#one day. I’ll make him and ghost and throw them into thedas and take all the photos

[losersimonriley]

Soap in dragon age the veilguard character creator save me

[the-dreadful-canine]

Thank you v much for the tag @noire-pandora, @oxygenforthewicked, @emerald-amidst-gold and @dungeons-and-dragon-age I appreciate you all~ 🥰

On this fine day, I bring a snippet of the gang having a sweet moment at the tavern (but then I throw angst in the end because I am built like this).

Cw for: gambling, drinking, mentions of blood, ptsd, mild panic attack (it sounds really bad omg)

Balanced on the back legs of her chair, Elizabeth hid a soft smile behind a sip of her cup’s contents. The well-fed fire burned merrily on the hearth, bathing her chilled skin and the tavern in flickers of gold and orange, enhancing the homey atmosphere its patrons created. Scouts, Chargers and members of the Inner Circle alike gathered, piling around a couple of hastily pushed together tables.

Groans of defeat and pleased laughs filled the air, fistfuls of sweets, coins and the odd piece of clothing changed hands at the end of another round of Wicked Grace.

Following the self-assigned role of fire keeper, she eased the chair’ legs on the floor, turning back to the flames. It burned low, so she fed it a new log. Reaching her will outwards, Elizabeth called out to some of the curious *kindlings floating above the table, coaxing them to feed on the offered wood.

“Kadan, please.” The sudden baritone rising above the hushed gambling made her head turn, and she watched a coatless Dorian caught on his lover’s embrace. He had his nose in the air, arms crossed and eyes closed, a clear dismissal to whatever Bull tried to convince him of.

Finding his reasoning ignored, Bull let go of his lover with a sigh. Who was more than happy to return to the table and take a healthy gulp of his glass. With less grace than the usual he bent halfway under the thing, returning moments later with a triumphant expression. Whistles and hoots followed the clinking thud of his shiny boots being dropped over wood, and more than one pair of eyebrows rising at the rare bet.

“Deal me in, rogue.” Dorian spoke, managing to appear somewhat regal even while hastily tucking his now much colder feet under himself.

“You sure, Sparkler?” Varric drawled, eying the expensive item “That’s quite the pretty thing to risk.”

“And it’s about to look prettier surrounded by everyone’s piles of coins I’ll win this round.”

“A brave claim for someone clad only in a shirt and breeches.” Taunted Josephine from over her hand of cards. The ambassador perched like a golden dragon on her chair, her loot spread around her. “This will be a pretty addition to my collection.”

“You, Montilyet, shall rob me of no more items,” he scoffed, “for I have picked up on your tell.”

“A lady has no tells, Pavus.” She retorts swiftly, sipping from her wine with a smile like the cat who ate a canary gracing her face.

“Oh but she does.” called a voice from the door, a series of disheartened mutters rising from the table when the owner revealed herself. “If you know where to look.” she smirked, eying the offered footwear. “Now Mister Tethras, if you will?” Leliana spoke, roosting smoothly on a chair and motioning for Varric to deal her some cards.

Elizabeth nearly snorted on her drink when a chunk of the table suddenly decided to skip the round in a wave of half-baked excuses. Wise decision. But her favorite necromant’s wisdom had drowned somewhere around his fifth serving of liquor and he grew bolder, teasing the new rival, and she shook her head.

How in the Void Dorian still had enough clarity of mind to play Grace was beyond her. Their shared taste for the spicy, embrium-infused drink meant they were sharing a bottle this night; she was barely half her second cup and already her body started to feel all kinds of woozy. But then again, her ability to hold her liquor was never anything to boast about.

A fond smile made way to her face when the laughing and voices of other companions joined the growing banter. They were precious, these moments of peace where they could all come together and enjoy each other’s company. Even if for a few hours, they could ignore the ever-looming presence of the falling skies and rising evil magisters.

Much too often the hearth provided a melancholic light devoid of warmth and drinks not for loosening and unwinding with friends. The burning found at the bottom of the cup was a way to numb down the senses. To forget the days on the battlefield. To hope their bloodstained souls would not stain in crimsom their sleeping hours.

Something cold and sticky seeped on her thigh, and only then Elizabeth noticed the shaking hands. The spilled red liquid trailed down her fingers to pool on the rug, like blood pouring from a gaping wound. She closed her eyes and held her breath, willing her mind to settle. But it was too late. The homey smell of burning wood and roasting meat wafting from the kitchens twisted, and the stench of smoke and scorched flesh filled her nostrils instead. The laughing voices, warm and friendly grew louder, too loud. They bled and mixed into each other until all she heard was a cacophony of horrified screams of the uncountable lives she had to take just to survive.

A gentle, firm tug at her hand, pulls her from the edge of the vortex inside her mind and she reopens her eyes, blinking away the blur of unshed tears. Pale blue stares back at her, the familiar depths filled with so much empathy and understanding and it feels like an anchor; one she allows to ground her.

She can’t hear his words at first, but works trough the calming exercises until his blessedly monotonous and unwavering voice returns to her. The rest of the tavern’s voices and noises following soon enough.

Once awareness returns Elizabeth notices the rug she’s sitting in, the walls of the attic a familiar sight. She has no memory of getting there, but is thankful all the same. The boy in front of her gets up from his crouch, tugging her to her feet with a strength that never ceases to surprise her.

“Come.”

“Cole,” she tries pulling her hand out of his, but the spirit refuses to yield his grasp “thank you for coming to my aid but, really. I’m alright. I’ll be alright.”

“You are hurting.”

“Well, once you reach your thirties, you’re always hurting somewhere.” She jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but Cole sees right through her act, and although his face wears the usual neutral expression, his eyes scream his disapproval. With a sigh, she gives in, allowing him to drag her down the flights of stairs to the floor level.

“I can’t make you forget. They can help.” He says with a ghost of a smile once they reach the last step of the stairs. And then he’s gone.

There’s no time to feel awkward for standing alone in a dark corner, Varric’s finding her in a heartbeat. He calls out to her then, a wide grin on his face, warm brown eyes glimmering from something more than being on high spirits.

“Stop hiding, Stabby!” the table perks up at the mention of her nickname. More eyes and smiles turning to greet her “You’ve got too little alcohol and way too much dignity left in your body, you’re making us all look bad!”

The giggles and assorted noises of agreement wash over her like a warm cocoon, and weight she wasn’t even aware being on her shoulders slowly melts away.

Maybe Cole was right, she thinks - hopes -, while walking to the table. They could help.

* I tweaked Elizabeth's abilities based off her origins. She's from Earth not Thedas, and so I gave her earth-like magic: her 'magic' comes not from the Fade, but from borrowing from the elementals in the ambient. The kindlings mentioned in the scene are that, smol fire elementals attracted by the flames of the hearth.

[neotrinitythinker]

Sit By The Fire (And Tell Me What You Tell The Stars)

Title: Sit By The Fire (And Tell Me What You Tell The Stars

(also posted on my ao3)

Summery: Dorian didn't come back for three days. Or, they have a heart to heart.

Dorian doesn't come back to Skyhold for three days.

Ryn tries to respect the need for solitude, especially after all of that. It doesn't stop her from worrying however.

Dorian didn't just go away when upset. He loved being dramatic about things, even when breaking. He never let anything get the last word but himself.

It had been annoying at first, he seemed full of and far too sure of himself, smug. But in the months since he had joined them she had grown fond of it. He was a better man than she had thought he would be.

She hoped he didn't think she thought less of him. She wasn't his father. She would never be like his father. She didn't have any issue with who he fancied. There was nothing dangerous or wrong about it. They- well, she thinks they are friends. Possibly best, even. Ryn Trevaleyn did not leave her allies or friends to suffer in the cold.

She's just returned from a day long trek to seal a nearby rift when he does return, she only finds out when she overhears Cassandra complaining about some annoyance he has caused her. It's more or less laced with fondness, however.

Her eyes scan the tower, as if it was a battlefield, and dismounts her horse.

She wasn't...very good at this. She wasn't quite sure how to approach the topic of his feelings. She was more used to the Trevaleyn way of hurting. Never bringing up what hurt you, and playing others, playing The Game far too well. Comfort was never a Trevaleyn strong suit.

Aknowledging a few greetings from various faces, Ryn sighs, Climbing up the staircase she mentally goes over the choices on how to simply ask him if he's okay.

However she manages it, she needs him to know nothing has changed. And he will, no matter what, always be welcomed at Skyhold

The sound of raven cries fill the silence as she mulls over the events of the past three days, her soft footsteps a steady unceasing rhythm as she climbs, ignoring how uncannily similar her own father is to his. He was far colder but the very loud unhappiness with who you were was too uncanny.

She finds him in the library, hazelnut eyes intently studying a book she's sure he's only reading as a distraction, his brows are furrowed faintly, you would not notice unless you knew something stressful had occured for him. And she does know. The light of the torches illuminate his golden skin like the sun.

Stopping a few feet from him, she shifts her feet for a moment, before clearing her throat. The other man looks up expectantly.

"Inquisitor! To what do I owe this pleasure?" He smirks.

There it was. The normal Dorian. Or at least a pretending one. Or maybe what has happened hasn't troubled him too much. Judging from the reaction to his father's words, however, Ryn is betting it's the first.

Ryn smiles softly. "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"About?" He raises an eyebrow.

Her lime eyes stare at him. He only huffs a breath, before gently setting down the book she doesn't recall getting the name of, and crosses his arms.

"Right, that unpleasantness. Should I be worried that I have unwelcomed my stay here?" His tone is full of his usual smugness, but there's something else in it. Something....sad?

Ryn blinks. "Excuse me?"

The mage throws his hands in the air. "You know, something along the lines of 'get this tevinter away from the young! He's corrupting the youth with his ungodly ways and we can't have be having that!"

"It's far from ungodly, Dorian." Ryn says softly.

The curves of Dorian's lips twitch into a ghost of a smile, he stares at her for a moment, studying her expression. That was a test, she thinks. Of course it was.

"I meant what I said back there. I don't care that you like men, Dorian. You're my friend. You know this, right?."

His face softens, and he chuckles.

"Maker...You keep surprising me, Inquisitor, you know that?" He smiles.

Ryn tilts her head, eyes squinting. "And how do I surprise you?"

"Friend!" He laughs. "I didn't see myself becoming friends with The Herald Of Andraste, but you certainly surprised me there." He informs gleefully.

Before she can say anything else, he starts walking.

"Follow me will you?" He calls.

Perplexed, she obeys, trailing behind him as they descend the stairs.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere quiet, the raven's are quite loud this time of day. It can drive anyone mad. Maybe Corypheus owned some!" He informs.

They walk in silence, their footsteps in harmony with each others. Until Dorian reaches for a door, gently opening it into the throne room. He extends a hand out, allowing her to go through first. For once, the throne room was peaceful, tame and subdued. only few people stood speaking to each other, conversations overlapping as the morning light shined through the stained windows.

Dorian settles on a chair near the burning of the fire, and after a moment gestures for her to do the same. She complies.

For seventeen seconds, the air is only filled with indistinct conversations and the soft crackle and pop of the fireplace. After eighteen, Dorian speaks.

"I never had a friend before, you know. This is a...welcomed change." His voice is only barely louder than a whisper. He shifts in his seat. He doesn't look at her, uncharacistically avoidant. Her eyes burn into his neck.

"I'm sorry about your father, Dorian. You deserved better than all of that. If there's anything I can do, you only have to ask." She means it more than she's ever meant anything.

"I think he'd of been happier if I had been a bastard, then he wouldn't need to go through all of the trouble to make me into a son he could be proud of. Or a son that would make the Pavus name proud. You could tell that's what he wanted, when I was a boy and not married to whatever lord's daughter he saw first by fourteen."

The birds awaken outside, their sudden song a constant stream of sound despite the heavy closed doors. One melodic chirp after another.

"You don't think he loves you?" She asks.

"I think he maybe does, in his own way, he loves me. but proud of me?" He scoffs. "I don't think i've ever made him feel an ounce of pride."

A pregnant pause, before Ryn speaks.

"I'm proud of you." She says. Because it's true. It's incredibly so.

They fall silent after that, as they both wake further, the morning making them both come alive with the rest of Thedas. Like some golden restart for another day. Another day with a rift in the sky and the fade's creatures pouring out of it.

Eventually, Dorian gives a shaky exhale, sniffing. A smile forming.

"But, oh, give it a few days, i'll be fine." He states with merry nonchalance. "But, I... I do appreciate your friendship, Inquisitor. I... I truly do. He says softly, his meeting hers. She's never seen him this sincere. It's disarming, almost.

"Will you stay?" She asks. "In Skyhold?"

"If you'll have me. We do have a giant hole in the sky to take care of, in case this little heart to heart made it slip your mind.

Ryn smiles. "Thank you."

Neither speak again for a while, as more people eventually file inside, one by one as more conversations float by them.

"I suppose I should offer my own support, with whatever is happening between you and that Sera girl." Dorian eventually speaks. "A solidarity of sorts, If you will."

"Nothing is happening between me and Sera!" She squawks indignantly. It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. Nothing yet.

"Right!" The man says cheerily.

She huffs, only managing to be offended for six seconds before breaking into a fit of giggles, throwing her head back and hitting the top of the chair in amusement. Dorian grins. The sun only gets higher with each passing moment after.

Soon enough, a warmth washes over them, the fire a soft, welcomed heat that radiates both of them, a warmth of content and fondness ignites both their bodies, a sweet embrace that seems to stick onto both of them.

They'd be alright. He'd be alright. For now, however, they had a world to prevent being destroyed.