmagespectre! I am speechless! Thank you so, so, so, so, so much my dear fried!!! Really, thank you so much!!!

[buttsonthebeach]

The Chase

Hi @cdhurricane!! I am so excited to show you the Christmas present @smuttine commissioned for you! She showed me this gorgeous art of Bohran and Frey, and I simply couldn’t resist. I hope you enjoy <3

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions

Pairing: Frey x Bohran

Rated: Teen for smooches

The light filtering down from the world above the waves cast lovely shadows on the pattern of Frey's long pointed fin, Bohran thought. Frey was simply winding his way through the kelp forest below him. Each stroke of his muscled, tattooed arms was long, smooth, and relaxed. Bohran had to do something about that, didn’t he? He had to liven up the other assassin’s day somehow.

Bohran dove down, reveling in the feeling of the water slipping over his own fins - the rightness of being in the sea on a warm day. The kelp streamed past him as he dove down, below where Frey swam. Then he settled in, and waited. He knew the glimmering phosphorescence of his body would draw the other man's attention eventually, and sure enough, it did. As Frey executed a slow roll of his body, his gaze drifted down, and his eyes met Bohran's, and a smile glimmered across his handsome face. Bohran knew that the same smile was on his own lips. A shared acknowledgement of the game that was about to begin.

Frey dove, and Bohran darted away, seeking another refuge among the sleek fish and waving kelp. Frey frowned, searching, and then caught sight of Bohran again, and the wicked smile returned, as he dove more quickly after Bohran. Bohran got away again, diving further, deeper, towards the pink and orange and green coral below. Frey followed each time, and each time Bohran's heart sped up. Soon they were really gathering speed, churning the water in their wake, scattering frightened fish. They twirled around each other, circling but not touching, bubbles swirling in their wake, tickling their skin. Bohran admired the elegance of Frey's long fin, the way his whole body undulated as he swam. He admired his strength when the other man finally caught and held him, his arms tight around Bohran’s waist.

Tease, Frey's expression said.

You know you like it, Bohran's smile said in return. He rubbed his cheek against Frey's, and then slipped from his grasp.

This time the chase built in speed and intensity, until they were both going full tilt - swimming as fast and as hard as they could, leaving the forest of kelp and heading for open water and all the freedom it promised. Bohran spread his wings and undid the tie that held back his long white hair. That made it a little harder for Frey to see him. Both could be used to obscure and confuse, to heighten the excitement of the chase. Frey snatched at the pearlescent strands of Bohran’s hair, grazed the tips of his wings, but he could never quite grasp him. When Bohran glanced back through the waving, curling strands of his hair, he saw that Frey was both annoyed and amused. Bohran swam faster, and Frey followed, and Bohran revelled in the feelings coursing through his blood. They were free - gloriously free, gloriously alive, gloriously together. No care for anything except sun, surf, and each other.

Bohran turned back to the kelp forest when he started to tire, and Frey followed. Bohran still had enough playfulness to evade him just a little while longer; he swam upright in the water, lazily moving backwards as Frey moved towards him. Then Frey's arms were warm and tight around him.

Caught you, his smug, triumphant smile said.

I am glad to be caught, Bohran's said in return with his slow, catlike grin.

Their tails curled around each other, soft and sleek, and they hung there, suspended in the water. Then they kissed - a kiss as full of passion and curiosity and play as their chase had been. Frey nipped Bohran's lips, darted his tongue past them, held their bodies close as they could get. Bohran's quiet moan traveled through the water, a shivery and echoing sound, as he kissed him back. Their lips parted and rejoined, parted and rejoined. Warmth blossomed in Bohran's stomach and traveled along each of his fins. He wanted this man in every way he could have him.

Eventually, they came back up to the surface, because there it was easiest to laugh without a care.

“Did you really think you could get away from me?” Frey asked, splashing Bohran.

“Did you really think I was trying?” Bohran returned with a splash of his own.

“You're impossible.”

“You love me anyway.”

Frey's answer was to kiss him again. Harder than before, more demanding. He tangled his fingers in Bohran's long white hair and he kissed and kissed and kissed him. Their lips were salty from the sea but their smiles were wide when they parted. The world was theirs to explore together. Bohran wouldn't have it any other way.

[pestopascal]

otherworldly, never-ending

“Elfsblood River.” At the voice, Adrius looks up in confusion. Cassandra looks remarkably awkward, then, shifting from foot to foot. “The Orlesians are far from subtle.”

Part of my trade with the absolutely amazing @cdhurricane! 

Adrius is always so great to work with. And writing out the first steps into the Emprise du Lion? So good.

In one simple, misunderstood word, Adrius would think of the snowfields as breathtaking.

Described in such a way, as they cannot seem to pick up their feet high enough to wade through snow. Conversely used, when they reach the forward camp, and from the peak at where he stands, Adrius can see the spread of a frozen lake, trees caught in time, before him. Of course he had seen snow before, such as the lighter, fluffier stuff in Haven only months before. 

But there was something different, with how the Emprise du Lion seemed to lay before him. No, not  in the way red lyrium jutted out, bleeding red over pure white, no matter what Dorian would argue. Adrius could say, with a certain amount of confidence, that the snow seemed otherworldly. Sparkling, even with the sun gone for another day.

Like there was something wound beneath the ground, as they settle in the camp for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time to consider that veins of lyrium were not six feet below them, making for a show. Or even that the rifts created some phenomenon that others could not quite realise. Whilst he was not blessed with magic, Adrius could feel the thrum of it in his arm, where the mark lay. But here? Amongst the snow and the cold and the fallen towns? His anchor was positively alive.

Idle curiosity has him shove his entire arm into one particular lump of snow, just outside his tent. It melts upon contact. Fascinating.

Sleep does not greet Adrius for some time, as the wind picks up, as soldiers march. From what he picks up from the voices outside, their arrival had not gone unnoticed, scouts seen along the path. Dorian sniffs in his sleep, rolling over. Adrius soon forgets about the soldiers trudging through snow, as he follows Dorian with a smile, curled up against his back. Warmer there, and the cold just disappears into an idle thought. 

When dawn breaks, Adrius is up, ready, hands raised to cover his eyes. Incredible, the first word that passes through his mind, as he’s suddenly hyper aware of heat. Sun reflecting off the snow, throwing light where it wasn’t necessarily needed, and the soldiers were sweating. Not a cloud in the sky to break the incessant pressing. 

Almost like the Breach was just another figment of his imagination, as Adrius couldn’t quite see it. Too much light, burning his eyes, his skin. Where they were, there was no true cover, ruins of abandoned towns giving little break. In Haven, the sun hadn’t quite touched the land like this, and they had been high in the mountains. Perhaps, that was just Ferelden as a whole, where the clouds offered protection. Adrius hadn’t realised how much he missed Ferelden, until he stumbled down the path laid out before them. 

Sticking to trees and shadows, their way forward was slow and careful. Eyes scan the skies, looking for something, anything, that would suggest breaking the incessant sun. He’s almost tempted to ask if magic would be enough to change the weather, but has to catch himself. That would’ve likely only inflamed the situation, in all likelihood. Dorian was none too pleased with the weather, likening it to a summer in Qarinus, whatever that meant. 

Eventually, they reach the great frozen lake. Glitters in the sunlight; oddly enchanting. Adrius doesn’t deny himself a chance to crouch by the edge, reach forward, fingers brushing along the ice. There’s cracks threaded through layers, and he swears he sees something beneath the surface, that flashes and disappears. But it continues to dance, just out of sight. A trick of the light, having him try to keep up.

“Elfsblood River.” At the voice, Adrius looks up in confusion. Cassandra looks remarkably awkward, then, shifting from foot to foot. “The Orlesians are far from subtle.”

Adrius sniffs, rubbing a hand under his nose. “This is the Dales, too. Perhaps they had a warped sense of humour.” His comment didn’t seem to ease Cassandra by much, but she nodded regardless. And he wasn’t wrong, truthfully. After spending weeks trudging through the Emerald Graves, Adrius had long come to expect something twisted underneath what looked like perfectly safe ruins.

Such as a tower, in the middle of a frozen lake, sitting haphazardly in snow. The sun doesn’t shine, when Adrius takes the first step forward over the ice. As if he should expect something. Eyes carefully level the tower, trying to see what it held. Until,

“There,” he says, pointing just right, where the air shimmered. A shame the locals had forgone mentioning the presence of demons so close. Adrius could forgive such a critical lack of information when considering the resident Red Templars, of course. Removing the rift would at least allow for Sahrnia to not be strung up for some time.

Behind him, he can hear grumbling. Complaints. The tender sounds of feet on ice, trying to keep balance, to not fall face first. Around the tower was the smallest amount of land, and Adrius waves Cassandra and Dorian over. Cole, for his part, hovered ever closer. There’s only a passing thought, as Adrius raises his hand towards the rift. 

Could spirits slip on ice, with their newfound corporeal forms? 

When the rift throws itself open, howling screams in the dead of the lake, it was a habit by this point. Arrows released, hand held towards the sky, a few shouts about watch your left or right flank, that disappear with the demons’ screeching. Long nails claw at the ice below their feet, vivid green crawls across the crystal blue surface. Adrius doesn’t have time to linger on the differences between that world and this one, as another arrow catches a despair demon in the forehead, quelling it with a lingering whine that rattles in his head. Louder than usual. 

There was no red lyrium this far from the Keep. It grew towards the sky, haphazard and dangerous, on the trail they did not take. Only in the pass they settled, along Elfsblood River, did it seem the corruption didn’t quite reach. But Adrius was not above considering the possibilities, as the rift takes a fraction longer to close than usual. Almost like it was fighting back, wanting to stay, to continue to spill over the frozen river long until summer broke. Sad that wasn’t feasible to even consider, Adrius thinks with a passing twitch in his nose. Sneezes, despite himself. 

It’s the trek back along the ice that was more sure, more certain, with their feet following one after another. Once they had cased the Tower, settled pleasantly in the middle, in which they found nothing of note, Adrius ushered them back. With the rift gone, unsettling silence had fallen over them. Not even their shoes crunched on the ice, the snow. Adrius breathes deeply through his mouth, clouds of white threatening to interrupt his vision. Was there to be another attack? They could handle it, surely. 

Just a patrol, only slightly more startled to stumble upon his merry little band. As if it had been only them, in the great expanse of white. Adrius understood the feeling, as they try to keep a conversation going, to fill the droning silence. The rest of the way back to the camp was awkward laughter, slight agreements, and a simple wonder when Adrius realised something. 

It had already started to turn. As if the sun had simply had enough, running away until tomorrow. Blinking up at the sky, he could scarcely believe it. Incredible to compare to the Hissing Wastes, which had seemed to never quite see sun, and the Western Approach, which was bathed in the dullest of light. Even Crestwood, once they had ended the storm, was still cloudy, overcast. And the Mire, sunk so far that nothing seemed to touch. Or better yet, the Graves, so thoroughly covered in green, it was hard to believe that life managed to thrive.

Adrius couldn’t remember seeing the weather turn, the way it did just now. He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye. No longer did his skin burn, or did the reflection along the snow have him cower. Everything had turned… blue. For lack of a better word. As he blinks, once, twice, there is no longer just the thick blankets of white snow. Everything was tinged, from the sky to the trees — to the buildings, as Sahrnia approached — just that subtle shade of blue.

He doesn’t point it out to Dorian, not yet. Just drops to a crouch, fingers wavering over one particular pile, that had been pushed away to make room for another tent. The anchor doesn’t melt the snow, not quite, but where the magic in his hand thrums, breathes, it’s like the world sings back. Blue, green, yellow, back to green, back to blue. Adrius watches as the colour changes when he wiggles his fingers, oddly fascinated. 

Only then does he notice the shadow, just to his left. “Dorian,” he greets, not needing to look up to tell who it was. Even in his shadow, was Dorian’s hair perfectly angled. As if they had not trekked through snow, over ice, nor fought demons with their backs against a tower. Adrius was always impressed by such willpower Dorian could extend towards his outward appearance remaining intact.

Dorian must have seen the changing colour, with how he too drops to a crouch. Fingers tender, careful, as they turn Adrius’ hand over in his own. Where his mark throbbed, on any other sort of day, Adrius was not above saying how he could not focus on such a thing, when Dorian simply held him like this. The anchor just faded into some part of his mind, and Adrius levelled Dorian with a warm gaze. 

“I’m fine,” he says, trying for reassuring. Actually, it was the best he had felt in a while. Perhaps the mysticism of the Emprise du Lion was keeping everything at bay. “It doesn’t hurt.”

There’s a twinge in Dorian’s cheek, that tells Adrius he wasn’t convinced. “But you’re reacting to the area?” Ends in a question, open and inviting. As if Adrius wouldn’t talk to him about every little thing later. There’s a book, that Adrius knows all too well, small and quite easily overlooked, tucked inside Dorian’s pouch. From the look on Dorian’s face, he wished to pull it out, write down whatever he was thinking.

“Vhenan,” Adrius whispers, just the two of them, no one else. Just them, the snow, his hand on Dorian’s cheek. “I am fine.” And, as if to prove a point, Adrius does not break eye contact, not once, as he nooks an arrow, fires through the trees. Only when Dorian looks away first, to see a neat end for one particularly low hanging flower, crystallised and glinting despite itself, does he sigh.

Stands, hand extended towards Adrius, pulling him up with ease. “Tell me if something changes. Please.” Afterthought. So many afterthoughts. Adrius smiles quietly, nods his agreement away. Kicks up powdered snow when the continue their walk. 

Only when he’s away from the camp once more, not so far that he would be an easy target, but enough for some privacy, does Adrius pull his glove off his hand once more. His anchor seems to almost breathe, the vicious green extending between his fingers. Stretching, reaching. Adrius would not say it was alive, not entirely. There was no pain, not this time anyway, but that doesn’t stop him from dragging a finger along the outline, from trying to take hold of the ends of the light. 

He lands in the snow with an oof, distracted now. Overlooking the other end of the river, with the tower hidden behind the trees. Still so quiet, clean, as if not a few hours earlier, had a great rift sat in the middle of the water. Adrius lies back, hand raised towards the sky. The snow was warm, strangely so, like a comforting blanket on a frosty night. Holding his hand higher, until his anchor and the Breach were side by side. What have you done to me? he asks it.

Silence was his only answer.

[acaranna]

1 and 9 for End of the year Asks :)

Hey Sweetheart! Thank you for being curious!

1. Song of the year?- Answered here!

9. Best month for you this year?- What is it with you lovelies asking the hard questions? Best month of the year for me in ‘18 - certainly not August and such because way too hot to be anything but a puddle on the floor. (Even if you saved it with your gorgeous, gorgeous birthday present. I’m still over the moon for that one.) Hmmm, maybe December. I finally figured out why I do have such a hard time connecting to the characters I created in the tabletop groups I have with my friends. (Not D&D - that’s a whole other chapter but still somewhat connected.) I also had my very first D&D session as a DM and the best thing was the answer from one friend: “God damnit, now they have expectations for my next session!” I laughed so hard. We plan to alternate sessions, that way I get to play my campaign. Something I’m really, really happy about. So yeah, December it is.

End of the year Asks

[mappsiedoodles]

A chibi!Frey for @cdhurricane ^_^

[bloodofzeus]

How awesome is this Seraphim fan art by @cdhurricane Love it! #bloodofzeus #teamseraphim https://www.instagram.com/p/CQsLOi_De17/?utm_medium=tumblr

[mapplestrudel]

A while back I felt a bit down, and in an attempt to counteract, I decided to indulge myself with something good and fluffy and uplifting, something to wistfully stare and smile at, something like… a Romantic Portrait Commission from @galadrieljones! ^_^

So here’s my girl Ruth with her big boy Jim, in the process of preparing some Shepard’s Pie and I just love how happy, close and cuddly they are.... just look at their smiiiiiiiiles 🥰😭💕💕💕💕😭🥰🥰🥰🥰

Thank you so, so much, Gala!

(Tagging some people who might be interested: @princess-underthemountain @john-cousland @cdhurricane @soerdinan)

[cdhurricane]

I'm so weak for mythology and I couldn't miss the opportunity to take part in @sigeel 's Punderworld DTIYS challenge ^^

[icy-warden]

Whispers

For @cdhurricane °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° [read on ao3]

It’s late when they stumble upon the village on the outskirts of Brecilian. Zevran didn’t want to hear about camping in the wilds third night in a row and pushed for a place with a roof over their heads. The tiny tavern is as clean as Ferelden standards go - old wood that by some miracle still holds the beams and walls that years ago were probably white. It’s hard to say with so little light in the room, but for them the lack of candles isn’t really a problem. They can see just fine, contrary to the people inside that squint at them. Few lone patrons stare at them from their tables, conversations hushing.

Zevran saunters straight to the counter, relaxed smile on his lips. He trusts Frey to have his back as he nonchalantly leans on both elbows over the bar top. The one at the counter eyes them suspiciously and he can see what she’s thinking as she spots the tip of Zevran’s ear poking from his hair. The way her face closes off is rather telling. Some things never change. He holds in a weary sigh.

“Good evening, are you the owner of this fine establishment? We’d like to rent a room.”

The woman’s eyebrows furrow at Zevran’s pleasant tone, like she isn’t sure if she was just insulted while flattered. She glances at him down her nose.

“Owners are asleep.”

She skims her eyes over Frey’s face when he lets his hood fall down from his head. Looks away as soon as she sees the lines of his vallaslin, her fingers tightening on the rag she’s holding. He senses others' attention on them spiking and he shifts his stance.

“We don’t do business with Dalish.”

It shouldn’t sting, not after everything he went through. And yet something in his stomach stirs unpleasantly at the grumble. He doesn’t let it out, expression as neutral as usual.

“Ah, but I’m sure we’ll agree on something. We’re paying clients, after all.”

Any further comments die on her lips as Zevran gently places the pouch with their money on the counter, the strings subtly tied around one of his fingers if he’d have to snatch it away quickly. The greedy glint in the woman's dark eyes tells him enough.

She’s sold.

Frey looks around as Zevran chats her up, catching a few stray words about meal and washbasins.

The place is clean but in disrepair. They must be desperate for any money then, even from them. No coin stinks when you need it.

The men watching them seem to lose their interest and go back to their talks, though he’s still feeling as being watched. Frey crosses his arms and rests his hip on a nearby table, the lapel of his coat opening, the pommel of a short sword strapped at his waist poking out. He lets his eyes roam slowly over the room, just to be sure no one tries anything funny when they retire. One or two patrons shrink into themselves when they meet his icy glare. Desperate times have desperate people and not every corner of Ferelden is as flourishing after Blight as it was before.

He wonders if it’ll ever be. If his people will have the chance to flourish again.

/////

The sound of a wooden spoon scraping at the bottom of the bowl mixes with faint noises of the tavern under them. The meal wasn’t the best he’s had but it was warm. He glances at Zevran, finishing washing himself with what little water they got from the woman. Few droplets cling to his face as he slowly combs his hair. One honey gold eye takes over his form.

“There’s still some left if you wish to bathe.”

“Later,” he murmurs standing up.

Zevran hums, “Suit yourself.”

Frey looks at their possessions spread out on the narrow cot, because the straw mattress and few moth eaten blankets can’t really be called a bed. He’s silently sorting the contents of his pack as Zevran pulls on fresh clothes, shuddering a little. Still not used to the chill in the air. Probably will never be.

A small smile threatens to lift up the corners of his mouth when memories of last nights resurface. All of them with Zevran’s body nearly clinging to his, seeking warmth as soon as he lay down after he was sure the area was secure to let himself sleep. To let both of them sleep. Zevran has a way of worming himself into his blanket while being wrapped in his own and still whines about being cold, thus the necessity of plastering himself to his back and holding on tight.

He doesn’t mind, not really. The feel of the other so close isn’t keeping him awake and alert anymore. In the dark and serenity of the night, the chance to hold the other, to feel the warmth of his skin and the gentle pulse of his heart is grounding.

The void in his chest isn’t so vast anymore.

He puts away the pieces of his armor and washes himself quickly with what’s left in the bucket as Zevran eats his share of the food they bought downstairs. Muttering softly after he chews, foreign words spilling as easily as he breathes. Frey doesn’t understand what he’s saying, but he has an idea. Ferelden food isn't to his taste. Dalish meals though, they’re another story.

They play cards to pass the time when it’s obvious Frey isn’t able to simply unwind and go to sleep. Tiredness pushes on his shoulders and the aches of journey wear down on him. But the whirlwind of thoughts isn’t as easy to shut down tonight.

Zevran must have noticed.

And now he keeps him company, never going easy on him when it comes to their card game. The stack of tokens keeps growing on his side - last thing Frey had to part with lying on top of other items. Leather arm bracer, small vial of deathroot extract, a ribbon, dagger sheath, one dirty sock he just hurled at Zevran in playful anger after he lost again. He’ll get all his things back after they’re finished anyway. If there were coins and someone other than him, Zevran would rob them blind with a charming grin and they wouldn’t be very mad at him. Frey saw that happen once or twice.

Now, as they play Zevran fills in the silence with stories. In a rare moment when both of them seem to focus on their strategy Frey catches him looking as he sees something that isn’t there, his thoughts far away. He knows that look intimately and it pulls at his gut, but at the same time he’s glad.

That Zevran feels safe enough in his presence to let himself be distracted, absentmindedly twirling the lock of his hair as he stares at his cards. The movement makes him pay attention to the bracelet on his wrist, simple leather strands braided tightly together with one silvery bead made of ironbark. The rune for protection on it is small enough to be unnoticed, but it works as intended. He was taught that intent is a key part while he’s working with his hands and whatever he crafts should be full of his focus and heart to work as it was supposed to. A constant echo of the teachings of his old mentor from another life, still fresh at the back of his mind when he’d set to work on something.

“If you’re not giving your all to the tool you’re making, how will it serve you the same later?”

“Ready to admit defeat?”

He blinks, caught staring. Zevran’s eyes are soft when he tilts his head, long blond strands framing his face. He drinks from the cup he’s been casually holding all their game. Frey closely follows the way his tongue licks his lips.

“And go to bed? I’ll keep it warm this time if you want.” The teasing is light, the invitation in Zevran’s smile open. The mood shifts and Frey bites the inside of his cheek, silent, but not outright rejecting the idea.

He watches Zevran getting up and stepping around the small table, ��With a massage to your stiff shoulders.”

“You’re tired as I am.” Frey doesn't leave his seat but reaches for him as soon as he’s close to put his hands on Zevran’s waist. Smooth feel of the fabric of his clothes under his touch is a contrast to the sturdier surface of his leathers.

“Still have it in me for a little bit of fun before we both collapse.”

Standing between his spread legs he runs his hands over Frey’s head, fingers catching on the auburn hair. The gentle scrape of his nails has him pushing into the touch, the pleasant tingle of being slowly caressed sneaking upon him. Making him drowsy.

“It’s grown.”

Frey hums and closes his eyes, arms crossing over Zevran’s back. Holding him tighter.

“You’re leaving it like that?” His question is a little above murmur but he hears it resonate in his chest with the ear so close to it.

“You’re letting it go?” It’s what he hears, in a voice long gone and such a simple question shouldn’t bring so many confusing emotions, should it? Grief is a trickster and never really goes away, does it.

Frey squeezes his eyes, pushing out a breath that is a bit heavier. Swallows the straight out “No, never,” that’s at the back of his throat, ignoring the “maybe,” he’s not so fond of, before he settles on-

“I don’t know.” It sounds loud even if it’s whispered, the raw tone of his voice catching him off guard for a second.

Zevran leans away and Frey’s hold on him slackens. His gaze is searching as he lets him tilt his chin up. Frey doesn’t look away. His eyes are half lidded when Zevran shifts his hands to cup the sides of his face, the warmth of his mouth over his forehead like a seal of a promise.

He doesn’t say anything, his touch speaking for him and Frey lets himself be distracted by it until his breath slows down with sleep.

[apocryphacomics]

Anathema #1 

In the Presence of my Enemies

Rating: Mature Audiences Pairing: Inquisitor Cadash, Cousland Hero of Ferelden Trigger warnings: nudity, violence. murder, implied sex, religion Pages: 13

Kirkwall. 9:32 Dragon.

After a night of fun, Merrill prompts Junia to remember of a certain night. A night three years ago, in Starkhaven, when she sought the privacy of an empty chantry at night time.

The night some thugs decided to rest in that same haven.

Carrying a prize she wanted.

Click here for the full version on Apocrypha Comics website.

Story and art by @john-cousland. Cover illustration by @cdhurricane.

Happy Dragon Age Day! Reblogs are immensely appreciated!

[valerie-royeaux]

Proud Progress Report - 2 Years

I just realized I posted my first drawing on Tumblr almost 2 years ago - February 27th 2017. Today, February 23rd, I posted a Junia drawing again: and I’m so, so happy to see the difference! I have a lot of people to thank - chief among them my wife @bloodmagespectre​ and @cdhurricane, who became a mentor and a friend. Don’t give up, people! It’s a grind, but it’s worth it!

[icylook]

Tagged by @apostatetabris thank you! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Tag for @smolpocketmonstercoffee, @raymurata, @cdhurricane, @mocha-writes, @october-rosehip, @madamsnark, @rachelleofalltrades, @helvetin-venus, @angstofdestiny, @zeesqueere if you want to play

Vergil Surana ( @icy-warden )

FLAWS

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny | controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | lies | impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry | greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive | spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | masochistic | petty | unlucky | absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | childish | callous | clingy | delusional | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cynical | cruel | depressed | deranged | egotistical | envious | insecure | insensitive | lustful | delinquent | guilt complex | reclusive | reckless | nervous | oversensitive | rebellious

STRENGTHS

honest  | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave | patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky | intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming | cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | protective | proud | diligent | considerate | compassionate | good sportsmanship | friendly | empathetic | passionate | reliable | resourceful | sensible | sincere | witty | funny

SKILLS & HOBBIES

art | acting | astronomy | animals | archery | sports | baking | beachcombing | belly dancing | bird watching | blacksmithing | boating | calligraphy | camping | candle making | casino gambling | ceramics | racing | chess | music | cooking | crochet | weaving | exercise | swordplay | fishing | gardening | ghost hunting | ice skating | magic | engineering | building | inventing | leather-working | martial arts | meditation | origami | parkour | people watching | swimming | puppetry | pyrotechnics | quilting | reading | collecting | shopping | socializing | storytelling | writing | traveling | exotic dancing | minor potion brewing | tricks & trinkets | crow keeping

[buttsonthebeach]

Commissions Masterpost

I just updated the static page on my blog to reflect my latest commission categories and prices, but I wanted to have a mobile friendly version as well. So here it is! 

This is intended mostly as a reference for myself and others. I also want to say that I am truly in awe and grateful to see the names and titles on this list. Thank you to every single person who has ever trusted me with one of their characters!

Slots are open as of 6/11/19. Click this link to see all details!

If you like my work, feel free to buy me a Ko-Fi!

$15 Drabble - 500-750 words, SFW or NSFW. This will be a more “focused” moment in time, or a stream-of-consciousness-y character/relationship study.

Previous commissions in this category:

“Keeping Tabs” for @ladynorbert  

“Begin Again” for @laskulls

"The Thread of the Past" for @empresstress13/ @wardsarefunctioning

"Under a Broken Sky" for @empresstress13

"An Ordinary Evening" for @wardsarefunctioning/ @empresstress13

"Perfect Strangers" for @laskulls

"Bright" for @chillyrose

"Seeing True" for @bearly-tolerable

"Pride and Its Rewards" for @wardsarefunctioning

"The Chase" for @cdhurricane/ @smuttine

"An Unaccustomed Freedom" for @itsnothilarious

"A Question of Longing" for @justalittledotty

$30 Small Scene - 1500-2500 words, SFW or NSFW. Scenes in this category will be more condensed than full scenes, so they most likely won’t be plot heavy, but they will have a lot more detail than a drabble.

Previous commissions in this category:

“A Closed Loop” for @thevikingwoman (NSFW)

"All Things Green and Growing" for @scharoux

"Saltwater" for @lyrium-lovesong

"Unspoken Stories" for @goblin-deity

"Two Moons" for @dirthara-mama (NSFW)

"Pleading and Pleasing" for @thevikingwoman (NSFW)

$55 Full Scene - 4000-5000 words, SFW or NSFW. This will be a more full scene with a beginning-middle-end arc.

Previous commissions in this category:

"The Same Kind of Scar" for @scharoux (NSFW)

"World Without End" for @scharoux (NSFW)

“Never Alone” for @hansaera (NSFW)

“Hers” for @smuttine (NSFW)

"Lovers, Triumphant" for @roguedreadwolf (NSFW)

"Overwhelmed" for @lauren-draws-xxx (NSFW)

"Out of Time" for @siberianspring

"Another Time" for @siberianspring