#dragon age oneshot

[100jewels-between-teeth]

Oneshot Wordcount: 2541 AO3 ¤ Ko-Fi ~

CW: Angst, pure angst, with a sprinkle of violence

Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte x F!Rook de Riva

Summary: In a moment of weakness, where Spite seems to be ensnaring Lucanis more and more, Avantika "Rook" de Riva helps bring Lucanis back, reminding him he is far more than the demon in his mind.

The calm was unsettling. The hum of the Fade, the Lighthouse, providing what could only be heard as some sort of thrumming heartbeat in the air around Rook. As much as the others swore there was a serenity to this place, Rook could only see something that was stagnant. Like the air around them, the magic refused to move on past its time. It lingered, clung to the edifice of the Lighthouse like a memory desperately not wanting to be forgotten

It made Avantika restless, standing there like she really did not belong in such a place. It made her miss the streets of Treviso. The streets filled with spiced conversation and hushed whispers. The lively streets of the people coming and going with their lives. 

Rook couldn't help but smile at the memories of perching herself upon the high roofs, staring out to the expansive ocean as she listened to secrets be traded in alleys below. It was almost the exact opposite of the Lighthouse in everything. 

Staring into the deep blue of the aquarium before her, Rook asserted in her mind that she did, indeed, dislike it here. 

‘Maybe he would have enjoyed it…’ 

Her thoughts of sharp handwriting and even sharper quips on parchment were quickly shattered, a thump resounding in the room. It was muffled, easily missed by most not paying close attention. But to a Crow, one whose life is about listening to every quiet whisper and subtle sound, it was nothing if not obvious.

 Quickly setting down the letter in her hand, Rook wrapping her robe around herself snuggly as she took  her leave. This place still felt like such a maze to Avantika, yet she made sure to commit to memory the most important rooms. Where her companions felt safe, shadowed corners and alcoves that would provide some sort of strategic advantage if they were to ever be sieged. Hiding spots for herself to just have a moment away from all this chaos. 

Yet as much as she tried to familiarize herself with such a place, there was always some kind of secret kept away, a hidden truth that still made this entire structure seem incapable of understanding. Again, another thump sounded off in the hall, this time much clearer to Avantika. A thump that was not one to be associated with a gentle movement of furniture. This one sounded far more aggressive, borderline panicked. Her feet picked up the pace, doing her best to try and track down the sound and its location. When the third thump resounded through the hall, Avantika could feel her heart stop in a panic, turning to the door she could very clearly trace it to. Bursting through the doors, she could see that the entirety of the dining room had been thrown into chaos. Chairs strewn about, some broken, others nothing but splinters at this point. The only light illuminating the room being the now embered fireplace, and the light pouring from the askew door leading to the kitchens and- “Fuck!”

Rook could not move fast enough, racing towards the door, just in time to have to dodge out of the way of a glass flying towards her face, glass shattering against the frame. Avantika could feel a shard just graze against her cheek, unable to completely avoid the remnants of the shrapnel flying. Ava hugged the wall for a moment, catching the breath that was stolen from the shock of entry, only for her eyes to lock onto those familiar brown, wide from the terror of being seen, or nearly hitting her, she was not entirely sure. But the man looked mortified, and it strangled Avantika's heart to a point where she found it hard to breathe. Before Rook could open her mouth to speak, Lucanis hunched over, arms bracing himself against the wooden shelves of the pantry as he grunted out in pain. Avantika had only seen him like this in much more subtle bouts, not wanting to let her or the other’s panic from Spite’s influence. But Avantika knew something was very wrong, that this was far more serious than Lucanis would ever care to admit. Slowly, Avantika took a step forward, not wanting to startle the poor man. She already knew that coming into such a dangerous and volatile situation would already put Lucanis in a panic, she did not want to accelerate his fear. When she could see he had not taken notice yet, Rook steeled herself to take another step forward. “Lucanis? Lucanis… can you look at me, please?” Avantika did her best to try and keep her voice gentle and calm, wanting to try and de-escalate this whole situation in any way she could. Yet the shake in her voice that slipped through was enough to disintegrate that chance. She knew exactly what…who would cling to it.

“Ava, you have to go, please, before-” Another cry out had Lucanis covering his ears, clutching onto his head as if it would explode. 

Something in the air seemed to shift then, like the energy had become far too thin. The hair on Avantika’s arms rose, a familiar feeling in her veins pricked her. She had felt this before, it was a near familiar feeling always. That magic pulsing through her very blood, now manifesting before the two. Before Lucanis could even attempt to react in his state, Avantika raced toward him, her own patterned hands finding his, now cradling his face as her amber eyes grew far more serious. “Lucanis… listen to me… I need you to listen to me.” For a moment, she felt Lucanis respond to her, eyes flickering before something changed. Avantika could feel something pulse within him, those brown eyes she would always lose herself in to a blackness that, when the dim firelight caught, showed that purple sheen that made Avantika's stomach drop. Before she could react quickly enough, she felt herself lifted, her body colliding with the wooden shelves above. All air was forced out of her lungs, the wicked smile beneath her letting out a warped sinister laugh before she was haphazardly tossed to the ground. 

“So do you think…. With enough delusion…. He will amount to what you see in him?” That sickening voice ripped through Lucanis's lips, goosebumps of disgust risking on Avantika's skin as she collected herself to stand. 

“Lucanis…” Avantika could only make out a breathless whisper. “I need you to come back.” 

“WHY SPEAK TO THAT PATHETIC WRETCH WHEN I AM RIGHT-” Spite's roar was cut short by another loud cry, his body curling in on itself as Lucanis's shaking form fell to his knees. 

To hear those pained whimpers come from the man, it made everything in Avantika want to rip apart Spite, to unleash complete magical brutality upon it. 

But Avantika knew better. She knew that the only thing that would feed Spite, make it more powerful, was to feed into it. To give it the attention it craved. Seeing the pained form of Lucanis before her, all urge to acknowledge the demon was smothered. 

Sinking to her knees before Lucanis, Rook's patterned hands slowly reached for Lucanis's own, her own body tensed and ready for any kind of outburst Spite could cause. But as she grasped onto Lucanis’s hands, she could feel that flinch, a squeeze of recognition that only made her heart squeeze tighter and her body move a little closer.

 It was scary for her, but she could only imagine how terrifying this was for him. To feel your mind slipping out of your control. To be a spectator in your own body as some demon piloted your skin, speaking in your voice, all the while you're screaming to stop. All Avantika wanted was to take it away from him, to go into his mind and rip Spite away like the tumor that demon was. 

But for now, all she could do was be here for Lucanis, to do anything possible to anchor him here in reality. “Lucanis… I need you to listen and come back. You are safe… I am right here and I'm not going anywhere.” Rook did everything possible to make sure her voice was steady, that her body was steady. “R-Rook… I-I don't want to hurt you again I-” 

Avantika’s hand left his, gently placing it beneath his chin so those brown eyes could look into her own amber. “No, you did not hurt me, Lucanis. That was not you.” She held his gaze right there, refusing to have his own spirit break from something he could not control. 

It had chipped away at him over this year, and both knew that there was not much left to chip at anymore. But at least he could now have someone there. Someone to be a shield, no matter how much he would deny that. Her other hand reached to cup his cheek, the man’s brown eyes fluttering closed for a moment. A moment both just sat there, letting the silence slowly come over them, smothering the chaos that had taken place like a blanket of snow. “It will happen again, pequeña cuervo.” “And when it does, I will be right here to call you back. Just you. You are not your demon.” “The things I have done, though, Rook. Everything that has happened since-” “No, Lucanis.” Her hands grasped the sides of his head tighter, making sure his eyes couldn't run. “You will not blame yourself for Spite. You will not fall on that sword. The man that I admire, that I want to help, is not what Spite has manipulated. It is not what you think you are. It is you and only you. Just Lucanis. This.” Her hand rested on his heart, feeling the hammering beats of panic and fear. For a moment, Lucanis just sat there, searching Rook’s face for something. Doubt, a lie that did not exist. All he could see was the woman who refused to go, that refused to see the demon that poisoned his brain and body. The woman that only saw the man. His own hand enveloped hers, keeping it tight against his chest as their foreheads leant against one another. “I’m tired, Rook… I’m tired… but I’m here.” ~~•~~ Avantika gave a soft smile and sigh, spiced and honeyed breath caressing his face that elicited a deep breath from the crow. It was something that anchored him. He realised in that moment, that Spite had gone for the moment. His mind was quiet, his body, however sore, was his own. So he just let the moment sit, wanting to cling onto the peace this woman brought as much as possible.

Maker’s breath, he was ruined by her.

“If you’re feeling up to it… how would a coffee sound? I have an old recipe that could help. Don't worry, nothing too sweet I promise.” Moving back a little, Avantika had a small smile on her lips, moving to stand and help Lucanis to his feet. The invitation did seem to perk something up in Lucanis as his own weary smile came back. “Honestly, that would sound like the best thing in the world. Though a recipe for coffee does sound a little odd. Not many recipes I've heard other than-” “Oh no this one, after you drink it, you will think it is the best in the fucking world.” There was that vulgar mouth again that amused him so much. 

Honestly, it was refreshing to hear someone with so little filter. It reminded him of his little bird, the one from the letters. He found himself wondering about them more, how all this chaos was affecting them, but again, Avantika brought him back to reality. “It is the spices that help. Even without the milk and sugar it still gives it something. If I remember it was…” Avantika began rummaging through the pantry shelf near the door, sifting things out of her way as she blindly tossed what she needed to the man still collecting his bearings behind her. How this woman could snap from one situation into something completely different was baffling to him. 

Lucanis,  of course, felt terrible for what she had seen, a moment of weakness he would never want to show. Even as he looked at his hands for a brief moment, knowing that they just moments before had caused her harm, had those regrets blown gently away with the sound of Avantika's voice. Her wide amber eyes sparkling as she searched, a smile on her face as she kept looking between the shelves and what was ending up in Lucanis's hands. 

Without magic, Avantika had brought Lucanis back from the brink. And instead of wallowing in the event, having the two dwell on the subject, she somehow immediately brought light back in. A smile on her face, her voice filled with energy. It was contagious and he couldn't help but remember someone from before all this. “Cinnamon yes…. “ A stick of the spice flew back, Lucanis catching it with ease. “Clove… cardamom… and… shit was was it? I know it's something!” 

As Avantika tried to remember, Lucanis felt as if he was doused in ice cold water, standing behind Rook with an expression that could only be seen as awe. Something in his mind clicked, and for a moment, Lucanis felt like the biggest idiot alive. 

Moving behind Avantika, he reached up, plucking a small jar from the shelf before handing it to her, his chest nearly touching Avantika’s back. “Nutmeg.” His voice was low and gentle, placing the spice in her hand as Avantika let out a groan before slapping her head. “Fuck, nutmeg of course I feel like an idiot!” Gathering the spices that Lucanis was holding, she began to make her leave, though stopping at the door with a curious expression. “Wait, how did you know that? You’ve always drank your coffee black. I don't remember telling you-” “A little bird told me once. But that was a while ago. No need to worry.” 

Avantika frowned for a moment but seemed to shrug it off, making her leave as she began to tell Lucanis of how she once made it for Viago and accidently added too much clove, the man swearing up and down that Avantika was testing a poison on him. And the First Talon listened, even though in his head, as he watched Avantika fuss herself over Lucanis and their coffee, he knew how the story ended. He knew that Viago would spend hours after that trying his best to replicate some poison that worked the same as Rook’s, only for him to finally come to the realization that Avantika was just terrible at eyeballing measurements. She still was, Lucanis noticing how she added more than enough nutmeg to her own cup. His little bird had found him again. The little bird who, for the year before his imprisonment, had gifted him with these stories. He felt stupid for not realizing who she truly was sooner. Lucanis could only hope that, at some point, she would be able to see him for who he was before this. Before the war and before Spite. For her to see Lucanis as him, just him.

 Only him.

[eunsuri]

The Lighthouse

Pairing: Solas x Lavellan

Summary: Lavellan explores The Lighthouse and reunites with her heart.

Word Count: 6,608

Warnings: ANGST. Lots of emotions. Lots of love. VEILGUARD SPOILERS.

A/N: Hi everyone! Happy 2 weeks until Veilguard! This has taken me way longer to write than I'd hoped, but I MADE IT! This was inspired by a beautiful piece of art by @pani-artz, I couldn't resist! I've kept Lavellan's description vague for those who would like to keep their own Lavellan in mind while reading! Also posted on AO3!

“We’re here.”

A cold breeze swept through the crossroads, cooling Lavellan’s skin as she stepped up the stairs, Harding, and Leliana flanking her from behind. The three stood before the Eluvian, the shimmering surface glowing faintly. The ancient mirror reflected the crumbled pieces of the ruins floating within the crossroads, flickering with ancient magic and ready to draw them into another world.

Anticipation stirred in Lavellan’s stomach, her senses heightened and glaring at her warped reflection. The faint glow of the mirror’s surface cast a strange light across the stone floor through the overgrown foliage around its frame, and the chill in the air seemed to seep into her bones. 

Harding and Leliana exchanged glances behind her, but she hardly noticed, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest like a wild creature trying to escape its cage. Harding had seen this Lighthouse before, She knew what lay behind the Eluvian, all the memories hidden in Solas’ base of operations.

Lavellan knew Solas wouldn’t be waiting for her on the other side. Instead, what awaited was everything he had left behind—his memories, his isolation, the echoes of a life spent in the shadows. The thought of stepping into his world, of facing the remnants of his past and the pieces he had chosen to keep hidden, sent a wave of dread through her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for what she might see—for how deeply his loneliness would be etched into every corner of this place

He had stopped appearing in her dreams, no matter how hard she searched the endless distance where he once stood, always watching over her from afar. Even when she reached out, he’d slip away like a shadow, yet his presence had brought her comfort. Night after night, she would speak to him—tell him how much she missed him, how she longed to change his heart. The wolf never answered, but the sorrow in his eyes cut deeper each time, and her desperation to find him only grew over the years.

Now, her dreams were empty, filled with nothing but the ache of waiting for a love that never came. Sleepless nights blurred together as she wondered if he had forgotten her, or if something terrible had happened to him. When Harding had brought news that Solas was alive but trapped in the Fade, it brought a measure of relief, yet doubt still gnawed at her. Would she find any sign that he remembered her in this place, or had she been lost to him as well?

Harding broke the silence, her voice gentle but laced with tension. “It’s… a lot to take in, but I thought you might want to see it.” She paused, then added, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Lavellan’s breath caught in her throat, a fresh wave of anxiety washing over her. Ready? She didn’t think she ever could be. How could anyone prepare to see the deepest, most private parts of someone they loved, but had lost so long ago? 

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She needed to do this, no matter how much it hurt. She needed to understand him in a way she hadn’t before, to see his world, his pain, and his purpose. Where he had been all this time, if he remembered her. Even if he wasn’t there to explain it himself.

Lavellan took a shaky, deep breath and stepped toward the mirror, the surface rippling as she neared. With a final glance back at Harding and Leliana, she stepped through and the two followed.

Emerging on the other side, her breath caught in her chest. The three stepped into a realm bathed in a warm, golden glow, as if suspended in the sky. Floating islands hovered in the distance, each dotted with autumn-hued trees as if kissed by sunlight, gently swaying in an unseen breeze. Ancient elven ruins, crumbled yet graceful, drifted among them, suspended in the air like forgotten dreams.

Before them stood a weathered statue of Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, positioned in the heart of the courtyard. It was a figure of a protector—his posture calm, watching over the space with an almost serene presence. Cracks ran through the stone, softened by patches of moss that had claimed him over time, as though nature itself had embraced him. The statue seemed ancient, yet resilient, a symbol of an age long past, guarding the Lighthouse like a silent sentinel.

Beyond the statue, the Lighthouse rose, stretching impossibly high into the sky, its top crowned by a bright magical light encased in a spinning golden roof. The beacon pulsed with an ethereal glow, guiding not only the lost but also wandering spirits seeking refuge. The golden accents that decorated the Lighthouse shimmered in the sunlight, long streams of green fabric dancing in the wind.

Lavellan marvelled at the beauty and serenity of the place as she continued towards the entrance of the Lighthouse, carefully stepping down the broken staircase. The large door opened as the three approached, allowing them to enter the towering building.

Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced at the faded murals stretching along the pathway, their muted colours leading into the centre of the Lighthouse. Each one told a story—Solas’ time in Arlathan, his stories of rebellion, and the ancient history of the elves, including the tale of the Evanuris' downfall.The images on the walls, the stories painted into the stone, all reflected the weight of millennia. 

Murals she had seen variations of before caught her eye, depicting Fen’Harel freeing slaves and removing their Vallaslin, as he had once done for her. Another told the story of the Evanuris’ rise to power and their tyrannical ways, with Fen’Harel’s outstretched arms attempting to show them they were not truly gods.

The Dalish legends she had grown up with had taught her to fear the Dread Wolf, to tread lightly lest the trickster god hear her footsteps. But now, knowing him as she did—not as the villain in their stories, but as the man who had fought to free his people, the man she loved—her heart was torn. The fear remained, lingering like an old scar, but it was now tangled with love, understanding, and sorrow for what he had become.

Lavellan wandered through the Lighthouse, her steps slow as she absorbed the surroundings. Relics of a world long lost lay scattered around, each one steeped in both history and longing. The air felt thick with memories—some sorrowful, others sacred—echoes of a time far beyond reach.

She found herself in a large room that appeared to be underwater, giant framed glass windows as a barrier between the water, with many schools of fish swimming through the depths. A lone green leather sofa was situated in the middle of the room, stuffed bookshelves lined the walls, and an array of candles scattered across the floor creating a cosy warmth that drew her in. 

It was then that a soft flicker of candlelight against brilliant colours drew her gaze to a mural, its glow pulling at her like a distant memory. A set of candles was arranged on either side of the mural, almost as though it were a shrine. As she made her way towards the artwork, her heart sank deep into her stomach, a heavy weight settling in her chest.

The painting depicted a woman—one hand raised high, a radiant burst of green light pouring from her palm, the other clutching a sword close to her chest. Below the hilt, the familiar mark of the Inquisition gleamed. It was her.

The weight of this realisation struck her in an instant, chest tightening with disbelief, an ache settling deep as sorrow wrapped itself around her heart. Her likeness, immortalised in these ancient halls, was a reminder of what she once stood for, of the time they shared and the distance between them now. 

Her fingers traced along the lines of the mural, imagining the strokes Solas had made, his hand dragging the brush across the stone with care. Every detail, every line, told her this was more than a mere addition to his collection of stories. This was crafted with love. He had painted her not just to remember her, but to hold onto her presence, as though each stroke was a vow to never let her fade from his memory.

Tears pooled along her eyelashes. She didn’t know whether to feel honoured, heartbroken, or both. Every detail of the mural seemed to call out to her, each brushstroke a whisper of what had been, what was lost. Slowly, Lavellan’s gaze fell to a small wooden box resting beneath the mural, its presence unassuming, as though it had always been waiting for her.

Hands trembling, she reached for the box, dragging her fingertips along the warmed wood, and gently lifted the lid. Inside, nestled among the old wood, lay Solas' jawbone necklace. The one he had always worn. Lavellan paused, inspecting the familiar necklace before  reaching to lift it from the box. The sensation of the cold bone and thick rope looped around it was almost foreign, yet the weight of its meaning was still heavy.

As the jawbone rested in her palm, memories surged through her mind—fragments of what they once had. She recalled how she’d often tug him closer by the necklace, his lips moving against hers, fervent and desperate, as though her touch were the very air he breathed. She remembered idly tracing the rigid texture of the necklace as she lay against his chest, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breath as he shared quiet stories of the Fade. Each moment felt as tangible as the cool bone now in her grasp.

She could no longer hold it with the same warmth she once had, but the connection to him, to their shared past, lingered still. The weight of the jawbone in her hand felt like a lifeline to the man she had been hunting for all these years. Desperate to keep that feeling close, she gently lifted the necklace over her head, letting the familiar curve of bone rest against her chest. It settled there, and for a brief moment, she felt as though she had him with her again.

Lavellan clutched the bone in her hand while blinking away the lingering tears which threatened to fall at any moment. As she moved forward, every step felt heavier, unable to shake the palpable sense of solitude that hung in the air. This place, with all its beauty, was not just a refuge for spirits. It was a place of mourning—a sanctuary for Solas’ lost hopes, where his memories whispered through every crack in the stone, and his loneliness lingered like a shadow.

Further in, a large dining table sat in the centre of the room. The long wooden surface stretched out before her, grand and ancient, yet only a single place setting lay at its head—a lone plate, a single cup, and neatly arranged cutlery beside them. An ache squeezed in her chest at the sight. This table, large enough for a gathering, bore only the quiet signs of one man’s solitary meals. Solas had sat here alone, day after day, surrounded by memories and ghosts of his old ambitions. 

She couldn’t bear the thought of him there, sitting quietly, the vast emptiness echoing through the room as he contemplated the burden of his mission. He had been so steadfast, so determined, yet the loneliness had seeped into every corner of his existence. How many nights had he sat here in silence, the weight of his choices pressing down on him, thinking that this was the only choice he had.

The simple setting was a stark reminder of everything he had left behind for his mission—companionship, love, the simple joys of shared moments. The pain choked at Lavellan's throat and the tears she had fought streamed down her skin as she took in the sight. She rested a hand on the back of the chair, picturing him there, staring into the distance across the table, as he grappled with the weight of millennia. He had shut everyone out, even those who would have fought beside him, and in doing so, had consigned himself to this eternal isolation.

Lavellan stood still by the table, the weight of her thoughts pushing down on her shoulders like a storm cloud on the verge of breaking. Her sadness gave way to a simmering anger that twisted deep in her chest. How could he have left her—left them—like this?  If only Solas had confided in her—trusted her with his truths. If only he had let her share the burden that had twisted his path into something unrecognisable. Things could have been different; they could have faced this together. She could have stood by his side, helped him bear the weight of his cause, find a better way, and maybe, just maybe, spared them both the pain of this isolation.

The thoughts of what could have been pierced through her, sharp and unyielding. How different would their lives have been if he hadn’t pushed her away, if he hadn’t shrouded himself in secrecy and left her to chase shadows for years? Heavy and unrelenting regret settled into her bones. They could have shared this—this fight, this journey. She had loved him enough to stay, to fight for him, but he had locked her out, too consumed by his purpose, too afraid to burden her with the truth. 

Her fingers curled into her palms, hands clenched at her sides, frustration clawing its way up her body as she thought of the pain he had caused—his actions had left Varric wounded, with the false gods free to wreak their havoc upon the world. He had condemned himself to isolation, convinced he was sparing her the pain when, in truth, he had only deepened the wound.

Maybe he had been too proud, too wrapped in his conviction that he had to bear this weight alone. He hadn’t let her love him the way she could have. If only. If only things had been different. If only he had trusted her.

Lavellan’s thoughts were then interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor. She wiped at her eyes hastily, straightening her posture as Leliana appeared at the doorway.

“They’ve returned,” Leliana spoke softly. “Rook and the others are back.”

Lavellan turned, her heart still heavy from the weight of her reflections. Without a word, she nodded, following Leliana out of the room and towards the group that had gathered in the main hall.

There was more to it now—she’d learned that Rook had formed a connection with Solas. A tether, almost, caused by the disrupted ritual. She had to know if there was a way, some hidden thread she could pull to reach him herself, to bridge the distance between them once more. 

A spark of determination tingled through her skin. If Rook had found a way to connect, perhaps she could too.

Later that same evening, with the sharp sting of her discoveries still fresh in her chest, Lavellan found herself standing in the Fade. 

Rook had spoken of how they had become connected to Solas through the ritual gone wrong, their fates intertwined, and Lavellan had seized upon that fragile link. It was all she needed—a thread, however thin, to follow him.

With Varric’s warning in her ears and Solas’ necklace warm against her skin, she stepped forward, stumbling through the dark and desolate landscape of the Fade. The twisted remnants of broken elven statues loomed around her, their cracked surfaces glinting dully in the ethereal light, like forgotten memories trapped in stone. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt magic, a bitter tang that clung to her tongue, tainted by a ritual gone horribly wrong. 

As she moved, the ground crumbled beneath her feet, each step sending a shiver through her body as she navigated the uneven terrain. She could feel Solas’ presence—distant, yet unmistakable—like a flickering flame in the depths of her mind, pulling her forward despite the air of despair that settled around her like a shroud. Echoes of lost voices whispered through the stillness, their lamentations brushing against her ears, urging her to keep searching in this forsaken place.

She had worked so hard to find him over the past ten years, constantly reaching for him in her dreams only for him to slip away like a fading memory. Her relief at hearing he was alive warred with the anger gnawing at her heart. He had stopped appearing in her dreams, and for so long she had feared the worst—afraid he had been consumed by his mission, or worse, by his pride. Yet here he was, trapped in the Fade, perhaps lost in his own way.

The thought of him being trapped, cut off from everything, pulled at her heart. Just as she had found him again, he was suffering. But that grief mixed with a simmering anger. He had hurt Varric, who had only been trying to stop him from making a terrible mistake.

Her steps quickened, the greyed path through the Fade twisting and bending as though it were alive. She remembered Varric’s words—how he had tried to stop Solas, how Solas, in his struggle tugging at the lyrium dagger, had let it go too far. The thought stung, reopening the old wounds that had never fully healed. He had hurt someone they both cared about. Had it been an accident, or had his obsession with his plan blinded him to everything else?

It was then she saw him. Solas stood at the edge of the platform, his presence powerful and untouchable like a distant star. His eyes caught hers with a knowing look, as though he had been expecting her all along. 

His strong stance wavered ever so slightly, a near imperceptible shift. Somehow, he was even more beautiful than she remembered. He was draped in dark leather armour that hugged his frame, his broad shoulders embellished with gold which decorated his chest as well. His face remained sharp and regal, though it now carried a colder edge. The weight of his millennia-old burden clung to him, as heavy as the Fade around them.

The sight of him sent a rush of warmth through her, but it was quickly swallowed by the bitter pang of nostalgia and regret, memories crashing over her like an ice cold wave. Lavellan’s voice faltered, the carefully rehearsed words slipping from her grasp, lost under the crushing gravity of his presence. For countless nights, she had imagined this moment—each conversation, every plea, practised over and over. But now, as he stood before her, all those thoughts scattered like dust, leaving her speechless.

“Solas.”

Her voice trembled with the only thing she could utter, a raw mix of anger and longing breaking free. Lavellan felt the years between them collapse. The sorrow, the love, the pain, and the anger—it all surged forward, overwhelming her in an instant.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Solas’ expression remained guarded, though the tension in his jaw and the weariness in his eyes betrayed him. His lips parted, as though he might speak, but the words died unspoken on his tongue. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken history.

Lavellan’s heart raced as she struggled to steady her breath, emotions crashing over her: love, anger, and grief all vying for control. She wanted to scream at him for the pain he'd caused—to her friends, to her. She wanted to demand answers, to weep for his loneliness, for how lost he had become. But she also longed to run into his arms, to hold him so tightly he could never leave again, to feel the warmth of his lips, to taste the love they once shared.

Across the distance, Solas silently soaked in the sight before him. Amidst the boundless darkness of his prison, his heart stood before him once more. A dull ache crawled from his chest into his throat as he noticed how time had touched her. Soft lines had etched themselves across her skin—subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone but him. She looked exhausted, as though the years had been heavy, yet her beauty had not faded. Her eyes still held the same fire, the same brightness that had captivated him. 

His gaze fell to her arm, the gleam of metal catching his eye—her prosthetic. The sight of it twisted his heart into a deep, bitter knot of guilt. She had lost her arm because of choices he had made. Though removing it would save her from an untimely end, her connection to the Anchor would have consumed her had the arm remained. However, that knowledge offered little comfort. 

It was because of him. she had been marked in the first place, that she had been forced to bear that burden, to lose part of herself for a cause that had never truly been hers to fight. He carefully swallowed the pain in his throat in an attempt to mask the surge of sorrow that threatened to break through.

For a heartbeat, the distance between them seemed insurmountable and never ending. Yet the connection they had forged so long ago, deep and unshakable, remained—like a tether drawing them together even now. 

Solas shifted subtly, searching the depths of his mind for words that could bridge the chasm of time and pain between them. No words could repair the damage that had been done, not a single syllable could undo the devastation he had caused.

“Vhenan…” he whispered at last, his voice rough, heavy with all the things left unsaid. It was the only word he could manage, the only truth left to him, spoken as though it held within it all his love and regret. The word hung in the air like a fragile promise.

The harsh and unforgiving hand of grief gripped Lavellan’s heart at the sound of his endearment. It had been so long since she had heard the word leave his lips, and yet it was the same—soft, full of meaning. She placed one foot in front of the other, taking a tentative step forward, her fingers brushing against the jawbone necklace, grounding her in the reality of the moment. The memory of their love flooded her, the fluttering which overwhelmed her belly when he would call her his heart, mingling with the anger that still smouldered in her chest.

“What have you done, Solas?” Her voice cracked through her cutting words, the accusation spilling through her lips before she could bite her tongue. “You stopped coming to me. You were…tearing the Veil apart, and then Varric—” She swallowed hard, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “You didn’t stop. You hurt him, and now… the false gods are free and ready to destroy this world.”

Her words were sharp, biting, but beneath the anger was the raw, unspoken truth: she loved him. She always had. And seeing her proud, cunning love like this—trapped in the cage of his own creation—cut deeper than any wound she had ever known.

Solas’ eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head bowing beneath the shameful weight of her words. When his eyes found her again, there was a subtle flicker in his gaze—something raw and aching, a depth of emotion she couldn’t quite define. Regret, perhaps, or something far more tangled and broken. 

“It was not supposed to happen this way,” he murmured, voice thin and weary, as if even the admission pained him, the words almost too heavy to continue. “I had a plan. The ritual, I was moving them to another prison. But Varric interfered, he disrupted a dangerous ritual. I did not intend for him to get hurt.”

The flame in Lavellan’s eyes blazed with fury, her voice trembling as the words tumbled out without a second thought. "Varric was our friend, Solas. You’ve gone too far. He wasn’t aware of your intentions. He tried to stop you, tried to make you see reason, and you—" She faltered, the pain caught in her throat reducing her voice to a weak whisper. 

Though Varric still lived, his fate was uncertain, the magic from the lyrium-infused dagger weaving through his veins unpredictably. Her dear friend had only wanted to help—and yet, he had paid the painful price for it. 

The hardened resolve in Solas’ eyes wavered, his brow furrowing with the slightest shake of his head. “I’m sorry,” he uttered, the words quiet, but laden with everything left unspoken. 

“That’s all you have to offer? After everything that’s happened? After all this time?” Lavellan’s words sliced through the air, her voice was low yet biting. Her fingers curled in, hands tense at her sides as her frustration simmered just beneath the surface. 

She was torn between the depth of her love and the hot flame of her anger. She had missed him so achingly—every day without him was a quiet torment—but now, seeing him like this, the one she’d loved so fiercely, all she could feel was the cold sting of his absence, the ache of betrayal. He had left her, and worse, he had hurt Varric in his reckless pursuit. 

And now, after everything he had done, he stood there with regret etched into his sharp features, yet offering nothing more than a simple apology. She could see the remorse in his eyes, he meant it, but it wasn’t enough—not after everything. She longed to reach out to him, to close the distance between them, but the wound was too fresh, too raw. How could she bridge the gap when all he had to offer were those meagre words?

“Nothing can change what I have already done,” Solas sighed, the sound long and weary, as though carrying the burden of centuries. 

“I know,” she replied, her voice trembling with the heaviness of her admission. “You can’t undo what’s been done… but you can still do better. You can still choose differently.”

Solas studied her, his expression unreadable for a moment, though the gravity of her words seemed to hang between them. "Better choices do not erase what has already been set in motion," he spoke quietly, his tone almost resigned, as though he carried the inevitability of his fate like a burden.

“So what, you'll just let the world fall apart because it's already in motion? You think destroying this world will somehow lead to salvation?” Lavellan began, her voice cold and cutting. Her eyes locked onto his, unflinching as she took a hard step forward. “The elven people you’re trying to save? There’ll be nothing left for them if you don’t help us stop this madness now.” 

Her words hit him like a sudden gust, rattling the walls he had built around himself. For a moment, his defences collapsed under the truth of her words. But then, almost instinctively, he pulled them back up, his expression hardening as his gaze held hers.

”'Did you come only to scold me, Vhenan? Or is there more you wish to say?”

Lavellan’s breath quickened at his response, the fire in her eyes dimming for just a moment as his question hung in the air. The silence between the two stretched, filled with all the things that had never been said, all the pain, all the longing in their time apart. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, struggling to speak past the heaviness of her own heart. 

"There is plenty I wish to say. But in truth, I came because—" She managed to murmur, the words catching in her throat. Her feet moved before her mind could stop them, stepping slowly towards Solas. "Because I was worried about you. Because I wanted to see you." Her voice was raw, as if speaking the truth aloud burned at her tongue. "Because…even after everything I—"

Solas’ head tilted ever so slightly, his expression softening as his furrowed brows relaxed, and for a fleeting second, something in him seemed to break. The unspoken bond between them, ever-present and undeniable, pulled at him once more. He reached out, almost as if drawn by the force of her words, but stopped himself just short.

He wanted nothing more than to hold her close to him and never let her go again. To let every thought spill from his lips and confess his love for her as if it were the first time. The warmth of her presence was only growing closer as she stepped further in his direction, her beautifully intoxicating scent stirring memories of their past together. He craved her fiercely—the softness of her lips, the feel of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, her lovely voice whispering words of love that echoed in his heart.

But the shrinking space between them felt like a chasm born not only of time, but of all the hurt and chaos he had left in his wake. He didn’t deserve her. Not after his failure. Not after what he had done.  He couldn't bear to drag her into the darkness of his journey, a path that he believed would only lead to death. She deserved so much more than the ruins of his mistakes. 

He imagined the weight of his choices suffocating her, dimming the light that had always drawn him in. Yet as she drew nearer, he could feel the pull of her more acutely, as though the Fade itself conspired to draw them together. The ache of her absence, the torment of his own regret—none of it could dampen the magnetic force that still lingered between them.

"You should hate me," he spoke quietly, his voice barely more than a breath. "After everything I’ve done. All of the pain I have caused."

Lavellan had closed the never-ending distance between them, the air around them thick with an intensity that took her breath away. Her already racing heart quickened, emboldened by a sudden rush, a defiance against the pain that had lingered for far too long. With a trembling hand, she reached for him, her fingertips brushing against his cheek. The connection was electric, sending shivers through her, reigniting a fire that warmed her very core.

In that moment, all his carefully constructed walls began to crumble, melting away beneath her touch. She could see the tension in his shoulders ease, the weight of his regrets momentarily lifting. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, a fragile intimacy that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

It had been years since they last stood face-to-face, their encounters reduced to her lone whispers in her dreams. Each night, she yearned for the warmth of his presence, the comfort of his touch, imagining the feel of his skin against hers, the sound of his voice calling her name. The ache of separation had clawed at her heart, and she knew he had felt it too—a longing that transcended the boundaries of their worlds. 

"I tried," she confessed, her voice heavy with emotion, barely above a whisper. "I tried to hate you, but I can’t, Vhenan. I could never."

Solas’ resolve crumbled even further, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes undeniable. “I never wanted you to see what I’ve become. I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he pushed further in a weak attempt to suppress the overpowering love that threatened to consume him. 

“I know you cannot change what you have done,” She began through her breath, gently placing her prosthetic hand against his armoured chest and meeting his eyes directly, as though reaching into the depths of his heart. “But I see you, Solas. I see the burden you carry, I’ve seen what you hide in your Lighthouse. It hasn’t changed the way I feel about you.”

Her touch unravelled him completely, cutting through the barriers he had so meticulously built to keep her at a distance and protect her. For all the power that pulsed within him, he was utterly powerless before her. His breath was hitched in his throat, his senses overwhelmed and intoxicated by her nearness. All words escaped him, and instead, he clutched her prosthetic hand to his chest, his knuckles brushing the delicate skin of her cheek, drinking in the moment as if it were the last.

The space between the two vanished, the long-forgotten warmth of each other’s touch easing the ache of a lifetime apart. Starved of the love they had once shared, the air around them grew heavy with anticipation. The energy between them hummed, drawing them closer with each breath, until their eyes flitted shut, surrendering to the inevitable pull of their connection.

“Vhenan…” Solas found his voice once more, before the thread which held him together finally snapped and his lips found hers.

The kiss, at first tentative, quickly deepened as the years of distance, longing, and unspoken words melted between them. It wasn’t gentle; it was desperate, filled with the ache of years apart, with the pain of betrayal and the hope of forgiveness. Lavellan’s hands instinctively reached for him, fingers curling against the cool, textured surface of his armour as if he might slip away again, as if this moment might vanish like a fleeting dream. His hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her closer still, like a drowning man grasping for air.

Solas trembled against her, the control he had so precisely maintained for years finally unravelling in her embrace. Every heartbeat, every breath shared in their kiss spoke of the time they had lost and the memories they had clung to in the dark. 

He clutched at her waist, tugging her impossibly close, as though she might disappear if he allowed any distance open between them. The taste of her lips—familiar and sweet—sent a rush of emotion surging through his mouth and into his heart, blooming with love. It was a taste he had dreamed of, mixed with grief, regret, and the bittersweet recognition of all the time they could never reclaim.

For Lavellan, kissing him felt like breaking the surface after endless years submerged in sorrow. She had imagined this reunion, longed for it in her loneliest moments, but nothing could have prepared her for the rawness of it now, the intensity of feeling his warmth, his breath, after so long. Her lips moved fervently against his, as if she could anchor them both in the present, as if this kiss could hold them together while the world threatened to crumble around them.

Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into eternity as their spirits reached for one another, desperate to bridge the chasm of all that had been lost. The air around them shimmered with the intensity of their emotions, the soft crackle of magic lingering like static electricity. Tears mingled between their lips, and Lavellan found herself unsure if they were born from her own heartache or Solas’ sorrow. 

When at last they reluctantly parted, it was only enough to breathe, their foreheads pressed together and breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. The warmth of Solas’ skin contrasted with the coolness of the Fade around them. His fingers brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear, his eyes searching hers with a mix of reverence and sorrow, as if committing her face to memory all over again.

“I have missed you,” Solas admitted through a trembling breath, his voice fraying at the edges, each syllable thick with longing and vulnerability. “Every moment, I have missed you.”

Lavellan’s heart stilled at his confession, the pain she’d carried for so long softening, giving way to a quiet joy she had scarcely dared to feel. It was real—his yearning, his regret. He had missed her, and in hearing those words, a wave of warmth rushed through her, filling the hollow space his absence had left behind, like sunlight breaking through a dark, heavy cloud.

“As have I,” she whispered, her voice a breath, an ache. “I love you, Solas.”

The distance between them vanished once more as she closed the space with her lips. An electric tangle of desperation and love crackled in the air, as if they could pour every stolen moment of the past ten years into this one kiss. She breathed the words against his lips— Ar lath ma. I love you, I love you, over and over, with each fleeting pause for air. One hand gripped his broad shoulder as though holding onto the thread of the life they might still have together, while the other skimmed gingerly across his sharp jaw, the cool metal of her fingertips shooting a shiver down his spine.

As their lips moved together, she tasted the faint remnants of the Fade on him—like the bittersweet tang of twilight and the warmth of embers long extinguished. The air was thick with unspoken promises, Solas’ scent enveloping her, an earthy blend of ancient forests, fragrant herbs, and a whisper of magic that felt both familiar and achingly distant. Her heart raced, a wild drum echoing in her ears, as she felt the world around them fade into insignificance. In that moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of them, entwined in a dance of love and longing, the taste of their shared past lingering sweetly on their tongues.

Solas drew a tight breath, his lips forming the words in return, “Ar lath ma, I love you,” each confession fragile and tender, as if speaking it aloud made the moment more real. His hands cupped her face with reverence, fingers tracing the contours of her skin as if rediscovering her all over again, as though he needed to believe this wasn’t some fading dream. She was truly here with him, loving him still, despite all that had come between them. And with each kiss, each murmured promise of love, he felt the final crumbling of the walls he had built to protect himself from this—this undeniable truth that she saw him, truly, as he was: Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. And still, she chose him—Solas.

Warm, fresh tears streamed down his cheeks—tears of relief, not of sorrow, and for the first time in an age, he felt lighter, the burden of millennia softening in her embrace. 

Lavellan’s fingers traced the familiar lines of his face, feeling the tension in his jaw slowly release. She caught her breath, pressing her forehead gently to his once more, letting the moment wrap around them like a fragile cocoon, holding them together.

They no longer needed words. There was no need for promises, no talk of what came next.

For now, they were simply here—together.

Solas’ hands held her tightly against him, as if memorising every curve of her, grounding himself in her presence, in the warmth of her body pressed to his. He drank in every bit of her, enraptured by the way her eyes sparkled with the tears she had shed. There was no one more beautiful, in body and spirit.

The world beyond them faded into the abyss—no ancient gods, no torn Veil, no crumbling ruins. Just the rhythmic sound of their breaths mingling between them, the quiet beat of their hearts within their chests, steady and sure. For so long, he had dreamed of this, and yet the reality of it was more than he could have ever imagined.

Lavellan clutched him closer, as if to say all the things she couldn’t form with her lips, as if to tell him that here, in this moment, she chose him—not Fen’Harel, not the Dread Wolf. Just Solas.

And as they stayed there, lost in each other, neither knew how long the moment would last—only that, for now, it was enough.

[yandere-sins]

Yandere!Lucanis who tries so hard not to let the "urges" get out of control. He's been fighting his inner demon so long, he thinks he got them perfectly wrapped up, even though he has to bury his nails in his palms until they draw blood just to be able to talk to you fairly normal.

Yandere!Spite who is absolutely not having it. Who the fuck is Lucanis to deprive Spite of being with you? Spite wants to talk to you, be seen by you, touch you—and he'll pull all the strings to get just that. Lucanis can't hold him back forever. Spite knows the way Lucanis holds himself back and if Spite just keeps chipping away at that resistance, he's sure he can get his way sooner rather than later.

In short, I am not that far yet with these two, but the thought had to come out after seeing Spite being a bit obsessed intrigued with Rook.

[karpowskaja]

Lamb & Peas

The sun had set behind the battlements and the air grew cold, her breath coming out in small puffs as the Inquisitor walked hand in hand with Cullen across the courtyard. "I'm really not in the mood..." he began again, but her blue eyes met his, uncompromising.

"Just give it a try, and then you can go back to your desk." Her voice was light, almost teasing, and he could hear the smile behind it. "You don’t have a birthday every day, Vhenan!" He shot her a warning look for speaking too loudly, but she ignored it, just as she had ignored his plea to do nothing out of the ordinary today.

She dragged him towards the tavern, and he tensed visibly, like a horse straining at the reins, but she was relentless, her smaller frame pulling him along with surprising strength. As they approached the open door, where voices and the sound of a lute poured out into the cold night, he felt a surge of unease, his mouth already open to tell her once again that he was in no mood to celebrate his birthday, not with the mission ahead. But then, to his surprise, she walked past the open door. He glanced at her in confusion, his defiance giving way to curiosity as she led him past the noise to a smaller door that led into the garden and the small chantry.

"Close your eyes," she ordered quietly. He sighed but obeyed, knowing he could never deny her anything - a fact she knew well and used to her advantage. She opened the door and led him through, her hand warm in his, the gravel crunching under their boots. He noticed the silence around them - the fact that there was only the sound of her footsteps and the rustling of the trees.

"You can look now." Her voice rang out, no longer so excited, softer. His grip around her hand tightened, his heart pounding, fearing the kind of surprise he loathed. But when he opened his eyes, he found something quite different.

The garden was empty, the gravel paths and corridors around it deserted. Even the door to the sanctuary was closed and there was no Sister or Mother in sight. The usually bustling garden was peaceful. He assumed she'd used her title to clear the garden just for them.

In the pavilion to his right, usually occupied by Morrigan, stood a table and two chairs, a single candle flickering, illuminating plates and glasses.

He blinked twice before turning to face her.

She smiled at him. "You said you didn't want a big party. So it's just you and me," she explained, her voice clearly more nervous than before, her free hand stroking a lock of hair behind one pointed ear.

For a moment he was speechless, only able to look at her. He cleared his throat, trying to hide how nervous he felt. "I didn't expect... I mean, this isn't..." He stopped, catching the light in her blue eyes, the affection there. "Thank you." What more could he say? He felt a pang of guilt, a reminder that he didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her.

She rose to her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. Her lips warm and his heart quickened slightly. "Come, the food's getting cold and I know you haven't eaten properly all day."

He smiled, a reluctant pucker of his lips, admitting she was right as he followed her to the pavilion, not letting go of her hand.

They sat down facing each other. She lifted the lid and steam rose, filling the air between them with the rich scent of spices, vegetables and meat. The smell was surprisingly familiar, not like the stew they usually ate. Something in the scent tugged at his heart.

He looked at her delicate hands, steady as they served the stew and filled the glasses. There was something reassuring about the way she moved, a quiet confidence that made him feel... at ease. Cullen realized he was grateful, not just for the food, but for her insistence on taking him away from his work, if only for dinner. They barely had time for each other these days, caught between their duties and preparing for what was to come. Perhaps his birthday gave them at least a little more of an excuse than anything else.

She raised her own glass and made a gentle toast, and he hated and loved it in equal measure, the way she smiled and said sweet things about how happy she was to be with him. That she hoped they could be somewhere else next year, words spoken with the knowledge that logically it would not be so, but she hoped anyway. She was always like that.

He could feel her eyes on him after they had clinked glasses, clearly waiting for him to taste the food, waiting for his reaction. He looked down at the plate in front of him. A typical Ferelden stew - lamb and peas. The simplicity of it, the familiarity, struck him, and he felt a pang of guilt for assuming that she, of all people, would drag him into a party he clearly didn't want. Instead, here they were, in the quiet of the abandoned Skyhold garden, just the two of them, with a meal from his country, simple and unassuming.

He took the first bite and felt the familiar tug at the back of his mind. This dish was often on the menu here in Skyhold - warm, hearty, easy to make in large quantities - but this... this was different. It tasted of warm hands and soft kisses on his head, the spices evoking memories of an old wooden table in the small hut where he had grown up. He could almost see his mother's smile, feel her fingers brush against his as she slipped him an extra portion before he left them to begin his Templar training. The last day he had seen his parents, or his family for that matter.

He swallowed, the taste bringing back the bittersweet image of his last day in Honnleath. His fingers tightened around the spoon, caught in the vortex of memory.

He blinked and looked back at the woman across from him.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" she asked, her voice uncertain, her eyebrows knitted together, making the black lines of her Vallaslin curve. He blinked, her words sinking in, and suddenly he realized - this wasn't just any stew from the Skyhold kitchens. She had made it herself.

A wave of warmth spread through him at the thought. How had she found the time, with all the burdens she carried day and night? His chest tightened with affection, the corners of his mouth lifting into a softer smile.

"Maker, no!" he finally replied, realizing she thought he didn't like it, his hand reaching across the table to take hers, feeling the contrast of her soft skin against his rough calluses as he brushed his thumb over her knuckles. "It tastes of Honnleath... of my childhood," he continued, his voice thick with nostalgia and gratitude.

She exhaled, her shoulders visibly relaxing, and a small, relieved smile broke across her face.

"I'm so glad," she said quietly. Then, almost as if she needed to explain, she added, "I wrote to Mia." She looked down and finally started to eat. "I asked her what your favorite food was and if she knew the recipe... She was really helpful." She took another spoonful of stew. "I wanted to make something that would remind you of home," she added, her cheeks flushing as she looked down at her plate.

Cullen was silent for a moment, the realization that she had even bothered to write to his sister sinking in. He almost couldn't believe it - she had gone out of her way to make him feel at home. She always told him she cared, always showed it in countless little ways. But sometimes it still felt like a dream, like something he shouldn't have after all he'd done. Something he didn't deserve - didn't deserve her, or the chance to be so happy. Not when the world around them was about to collapse.

"I know that look..." Her voice cut through his thoughts, soft but edged with the sharpness that told him she had guessed what he was thinking - again. She was far too good at it, but it helped bring him back to the situation, back to the moment. His hazel eyes met hers, her blue gaze steady, searching. She reached out, her hand closing over his, her grip strong, her fingers threading through his. "You're starting to think again..." she added gently, her eyes filled with compassion.

"I can't deny it..." he admitted, shaking his head slightly, fighting the urge to apologize. He paused, searching her face, then finally added, his voice soft, "Thank you... for this. For everything."

She simply squeezed his hand again, her touch comforting and reassuring, not pushing him to say more. They continued to eat in comfortable silence, the candle flickering softly between them, and after a while she told him how she'd spent her afternoon in the kitchens, how the staff had been confused and how she'd had to order them to stop whispering, knowing full well it wouldn't work. He told her about those last days in Honnleath so many years ago, and about his parents, talking about them more than ever for the first time. He realized how much he wished he could introduce this woman to them, to show them that despite everything, he had found something good in his life…

[espressocomfort]

Looking for a little smutty Academia AU Solavellan treat?

As Long As You Follow

Aka. the Valentine's Fic

Rated: E

Pairing: Female Lavellan / Solas

Word count: 2,754

“How did you get there,” Silvhen mumbles, looking down at her kneeling lover. With the shower water running down his face, he already looks utterly irresistible.

“Quite the coincidence,” Solas replies, and gives her inner thigh a kiss that turns into a slow lick.

~~~

When Silvhen Lavellan goes back to her research position after a long leave, Solas decides to join her on a conference trip to Ferelden. Steamy smut ensues all across their rather lavish hotel room.

Solavellan Academia AU. Established relationship, no spoilers.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59638453

[strangerasher]

you know i actually really think it’s a good thing that there is queer representation in media bc

a lot of shows i watched (mostly TDP and kipo) had same-sex relationships, trans/non-binary people etc. My parents are stupid and homophobic and i bet if it weren’t for the rep in media i would have turned out like them.

queer representation is making stuff so much better for lgbtqia+ people by showing kids it’s normal and teaching them to be accepting from a young age. it isn’t a bad influence, it’s making everything better.

also it makes lgbtq+ people (also me) very happy to see gay and trans characters in media. so yes its very nice

holy shit im sorry thats a lot of tags 💀 oh well more people to say hi to

[elfy-elf-imagines]

≪•◦ Blog Navigation ◦•≫

▹ Master List .ೃ࿐

▹ Current WIP List .ೃ࿐

▹ Requests are OPEN .ೃ࿐

▹ Request Prompt List .ೃ࿐

▹ Want to be tagged in my works? Click here! .ೃ࿐

[queenofbaws]

if i don't write something vhawke in the immediate future i feel like i might explode into a swarm of moths and eat a whole sweater

[transparenthologramrebel]

Doe Jane

(OOPS MY HAND SLIPPED HAVE SOME SOLLAVELLEN ANGST)

No. He didn’t kill her. He couldn’t have. Chuckles, what have you done?

Varric held his breath as the inquisition group stepped through the eluvian. Cassandra charged ahead of Blackwall and Dorian, shouting orders to other soldiers who had been waiting with bated breath for the Inquisition's return from facing the Qunari. Varric barely heard the seeker as he stared in horror at what was in front of him. Clutched in Tom Rainer’s arms was the Inquisitor, Nyx Lavllen. The Dalish woman hung limply in his arms, clearly unconscious. Her red hair was falling out of its usual braid, laying loosely across her freckled covered cheeks. Her mage robes were stained with dark crimson blood. Yet that wasn’t what Varric couldn’t take his eyes off of. 

Her arm and the anchor were gone. 

How is that even possible? Chuckles, what did you do?

Varric wondered as he stared at the blood dripping stump. Strings of sinew and flesh hung freely, their edges burned black. 

“The Inquisitor needs a doctor now!” Cassandra yelled again. 

“Yes, your worship!” one of the soldiers yelled, running off.

Varric swallowed, finally finding his feet. He walked over to his two former companions, as Dorian was vigorously wrapping Nyx’s bloody stump. He opened his mouth to speak, but for the first time ever in Varric’s life he couldn’t seem to find what to say. 

“What happened? He finally managed to stammer out. 

“He happened. Solas. Nyx charged off without us, yelling that she needed to help him from the Saarebas.” Dorian said, his voice weary.

“That bastard. I’ll kill him!” Blackwall growled. The gray warden’s hands tightened around the limp body, protectively.

“If we ever even find him! You saw the crossroads! The place is bigger than all of Tevinter!” the mage cursed. 

Varric’s ears rang and his head swam. Everything became background noise, as he tried to comprehend everything. Yet his brain refused to believe it. 

Chuckles…he loved her…he would have never hurt her. 

He stepped aside and watched as two Inquisition soldiers came forward with a stretcher. Gently, Blackwall laid Nyx down. Her eyes fluttered for a moment as if she was waking, but didn’t open. Her lips twitched as if she was trying to speak. Varric didn’t need to guess who’s name she was trying to say. 

He swallowed once more, letting the chaos pass him by as she was carried away.

Hours later he sat outside the large overly embellished door to the guest room that the Inquisitor was staying in. By his side was the seeker once again, now wearing her normal Victoria outfit once more.

He grunted as he stared at the floor. 

“I can’t imagine you find this situation amusing, Varric.” Cassandra hissed with her usual cold tone. 

“I don’t.” The dwarf grunted. “But I do find comfort in that no matter what happens, somehow we always end up sitting in the same room together, Seeker” 

Cassandra gave him a small smile. A rare look for her stern face. 

Varric sighed leaning back against the cold wall. A quiet horror and dismay had covered the winter palace. Cullen and Leliana were busy trying to see if they could open the Eluvian Solas had gone through again. While Josephine was busy trying to convince the council to hold a recess until everything was solved. While the inquisitor’s inner circle had gone to deal with their emotions about the situation in their own way. 

The door creaked open and the physician walked out. Varric jumped to his feet with Cassandra. 

“She’ll be alright. She just needs a lot of rest right now. However, her arm is gone for good I’m afraid.” The doctor said, wiping his bloodied hands with a rag. “The good news is that her life is no longer in danger from the Anchor.”

“So the Anchor is completely gone? How is that even possible?” Cassandra asked, clearly befuddled. The seeker turned and looked at Varric. “We need to find Solas as soon as possible. Whatever he plans to do with the anchor…” Cassandra trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.  

Varric nodded. 

“I know. Why don’t you go see what Curly and Nightingale have found. I’ll stay with the kid.” He said. 

Cassandra nodded, walking away with the doctor. 

Varric walked into the Inquisitor's room. Nyx laid in the oversized bed embellished bed. Her red hair stuck out against the white sheets and her pale skin. She looked so fragile and breakable. The stump that used to be her arm was wrapped tightly in white bandages that were becoming slightly crimson with blood. Her chest rose and fell slowly with shallow breaths. 

Varric sighed, pulling the chair from the desk in the corner. He sat it down next to the bedside, sinking down into it. 

“I told you kid. This story is no good for heroes.”

Nyx fluttered in between dreams and memories. She watched her mother cry as her clan's keeper told her that her daughter was cursed. She remembered the warmth of the sun on her face as she was finally able to cast her first spell. She felt her knees scrap against stone as she tried to climb to freedom from the fade, as she ran from the fear spiders. She felt the warmth blossom in her chest as Solas kissed her for the first time. She then felt the pain of her heart tear into two as she watched her lover walk away from the secluded cove. She remembered his warmth, his love for the fade, his stories and artistry as he painted the rotunda at Skyhold. She felt the warmth and bitter sadness as he kissed her goodbye, promising to never forget her. 

Nyx flexed her fingers feeling the soft Orleasian sheets, as all the memories and dreams faded away. She dared not open her eyes as she desperately wanted to sink back down into blissful oblivion.

“Varric?” She croaked. She could hear the familiar sound of his pen scratching against paper. 

“I’m here kid.” Varric said, grabbing her remaining hand. His calloused hand was warm and comforting. 

“He’s gone isn’t he?” she whimpered. 

“Yeah…he’s gone.” 

Nyx turned her head, and for the first time since before the Conclave she allowed herself to cry. 

[lilllithdraagon]

HIYA!!!

So we wrote a thing. No, it isn't Book 3 of The Path Not Taken, though that is still under construction.

*throws fic onto the internet*

It's stupid, and crack-y, and we love it. We hope it eases someone's boredom in the lead up to the Veilguard release. Enjoy.

Full tags and description below the cut.

Five Minutes to Doomsday (5571 words) by Heldpeach, LilllithDraagon Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Solas (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s) Characters: Varric Tethras, Rook (Dragon Age), Solas (Dragon Age), Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Time Loop, Wish Gone Wrong, Never trust the fae, Crack, Based soley off the gameplay trailer, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, no beta we die, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Sorry Not Sorry, One Shot, The characters have lost the plot, Weird Plot Shit, It's sorta edited, good enough, Not representitive of our best work but you know it is what it is, Mia is a dumpster fire and we lit it Series: Part 2 of Silly Little Oneshots Summary: Mia made a wish. Wish granted. Shenanigans ensue. Spoiler warning: Gameplay reveal trailer for Dragon Age: The Veilguard

[mochakayy]

troubles – dragon age veilgaurd, davrin (unedited)

ps. spoilers from end of act 1!! PLEASE read with caution if you haven't played the game or haven't finished act one.

The cold air nipped at your cheeks, slowly bringing you out of your trance. Before you are the wrecked plains of Weisshaupt. Your home, the place you spent most of your life at. Destroyed by the Blight and some damn Elf god. Oh and a dragon, let’s not forget the dragon that your team was tasked to kill.

You saw it with your own eyes. Lucanis taking the leap, and hitting her eye. You don’t blame him, but deep in you there’s anger. You want to scream, blame him, blame someone for the failing of this mission. You’re a Grey Warden, your job has and will always be to fight the blight. Yet when it came down to when it actually mattered what did you do? You failed.

So many fellow Grey Wardens, dead. So many innocent people, dead.

Was this feeling what Solas felt all those years ago trying to rebel against the Gods but failing? You lock your jaw tightly. “Let’s go.” You motion your hand, Lucanis and Davrin behind you.

You wouldn’t lie and say you’re not pissed. The chance was there. One in a life time opportunity right there, and he failed to deliver. The more sensible part of you knew that it wasn’t his fault, and blaming him wouldn’t be right nor fair. Your emotions are driving you. It was your home after all and seeing it destroyed in such a state made you fume, made you vulnerable.

You gather them all at the table. They argue. Davrin blames Lucanis, you don’t blame him for that, cut from the same cloth you feel the where he’s coming from. They argue more. Taash feels like they were at fault, the rest feel like they could’ve done more, but what could have they all done to change that outcome. “Enough, sitting here pointing fingers, blaming and arguing with one another will not solve our problems nor help us fight the Gods.” You come off rough. You are their leader. You carried the burden of every choice, every wrong turns every consequence that follows. They all looked at you. Them, Solas, Varric. All of them.

“Davrin I know how you feel but it isn’t Lucanis’ fault, you were there you saw what happened. Lucanis don’t feel guilty for not succeeding. You made her bleed, that’s all that matters, and we injured her blighted dragon. We keep going, we keep moving forward.” You stand from your seat. “We need to figure ourselves out and combat our own issues before we can fight the gods again, being distracted and split like this won’t do any of us good. We start with ourselves, then our allies and then the Gods.” You leave them there.

That night you’re face to face with Solas once more. You tell him everything, how you felt, the terrible feeling that gnawed at your throat, and the call. The call that came from the Lyrium in your blood. You were no different from dark spawn or the blight. One wrong move, one temptation and the Gods could mold you and use you as their pawn, as what makes you a Warden is the same thing that you battle.

You’re awake after your talk with Solas. You find yourself lingering outside Davrin’s door. Out of all the people here Davrin was the one you knew for so long. He was the one that you went to seek comfort from when everything felt like too much.

You find him sitting on his chair craving his little wooden monsters. He does it often. His little getaway hobby, and you didn’t mind, you enjoyed watching him crave skillfully at the wood, forming them into things you were familiar with. Tonight he was craving a griffin, probably Assan.

“Can’t sleep again?” He questions briefly looking up from his wooden figure. You hum, kicking off your boots before padding further into his room. You often came here when you struggled to sleep. More often that one would think, but you knew Davrin didn’t mind, he never did. Most of the time when you were struggling to sleep he would be too. Grey Wardens shared the same burdens. “At Weisshaupt, you heard it too right.” You move to stand in front of him.

He pauses his craving, looking up at you again. “The calling? You heard it too right, it was like it was beating in my head, so loud. And when that damn god appeared my head felt like splitting.” You fold your arms over your chest. He sighs moving his knife and wooden piece to the table. He stands up, drawing to his full height. “It was bad there. The moment we left it was gone, there’s something there.” He states, watching you carefully. “But you’re not here to talk about something you already knew I also felt.” His tone lowers.

Standing before you is the man that you love. And you would do anything to protect him. “You could’ve died Davrin.” You swallow hard, trying to get a grip of the overwhelming feeling. “When the First Warden stabbed the blighted dragon, he…” Davrin moves to rest his hand on your cheek, pressing his thumb against your skin and rubbing it. “I know I saw,” He takes a shaky breath. You both knew the consequences that would’ve happened if he was the one that stabbed that dragon. “I could’ve gotten you killed.” You feel a bubble rise in your throat, you felt raw with emotions. Lucanis missing the shot, your home being wrecked, Davrin almost dead and the arguing and blaming. The feelings were so overwhelming you couldn’t handle it any longer.

“Listen Rook.” He tilts your head up to face him, “We’ll figure this out okay. You’re not alone, you have everyone here, including me.” He swipes the stray tear you didn’t even feel fall. “You were never alone, even when you left to go stop the ritual initially, I was waiting for you to come back.” He leans closer to you. “I know it’s hard, I felt so many emotions, anger and hurt and frustration, and I wanted to blame Lucanis to make it better.” He mutters, inches away from your lips. He grazes his lips over yours. You lean into him, enjoying his warmth and the calmness his presence gave you. You never want to part from him. You’d follow him to any dark corner in the world. You love him.

“I just wish it wasn’t me.” You admit, leaning into his touch. He sighs. “We all wish that once in a while, it gets hard but it’s worth it, you’re here for a reason Rook and the best you can do it make it count and do what you think is best, regardless if the rest of us agree with it or not.” He whispers, soothing your worries.

He has always been good at that.

“Thank you Davrin.” You mummer, feeling better now that you expressed how you felt. “Don’t thank me sweetheart. Give me a kiss in repayment.” You laugh softly at his little smirk. Even when the world could possibly be swallowed by the blight he remains as playful as ever.

“Fineeeeeeeeeeeee” you say teasingly, tilting your head up and locking your lips with his. You slide your arms over his shoulders, feeling his one hand settle on your ass, squeezing at the flesh. He tastes like the cheap liquor they were drinking at supper.

You pull away slightly, resting your forehead against his. “I love you Davrin.” You whisper with your eyes closed, enjoying his body warmth. “I love you too Rook.” He whispers back, kissing your forehead. “My little chase.”

[haz3-daz3]

Masterlist

im very disorganized so i might as well start making one in case things get even more confusing than it already is lol

Rules before Requesting are here

Fandoms/Rules/Whatevs

Drifters

Naoshi Kanno x F!Reader Headcanons (SFW)

Dragon Age (Origins/II)

TBA

Fire Emblem Awakening

TBA

Fire Emblem Fates

TBA

Fire Emblem Heroes

TBA

Fate (Stay/Night, /Zero, Apocrypha, /Grand Order)

Astolfo x OcarinaPlayer!Reader (Oneshot/SFW)

RWBY

Platonic!Team RWBY x Reader Part 1 (SFW)

Platonic!Team RWBY x Reader Part 2 (SFW)

Team RWBY x GN!Reader Romantic Relationship Headcanons (SFW)

[atleastonebraincell]

✨Kinktober✨

What a better way to kick off a new blog than my own kinktober prompt list!

I’m not doing a prompt every single day since I’m hoping to get through them all, if I’m lucky my motivation will carry me through the whole month.

[trebuchet151]

Revasulahn Lavellan: returning to our dnd game as a level 17 scout rogue

Don't worry, hes still cursed to roll several nat 1s per session so it's balanced.

I guess this doubles as post-trespasser art for him bc of the prosthetic arm, idk if thats staying the canon design or if im gonna change that.

[aeb-art]

old oc sketches i still like

[thorgans-guide-to-thedas]

Through the Tombs of the Dead

Take your players through a three-level puzzling dungeon that pits them against ancient Mortalitasi architecture, wandering undead, and their own psyche. They will need to learn to work together and race against the clock before they, too, become another body in the tombs of the dead.

Estimated 3-5 hours

This one-shot is set for beginner-level characters (levels 1-3) but can be adjusted to suit your DM-ing needs.

Read the PDF here!

Or get the print-friendly (non-customized) PDF here!

Looking for Dragon Age inspired ambient music for your campaign? Click here!