#patheticnugbaby's inquisitors

[patheticnugbaby]

“Tevinter fashion suits you, amatus.”

“I’m glad you approve, it was prohibitively expensive.”

“Nonsense! This is Minrathous, nothing’s prohibitively expensive.”

“Fine but it was exorbitantly expensive.”

I wanted to draw them dancing and I didn’t wanna draw the fucking straps so Dorian has a cape sue me.

[zanidragon-art]

Adahla Lavellan dancing, probably alone out on the snow in the moonlight. Just a little escape from being Inquisitor.

[lypreila]

Dragon Age Wintersend2017!!!  

I worked on this all night, trying to keep myself sane for the upcoming holiday!  Thanks for hosting @right-in-the-vhenan and @the-queen-of-thedas yall wonderful ❤💜 @patheticnugbaby ‘s Solmera Adaar having a meeting with a certain former Archmage in her dreams, much to her confusion.  

I tried to do her justice, and I hope you enjoy! 

Solmera understood the fade far to well, and understood more than most how dangerous it could be.  Fortunately for her and many others, she also knew that dreams could help, comfort, and soothe as well.  She would never have expected this, though, this meeting of the minds, this amusing and fantastical situation, brought on no doubt by her stress over Corypheus, over the Wardens, over Blackwall.  

“Thom” She muttered, brushing a lock of hair aside.  She must remember - it was Thom now.  

“Who is Thom now?”  

Directing her attention back to the spirit beside her, Solmera suppressed an irritated huff, brushing a lock of hair behind an ear.  

“You know, my parents always told me never to talk to spirits.  But I suppose I can make an exception for you.”  

The spirit, an older woman, hair stone grey, clutching a staff in one hand, laughed.  

“And here I thought I could get away with being anonymous for once in my life.  But no, I suppose not.  It’s a pleasure to meet you, Solmera.  Or should I call you Inquisitor?”  

“Solmera will do fine, thank you.  And you are Wynne, one time Archmage and leader of the college of Aequitarians.  You voted to keep the circles together?”  

Wynne looked amused, glancing out at the shifting and swirling of the fade beyond.  

“That’s the first thing you ask?  Not, ‘why is there a spirit talking to me’ or ‘hey what comes after you die?’”  

“No!  No, I mean…”  Solmera stuttered, suddenly abandoned by the calm assurance she was usually capable of commanding.  She’d read volumes of books since the move to Skyhold - most Orlesian libraries were eager to help out the Inquisition, and Vivienne had been going to lengths to gather up what tomes of lore had been scattered when the circles fell.  More recent accounts from the last decade spoke of Wynne, her contribution to the defeat of the Archdemon, her rise through the ranks to become a First Enchanter.  Vivienne spoke of her as well, of her eloquence in front of the College, her passionate defense of the circles.  She spoke of other things, though, that had caught Solmera’s attention.  Of her unique ways of casting, her proficiency with a staff, the way she redirected leftover spell energies into strengthening her barrier, and more techniques that she could hardly imagine. Yes.  She had more questions, though none of them ran in the direction Wynne seemed to be expecting.  

“Why a staff?”  Was what came out of her mouth, instead, and she suppressed a groan, closing her eyes briefly as  a gentle tinkle of laughter rang out.  

“Because a staff is familiar to me.  It’s what I trained with - it’s what most Circle mages train with.  The Chantry likes to keep us readily identifiable.”

“But…. there are other things that are so much easier….”  

“Yes, “ The spirit acknowledged with a smile, “But a staff is what works for -me-.  Just as I prefer a staff and robes, someone else might prefer a bladed half-staff and breeches.”  

A vision flickered in the distance briefly, a young woman, with dark hair and a smudge of blood on her nose, wielding such a staff with fury.  Then it blew away, an eddy of green energy shifting through and destroying the image.  

“You’re very eager for knowledge.  It’s good to see.  I always did love teaching.”  A sad smile touched the spirits lips, before she turned back to the Qunari, reaching out a hand to gently touch her shoulder.  “That’s what probably what drew you here tonight.  So desperate for answers, so ready to know everything.”   

Solmera turned away briefly, but when she turned back her eyes blazed with some unnamable emotion.  

“Is that so bad?”  

“Not in and of itself.  Knowledge is the same as any weapon, able to kill or protect, defend or attack.  But…. I think…. I can hear your questions.  So many.  So let us start at the beginning.”  

The Inquisitor beamed, and light armor instantly appeared around her, replacing the flowing blue dress she hadn’t been aware of until that moment.  

Wynne chuckled.  

“That’s a girl.”  

_________________________________________

The next morning Thom thought he was the only one awake, but when he rolled over, arm automatically seeking the warmth of Solmera’s body, he found only a cold bedroll.   He rose carefully, taking a moment to strap on his armor before stepping into the chill morning air.  They were in the northwest of Orlais, near the fortress where the Circle of Magi had at last been dissolved.  It took him a little while, but eventually he found her in a clearing some distance away, moving through forms unfamiliar to him.  They seemed unfamiliar to her as well, as she was more careful than she usually was when she practiced, steps careful, very conscious of the position of her arms.   

Unwilling to intervene and risk the chance of startling her, Thom Ranier settled himself upon a stump, content to watch the beautiful woman in front of him.  Eventually she seemed to settle into the routine, and as he watched something else seemed to emerge, a combination of the old and new forms, flowing steps and short strikes, and he could feel the air around her spark with energy.  Finally she stopped, settling on the ground, turning her face up to the steadily strengthening warmth of the sun.  He approached her then, trailing one hand along her shoulders before settling besides her, bracing her back with his own.   Concern over the the shadows beneath her eyes gnawed at him, but he kept silent for the moment, only a slight heaviness to his voice giving it away.  

“Come back to the tent.”  

“Mmmm.”   It was just a murmur, but he could feel her nodding against him.   He rose up, drawing her with him, and began the walk back to the camp, one arm sliding around her waist.  

“Didn’t sleep well My Lady?”  

A husky chuckle was her only response for a moment, before she finally glanced at him, a smile teasing her lips.  

“On the contrary.  My dreams were…. Informative.  But not very restful.”   

“Well then,” Thom said, not bothering to hide his confusion, “We’ll have to delay starting out today.  Allow you some more time to rest.”  

Arm in arm they walked back, and Solmera tumbled into their blankets with a happy satisfaction that would last for weeks.   This time, she dreamt only of happy things, of her siblings and parents, of Thom and herself, of all the things that comforted her.  

[zanidragon]

Hey! I made a side blog specifically for where I talk about/post random shit about my Inquisitors named @patheticnugbaby

I’ll post as often as I wanna type up random Inquisitorial shit.

[patheticnugbaby]

“How suggestively Dalish do you think we can make this outfit, Madame Vivienne?”

“It won’t look as good but I’m sure we could manage some dalish-inspired embroidery and design if that’s what you want, darling.”

Rajmahel Lavellan after he cuts his hair and spends an afternoon or three being outfitted by Vivienne and her seamstress because I desperately wanted that kind of extra bonding scene with her because I love her.

He looks a lot like his brother with his hair like this.

[patheticnugbaby]

Nightmare

Pavellan fluff for all your comfort needs. Rajmahel has a nightmare, luckily Dorian’s there to comfort him.

WARNING: Mentions of blood, horror, gore, and the horrible things that happen to you when you die.

The awful, jagged green-black landscape stretched in all directions. The great, slow swirling of the breach hung overhead, it spun the wrong direction. In the distance, he could see spirits being pulled apart as they were yanked through, disappearing with a tiny bubbling flash of green light. His ears flicked as he heard the staggering rattle that had grown all too familiar. Rajmahel swallowed, hard, then he turned.

A fear demon hovered, not even a full pace away. Terror clenched in his gut as those horrible arachnid legs flexed on its back, tilting its blind head before it lunged forward, its skeletal body flickering in and out of view. Rajmahel dodged away from it, his boots skidding angrily on the stone. He backed away from the demon, holding his left hand out as if that might slow it. His foot snagged on something squishy and he fell. He looked to see what he’d landed in, only to scramble away in mute horror.

A mound of corpses, all fresh and racked with the ragged claw marks and burns from angry demons. Each one wore the face of one of his friends.

There was Cullen, prone, red lyrium spiraling cruelly from his broken body. Josephine, not far away, her sweet face twisted in fear and agony. Leliana laid over Josephine, her back seared with the marks of a pride demon that she’d shielded for the ambassador. Cassandra, rent apart and looking to be drained of her blood. He couldn’t see her shield arm, not until he saw it laying over Varric, covering his chest in a charred shield. It hadn’t done him much good, not with his face looking like that. Solas laid in a pile of bodies with Iron Bull, Cole, Sera, and Vivienne. It was a miracle he recognized them at all, burned and torn the way they were. Blackwall’s body laid in front of them all and had taken the worst of the damage. Rajmahel only knew it was him because of the silver griffon crest on his shield. Strange, that that should be the only thing untouched by all this devastation.

A pit formed in his stomach as he realized that Dorian wasn’t among them. He heard the shuffling scrabble of something behind him. He closed his eyes, unwilling to turn around, even as he felt the tingling on the back of his neck, between his shoulders. The stench of death threatened to overwhelm him and it very nearly turned his stomach. Suddenly, blood-slick fingers clutched at his now bare ankle. He yelped and jumped away, only to be faced with the glassy-eyed corpse of Dorian, crawling, reaching for him.

He covered his mouth as though it would keep him from screaming, from vomiting, from anything. Dorian’s dead, mangled body shuddered as it crawled to him, bloody stumps of fingers reaching for him.

“Amatus,” He croaked, rattled.

Rajmahel screamed-

“-amatus! Wake up! Please-!”

Rajmahel choked and threw himself away from the bed. The covers tangled in his legs and tripped him, so he scuttled away on his hands and knees until he reached a wall, whirling to press his back against it, knees curled in, hands out. It was only then that he finally managed to look back to the bed.

Only to see Dorian, gray eyes wide and fearful, one hand partially held out, fingers curled in, “... Raj?”

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, curling a little tighter on himself. His heart pounded in his chest and he struggled to breathe, fear still unreasonably clenched in the pit of his stomach. His back itched like they were all still there. He was going to open his eyes and they were going to be piled in his bedroom. Staring, glassy eyes and fetid blood covering the floor-

“Rajmahel,” A soft voice, like velvet under rough fingertips, “it’s alright. You’re in Skyhold, you had a night-” the voice caught, just for a moment, “you had a bad dream, Amatus, that’s all it was. It was just a bad dream.”

He dug his toes into the thick rug, heels scraping on the stone floor. His back was pressed against the cold wall when he inhaled he smelled paper, ink, woodsmoke, and the faintest tinge of lavender. Rajmahel looked up, sheepishly wiping his eyes with the back of a hand once he realized that he’d been crying at some point. Dorian was on the floor in front of him, gentle hands reaching, but hesitant; his eyes were wide and hesitant.

Rajmahel felt a broken sob tear out of his throat and he lunged forward, tugging Dorian into a tight, shaking embrace. Dorian’s arms wound tightly around his back, his head pressed against Rajmahel’s chest. He held Dorian tightly, pressing his face into dark, mussed hair before he started to weep in earnest.

“It’s alright,” Dorian murmured but he heard a slight tremble in his voice that made him gently pull him up to his face.

“You’re real, aren’t you?” Rajmahel’s voice shook, rough with sleep and fear as he ran his fingers all over the other man’s face, his cheeks, brow, proud nose, and full lips.

“What an odd question,” Dorian smiled, shifting so he could cup Rajmahel’s face in his hand, his eyes looked a little wet, “of course I’m real, Amatus, I’m right here.”

Rajmahel shuddered a little and pressed his forehead against Dorian’s as he took a soft, shaky breath, “You’re alright, you’re alive,” it sounded too much like a question for his liking.

Dorian pressed a kiss onto the pad of his thumb that rested on his lips, “I’m alive and well, Amatus. It’s alright.”

Rajmahel sighed heavily, finally smiling a little, even as new, fresh tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, quickly wiped away by soft, gentle hands, “Creators, Dorian, I’m s-”

“Hush,” Dorian cut him off, frowning enough to get those little wrinkles on the bridge of his nose, “don’t apologize, even if we’re up all night.”

“You always complain in the morning if I keep you up too late,” Rajmahel chuckled softly, managing to swallow some of the fear that coiled in his belly.

“That’s different,” The ghost of a smile on his lips, Rajmahel ran his thumb over the mussed mustache, coaxing a wider smile from him, “Stop that, you know it tickles.”

“It makes you smile,” He replied, gently smoothing the mustache again, this time rewarded with an indignantly wrinkled nose.

“You could hire a new steward with better taste in wine, that’d make me smile too,” Dorian quipped, tucking stray locks behind Rajmahel’s ears, “your ears are still twitchy.”

“They’ll do that until I relax,” Still, he attempted to still them and was sure that he was unsuccessful.

“Is there anything I can do?” Dorian asked, his voice full and earnest as his fingertips traced along Rajmahel’s jaw.

He shook his head a little, “I don’t think so, vhenan,” he pressed a kiss to Dorian’s frowning brow, “You should rest. I won’t be able to sleep for a few hours yet, and one of us should be well-rested for tomorrow.”

“Fuck that nonsense,” Dorian almost snapped at him, but not quite, still he glowered up at Rajmahel, gray eyes boiling with an angry heat, “You don’t get to wake me up in the middle of night, screaming your lungs out until I finally wake you up and you fly out of bed like you have a dragon on your ass then tell me ‘It’s alright, Dorian, I only gave you the fright of your life, go on back to bed now’!”

Rajmahel winced a little, lightly touching the soft, dark circles under Dorian’s eyes, “I am sorry, vhenan. You’re right-”

“That’s it,” Dorian stood up, quickly enough to leave his fingertips tingling from the sudden lack of touch, “come, stand up.”

“Why?” He tilted his head, ears flicking cautiously, even as he stood; Dorian had that secret smile on his face that made him wary.

“Trust me, Amatus,” Dorian bowed slightly and held out his hand, a warm, charming smile sliding over his face like a glove.

He hesitated, only for a moment before he allowed Dorian to take his hand and was immediately whisked into his arms. He laughed hoarsely as their fingers interlocked, his hand moving to rest on Dorian’s shoulder.

“What’re we doing?”

“Sometimes you ask the most painfully obvious questions,” Dorian grinned, turning them gently towards the hearth, “We’re dancing. I would’ve thought you were familiar with the idea, we’re done it before.”

“Oh, for-” Rajmahel chuckled, shaking his head as his ears perked forward, “why are we dancing?”

“Does it matter?” Dorian murmured, swinging Rajmahel away from him, their forearms pressed together, the other arm behind their backs as they circled each other, “As I recall you like dancing. You told me that Clan Lavellan danced often, especially at night.”

“We did, and I would like to dance with them again when this is through,” Rajmahel smiled, allowed Dorian to sweep him back into his arms, “you would like it. You haven’t been to a party until you’ve been to a dalish party.”

“You say that but you haven’t been to any Tevinter parties. Makes the Winter Palace look like cakes and tea cozies,” Dorian grinned, his hand pressing Rajmahel closer to him, “and you’d have to learn a whole dozen new dances.”

“You could teach me,” He chuckled, shaking his hair out of his face, “you’ve always been an excellent teacher.”

“You should know by now that I’m excellent at most everything, Amatus,” Dorian chided him, bringing their interlocked hands to his lips to kiss Rajmahel’s knuckles.

“Your accent for elvhen is atrocious.”

“I said most everything,” Still, Dorian smiled, spinning them all the way over to the banister before he slowly started to turn back into the room, “there are still words you won’t tell me.”

“I am lucky that written elvhen is almost gone, or you’d find out on your own,” Rajmahel smirked, “Lathan na. Ne’inalanehn na.”

“Exactly. If you’re not careful I’ll have to torture it out of you,” Dorian threatened but a grin spread over his face as he leaned in a little closer, “Do you know that your voice goes lower when you speak elvhen?”

“Does it, ara’vhenan?” Rajmahel smiled, reaching up with a small yawn to run his thumb along Dorian’s jaw.

“Does the ‘ara’ make it mean something else?”

“No,” He smiled a little wider, “ara means ‘my’, ‘my heart’.”

“But it changes when you add it to the end?”

“Different kind of ‘ara’,” Rajmahel yawned a little wider this time, “that one means ‘self-journey’, roughly, though it’s a little more complicated than that. When I call you ‘vhenanara’ I mean ‘desire’, or ‘journey of my heart’.”

“Please tell me that all of it isn’t just names,” Dorian groaned almost theatrically, making him laugh again.

“You say that like you don’t enjoy them,” Rajmahel grinned at him, then leaned up to put a tiny kiss on the tip of Dorian’s nose, “Ir’inalanehn.”

“Hush you. For all, I know you could be calling me whatever the elvhen word is for the wrinkles on a nug’s ass.”

Rajmahel laughed, one of his big laughs that started in his belly and shook his shoulders. He was cut short by another yawn and he caught the smallest widening of Dorian’s smile. He grinned, gently shoving Dorian’s shoulder.

“You ass, you’re trying to tire me out!”

“I assure you, Amatus if I wanted to ‘tire you out’ I could be a great deal more creative about it,” Dorian purred, cupping his face with a warm hand before he shoved Rajmahel backward.

He yelped, flailing his arms around before abruptly landing on something soft and very, very warm. He sat up, frowning at the bed he landed on, then up at Dorian.

“Remind me when we made it back to the bed?”

“Somewhere around ‘Ara’vhenan’, I believe,” Dorian gave him a crooked grin before he jerked his chin towards the pillows, “get under the blankets, I’ll throw another log on the fire.”

“Dorian-”

“I’m not requiring that you sleep, Amatus,” He interrupted as he threw a new log on the fire, “at the very least you should rest, I’ll read to you.”

“Excuse me-?”

“I know you like it when I read to you, and I can’t say I blame you, I have a marvelous voice,” Dorian chuckled softly, snagging a book before he climbed into bed, lifting the blankets and gesturing impatiently, “come here.”

Rajmahel flicked his ears before climbing in next to him, cuddling up to rest his head on his chest, Dorian’s arm wrapping snugly around his shoulders. As the warmth of the blankets settled over him he yawned again, allowing his eyes to close-

Dead, glassy eyes, splinted fingers reaching-

He jumped, suddenly clutching tightly to Dorian again.

“Shh, Amatus, it’s alright. I’m here,” Dorian pressed a gentle kiss on the top of his head before he started to read the words aloud again.

Rajmahel barely even heard them. He heard that voice, warm and soothing. Safe. He nestled himself a little closer to Dorian, ears twitching a little restlessly until he felt Dorian rub carefully at the tenseness in his shoulders. Sometimes he felt the soft weight of Dorian looking at him, just for a moment before he went back to reading for him.

“Lathan na,” Rajmahel murmured sleepily as he tried to climb a little closer to Dorian, who made a small, curious noise.

“Sorry?”

“Lathan na,” Rajmahel repeated, a little clearer this time, “It means ‘I love you’.”

He fell asleep almost immediately after he said it. He didn’t witness the sudden stillness that came over Dorian before he slowly, carefully closed the book he was reading from. There was a fluttering in his chest and a kind of pleasant, tingling pain in the corners of his eyes.

“Kaffas,” He cursed quietly, even as he gathered Rajmahel a little closer to him, pressing tiny, fervent kisses onto his hair, his forehead, between his eyebrows, “I love you too.”

He knew he wouldn’t be able to say it to him, not while he was awake. He hoped that Rajmahel knew anyways, in the way he occasionally just knew things. Maybe he did if that new little smile on his lips was anything to go by. It probably wasn’t, but this time he dared to hope.

Dorian pressed one more tender kiss on Rajmahel’s brow before carefully laying him down until his head rested on the pillows. Dorian wrapped his arms around him, holding him to his chest with a shuddering sigh, somewhere between relief and fear.

“Amatus,” He settled a little better into his pillow and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to claim him...

“Vhenan.”

[patheticnugbaby]

Fright

Hey, remember how I said I wouldn’t be writing because I’m working on DnD?

Apparently, I lied, have some SolmeraxThom, also tagged Bladaar, sometimes Thomera if it’s post-revelations.

At the very beginning of Trespasser, based on the scene where your Inquisitor wakes up and he’s not there and she’s sad and scared for a minute.

Solmera wakes in the middle of the night, eyes slowly flickering open in the dark. The softest beams of silver light fall through dark curtains. Indigo, she remembered, like an afterthought. In the night they looked black but they were blue in the sunlight. She bundles the blankets a little closer to her chin, curling to keep her feet under them. As she turned she smelled him, wood, metal, leather, somehow the scent of hay still stuck to him, though it’d been ages since he slept in the Skyhold stables. She smiled sleepily, ignoring the smallest sound of fabric ripping, a small tug on her head that told her she’d gored yet another pillow in her sleep. She reached for him, closing her eyes as her fingers traveled over the too-soft plush covers.

Nothing.

Something sharp and tight closed in her chest, around her throat long before her eyes snapped open again. She sat up, slowly on shaking arms. Her eyes opened as wide as they could go, seeing nothing except the barest suggestion of shapes against the wall. A wardrobe, couches, a small table with two chairs facing the windows.

“Thom?” Her voice was too soft, unsure and shaking.

Still nothing.

She clenched her jaw, throwing the blankets off and swinging her legs out of bed. Her fingers clenched tightly at the edge of the mattress as she shut her eyes, her breath hissing softly between her clenched teeth. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, once, twice before she gave up and stood to take a long, steadying breath. That sharp, hollow something in her chest was still there, like shattered glass just barely held together, one breath and it was gone.

Solmera let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, slowly unclenching her hands before she curled them into fists again, nails cutting into her palms. She waved her Anchor-hand, lighting the numerous candles, braziers, and the hearth, bathing the room in warm, orange light. She spread her hands out towards the fire but she didn’t feel the warmth. She heard the door open and didn’t turn to face it. That’d be too much to hope for.

“... ‘Mera?”

Her breath caught in her throat but she didn’t turn to face him. Relief, hot and painful rushed through her, her summoned fires spluttered before steadying. The slow shuffle of feet, no, socks on on tiles. She flexed her fingers, jaw clenched tightly against the hot prickling on tears in the corners of her eyes.

Gentle, hesitant hands with rough palms slowly circled her waist, callouses catching on the thin fabric of her nightgown. She spun, almost too quickly, and squeezed him tightly in her arms, burying her face in his tangled mess of hair. Blackberries and sage, he’d used her soaps again.

She chuckled, a broken sound as hot tears raced down the sharp lines of her nose.

“I’m not going anywhere, ‘Mera.”

She laughed, or tried to, it came out like a sob. His arms, strong even for someone so much smaller than she was, tightened around her. She crushed him closer, shutting her eyes and nuzzling into his hair.

They stayed like that for awhile, hugging each other so tightly their arms shook. She moved first. She always moved first now, like he wanted to be sure she wanted him to let go before he did. Or maybe he just liked to hold on that little bit longer.

“I’m sorry, ‘Mera, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” A tentative hand brushing the sleep-mussed hair away from her cheek, the soft rasp of calloused hands on much softer skin.

“I shouldn’t frighten so easily-”

“‘Mera,” He stopped her, thumb lightly stroking her cheek, “I have watched you stare down your nose at gods, titans, dragons, god-dragons and you’ve never flinched, not once. I left you. Because I’m a fucking idiot but I’m the luckiest fucking idiot in the world because you took me back, gave me the chance I don’t deserve,” He sighed, like for a moment the words caught in his throat, thick like molasses, “I love you. Now, what can I do so I don’t frighten you again?”

She laughed, really laughed this time, soft and breathy but it sounded like joy, “Wake me when you get up at night, I don’t care how often you have to do it, just wake me up, tell me you’re leaving and you’re coming back.”

“I can do that,” He reached up with his free hand, cupping her face as he pulled her down to rest his forehead against hers, she giggled a little, stifling a yawn, “Back to bed, My Lady?”

“Back to bed, Ser Rainier,” She lightly kissed the tip of his nose, making him grin.

Solmera snapped her fingers, more for show than anything else, snuffing all the lights at once. Thom laughed, his rough hands easily finding hers in the dark. The green of the anchor flashed brilliantly, once she would’ve called the light eerie but by now it was just light, a fact of being who she was.

She led him back to their bed, scooting over under the covers until she laid where he’d been before she woke. The pillow still smelled like him, leather, metal, wood, the softest hint of blackberries and sage, she wasn’t sure if that was him or her. It didn’t matter.

He slid into bed next to her, pressing close to wind his arms around her again, his head comfortably resting on her shoulder. She grinned wide, pressing a kiss to his forehead, earning a chuckle and a playful nuzzle under her chin. His beard tickled her skin. Solmera laughed a little, wrapping one arm around him and tugging him close.

“Goodnight, Thom.”

“Goodnight, ‘Mera.”

[patheticnugbaby]

Drew some angsty Trespasser Solavellan art because I was inspired by a recent piece @ethadahlen did of Cerise Lavellan

WARNING: BLOOD, GORE, BODY HORROR under the cut (I suck at all of these things and it’s just a sketch but I had fun)

“You ‘suspect I have questions’? Fuck you. Fuck you. Disappear without a word for two years and that’s what you have to say?!”

Asha’adahlen (I completely forgot how to draw her it’s fine) when she finally sees Solas at the end of Trespasser. Gods, she’s angry, the last fight with the Saarebas was hard and she lost her eye because obviously, the most tragic inquisitor has to lose more than all of the others put together.

[patheticnugbaby]

Time

Got distracted drawing Nasraa and ended up writing a little NasraaxJosephine fluff drabble. 

Gods they’re dumb someone help them. Help me.

Nasraa knocked lightly on the door leading to the ambassador’s office, unable to stop the too-wide grin at the sound of Josephine’s bright ‘Come in!’. She ducked a little as she came into the room, careful not to clip her horns on the doorframe, again. There was still a little scratch from the last time.

“Oh! Good evening, Inquisitor,” A delicate blush darkened Josephine’s cheeks as she ducked her head, just a little, tucking a few stray locks behind her ear, “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, except allow me to enjoy the company of a lovely lady,” Something warm and light, like sparrow’s wings, fluttering in Nasraa’s chest when Josephine blushed a little redder, grinning sweetly, “Would you allow me that, Miss Montilyet?”

“Of course! I-” Josephine stopped, Nasraa could see the words turning over in her head and she smiled a little wider, “I would very much enjoy your company.”

Nasraa’s chest abruptly felt a little tight, her cheeks a little too warm to be explained away by the cold or the firelight. She swallowed, nodding softly and smiling instead of saying something if she did she knew she’d stutter. She pulled a rather large sheaf of papers out from her jacket and plopped herself into one of the cushy armchairs in front of the fire, crossing one leg and propping the letters on her knee.

“Is there a problem with your desk, Inquisitor?” Nasraa smiled at the small playful note in her voice.

“My desk and the quarters it happens to sit in are bereft of your delightful company, my lady,” Nasraa replied without looking up from her letter, though she hadn’t managed to read a single word of it.

There was silence for a time, broken only by the sound of papers shuffling and the popping of the fire. Nasraa smiled a little wider, the room was lightly scented with the delicate scent of Josephine’s perfume, floral, though she couldn’t quite place the scent of the flower. Perhaps it was an Antivan bloom. Perhaps she’d ask about it someday.

Nasraa chanced a quick glance out the corner of her eye at Josephine, dark hair tied back, a few stray locks curling around her ears bent over a letter, her bottom lip caught thoughtfully between her teeth. She looked back to her letter before Josephine caught her staring. She was good at that.

There was the heavy creak of a chair that made Nasraa tense and jerk her head up. Josephine, quickly and tidily gathering her papers, the picture of professionalism, before taking the cushy armchair beside Nasraa, for all intents and purposes, entirely involved in her work.

“Is there a problem with your desk, My Lady Ambassador?” Nasraa chuckled a little, shifting in her seat to face more towards Josephine, shifting her papers with a pointed rustle.

“I find it’s too far away from my most delightful guest,” Josephine smiled, glancing at Nasraa out the corner of her eye, her left hand dangling in the empty space between them.

“Might I hold your hand, My Lady?” Nasraa was already reaching, fingers just a few inches away, cautious yet eager.

Instead of replying, she takes her hand, so much smaller, softer than Nasraa’s. There’s a blush on her cheeks as she turns back to her letters, somehow it accentuated the soft dusting of freckles across her nose. Nasraa bit back the impulse to scoot her chair over and kiss them. Instead, she managed to start reading her letters again, thumb idly rubbing soft, soothing circles on the back of Josephine’s hand.

In a way, this was the most perfect way to spend her evenings, even if she was poring over an obnoxious letter from some irritated Ferelden complaining about how the watchtowers she built what seemed like an age ago ruined the view from his home. Nasraa frowned and lifted it from the pile, burning it to nothing before moving onto the next letter.

“You don’t do that with all your letters do you?”

Nasraa chuckled to hide the sudden flush in her cheeks, “Ah, only the ones I’m not replying to.”

Josephine giggled softly, lightly squeezing Nasraa’s hand and continuing her work, the soft scratching of the quill interrupting the low roar of the fire. Nasraa let out the small breath she’d been holding in a little laugh, trying to refocus on her work. She managed, eventually, tracing small circles on the backs of Josephine’s delicate, ink-stained hands. She wasn’t used to it yet, the warm, easy familiarity they were beginning to fall into. There was still something brilliant and new that thrilled her, even with the lightest, most familiar touches. Even holding hands quickened her heart just a little, she could feel her pulse in her fingertips and it was only a small, constant expenditure of magic that kept her hands from sweating.

It was wonderful, it was sweet and precious and it tasted like joy and home; even the perfume from unfamiliar flowers was starting to feel a little like home. How strange.

She stole another soft glance, only to accidentally meet Josephine’s gaze. Her eyes looked brown rather than gray in the firelight. She felt her lips curling into an unwilling smile, too wide but to her never ending surprise, Josephine returned the grin, gentle and warm.

“There’s red in your eyes, I don’t think I noticed before,” She said softly, Nasraa felt herself blushing and looked back to the fire, clearing her throat a little, “Oh, I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t offend me, Josie, I am,” Nasraa paused, tasting the words on her tongue, rolling them around to take the sharpness off, “I am unused to compliments from beautiful ladies.”

“Tsk. Well it’s good we have time to fix that, isn’t it?”

Nasraa chuckled softly, lightly squeezing her hand, “As much time as is mine to give, My Lady.”

[patheticnugbaby]

Hi! Sooo this is my very first fic of literally anything. I initially romanced Solas not exactly on accident. I made an elvish Inquisitor because I wanted to romance Cullen and I stumbled upon the flirt option for Solas and I was just “Wait, you can do that?” because he just seems so different from the usual kinds of romances Bioware throws at you.

So I ran it and I fell into hell. It’s been a very long time since I’ve written literally anything at all ever so I’m exceptionally rusty. Anyways! I hope you like it.

“I have distracted you from your duty. It will not happen again.”

Adahla chuckled a little, tilting her head slightly to look at him better, “I’m sorry?”

“I have-”

“No, I heard you, Solas; I just don’t understand,” She reached for him, to touch his cheek. When he stepped away from her she cradled her hand to her chest, like she had been burned. "Why?"

"I did not wish to hurt you. In another world-" He stopped, as though just for this one moment, words failed him. He stepped back further, lacing his fingers behind his back. "Just not this one."

A sharpness rose in her chest and pricked at the corners of her eyes. She blinked rapidly to stop the hot tears welling in her eyes. She would not cry, not here and not now. She took a long, deep breath, closing her eyes for just a brief moment.

When she opened them again she was no longer Adahla Lavellan. Now, she was the Inquisitor.

Looking at him, she knew he recognized the change. It was in the way his eyes creased, where his eyebrows drew close, and his mouth curled down. There was hurt and pain in his eyes, she almost wanted to laugh, or cry, or scream.

But she wouldn't, the Inquisitor wouldn't.

"If this is what you want, so be it," He opened his mouth as though to speak and she held up her hand to stop him. "Don't speak, Solas, I-I need some time."

He inclined his head, just a little, "I will see you back at Skyhold."

Then he left.

She stood with her fingers laced behind her back, impassively watching him leave. She waited until she could no longer see him through the night fog, then she waited a little longer. It must've been at least an hour before she allowed herself to collapse into the wet grass.

She clutched her stomach tightly like she could squeeze all the hurt out. Tears spilled onto her cheeks, leaving hot trails that felt like they were made of fire. Her chest felt tight, her ribs squeezed with a vice. She curled in on herself, bawling into her knees. She managed to catch her breath, just for an instant, to raise her head and gently trace the pattern of her vallaslin over her left eye.

Or rather, where it had been.

She tried to hold back another sob and failed. The brief memory of magic washing over her face, the warmth of his eyes. It felt like years ago, like a dream.

By the time she finally managed to exert some control over herself she was shivering. The seat of her trousers was wet from the grass, her skin felt clammy from the fog. She stood, her legs ached from sitting for so long. Adahla rubbed her hands over her face in an attempt to scrub away the evidence of her pain. She took a long, shuddering breath and tried to roll some of the stiffness out of her shoulders.

When she left the clearing she didn't look back to it. She didn't look at the trees, the rocks, anything except exactly where she was going.

She even missed the shadow of a man, his back pressed tightly against a tree, his hands clenched so hard that his nails bit into his palms.

Ir abelas, ma vhenan.

[patheticnugbaby]

I couldn’t help myself and cranked out a little bit of a Solmera Adaar as a companion AU ramblings/romance stuff for you people and for me people because this is 110% for my personal indulgence.

Kinda long, under the cut.

Available for any race/gender combination will have some specific flirts that vary based on class and race. Like for qunari, she’ll giggle about you being taller than her. (She’s slightly shorter than average for a qunari, not that anyone who’s not qunari would notice.)

You can flirt with Solmera pretty much on your first encounter with her, though honestly, it’s pretty light-hearted and not at all serious she gives you this little knowing half-smile, looking at you over the rims of her spectacles.

Solmera is dangerously smooth and will occasionally initiate flirting with you with high enough approval. She’s warm and confident, generous with her smiles, laughter, and compliments. If you respond with equally/increasingly smooth flattery it turns into a competition, or you have the option to stumble/stutter through it, which will prompt her to ask you if you’d like her to back off, if you do she immediately does, no questions asked, if you don’t, she laughs, gives you a wink, saying she’ll keep that in mind.

Upon arriving at Skyhold she’ll be down with the healers, helping. She’ll smile at you over her shoulder before standing and tilting your chin up (or down if you’re qunari) before stepping back a respectful distance and asking if you’re doing alright. If you have decent approval and have been flirting with her consistently she’ll mention it (after ascertaining that you are, indeed, alright, and if you’re not, offering some kind of comfort) if you affirm that you are actually interested in her she’ll smile, softer than usual, and say she has to think on it.

After meeting the Warden Contact in Crestwood you can talk to her to trigger another scene. She’ll be in the library talking with Fiona or Helismae or Minaeve (depending on who you saved and recruited) the latter excusing themselves when you show up. You can them walk the ramparts with her, talking about the stuff that’s going on, again with the ‘How are you doing with this immense garbage pile?’ and she’ll offer what comfort she can. If you’ve been flirting with her and she likes you that comfort is a great big soft hug. Somewhere along here she’ll mention missing her family (Que personal quest, first an operation to go all the way up to fucking Ansberg and you take her to go check on them and stuff happens. I don’t know yet okay.)

Solmera is exceptionally free with her personal information, even if you aren’t romancing her. The things that are harder to draw out of her are things like how she’s actually feeling about the things going on, especially about things that make her angry. The daily struggle she has with the savage anger she feels in her blood, tap-tap-tapping under her skin is one of the few things about herself that she deeply ashamed of which leads her to avoid things which make her angry like the plague and enterally repress the feeling of anger. Good news for you, you get to help her with that because healthily processing anger and similar emotions is not something she does well at all.

Gods Solmera is an exceedingly dominant bed partner but only as domineering as you’d like her to be for you. There’s definitely a discussion where you can actually make a decision regarding it.

She likes to hang out in the gardens, usually, you’d find her on a bench, reading or wandering around tending plants, chatting with various NPCs who wander around the area.

Her kiss-me-anytime scene is in the garden if you’re a dwarf or an elf she’ll pick you up to kiss you and it’s REALLY CUTE. If you’re a human she’ll lean down, if you’re qunari she’ll always giggle a little before she kisses you. She always takes off her gloves first and if she’s not picking you up she’ll very gently cup your face with both her hands and kiss your forehead after.

[patheticnugbaby]

“You are stunning tonight, My Lady Inquisitor.”

“I am stunning every night, Comte.”

Putting up sketches because it’s late and I’m tired. I might line and color this one tomorrow while I wait for DnD books and the inevitable embrace of the Void.

Solmera ‘Having-None-Of-Your-Shit-You-Orelesian-Dandy’ Adaar as seen at the peace talks of Halamshiral, taking a breather between chasing dumb looking assassins and rifling through really not well-hidden papers.

She and Vivienne had a brief lesson on how to coldly and confidently shred these chucklefucks on the way to Halamshiral.

[patheticnugbaby]

They say that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. That whatever pain you feel now you will make up for tenfold in strength later.

Well, ma vhenan, by now I must be the strongest woman in the world; I have carried mountains on my shoulders, I have buried my family, every last one of them. I bore the weight of the world and all its broken pieces as we cobbled it back together.

And, through all of that, I loved you.

You once caught me cutting my hair in the morning on the battlements, you asked why and I said: “Because it is time.”

You didn’t push, though I expected you to. I don’t know if you grasped what I meant by that.

Clan Lavellan will cut their hair when they go to war. Everyone old enough to have the vallaslin will cut it off, if we can, we’ll send the braided locks to our enemy. Our personal declaration of war.

As soon as I recovered I shaved mine. I don’t know how to send it to you, so I’ve left it in the small grove outside Skyhold, where we used to dance.

I loved you, I think some part of me still does, despite everything.

But I cannot let you do this.

So tell me, ma vhenan, after all of these things I’ve done, the pain I’ve weathered to fix your mistake;

Are you strong enough to stop me?

[patheticnugbaby]

Never let it be said that the women of Clan Lavellan were made of anything weaker than dragon bone, duller than the edge of a razor, or less captivating than moonlight as it danced on the snow.

Honestly, I have no idea where that blurb came from but I thought of it while I was drawing this. Asha’adahlen Lavellan giving Shaera Lavellan a much-needed hug.

Shaera Lavellan is @elfsplaining ‘s Inquisitor. I hope there’s a resemblance in there somewhere.

[patheticnugbaby]

So, I’m just going to throw myself into the trash bin. NSFW under the cut.

Also, note that Tumblr has fucked up the resolution for me so I hope it doesn’t look too awful. I may clean this up later on.

Honestly, I couldn’t get this little bit out of my head so I finally caved and drew it. Someone end me. Please.

[patheticnugbaby]

Some male muscle study things and an excuse to draw Raj’s full-body vallaslin.

My Lavellans definitely do have body hair because I said so.

Don’t ask me what he’s doing in the first picture. If you guys want I can upload copies without the vallaslin (it kinda covers some of the muscle stuff I did)

But this was a lot of fun.