#dwarfmance

[pouzzzy]

it's a rare day that i miss writing about video games for the internet but the new dragon age trailer has me feeling insane

i haven't been this excited in a while!! i pulled out my journal like i'm still getting paid a salary to write about games lmfao. these are my notes:

varric is OLD!! silver fox heyo, look at that biker dad 'stache!

harding looks incredibly good and i'm so happy for the ppl who were feening for a dwarfmance

neve and lucanis are from the book tevinter nights! both were cool altho neve was slightly cooler imo. i was hoping for a neve companion! lucanis should scratch a lot of ppl's itches tho

i say this as an asian person: bellara had me HOOTING and HOLLERING. we've never had an east asian companion!!!! and she's an elf to boot!!!! she will never not be in my party except when she absolutely has to take a break.

i have a hard time talking about davrin without word vomiting because he's gonna be so INTERESTING, like he uses a sword and shield, he's DALISH, and he's also a warden???? if u can't already tell i'm an elf shill and i'm muito excited for this dude, he will also be heavy in the rotation.

also there was a griffin????? i was so ready to keep freaking out about the companions but then i did a double take and was like oh there's just a fucking griffin, and it looks like a baby???? like is that your son, sir, is that your baby??????? hello??????????

i was so ready to disregard emmrich bc he's just like The Old Man but in my experience these kinds of characters end up being the ones i love the most, see: Vicar Max in outer worlds, so i'm fully ready to ride that old man until his sciatica acts up

taash is a shortened version of the word "ataashi," meaning glory, usually in the context of dragons! fitting and appropriate, and yeah we're eating, we got a lady qunari! i do know that some people are about to be very weird with her so i just hope her characterization is well-rounded enough to combat this lmao

[invinciblerodent]

i’m not sure if it’s immersive the way bg3 or dragon age are, but divinity original sin 2 does have a romanceable dwarven seafarer with a thick scottish brogue, if it’s any consolation. may this be a balm to your dwarfmancing needs.

Oooh Divinity has been on my to-play list forever, but you're telling me that there's a smallarge dwarf-man I can smooch?

...... and his name is BEAST???!??

i'm there so fast, you won't even see me leaving, just the Looney Toones-esque, comically me-shaped dust cloud

[lostinfantasies38]

Modern AU Sirrastair

Here is more from my modern cop/Carta AU with Alistair and Sirra that no one asked for.  Except, it’s NSFW, so there is that!  Mind you, it's a WIP and subject to change.  But I wanted opinions on how it’s coming along.  💛  @kittimau @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @fluffymabari @sharkapologists @river-of-asgard @schoute @lyrium-lovesong

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tossing his keys on the ceramic dish perched atop the low bookshelf with a clatter, Alistair sighed heavily as he laid his wallet beside the ring of metal, smoothly locking the door with his other hand.  Pushing off the frame, he strode into his kitchen and yanked the fridge open.  A trip to the grocery store was desperately needed, but he never had time with the late shifts.  Grabbing the last beer, he popped the top on the stout and poured it into a clean glass.  

Admiring the foam in anticipation of the first cold sip, he almost missed the slippery scratch of pebbles under someone’s shoe from the deck.  Unclipping his holster, he palmed his Glock and ducked into a crouch.  Working his way through the edge of his living room, he stayed in the shadows, thumb resting on the safety, itching for an excuse to flick the switch.  

Peeking around the sliding glass door, the slightly open door, he froze in shock.

Sirra Brosca was draped across one of his deck chairs, curvy legs in snug leggings propped on the railing, twirling a dark strand of hair around her finger.  She glanced up with a bored expression, her lips faintly quirking before settling into a plump pout and patted the chair next to her.

“Hello, handsome.  We need to talk.”

Tilting his head suspiciously, he slid onto the deck, gun in hand.  “I don’t know whether you are incredibly stupid or stupidly brave to break into a police officer’s house.”

The signature smirk that had haunted his thoughts and fueled more midnight fantasies than he cared to admit bloomed on her heart-shaped lips.  

“I’m Carta.  That should tell you all you need to know about me and my motives.  And technically, I didn’t break in.  I’m merely trespassing.  I cracked the door to get your attention, that’s all.”

Alistair shook his head while sinking into a chair against his better judgement.  “If that were true, you wouldn’t have given me that tip.  Thanks for that, by the way.  Although, I still don’t know why you would give us that kind of intel.”

“Quite the haul, right?”  

He noticed she pointedly did not give a reason for divulging the information that allowed them to intercept 9,000 kilos of lyrium from the port before it could hit the streets.  An estimated street value of eleven million Crowns, it was the biggest bust in Denerim’s history.

Tucking his weapon back in his holster, he steepled his hands and leaned closer to the dwarven woman.  “Why are you here?  What do you want?  Is there where you tell me I owe you and I say I don’t help criminals?”

Chuckling in that damnable husky voice, she crooned.  “Ooo, a romance angle!  Are we star-crossed lovers now?  Does that make you Guinevere?”

Smiling despite himself, Alistair snorted.  “I think I’d make a dashing Lancelot, thank you very much.  A pity the days of knights and codes of honor are dead.”

Sirra shook her head almost fondly.  “Not quite.  You strike me as a very gallant guy, willing to do what’s right, no matter the cost.”  

He leaned back against the chair, creating distance between them, but she followed his retreat.  Unfurling her legs from the railing, she pressed forward, dropping her voice to a whisper.

“You know, the Carta has a dossier on every cop in town.  Just like you have on us.  None of your ‘undercover’ cops goes unrecognized.  We see every move you make and it’s why you can’t nail them without an inside man… or woman.  It’s why I chose you, Officer Theirin.”  

Alistair tensed under her intense stare, held captive when she slid gracefully out of the chair, ankle boots tapping softly against the wood.  He noted the fitted cut of her forest green top, drawing his eyes to her ample bosom, watching with rapt attention as she swung her wide hips with each step.  Every move was an invitation, and he idly wondered if he would see the killing blow.  If he would even care.

Placing her hands on either side of the chair, she caged him in, staring at him under thick, curled lashes and murmured.  “Former Grey Warden, exemplary military record.  Most well known for clearing an entire school of children as Fog Warriors set it on fire.  Against orders.  You returned to the conflagration multiple times, carrying out boys and girls covered in ash until the building was empty.  I saw the footage, Alistair.”  

He shivered at the sound of his name in that raspy voice.  “H-How?  The footage and the mission were sealed.  There is -”

“I have my ways,” she interrupted airily, flicking her dainty fingers.  “You are probably the closest this Age has to a knight.  You are honorable and good.  Maybe a little naïve, but that is part of your appeal.”  

Crawling into his lap, she hummed appreciatively to discover how perfectly she fit in it. The man gasped as her thighs wrapped around his, her round ass deliciously close to where he wanted her, yet not close enough.

“Sirra…” he ground through clenched teeth.  “What are you doing?  What do you want?  What is this all about?”

Licking her lips, she held his gaze as she leaned close, veering right at the last second to purr in his ear.  “You need me, handsome.  If you want to take down my father’s organization, you will need me.  And… I need an alibi.”

His hands found her then, locking around her hips like steel as he growled into her curtain of hair.  “Why do you need an alibi?  Why me?  You know what, nevermind, I don’t think I want to know.  If you want to be an informant, which, for the record, I haven’t yet agreed to - I can’t be your alibi.  And this is hardly keeping our working relationship professional, don’t you think?”  

Grasping at straws, raging a war against his own desires, he struggled to find a way to get the dwarven woman off his lap before he did something stupid that involved little to no clothing.  Her face filled his field of vision, nose ring flashing in the faint sliver of moonlight, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

“First, I don’t need an alibi tonight, but I know the time is coming when I will need you to cover for me.  My father is not the only thing I’m running from.  The pit is full of vipers.”  

Alistair frowned heavily at that, a dawning realization that she was not doing this just for him.  She was escaping, and he was her ticket out.   

“Second, I never said this partnership had to be professional… or respectable.  We’re both adults here, aren’t we, handsome?  Of course, if you want me to get off your lap, I will.”  

Gripping her generous curves tightly, he answered in a strained voice.  “No, I don’t want you to do that.”

Smirking, she brushed her lips across his in a chaste kiss.  “And that’s the rub, isn’t it, gorgeous?  You don’t want to want me as much as you do.  Because of who I am.  Because of my name.  Does it hit a little close to home?”  Sirra’s teasing smile softened when his hazel eyes darkened.  

“Shut up, you damnable siren.”  

A large hand wrapped around her neck and pressed her lips fervently to his full mouth, and they moaned in unison as their lips and tongues fell into a natural rhythm.  Scooting forward on the chair, he rose, and she locked her legs around his trim waist.  Once inside the house, her small hand carefully closed the door behind them as his lips moved down her neck, nipping at the sensitive junction where it met her shoulder.  She gasped in approval, bucking against his abs, and he chuckled.  

“Wh-where are you taking me, Officer?”  

Her dark eyes twinkled mischievously, and Alistair’s chest tightened in a way he didn’t really want to analyze right now.  Instead, he smirked, murmuring as he circled her throat with licks and kisses.  

“Where I take all naughty women who sneak into my backyard and proposition me with offers too tempting to refuse: my bedroom.  Where else would I take you, Sirra?”

“Ancestors save me.  You better not take me anywhere else, Alistair.” 

He chuckled again, full of promise, and she shivered wantonly as he carried her through the hallway to the master suite.  “Oh, I don’t know, I may want to take you all over this place before the night is through.”

They tumbled on the king-sized bed and she claimed his lips urgently.  As they parted for air, she scrambled out of her top, revealing her full breasts barely contained in her black bra, and soft curves he needed to get his hands on.  Alistair groaned as he kicked off his shoes desperately.  

“I hope you live up to that promise, handsome.  I want all of you and then some.”  

Flicking her leggings absently aside, she froze as he shrugged out of his shirt, bronze muscles rippling in the moon-washed room.  Without pausing, he unsnapped his gun, ejected the clip and laid them on his dresser before unzipping his trousers.  

She could see the trail of auburn hair that led to what she really wanted, peeking through the elastic band of his boxer briefs.  Sirra moaned unintentionally, the clingy fabric of his underwear leaving nothing to the imagination.  

Alistair paused and glanced at her then, splayed out like a Satinalia present on his bed.  Dark hair pooled underneath her flawless skin, reminding him of marble statues of ancient goddesses displayed in museums.  Sex personified as she bit her lip, a flush blooming on her chest, her eyes nearly black as she ogled him.

“See something you like?” he taunted as he stepped out of his trousers.  Striding confidently toward the bed, he knew she was drinking him in.  His cock heavy and hard between muscular thighs, still hidden from view, but obvious through the thin material covering his modesty. 

Exhaling raggedly, Sirra breathed, “You know I do.  What about you, gorgeous?  See anything you like?”

Reaching the edge of the bed, he shot her a dark gaze full of want.  “I see what I’ve fantasized about since that night in the club two months ago, Sirra.”  

Her breath hitched at his honest confession, and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.  Alistair watched intently as it dragged along her luscious mouth.  Snagging her hip, he gently maneuvered her to the center of the bed and hovered over her.  His voice was low and raw when he spoke again.  

“But what I have before me is even better than I imagined.  I am in deep with you already, siren.  I have been since I met you.”

Lifting her torso slightly off the bed, Sirra reached around to unclasp her bra, a sultry laugh tumbling from her mouth when Alistair swore at the sight of her pierced nipples.  

“Oh, darling, you ruined me that night in the club.  And now I plan to return the favor.”   

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you @tevivinter for the beautiful commission 🥰🥰 I love them so much.

This is a portrait of the lovely Marguerite Cadash-Tethras all grown up, star of the on-hiatus The Herald’s Gambit. The brunette is Petra of Clan Halvor - a warrior caste exile from Orzammar (was Mags involved in that debacle? Possibly. Most likely. It’s a hell of a story I haven’t written yet) known as an undefeated Proving Champion. 

This commission did inspire me to finish this little snipped about them and those pretty dwarf braids. Enjoy!

Mine, Petra thought dizzily. Mine.

Petra would never admit it, but this was her favorite part of sharing a watch with Mags. 

The two of them sat facing the fire, Mags perched herself on a damp log behind Petra with deft fingers tangled in Petra's dark hair. She tried not to lean into Mags's touch, sitting cross legged between her splayed knees. If she moved just an  inch to the right, she could lean against the soft cotton of Mags’s breeches, rest her cheek on her pillowy thigh. Like an exiled casteless with no family or fortune had a right to be there, or really anywhere near someone like Marguerite Cadash-Tethras.

“Pin.” Mags demanded, thrusting her hand over Petra’s shoulder. Petra held up a fistful and she snatched one from between her fingers immediately, used it to secure the last of the intricate braids woven up the side of Petra’s scalp. Then Mags picked up the long leather tie she’d removed when she began and wove together the rest of the loose hair into a much simpler braid, one that she flipped over the opposite shoulder when she finished. Petra reached up to run her fingers over the elegant work, done as neatly as any deep lord’s wife could want. 

“Satisfied?” Mags teased, leaning too far in so her breath puffed gently across the earrings in Petra's ear.

“Will it keep my hair out of my eyes while I’m slaying our enemies?” Petra huffed, impatient and irritated at her own distraction. 

“And you’ll look beautiful at the same time. Who says you have to sacrifice form for function?” Mags’s smooth voice ended in a  laugh. She nudged Petra’s shoulder with her knee. “My turn?” 

No, maybe this was her favorite part. 

Petra stood from the dust, wiping the assorted leaves and debris from her pants as Mags jumped to her own feet, settling where she’d been. The firelight bounced off her curls, turned them to copper instead of gold. Petra spared a wary glance around them, their companions stretched out on bedrolls, the darkness kept at bay by their small fire. Nothing stirred in the shadows. 

They weren’t really alone, but they were the only two awake, which was as close as they could be to being alone. 

For these shining, star studded hours, Petra had the sun all to herself. 

When she settled on the log, Mags leaned into the space between her thighs, warm and so blessedly assured of herself. Her nimble fingers reached up to start pulling her own pins from the braids decorating her golden locks. 

“Stop.” Petra ordered, slowly moving Mags hands away, mouth dry as she smoothed the mostly loose curls tangling from her high ponytail. She tugged the leather tie loose and let them fall into her ungentle hands. 

Petra never had anything to herself, not growing up in a clan just scraping by, not learning to fight with a dozen others, but she was the only one who spun gold beneath her fingers every night. So she cherished these hours, pulled them selfishly closer to her every evening. 

In the daylight, the woman between her knees would be their brilliant and bright Magpie again, but here…

Mags's smile came slower, softer, in the shadows. Her eyes weren’t quite as steely. The fire and starlight softened all the hard edges of her tongue, made her melt into Petra’s touch as she freed the rest of the braids, ran her fingers through them as softly as she could to untangle them. Mags produced her wide toothed comb and tossed it over her shoulder with a sunny, amused grin. 

Petra fought the urge to wind those curls around her fingers, slowly dragging the comb through them instead. Mags almost immediately began to fiddle with the necklace she wore, the bright blaze of sapphires sparkling in the light. 

“Hey, tell me a secret.” She demanded, like secrets were easy to buy and trade. Perhaps, to her, they were. 

“I don’t have any secrets.” Petra lied, not willing to admit that this, perhaps, was her darkest secret. That these moments were a treasure, a deshyr’s daughter between her thighs, the sun spilling between her fingers. She wasn’t supposed to want the daylight, after all. She belonged to the shadows of the stone. Mags belonged to silk and wealth. That was the way of things. “How do you want your hair?” 

“Dealer’s choice.” She said easily, looking over her shoulder and spearing Petra with a chagrined glance. “Everyone has secrets.” 

“What’s yours then?” Petra asked, secretly gleeful that she got to decide. Petra would leave as much of the golden curls loose as she could so she could follow their sway as they hiked across bleeding Thedas.

Mags looked away, back towards the fire, her fingers still on the pendant she wore, her mother’s pendant. Petra would never see her mother again, but at least Petra knew where she was. Knew she was safe. Mags may never find the answer. 

“I’m afraid.” Mags admitted quietly. 

In the dark, she could be. With Petra, perhaps, more than anyone. Unable to help herself, Petra brushed one thumb down the smooth line of skin behind Mags’s ear, a touch she hoped was soothing. 

“Of what?” Petra asked, but she already knew. Mags was frightened of small spaces, being alone too long, going home empty handed, and failing her family. Mags never said any of those things, of course, but Petra knew. Petra watched her, after all, far more than she should. 

“Spiders.” Mags grinned, lighthearted again. Petra saw just the slightest curve of her smile, uncertain and raw. “Your turn. What are you frightened of?” 

Petra said the word before she thought about it. “You.” 

Beneath her, Mags stiffened, and Petra immediately began cursing. Mags tugged free of her gentle grip and turned, spearing her with a bewildered and hurt look. “Me? Why are you afraid of me? Is it because I’m…” 

Different. Because she had magic she could barely use, more likely to implode on them at any moment than to actually be helpful. Petra watched her struggle with the word before discarding it, a flush rising to her face, temper beginning to eclipse pain. 

She never meant to hurt her. Petra would never harm her. If she had her way, she’d become the knight from the stories Mags’s father once weaved, the ones Mags kept hidden in her pack. Tales for a precocious child in a dangerous world, one who needed a bulwark against the storm, a safe place for a Magpie to rest her wings. 

If the choice was between hurting Mags or hurting herself, the choice was obvious. 

“Fuck.” Petra swore, looking away from those beloved eyes and into the darkness. “I’m scared of losing you because you’re reckless, you’re mad. You think you’re invincible and nothing will ever hurt you. I’m less afraid of dying myself than I am of losing you and that’s terrifying.” 

“What?” Not much shocked Mags, but this did. Petra watched her recoil, alarmed by the intensity of emotions. 

Alarmed by the confession, more like. Petra could not have the sun, it did not belong to her. She knew it, but if she was going to ruin everything she was going to do it properly. “Since the first day I saw you, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I know you. I know the way you walk, the way your hair curls, the way you smile when you lie, and I could still spend the rest of my days learning more about you. If I lost my sodding eyes, my hearing, all my limbs I would still know you. I would know you anywhere, Marguerite.” 

Mags was in her blood, engraved in the stone that lined her heart. She always would be. The same way this memory would haunt her, Mags eyes wide with shock, pulling away to…

Petra stood, nearly tripped over the damn log as she took several steps into the circle of dark surrounding them. She needed to get away from that look, away from the disgust she swore would come next. This was not allowed, this…

“Wait.” Mags whispered plaintively, scrambling up from the ground. “This is where you kiss me, right? You can’t say all of that and not kiss me. It’s not allowed.” 

It was Petra’s turn to be shocked. She stared in stunned disbelief as Mags took one slow step forward, a tentative smile curling her lips. Her hair fell loose in waves down her back, turned to a halo of light by the flames behind her. She extended her hand slowly, like she was afraid of startling a nug. 

“What?” Petra asked, unsure of the turn this had taken. Mags giggled.

“This is the part of the story where you kiss me. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.” She was teasing again, her expression lighter, softer than Petra had ever seen it. She couldn’t tell in the shadows, but she swore a blush was creeping up Mags’s fair skin. 

The sun was throwing herself at her feet. And Petra was too weak to say no. 

She crossed back to Mags, tangling her steady hands into those loose curls, and brought her lips crashing against Mags’s own. Petra swore she could feel the stone inside her softening, melting into a core of lava, blazing and bright as Mags’s lips under hers. 

[lostinfantasies38]

I do understand why not all readers comment. Sometimes what I write isn’t something you cared for. Or I wrote a rare pair you considered briefly before thinking, “nah, not my bag.”

I get it. I really do.

However, the original poster is correct. If you’re going to come back continuously, then please tell me you enjoy the story. It can be a simple “I love this so much,” or “how cute” or “I didn’t know how much I needed this ship until now!” (I am the last one, lol)

We are human and require validation to keep going. Otherwise, it feels like we are throwing our work into the sun, where it is consumed and annihilated leaving absolutely nothing in its wake. And if you ever watched the Neverending Story as a child, you know The Nothing is bad.

So please. Comment. Leave kudos. Tell me I did a good job and that maybe, just maybe, I’m not the only weirdo who loves rare pairs and dwarfmances.

why commenting on fics matter

Because writers will stop fucking writing if you don’t. 

It is extremely sad to hear one of your friends consider the possibility of deleting all their fics and WIPS - something they spend hours on for free - because of a lack of feedback. I have entertained that thought too, many times. Writing is exhausting, time consuming, and sometimes frankly depressing and discouraging. As a reader, you can make a difference. This is not just about a writer leaving a fandom, because that happens all the time - it’s about a writer leaving a fandom and taking all they’ve offered to it with them because they feel worthless. Which is just revolting. 

Fic writers lose sleep and gain anxiety over the work they decide to share with the world. If you don’t show a writer your appreciation, you will get nothing in return. Nothing. 

If you tell someone you like their work, you get everything. More stories to read when it’s a Friday night and you’re exhausted as hell, more fluff to comfort yourself with when you’re feeling cold, more fucked up stories when you feel in the mood for them, more smut when you need to relax. I don’t know, man. It’s just so fucking precious and rich and important, all these people who decide to take you places because it makes them happy to, but if you don’t say a word of thanks, their carefully crafted world crumbles and turns to dust. It’s as simple as that. 

Comments make a writer write more. And not only for your entertainement, because it was never about that - not at the beginning - but for themselves. Knowing people appreciate the work they do helps us gain confidence, and confidence makes people. I never considered writing as a possible career option, but now, I have plans to develop a story that’s been blooming inside my head properly on paper and put it out there, in the real world, to see if it worth it. I believe in it. I believe in the stories I tell, I believe in my writing, and it is only because of the positive feedback I have received for the past year. 

This rant is a jumbled mess, because I am pissed off as hell. This shouldn’t happen. Commenting on fics should be a given. Just comment on fics, acknowledge the writer’s work and you. Will. Get. Everything. You. Ever. Wanted. Do nothing and you will get nothing, and then you will wonder why this or that fic hasn’t updated in months. 

Guess what - it’s because I have better things to do with my time than spend hours working on a fic for people who don’t care. I am done.  

[coconutwaterbending]

"We hope you love staring at Varric's chest as much as we do <3" SDFAWDFGAFEGAE So this is what it feels like to be amongst fellow dwarfmancers. It's nice.

[jarakrisafis]

This is @noire-pandora‘s fault. The dwarfmancer wrote a real quick elvhen thing.

Solas smiles, wolf-like, one could say, as Ellana stops stock still, mouth open in surprise. Her eyes track over his whole body as he lounges on her bed, the papers in her hand now forgotten. “Good evening ma lath.” She takes the required steps to put the papers on the desk before turning to him. “Solas?” Her voice is low, husky with desire and she crosses the distance to him as he gets to his feet. Her hands are warm on his chest before one wraps round his neck, tugging him down for a long kiss. “Yes ma vhenan,” he says when she lets him go. “You,” She takes a deep breath, hand dropping to caress the tight leather across his ass that feels like it’s molded to him, “you remembered.” “Of course I did.” He doesn’t forget things like that. She reaches up, fingers closing on the ring on the collar he’s wearing and tugs until he drops to his knees in front of her. He waists no time in raising his hand to her belt, “I don’t forget anything you tell me.”

[lostinfantasies38]

WIP Whenever

Thanks for those who tagged me over the last few days! @schoute @pikapeppa @fandomn00blr @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @kittimau I didn’t have anything worthy to share until I edited this bit. 

A little bit of Sun Touched and Alistair being vulnerable. 💛

Warm eyes glanced up and saw everything he’d been trying to conceal. In an instant, Sirra clasped his hand for balance and carefully stepped toward him. Her observant gaze noted his traitorously bright eyes and the trembling in his usually steady grasp. 

“Oh, salroka,” she whispered. “What am I going to do with you, you giant human?”

Alistair shrugged listlessly, his voice thick with repressed emotion. “Love me?”

[lostinfantasies38]

I’m in love. I could stare at this all day 😍

Alistair kisses

[lostinfantasies38]

As my good friend @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold likes to say, “Oops, my hand slipped” 💛

[lostinfantasies38]

WIP Wednesday

From the next chapter of Sun Touched, which I was hoping to get up today, but life got in the way. NSFW-ish. 😎

You’re welcome @sharkapologists Thanks for the tag @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold and @cornfedcryptid !

His lips crashed against hers again, hungry and insistent, as he dragged her onto the mattress with him. Sirra fell willingly, moaning in encouragement when Alistair nibbled her bottom lip, his own groan of pleasure joining hers when her fingers teased his sensitive nipples through his tunic. A sword roughened hand haltingly slipped under the hem of her shirt, painting abstract designs on her skin with the pads of his fingers, unsure if he should touch her this way, but desperately wanting to.

Scooting closer, Sirra hiked up her top to indicate her approval. Taking the hint, Alistair’s hand pressed to her flesh, his palm resting in the small of her back while his slender fingers splayed along her spine. Her nerve endings flamed to life under his gentle caress and she burned for more.

“Is it okay if I take off my shirt, Alistair?” Sirra breathed.

His lips left the trail they were blazing on her ear and he blinked a few times before smiling, slowly toying with the fabric of her tunic with a nod. The warrior watched with scarlet cheeks as Sirra sat up and crossed her arms to snag the hem; her face disappearing from view as the cloth rose over her head, but his eyes were locked on the rest of her.

[lostinfantasies38]

Thanks for tagging me @cornfedcryptid! Tagging @bigfan-fanfic @ginnyq @fandomn00blr @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @somniaran @darlingrutherford @ranawaytothedas @theaiobhan​ and anyone else who I forgot or wants to join! Apologies for double tags 

From a chapter of Sun Touched only a couple of weeks away!

“Caridin’s teeth!”  

The humans all stared in surprise, and Alistair slowly lowered his tankard with concern as the tension between the dwarven women escalated. Sirra’s eyes hardened to stone as she worked her jaw back and forth in silent challenge.  He noted the way the other dwarf’s gaze flicked to her ears, and he frowned deeply, unsure what it all meant, but knowing it wasn’t anything good.

“Y-you’re…”

“A Grey Warden,” Sirra finished darkly for the barmaid.  

[lostinfantasies38]

Thanks for your patience, guys!  I hope the next chapter meets with your approval! 

The Wardens ignored Morrigan’s barbs in the morning regarding the numerous times the couple woke overnight in their continuous discovery of what made each other tick, as Sirra promised they would. The couple were determined not to let any negativity steal the residual bliss gleaned from their bubble last night, acutely aware their elation might be the only thing keeping them grounded for whatever awaited them in Redcliffe.

After a quick breakfast at the inn, the four companions met the mages at the lake. Sirra thanked the small contingent of men and women for their willingness to aid in their task. Shaking hands with First Enchanter Irving, the dwarven woman smiled pleasantly during the brief introductions, and officially welcomed Wynne to the party with a hug.  

A beneficial side effect of the mages’ life in a tower was their stamina after years of climbing multiple floors daily. It allowed the Wardens to set a brutal pace to ensure they reached Redcliffe before Connor lost control of the demon again. The group stopped briefly for lunch before resuming their march, arriving at the castle by late afternoon.

As the throng of people filed into the throne room, Teagan and Isolde converged upon the group exuberantly, having assumed the worst after three days with no word. Alistair launched into a bare bones explanation of their delay as the mages set up for the ritual while Sirra conferred in hushed tones with Morrigan.

"Morrigan, I need you to go into the Fade and fight the demon," stated the dwarf.  

The dark-haired woman arched an imperious eyebrow and crossed her arms over her scantily clad chest. "After you berated me in the Circle tower? I am supposed to simply forgive such an affront and do as I am bid, Warden? "

Sighing heavily, Sirra shook her head. "No, you've a right to be angry. I was..."

"A bitch?"

Sirra snorted at the mage's attempt to goad her, quirking her own eyebrow in response, and shot back. "Takes one to know one, doesn’t it?"

A faint uptick of Morrigan's lips told the shorter woman the witch approved of her unwillingness to back down.

"Look, I was unnecessarily harsh, but so were you,” Sirra leveled the human with a glare. “I won't argue with you on your stance regarding Circle mages. I am not a mage and not informed enough on the Circle and Chantry rules to even attempt it. But right now, that isn't the issue." The haughty woman continued to appraise her as she spoke, and Sirra was keenly aware every word counted in this moment.  

[Continue on AO3]

[lostinfantasies38]

Chapter 13 of Sun Touched 

Meaning In A World Gone Mad

Exiting the dark tower, Sirra squinted against the bright light, groaning at the headache that pulsed against her temples at the rudeness of the sun.  As her vision cleared, she checked its placement in the sky and realized it marked the approximate second hour in the afternoon. They’d been inside the tower for an entire day, at least.  Who knew how much time passed in the real world when they were trapped in the Fade?

Reaching the dock, they discovered a different Templar waiting to row them across.  Morrigan was the one who broached the question on everyone’s mind.

“How long were we locked inside your tower, Templar?”

“Two days,” came the clipped reply.

Sirra gasped and she felt Alistair tense beside her.  Two days longer than they planned to leave Connor at the mercy of the demon.  Yet they hadn’t had a choice, and they couldn’t march even halfway around the lake in their current state of exhaustion.  They needed a decent meal, a good night’s rest, time to clean all the congealed gunk from their armor, and a bath. Ancestors, she was splurging for baths across the board.

Alistair helped her into the boat with the others, and they rocked along the waves in silence.  Sirra missed the comfort of his knees on this trip, but he was contemplative and distracted. Instead, she clung to the side of the vessel with one hand and the bench seat with the other, praying the small craft remained upright on their crossing.  It was an uneventful trip, and more quickly than it took to arrive at the tower, the foursome found themselves deposited on the opposite shore.

Sirra knew they made quite an impression when they entered the old inn: two women, one of whom was a mage, a man so tall he had to duck under the low lintel, and a dwarf wearing blood covered armor.  Slapping a full coin purse on the table, she rented two rooms, baths, and a hot meal for them all. The innkeeper snatched the pouch and picked his jaw off the floor to yell at his staff to heat some water for multiple baths while he escorted them upstairs to the rooms.

There were four rooms upstairs, one of which was the communal bathing room.  He gave them the two rooms side by side on the left of the stairwell and told them to see him about a hot meal when they were ready.  Leliana and Morrigan claimed one room, leaving Alistair and Sirra outside the second.

The dwarf nervously shuffled her feet.  “I can rent the third one, if you’d rather.  I didn’t think to ask –“

Alistair tilted her head up to meet him for a chaste kiss, secretly pleased that he wouldn't be separated from her after their harrowing ordeal.  “No, Sirra. I already promised to spend the next night in your tent, and we ended up in the Fade instead. This makes up for rudely denying you,” he murmured with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Come on.”

Pushing open the door, he followed in behind her and closed it with a gentle click of the metal lock in the door plate.  Awkwardly, they deposited their packs and Sirra tugged off her boots with a grateful sigh. She grimaced at the flakes of dried blood that littered the floor wherever she walked or stood.

“Uh, I have to get out of this armor.”

“Yeeeeep.”

Alistair’s lilting reply carried in the small space, but he did not look at her as he dropped his gauntlets on the floor next to his boots.  Sirra exhaled slowly to calm her anxiety and started working on the leather straps of her armor, only to discover most of the bindings glued shut by the copious amount of blood and who knew what else.  She snarled in frustration, pausing at Alistair’s amused laughter and glanced at him, now in a pair of simple cloth breeches and his under tunic wearing a bemused expression.

“Need help?”

Blowing out an irritated breath, Sirra extended her arm in invitation and in three long strides he loomed over her, his strong hands making quick work of the stubborn straps, so she could finally be free of the confining leathers.  Within minutes they had shucked her armor until all it left her standing in were her snug leggings and a loose tunic, much to her relief. Sighing happily, she sank onto a nearby chair with a smile, rolling her shoulders to work out the sore muscles underneath the armor she'd been stuck in for two days straight.

“Thanks, Alistair.”

continue on AO3

[lostinfantasies38]

Sirra-Alistair moodboard

Thank you to the amazingly talented @ranawaytothedas for creating this for me!! I LOVE IT! And I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to make it! PS - Maeve is a baddass and I love her ❤️

Read about Sirra and Alistair in “Sun Touched” on AO3!  Also, linked in the menu!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21970717/chapters/52427155

[lostinfantasies38]

Hell yeah!! Alistair stands by his woman (or man, bc my Alistair is BI AF)

it’s absolute bullshit that alistair can only make a female human his queen. you don’t think he’d point at his dwarf gf and be like “THATS MY WIFE” to anyone who tried to tell him otherwise??