#kirkwall coffee

[mel-0n-earth]

Does anyone remember Kirkwall Coffee? What’s going on in that universe rn? Like is Solas trying to destroy all coffee or

[itsaseamonster]

I want to kiss the people who made Kirkwall Coffee on the lips (with their consent)

[hellafluff]

David is the world's most tired Hawke

[icewindale2]

feel like shit i want her back

(her is kirkwall coffee)

[dearest-and-nearest]

A few more Taash's spoilers under cut because yes, i'm angry

They bringed back Isabela, but no choices with her. They mutilated her character, so woman, who almost doomed the entire city with her flee with a book, teaches us how to apologize. Can you imagine that?

She also speaks about how she found love and friendship and Kirkwall and thank you, bioware, as if i need another remind that my choices don't matter. Because i gave her to Arishok, but hey, they needed another narrative, so fuck you, player as someone but pure good! You should have made right choice so now you wouldn't feel like your canon was erased, because authors didn't care about any choices, but theirs

She's also doing push-ups for misgendering. Here's this woman, who could calmly throw you all to your death by qunari and even changed her mind about doing so not because of her understanding of the situation but because her affection for Hawke kicked in, turned into the same accepting sweetest snowflake as everyone else around her.

I'm not demanding that Taash is misgendered by everyone from her mom to our companions, but a farce like this? Performed by a character I liked, who I loved? Fuck it.

Fuck misogynistic grown-up infantile, who acts like she doesn't live in dark fantasy world, but in USA in 21st century and her main problem isn't literal apocalypse, but what coffee she wants. Fuck Weeks who thinks, that write "oh i'm not like other girls so i'm not a girl" is so progressive. Fuck bioware for their piece of shit, for which they've payed almost everyone to praise it. Fuck this game for being this

[monstersinthecosmos]

rainy green days remind me of working on ships in a way that feels so visceral and somehow overwrites every other rainy green day in my life; i don't remember how this happens every spring, maybe because i could stay inside on a rainy day, but on ships we are so desperate to be on land, to smell the earth, and it doesn't matter if it's pouring rain, you still go outside. you explore the port, because ship life is fucked up and hard and you have to make it mean something. it reminds me of working alaska, where things moved so fast and i was so stresesd, i'd be crying in my office at 2am on gala night, and it reminds of me eating stale pizza from under the heat lamp and slamming iced black coffees and getting to bed at dawn and feeling the rumble of the anchor room as we made it into ketchikan, and i think about how i'd debate if i wanted to get dressed and go upstairs for food, because i was allowed to eat the guest food if i was in uniform, but i wanted to go outside, so i'd have my big hoodie and my headphones and i'd walk around in the rain, and i'd think i should eat outside and experience the port better, but it was so much tourist food, $18 lunch entree, $20 bag of gourmet popcorn, and the time i went into a cafe to use the wifi and i bought a coffee but it turns out it's a restaurant, they only give the wifi password to people buying an entree, the entree is $30 for local seafood, they don't have to-go cups and my coffee is so hot i have to just sit there in silence and drink it and waste my whole hour outside on it, because it was expensive and i only make $2/hr and i'd feel guilty wasting it, but when i'm outside i stop worrying about work and crying in the photo lab and gala night and my douchebag misogynist manager and the argument we had about the b-deck storage locker.

anyway when it's rainy and green outside it reminds me of walking around alaska because i was so stressed i simply had to get off the ship, didn't care that it was raining, walked around ketchikan and got soaked and bought fancy lemon scented lotion that lasted me half the contract, and i remember drinking coffee one morning on the empty back deck in juneau when i was on IPM and wasn't allowed out, but the deck was so shiny in the rain and the mountain was foggy and it was so pretty just sitting there getting fresh air, and the guests don't want to sit in the rain so it was empty, and it was quiet and nice. and i remember going to the library in akaroa and going to an old cemetery in kirkwall after having expensive breakfast in a garden shop and taking a bus ride out to marlborough vineyard with a stop at a roadside chocolate shop listening to tool on my headphones watching the rain through the window thinking that the drive reminded me of eastern long island where i grew up and the time it was almost-raining-but-not-quite wandering around pago pago and it was so humid i felt soaked anyway and everything smelled like barbeque and there were chickens wandering around in the street.

sometimes it feels antithetical for stuff like this to remind me of ships because so much of ships was living inside a windowless metal room and the constant machinery hum that was white noise but sort of wasnt and the ship smell--the ship smell--that you get used to after a few days but now and then you notice it again, and cramming into the crew elevator with 10 waiters who all wear too much cologne, and the smell of photo chemicals and the motion sickness and the mind-cramping boredom of gallery shifts and the sense of being On all the time because you lived at your job and i remember my manager on my first contract who seemed a little scary but wound up being a close friend and how he caught me in the middle of a meltdown and told me i needed to go outside more because it's not natural to live inside metal and the time i let him use my uber account so that we could find an orthodox church in florida and go light a candle for his cousin that died and the way he crouched on the ground outside and pet the grass and said he missed being outside even though he was only two weeks into his contract.

it's weird that it's so lush and green outside today and i'm so excited about it, it's so pretty, i can't stop looking out the window and i keep pacing the house to go stand outside on the porch, and it reminds me of all of this. and like a lifetime of rainy days in spring somehow don't permeate my memory the way working on ships does, i guess because it mattered more.

[bharv]

I saw a tentative request for Dragon Age, so I am here requesting The Sun + Samson? If this doesn't tickle the muse, though, I'd love to send another. 🖤

the sun: joy, friendship, prosperity; “I’m so happy.” possible AUs/settings/ideas: friends to lovers, love realization, coffee shop

He was given shining plate and a fine sword and shield, and two silver a month with an extra silver for valour, if he earned it. He was sworn in on All Soul's Day with a procession through Kirkwall; some of the other recruits had family watching, and he remembered feeling sad to not have anyone weep for him, but perhaps it was for the best.

By All Soul's Day the following year he had pawned his fine sword for one made of a poor metal; a trader in Lowtown made them special for Templars. "I know you need it," she said with a strange sort of kindness, one that he thought of for many years after. "Just make sure you keep it well oiled, it rusts faster than the finery."

The money he got for it was gone within the month. When he pawned his shield and came back to barracks without it, he was docked twice coin than he got for it.

At first he thought he was cursed. That it was something wrong inside him. He thought maybe it was a hex from a mage he'd wronged, but he had always tried to treat them kindly. He thought maybe he'd been born wrong, wasn't keeping his thoughts pure enough. Why did he need more, when the other recruits seemed fine with their allotment? What was it in him that was so greedy, so full of need and want? He checked for signs of a demon daily, for it was surely the only explaination. It was only when Knight-Lieutenant Lledas, a hardy, well tempered man not quite forty, passed in his sleep from the sweating that he started to think that maybe, maybe, it wasn't him at all.

Rutherford arrived on the anniversary of his death, a whimpering, scared boy with rumours that chased him like shades. When he had looked on him, that first day at the docks, what pity he had in him hardened, and he was sorry for it. He thought of how kind Lledas had been, how he had shown him the best way to polish his armour, and how he had slipped him some of his Lyrium two days before he had passed when he heard him wail in the night from the pain of the absence of it.

He wished he could be as good a man.

*

He has been given a cot to sleep in, a bed away from the biting cold of the prison cell. His shirt sticks to his skin now, the red is weeping through his sorry pale hide, but one of the mages from the gardens snuck him a nosegay that takes the worst of the stench from his breath.

In the days he works on the outer walls. This castle, though formidable, still has broken stone to mend, and what life he has left is best used to serve. That's what he was made for, wasn't it? Serve one master, serve another.

Cullen -- Commander of the Inquisition -- looks down upon him with a firm brow. He watches all of them, granted, but he knows why his gaze is set to him before all the others. It is not out of suspicion, or out of some kind of unfortunate nostalgia. No, he can smell the Lyrium on him, in him, and now he does not partake it sings to him.

A woman brings them lunch when they break, and he can see her speak to Cullen from a distance before she approaches. When she stops before him, he tries his best to smile.

"Just don't touch me and you'll be fine."

She blinks. "Pardon?"

"The Lyrium. It won't get you if you keep a bit of distance. Just put it down and I'll get it."

"Right."

She does not move, her thumbs gripping the edges of the parcel in her hands, stroking the muslin as her brow knots.

"Is there a problem?" he asks, and she shakes her head.

"Not a problem I. I just don't know what to say."

"Don't have to say nothing. Just drop the food. I know what I am to folks here."

"Do you?"

She drops to her knees as she pushes the parcel to him. He looks to Cullen, whose lips are pursed in a tight anger that he knows from experience will not be tempered.

"Do you remember a girl," she says, unwrapping the cloth with a haste that tells him that she, too, knows the limit of the Commander's patience. "In Kirkwall. A mage. Long black hair, curly. Green eyes. A scar on her lip from her Harrowing. She was called-"

"Lina," he says without even thinking. Lina, of course he remembers. He was there when she split that lip; he held her as she convulsed and spread the poultice with his gloved hand.

"Lina. And you remember."

"I failed her."

Lina did not make it out of Kirkwall. She was caught trying to escape with her lover who left her behind to save herself, she was told she would be made tranquil, and she made the choice many made, in her position.

"You tried. You tried. She wrote to us. She told us that you..."

He had forgotten that part, but it comes to him now. Him thrusting the note in her robe, pretending with the other men that he was taking her away for other things that made them laugh and leave them to privacy. He had told her she should have come to him in the first place, but that she could find a way to appeal, to seek clemency, and she had shaken her head, already defeated.

"Thank you for trying," the woman tells him, a tear forming at the corner of her eye. She wipes it hard, sniffs, and stands.

"Thank you," he says, surprised at how choked his voice sounds. He is not sad, he realises. He is not guilty. She is right. He tried. He tried, and he made mistakes, so many mistakes, but at least he tried. For just a moment his body does not feel heavy, the sweat does not make him shiver. For a moment he feels like he felt the first day that he held his sword.

"Thank you for. For the food."

[vigilskeep]

in the hawkebela barista post. who is the flirt failbarista. and who is the one speaking

i love that this was important enough to you that you had to send an ask. anyway i believe an extremely hot extremely flirtatious absolutely terrible barista is a real and true isabela incarnation and that every hawke who continues to live in kirkwall for the seven years of the game has the energy of someone who would keep going back to drink that coffee

[hollyand-writes]

Rating: Teen   Word Count: 1,956 Pairing: Anders/Male Hawke Other Tags: Alternative Universe – Regency, Meet-Cute, Flirting, Fade to Black, Written for the @mhanderszine

Summary:

mol·ly house (noun): 1. (British, historical slang) A Regency Era meeting venue for cross-dressing and/or gay men, often a tavern or coffee-house. — Regency AU. The dashing Mr Garrett Hawke meets Doctor Anders at a local molly-house, and sparks fly.

———————

Mr Garrett Hawke, most eligible bachelor in Kirkwall, was said to be looking for a wife. Tall, handsome, rich, and living in an estate so grand that its balcony boasted the best views over the city, it was a truth universally acknowledged that not a single lady in Hightown would refuse him… if he asked.  

The only problem was that any reported desire for marriage was little more than wild speculation; for Mr Hawke, as charming as he was to every lady in Hightown, had no interest in any of them. This made him enigmatic, elusive, desirable even; for many noble young ladies and their mothers saw such a gentleman as a challenge to capture and tame into matrimony—but the truth was really that Mr Hawke preferred to spend time at a certain coffee-house where men consorted with men.

High society would be scandalised by the many love affairs Mr Hawke had had from the venue in question, if they ever knew that particular coffee-house was a front for a molly-house (and notorious for it among men of Mr Hawke’s persuasion). Women were barred; like they were from so many coffee-houses or other places a gentleman would socialise in; so there was very little risk of Lady Leandra catching her son there, and very little risk of her gossipy female friends witnessing the revelry inside. On the rare occasion Mr Hawke was ever questioned on his predilection for frequenting the place, Mr Hawke would simply say he enjoyed the coffee.

But Mr Hawke’s more recent visits had nothing to do with the coffee—and everything to do with the new blond doctor that had suddenly started showing up of late...

Read more on AO3...

[princehendir]

OC interview

Tagged by @henbased (hi Jack thanks Jack)

Tagging: man it's been a while since I did one of these I forgot everybody's urls um @evenom @waterbearable @houseaeducan @lavellander and You, Who Are Reading This, Who I Forgot (sorry).

Under the cut:

Name: Adrian Hawke

Nickname: Addy (<- family members and partners only, and even then we're on thin ice) Red (<- if you're Varric)

Gender: just some guy 👍

Star sign: N/A due to the in-universe calendar. He's a spring baby tho.

Height: like, 5'6, max

Orientation: Straightish. Girls mostly. Kinsey 2. He'll use the phrase "heteroflexible" if his siblings aren't around to give him shit about it.

Nationality/Ethnicity: Ferelden. Freaking it sensitive style at the Hanged Man on a Thursday night and all the barflies shout Go Whiteboy Go.

Fave fruit: Apples.

Fave season: winter (not clickbait. He loves being cold.)

Fave flower: embrium.

Fave scent: whatever Merrill happens to smell like on any given day.

Coffee, tea, or HC: coffee

Average hours of sleep: 4-6. Usually 4. 6 if he's lucky.

Dog or cat person: ehhhhh no real preference. He does prefer that either one be someone else's pet though.

Dream trip: Merrill is there. Isabela can come also if she wants. They are anywhere but Kirkwall. No one there recognizes him or knows who he is. That would be really cool.

Favorite fictional character: he's really more of a non-fiction guy. Uh, except Hard In Hightown! which he definitely read. And enjoyed. His favorite character was, the guy. The main one. He definitely read the book and isn't lying because that would hurt Varric's feelings sooooo bad. Anyways.

Number of blankets they sleep with: at least 2. Ideally more

Random fact: enjoys and is actually pretty good at learning languages. Can speak & read Elvhen, hold a conversation in Orlesian, and his Tevene is. Fine.

[salsedinepicta]

OC(s) Questionnaire

Tagged by @greypetrel - and her characters are just beautiful, so I'd highly recommend to hop on her blog and read her version :> 💜 Thanks for the tag!

Tagging: maybe @coloricioso could be interested? No pressure as usual ✨ +plus anyone who is interested!

Everything under "Read more" after the first one, of course.

NAME: Gwydion Hawke

NICKNAME: Hawke, of course - the firstborn can take dibs on the family surname. And then Gideon, since 1. that's how most people misspell his actual name and 2. Varric uses it in his stories (it's “more suited for the hero”). He doesn't mind.

GENDER: Male, although he takes it easy. In a modern AU he would be the Hakwe sibling most likely to experiment with gender presentation - and in every universe he just knows he'd look good in a dress/corset.

STAR SIGN: Libra

ORIENTATION: Gay

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Literally a random human born on a ship – 100% conceived in Kirkwall though.

FAVORITE FRUIT: All the citruses

FAVORITE SEASON: Early Spring

FAVORITE FLOWER: Forget-me-not, snowdrops, zagare (orange blossoms).

FAVORITE SCENT: Crushed elfroot, rain, lyrium potions - and why must lyrium be toxic when it clearly smells like raspberries and tangerines? UH? Templars are gatekeeping it. He is literally the only one saying this. At some point he’ll think fondly of sewage.

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Tea, preferably cold.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: Around 7, but not consecutive.

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs AND cats AND also every single animal willing to be pet - why would you deny a centipede some love? And did anyone actually tried to raise a baby dragon? Cowards.

DREAM TRIP: Antiva, or Rivain – it sounds fun, from Isabela’s stories, and he is intrigued by their religious customs (and generally different approach to magic). Not without 50+ SPF though, have you seen Anders' skintone?

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: Just a few, he doesn’t particularly suffer the cold – and he’s a cuddly sleeper.

RANDOM FACT: Extremely tactile, hands must be occupied (almost) all the time. He makes his own bows and then whittle silly little figurines with the scraps of wood - usually they all end up looking like chunky animals of debatable identification.

NAME: Maren Hawke

NICKNAME: Mari (used only by selected people – Bethany can, Carver may or may not find nettles in his bed the next day) and various epithets by Varric (he finds her difficult to pin down, to his extreme annoyance). When she’ll get into Kirkwall’s politics people will start to call her Lady Amell, to everyone amusement.

GENDER: Female

ORIENTATION: Official not-so-mean lesbian

STAR SIGN: Scorpio

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Human, born in Ferelden, even if she doesn’t feel a strong national connection to it.

FAVORITE FRUIT: Pears, quince, pomegranates

FAVORITE SEASON: Autumn and Winter

FAVORITE FLOWER: Wild violets, daisies

FAVORITE SCENT: Parchment and ink, ambergris, wild roses’ oil, metal.

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Black coffee in public, hot chocolate with lots of spices (and something sweet to eat on the side) in more private settings.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: Better not to ask. Around 5, to avoid dreaming – she will slowly get better during the years.

DOGS OR CATS: Birds, obviously.

DREAM TRIP: For political reasons, all the cities of the Free Marches. And Weisshaupt/the Anderfels to pester the Wardens about griffin’s eggs – because what Merrill wants, Merrill gets.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: At least 4, because half of them will be stolen by Merrill during the night.

RANDOM FACT: Does she care about fashion? Not particularly, but she is highly aware of the power of appearences, and how to convey certain messages through clothes. She prefers small and significant jewelry over flashy one, but absolutely loves a nice statement headpiece, especially with some kind of drapery or veil – so she can literally put behind a curtain annoying people with a subtle turn of her head.

NAME: Malva Surana

NICKNAME: Irving’s pet, Surana, debatable variations on her name when Jowan wanted to be annoying – after the Circle, she is just Malva and then the Warden Commander.

GENDER: Do you have a gender if the circumstances of your birth make you less than a person in the eye of society? Ahaha, anyway, female.

ORIENTATION: Very queer - preference for women, but willing to experiment for the sake of it, if she fancies so. In another world, her and Gwydion would be the monsterfuckers, let’s be real.

STAR SIGN: Aquarius

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Definitely a city elf (the tattoos are random lines, made by someone who wanted her to remember but had no idea how a vallaslin really looks like, or how and when they are done) – maybe from Denerim’s alienage? But as far as she knows, there is no past before Kinloch Hold.

FAVORITE FRUIT: Blackberries

FAVORITE SEASON: Spring

FAVORITE FLOWER: The kind of question that would trigger a half-an-hour-long aswer. For brevity sake: nightshade, hellebore, wisteria, ivy (not a flower, but impossible not to mention), and mallow.

FAVORITE SCENT: Burning wood, moss and damp earth, rosemary, wildberries.

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Definitely tea. She is the mistress of the most absurd herbal infusions. They are great and they'll cure your cavities and other various ailments - but you don't want to know the ingredients. Don’t.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: Between 6-8, can wake up every day at the same time without any alarm of sort.

DOGS OR CATS: If really pressed she'd say dogs (“They are great traveling companions”) but immediately regrets it because of all the fond memories of Ser Pounce-a-lot.

DREAM TRIP: The Thirashan forest, Arbor Wilds, Arlathan Forest – pretty much an elven history roadtrip to try to reclaim that part of her identity.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: Just one or two, wrapped all around her chrysalis-like because her subconscious still believes that the other apprentices will steal them.

RANDOM FACT: For a moment, she was Justice's first choice for a possible living host - she never knew it, though.

[happywitch416]

For Rose and Varric: “You know I’d do anything to have you stay by my side, right? Anything.”  

Rose stared at what had been the portal back home and fell to her knees, a scream trying to claw its way from her gut.

They really left her.

It had been a spur of the moment, bravado in the face of their fear, anything to rally them and get them home. But she didn’t think they’d actually leave her.

That Varric would leave her.

She started to shiver, gaze darting, this was the Fade and Fear? There was no truly defeating fear, she had been stronger for a moment, but she wasn’t now. Her gaze dropped to her hand that was pressed to a wound in her side, peeling it away a touch to reveal the bright red blood trickling through the clawed holes in her armor. It didn’t feel like a death blow, but she wished it was. It was better to die quick then to face the Fade alone.

Her daggers were in reach, but she didn’t reach for them. She was the Champion of Kirkwall, she’d find a way, she always had.

But they had left her.

Varric left her.

A strangled sob escaped her throat, tears burning down her cheeks and her chin fell to her chest as she realized for the first time in her life she was truly alone.

A crack rent the air, but she didn’t look up, almost welcoming death until a familiar hand appeared in her vision before brushing back her hair. "Rose?"

Varric pulled her to her feet and into his arms. "Come on, boss." The Iron Bull muttered. "Let’s go home." She stumbled then and the last thing she remembered was glowing green light and the grim smiles of the Chargers.

The stars were barely visible through the tent flap, and she wondered if one could dream in the Fade, and what nightmare waited for when she woke. Instead, there was a rustle, the sound of a quill dropping and then Varric filled her vision. "Are you alright?" He asked hoarsely.

"If I’m dead why are there no bosoms."

He laughed then, relief sagging his shoulders. "You’re not dead, menace."

She reached up, fingers smoothing along his stubbled cheek as he took her other hand in both of his. "You didn’t really leave me."

"No." He shook his head, voice cracking. "Cassandra shoved me through the tear before I could argue but Tiny and the Chargers were waiting when the Inquisitor and Alistair popped out without you."

"You bullied the Inquisitor." Her brows arched a moment. “But even I would think three times before taking on you, Bull and the Chargers.”

"I threatened more than that, sweetheart." He brushed back her hair searching her face. "I will do whatever it takes to stay by your side, Inquisition be damned."

"Varric."

"No, I let you be the crazy one, but I get this. I will do anything to keep you safe." His voice graveled low. “I watched you die once; I won’t do it again.”

A soft smile appeared. "I need coffee and chocolate or I will never recover from my grievous wounds."

"If I can find them, they are yours."

"Ugh." She groaned as she sat up. "But they’d be full of sand."

"Maybe now you won’t mock me for hating the outdoors."

She leaned close and kissed him gently. "Not a chance, storyteller." 

[cao-the-dreamer]

Tagged by @dungeons-and-dragon-age thank you! Never passing the opportunity to rant about my children :3 decided to go with the tarot cards too :D

Tagging mmm @razumairon and whoever else wanna play

NAME: Ymir Brosca

NICKNAME: Mimir, Love (by Alistair)

GENDER: Female

TAROT CARD: Page of swords

HEIGHT: Smol (barely reach Alistair's torso)

ORIENTATION: Demi

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Orzammarian

FAVORITE FRUIT: Peach

FAVORITE SEASON: Early autumn (especially when it rains)

FAVORITE FLOWER: Rose

FAVORITE SCENT: Wet dirt, rain

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Tea, especially herbal infusions

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 10 (could sleep through blaring trumpets)

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs!

DREAM TRIP: Par Vollen, so she can say hello to unofficial dad Sten

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 8 (it's freaking cold on the surface)

RANDOM FACT: During her time on the surface, she discovered she loves playing with dirt when it rains. She ends up doing dirtballs fight with Alistair

NAME: Galenos Amell

NICKNAME: Gal (only by Sulemadin), big guy, dumbass (affectionate), mi corazon (by Zevran)

GENDER: Male

TAROT CARD: The Lovers

HEIGHT: Fucking huge (Sten-sized)

ORIENTATION: Gay

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Free Marcher

FAVORITE FRUIT: Loquat

FAVORITE SEASON: Winter

FAVORITE FLOWER: Wisteria

FAVORITE SCENT: Wine

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Hot chocolate (the very thick kind)

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 2 + numerous naps he takes during the day (he can sleep while standing)

DOGS OR CATS: Both, he's not picky

DREAM TRIP: Antiva (maybe to take over the Crows with Zevran), Kirkwall (he wants to say hello to his cousins)

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: None (Zev is his blanket)

RANDOM FACT: He can change his body into water, but he forgets his clothes do not, so he will fight naked more often than not

NAME: Sulemadin Surana

NICKNAME: Dude (only by Galenos), Milady (by Morrigan), no one else is allowed to give her nicknames

GENDER: Female

TAROT CARD: Knight of Wands

HEIGHT: slightly smaller than Morrigan

ORIENTATION: Mean Lesbian

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Fereldan, born in Denerim (she was raised alongside the Tabris family)

FAVORITE FRUIT: Fig

FAVORITE SEASON: End of winter/early spring

FAVORITE FLOWER: Oleander

FAVORITE SCENT: Smoke

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: None (can't stomach them)

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 5

DOGS OR CATS: Cats, she takes care of Ser-Pounce-a-lot until she can give him back to Anders

DREAM TRIP: Emerald graves

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 2

RANDOM FACT: She likes to shift into a cat so she can cuddle with Morrigan or knock things off the table just to be a menace

NAME: Keti Hawke

NICKNAME: Kitty Cat (friends and family), Tiger (during her time with Meeran)

GENDER: Female

TAROT CARD: Knight of Swords

HEIGHT: Average

ORIENTATION: Demi

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Fereldan/Half Elf

FAVORITE FRUIT: Raspberry

FAVORITE SEASON: Autumn

FAVORITE FLOWER: Jasmine

FAVORITE SCENT: Jasmine

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Hot Chocolate with cinnamon

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 3-4

DOGS OR CATS: Neither, she likes mice

DREAM TRIP: Rivain

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1

RANDOM FACT: She carries mice in her pockets and performs tricks with them to cheer up her siblings or Fenris

NAME: Sotos Hawke

NICKNAME: Ferret, Toto (by Merrill)

GENDER: He, they, whatever you want he doesn't really care

TAROT CARD: The Moon

HEIGHT: Same as Keti

ORIENTATION: Asexual biromantic

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Fereldan/Half Elf

FAVORITE FRUIT: Orange and other citrus

FAVORITE SEASON: Spring

FAVORITE FLOWER: Dandelion

FAVORITE SCENT: Leather

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Tea, with a lot of honey

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 3-4

DOGS OR CATS: He loves his dog but honestly he's not picky, he will cuddle anything he can

DREAM TRIP: Orzammar

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1, though he doesn't really need it since he's always snuggled with his dog

RANDOM FACT: He grew vertical gardens on the walls of the alienage so Merrill and the other elves could have fresh veggies during the season (they knew he used magic to make the plants grow but ssshhh they can keep a secret)

NAME: Tzipporah Lavellan

NICKNAME: Auntie, Tzip, Mama Bird

GENDER: Female

TAROT CARD: Strength

HEIGHT: Cullen Tall

ORIENTATION: Aroace

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Free Marcher/Antivan

FAVORITE FRUIT: Mulberry

FAVORITE SEASON: Summer

FAVORITE FLOWER: Sunflower

FAVORITE SCENT: Rosemary, thyme

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Coffee with halla milk

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 7

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs! They make excellent hunting companions

DREAM TRIP: Going back home

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1, she shares it with Alim

RANDOM FACT: She spent six months in the alternate timeline with Dorian instead of like, one day. Deeply traumatising but at least she came back with a weird ghost/skeleton puppy who's loyal to fault and keeps biting Solas' shins for some reason

NAME: Alim Trevelyan

NICKNAME: Frog boy, Lordy Froggy, your royal froggyness (all invented by Sera, they kinda stuck. He loves them)

GENDER: Intersex boy

TAROT CARD: Six of pentacles

HEIGHT: same as Sera

ORIENTATION: Questioning

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Free Marcher/Half elf

FAVORITE FRUIT: Apple

FAVORITE SEASON: Summer

FAVORITE FLOWER: Forget-me-not

FAVORITE SCENT: Clove, cinnamon, vanilla

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Tea, the rest makes him too jittery

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: He has insomnia

DOGS OR CATS: Frogs :3

DREAM TRIP: The Anderfels (he wanna see a griffin!)

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1, shared with Tzipporah

RANDOM FACT: He built a pond in the gardens for his frogs; Sera found more for him but to keep them he had to wear one on his head for a whole day (which he did, much to Sera's hilarity)

[a-pirate]

anyone remember kirkwall coffee?

[gaysebastianvael]

Thank you for the tag @ruthvelyan!! <3

NAME: Taliesin Cianán Vael-Hawke

NICKNAME: Tal from most friends. Tally from family and Isabela. Canary from Varric (he has yellow hair, often dresses in fluff, sings to himself, and is the first one sent into danger.)

GENDER: trans male

TAROT/ZODIAC: Judgement / Capricorn

HEIGHT: 5'5" / 165 cm

ORIENTATION: biromantic asexual

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: fantasy Irish Fereldan

FAVORITE FRUIT: Peaches. He especially likes them because they're fuzzy, but he won't eat the fuzz.

FAVORITE SEASON: Winter. He loves the cold and snow. It's also when his favorite holidays (Satinalia and Winterfest) and birthday (Wintermarch aka January 11) fall. He always enjoys a good autumn or summer festival, however.

FAVORITE FLOWER: Pink roses. Particularly the ones that grow in the Kirkwall Chantry garden.

FAVORITE SCENT: Big fan of anything floral and woody.

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Tea. There's always a kettle ready whenever friends are over.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: He tends to stay up late and wake up early. Not because he enjoys it, though he doesn't necessarily dislike it, mostly out of habit. Ever since Malcolm's passing, he's grown used to the routine of making breakfast for the family and working into the night.

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs. Most of all Miss Honey, the very most bestest and goodest and sweetest mabari of all.

DREAM TRIP: He's happy where he is, but he wouldn't be against seeing all his friends homelands. While hiding at sea, he gets to see a bit of Rivain with Isabela. After that, when Sebastian decides to retake the throne, he moves with him to Starkhaven.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: As many as it takes! He likes to be snuggled and cozy. He also needs to be squeezing something to fall asleep. Luckily, Sebastian enjoys being squeezed. Honey is relieved she's no longer the one getting squeezed.

RANDOM FACT: He has a soft spot for all animals. Even wild animals. Can barely contain himself around creatures that he should not pet. It takes a lot of self-control.

[mslanna]

Disclosed Desires

Chapter 4 of A Mortifying Ordeal now up on AO3

95% smut. You can skip when he vanishes his clothes.

I have no idea how I got through that dinner. The food was delicious, like utterly out of my budget and Raphael just sat there like a statue of Adonis only looking better and alive. Has the world ever seen eyes so brown? Probably not because it didn't implode and gods know I was so close.

Also, that voice. Once he realised The Purr had me in a stranglehold, he defaulted to it. Kept quizzing me about Baldur's Gate 3, too. Embarrassing and the one thing that saved the chair I sat on. I'm bad at meta, won't lie, so trying to explain things to him was pretty excruciating.

He kept insisting on me having a favourite way to play dialogues and such being a sign of me remembering and trying to be who I was before. Looking at that sopping soft guy who hid a complete devil under that face, was close to making me believe. No other reason anybody's pursue me with such fervour. But then I also have a favourite way to play Dragon Age 2 and I'm certainly no Hawke.

The thought of Varric turning up and trying to convince me to return to Kirkwall stuck around for almost half a minute. Mind you, he wouldn't have such convincing arguments for making me want to be Hawke and return.

Raphael, though? He's truly impossible, not gonna lie. I have to admire his staunch belief that I am in fact his Tav!Tav. Almost enough to make me doubt myself.

And gods do I wanna be them. He woos with the fierceness of a thousand suns, looking about as hot. Doesn't help if he's in his human form, guy is on fire! And not backing off. I am be as red as his devil skin when we arrive back at my room. Godsdamned, it is shabby. I am shabby. And he doesn't even care.

Also, he's utterly gorgeous. Tall. I have A Thing for tall guys, might be a reason none of my guys was under 2 meters. And in devil form Raphael is even taller. And so big. Need I say I wanna be all over him? Probably not, I am thirsty. I am horny and I want to cry so bad.

Poor sod deserves better. Deserves his actual real Tav. I know they'd love him so good. Kiss every inch of that man. Empty him like the last capri sun on the planet. Damn, they lucky. And I just have a finger under my chin and stare up into those damning eyes. Needs a licence for those, he does.

"Having second thoughts?"

Gah, I hate the soft insecurity in his voice. "Not about the – the thing itself no." Honesty, I whack myself internally. Honesty served me well so far. Gotta keep it up. "I wanna bang you so bad. 'til we both see stars and worse."

"But?"

"I know you think I'm your Tav. And man do I wish I was." I take his hand that holds my chin between mine. "But I'm not and you – you deserve better," I sigh. Can't hold his gaze either.

Waiting for him to react is the worst. My flight or flight instinct kicks in hard and my heart at least listens and pumps like mad. Thanks body.

Raphael is silent way too long. Probably having second thoughts himself and third thoughts and fourth thoughts, too. He's a crafty one. What am I even thinking? He got better things to do with his life than me. Which is why I can't let the Tav angle go. It's my one and only chance to get my hands on him. I am corrupt down to the bone. Or at least down to the cunt.

Doesn't help I had a taste already after amarettini and espresso. How he tastes so good, flavoured with almond and coffee. It's a small miracle we ended up in my room again and not in jail for public fornication. Coulda climbed him like a tree there and then.

"I appreciate your concern," he finally says. "It is very – consistent for you to put me and my feelings before yourself despite your obvious state. Please know that I acknowledge your worry, though I do not share it. Of course it is up to you, if you want to proceed. I will accept your withdrawal, much as it pains me. But you don't have to do anything more than let your gut guide you. Trust me."

How did he make so many words for before getting to the point. I get lost in his voice immediately and barely surface for the final 'trust me'.

"I do." Gods it is the most stupid thing ever. But I trust him. And I want to believe him, not only because his voice is utterly gorgeous but also because he says things I am desperate to hear. I want to believe so bad.

"Then, with that out of the way, you should ignore your misgivings for now. "

Wish it was that easy. Like, in theory it is, people making their own decisions, being their own people and you having to accept that. But it is hard to watch somebody you love, of fuck, I'm up in delulu-land further than the maps chart it. Still, it is hard to watch him throw himself uselessly at the nearest lump that looks like his Tav.

He must read my hesitation all wrong (unsurprising) because he takes my hand and brings it up to his lips. Damn demon devil. The way his index finger pokes into my palm is outrageously suggestive for it being mere hands. Good lord, sir what those fingers do?

"Maybe it will help bringing your memories back." He straightens with that predatory smile and my inhibitions don't even pretend to put up a fight.

"You fucked?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"You know that Tav fucking Haarlep and you fucking Haarlep in Tav's form isn't really you two fucking, yes?"

"Well," he grins like a wolf, "maybe it is time then to do the real thing."

In a swoosh of hellfire. Raphael transforms and also, sheds all of his clothes. I freeze except for my mouth that manages to go completely dry and water at the same time. Raphael's smile turns sharps as a knife as he points downwards. "Kneel."

Oh. Oh, hot damn, I will. I so will. But first – I cannot not touch him. His chest is broad and inviting and the skin is hot and all those ridges swirling everywhere. Gods strike me down if he didn't shudder when I placed my hand on him. He's burning under my fingers that move down his sides, up his arms and head. I can't reach very high on the horns but it doesn't matter. They feel alive under my palms, rugged.

The smile spreading on my face threatens to split it in half. Raphael is a sight. A whole banquet. More than I can hope to ever eat and most likely more than my mouth can hold. My hands round back over his shoulders, feathering over the collarbones. So many delicious ridges. I wanna bite them all. Nibble and munch until my jaw tires.

"Something you like?" His tone is only half mocking. "I am not used to having my orders disobeyed."

My eyes hitch on his mouth, that moves temptingly as he speaks. "Kiss me." I don't think. And when his hands alight on my sides, I jump at him, wrap myself around him any way possible and strain towards his lips.

Raphael laughs, low, and I feel it hum through my body. He takes it slow, lips tantalisingly out of reach until they meet mine ever so softly. I moan. He tastes so good. And as soon as his tongue demands tribute, I open up and swallow it whole.

Bad in bed whatever. He can kiss. If I didn't cling to him like a desperate koala, I would have melted into a puddle on the floor. As things are. My with feet hooked at the small of his back my legs can go as wobbly as they want. I am secure against him, ruining my pants and trousers too. Totes worth it.

He pries me off way too soon. The coronas in his black hole eyes burst with fire. "On your knees," he repeats and the low rumble is in itself enough to send me to the floor.

Not quickly, mind you. Can't pass on the chance to kiss all them ridges. And that is obviously allowed. My hand vanguards between his legs and damn. He's big. He's full of bumps and ridges I can't wait to pommel my insides with. But first – the chest. Only a little hair remains, but I'll take it.

As long as my head is on a slow descent, I can nibble on the red skin wherever. Don't care if my moans are louder than his. I'm in heaven. His problem now. Then I reach the happy trail and boy does it make me happy. I want to slurp it up, swoosh down and suck up the whole devil cock first.

Taking time is so hard, but then, so is he. Oh how delicious to arrive at a full on erection. My fingers mover over the pronounced ridges, feeling for future pleasure as I lean in. He's got a little crown of bumps just under the tip that looks absolutely delish.

A hand slips under my chin and raises my head. "Look at me."

Oh hot damn, if that's how he wants to play it. I lock my eyes to his and slip my lips over the very tip of his cock ever so slowly. He's so very still I can feel the tremble of his muscles tense to keep in place. I press the tip of my tongue against his tip, move it slowly, keep his eyes caught. This is a battle of wills he won't win.

Listen, I may be a little out of practice but I know my stuff. And he's signalling like nobody's business. Gods, he tastes so good, little burning flecks of precum on my tongue and the way he shivers when my tongue laps it up.

My head moves on without breaking eye contact. His cock slips in easy and deep and my tongue can't get on to those ridges fast enough. I'm sucking him like a lollipop. Every inch is to be explored, tasted, caressed. Rumbling sounds fall over me from above and only entice me to go down deeper. I want all of him inside of me and if this is how it happens, I will swallow.

His hands tangle in my hair. Gotta hand it to a guy who can find purchase in a pix cut. Not that it'll help him any. I help myself liberally to all of his cock abolishing my gagging reflex on the spot. Ain't nobody got no time for that.

I suck him in as deep as I can and then some because I am greedy. I want all of him and that's what I'll have and if it kills me. I don't care. I suck him in hard, deep and hungry. My teeth hitch on the ridges. My hands tighten on his balls and I wanna wring him dry, crush him like a lemon in the squeezer. Mine now. All mine.

Raphael's hands close on over my scalp. I am rabid. Clawed fingers press in tightly. I feel the nails pierce my skin as I go all in. The pain is familiar and exquisite. Unlike the fire erupting into my mouth, running down my throat like whiskey and chili.

I gulp it down as if I hadn't just feasted on the finest Mediterranean food. Gotta keep going. The cock is easier to take now that it softens and damned if I won't gurgle it down to the hilt. I'm almost offended when he pulls me up and definitely too short when he bends to kiss me.

Doesn't deter Raphael the least. He's big (oh yeah) and strong and just stands me on the bed so we can smooch good. He's sucking his taste from my mouth as if I stole it. Well, I'll gladly give him all I got. Also, I'm having an advantage because my hands run over hot skin (oh those swirling ridges!) and I'm still dressed.

His fingers bunch the fabric of my shirt and his tail wraps around my right ankle. Oh that's driving me wild. I'd be moaning all over the place if my mouth wasn't busy exploring every inch of devil it can reach. Little tugs of the tail in reaction to what goes on further up. Enough to turn my knees into pudding.

Raphael pushes me back a little, running a hand down the button tab. A knowing smirk plays over his lips. I wanna kiss that away. I wanna drink it up until it fills my whole existence. And he knows. Raphael tilts his head a little. "Open up."

Oh there is good reason that line isn't in the game spoken by him. I'd open up my legs wide no questions asked. Unfortunately, he's still looking at my shirt. Reluctantly I take my hands back to myself. If that's what he wants, he can have it. Gods, this guy can have everything. (Doesn't he know it.)

I hold his gaze and open the first button. Very slowly. I can see the fire flare up in his eyes. I can also feel his adventurous little tail move up my leg. The next button and another upwards slide wraps the tail around my knee. Raphael's grin a threat and a treat. Sweet hells. I can't even slow down any further because I started at least possible speed.

My fingers play with the next button and the tip of his tail dances against the inside of my thigh. Swallowing hard, I open the button and let the caress of skin snaking around my thigh wash over me. Two buttons left to go.

The second to last button brings him up against my cunt. The tail has no problems slipping between my folds; I'm wet as a waterfall.

I open the last button and nothing happens. I cock my head in a question and Raphael motions to brush the shirt of my shoulders. With a dry mouth I do and as soon as the fabric crests my shoulders, he moves in. His tail is hot, smooth and prehensile. I drop the worst moan ever as my knees give in, shirt hanging forgotten at half-mast.

Raphael catches me. Shirt forgotten he buries his face against mine again, tongue digging deep as his tail. My hands are on his chest again, gripping and grappling. Raphael pulls me close. His left bunches my shirt behind my back, trapping my hands as he bears down for another kiss. I'm flush against him, and my mans is working up an erection again already.

My cunt rises like a neon invitation. I arch perfectly against his chest, diabolical alchemy, I'm sure. Can't think further with my cunt full of tail and moth full of tongue – both slithering and slipping and demanding.

Clawed hands move down my sides, leaving red trails of fire. His fingers close in on my pussy and while I am all for that, he is in his cambion form. Pain is fine in moderation but there is some things I am not ready for yet.

"Before you can even think of putting any of those in down there, we gotta file of the claws," I gasp. In retaliation, I get his index finger into my mouth I suck down hard and accept the middle finger that follows.

His left still presses me against him, tail working up my cunt and fingers down my throat I hang on by that thread. I'm overflowing. I still need more. And he's generous. Boy is he giving. I may not be stuffed, but I am not empty either. My walls clench taking what they can and my mouth is muffled by fingers and want as he bends me backwards.

I fall freely and unworried. Hit the mattress soft enough. Barely registers through my horny haze as I rut at him like the last freak alive. He tastes so good. I wanna suck his mouth dry as well. Doing my best. Getting paid in hungry growls. Oh we feasting tonight.

Then he goes down. Not even slow. Skips all the in-between steps (it's fine, nothing to see there) to breathe hot air over my clit. And before I finished gasping out a hopeful moan, his tongue descended and I am deceased.

Doesn't matter if he'll come two thrusts in. I'm fucked already, writhing like a snake on silk sheets, getting nowhere but deeper into desire. Devil down there hums, send that reverberation into my bones through my sogging wet pussy. I'm so far gone, I can't even wish for him to finish me off.

Raphael's mouth works my clit as if I won't ever need it again, hungry tongue making short work of my arousal. I clench around the tip of his tail, riding on waves of ecstasy. Best night of my life.