#was this an excuse to draw more beautiful elf men? yeah

[devotion-disorder]

me when beautiful elf men want to gaslight gatekeep and girlboss me: 🚶🏾🧎🏾🐕

be careful what you wish for...the village Killian's from is having a bit of a population crisis right now, and having a nice little human come by could be just what they need...

[theharellan]

Solas Fan Banter

Here’s a compilation of the fan banter I’ve written over the years between Solas and other canon Dragon Age characters, posted for Dragon Age Day 2020. There are references to a canon divergent Solas/nb!Lavellan companion romance. I’ve regretfully not written any Iron Bull banter that I’m proud enough of to feature here, but if anyone has any suggestions for topics I’d be glad to hear them.

Featured characters: Solas, Cassandra, Varric, Sera, Blackwall, Vivienne, Dorian, Cole, Morrigan, Cullen, Leliana, Valta, Renn, and Arcane Advisor Merrill!

Solas & Cassandra

(after receiving the quest Agrarian Apostate)

Cassandra: And he was not even a mage. Shameful. Solas: Would have it been justified if he was? Cassandra: The Templars have sanction to punish apostates. It would not have been beyond their authority. Solas: I would not call that justified, merely legal. Cassandra: The Templars should be better. Solas: The Chantry armed them and gave them an enemy. That might fuel an army, but will only serve to poison their minds against innocent people, apostates or no.

Solas & Varric

(after killing the Templars during the quest Agrarian Apostate)

Varric: I thought at least away from Kirkwall I could get away from crazy Templars. Solas: You believe they were mad? The men I saw were no different from those who confronted us in Val Royeaux.

(after delivering the ring)

Solas: She seems to be holding up well, considering. Varric: Yeah, but I know a front when I see one. Solas: You believe she was suffering more than she let on? Varric: Oh, I know it, Chuckles. That ring might comfort her when the country gets too quiet, but it won’t dry her tears or– shit, do much else, really. Solas: Some wounds only time heal. Varric: And they always seem to leave ugly scars.

(after beginning Here Lies the Abyss)

Solas: You found Hawke after all. Varric: Oh, you know. All those heroics jogged my memory. Solas: Naturally. Varric: What, you going to lay into me, too? Solas: No, no. I understand why you hesitated. (if Hawke is a mage) Solas: To involve her in a Chantry organisation would not have been wise, at least before it had a chance to prove itself. (otherwise) Solas: Given her involvement in this war, I can only imagine there are those on both sides who would blame her for their present predicament. Varric: You mind telling all that to Cassandra? Solas: I would prefer not to.

(after Here Lies the Abyss, if Hawke is left behind)

Solas: I have read your book, you know. The Tale of the Champion. Varric: I don’t know if now’s the best time. Solas: I understand. I only wanted to say that in reading it, I felt your affection for Hawke in every word. I am... sorry, for what happened. Varric: Thanks, Chuckles. Solas: Of course.

(after Here Lies the Abyss, if Hawke survives)

Solas: You said your farewells to Hawke? Varric: Sure did. Sent letters home, debated sending letters to Weisshaupt. The Wardens will need to know the storm coming their way. Solas: You believe Hawke will pose a problem? Varric: Well, maybe not on purpose.

(in the Hissing Wastes, while exploring dwarven ruins)

Varric: I’m surprised you’re not hounding me about how all this makes me feel, Chuckles. Solas: I had thought we established your disinterest. Varric: Yeah, well. I’m thinking about it, anyway. Solas: If you insist. How does this make you feel, Varric? Varric: There’s a tiny part of me that’s really satisfied, you know? Seeing a Paragon of all people living on the Surface, then the rest of me just doesn’t give a shit. Solas: Tradition is a difficult thing to shake, to be conflicted is expected. Do you think our discovery here ought to be shared with Orzammar? Varric: I don’t know about Orzammar, but I can think of a few Surface dwarves who’d be interested in this.

Solas & Sera

Solas: I could not help but notice what you were drawing at breakfast. Sera: What? I wasn’t drawing anything.

(if Sera is romanced)

Solas: You captured our Inquisitor’s likeness well. Sera: Better than you could.

(otherwise)

Solas: There was no mistaking Dagna’s likeness. What were you carrying? Sera: A bowblade. It’s not a thing yet, but if anyone can make one, Widdle can.

Solas: Have you ever given thought to collaborating together on a piece? Sera: Collaber-what? Piece of what? Solas: A painting, or a drawing if you prefer, what medium you decide upon makes little difference to me. Sera: You really think the two of us could work together on anything? Solas: I was under the impression we had been. Sera: That’s different. The Inquisition’s not an ‘us’ thing, or it is, but not us us.

Sera: Say if I wanted to make something with you, what’d we even make? Solas: You ask the question as if there are limitations. Sera: A dragon, then! No, wait, a butt! (beat) Sera: Nothing? Not even a nose wrinkle? Solas: I am not unopposed to the idea. Sera: Ugh, how can you even make butts boring?

Sera: (handing him a drawing) Here, made you something. Solas: What is this? Are those—shoes? Sera: That’s right. One for each toe. You’re welcome.

(After Solas initiates a relationship with Ian)

Sera: So, you and Freckles, huh? Interesting. Solas: Your interest is not my concern. Sera: I always figured you’d wind with someone who’d make the bumping bits matter. Y’know, drop ‘em and rebuild the empire. Solas: It is not the physical product of our love that matters so much as how he makes me feel when I’m with him. Sera: Eugh.

(If Ian is in the party)

Ian: (laughingly) Vhenan, I would choose your words more carefully next time. Solas: Oh. (slightly embarrassed) I did not mean it like that. Sera: Ha! I’ve made him blush. Solas: This is why I didn’t wish to discuss it.

Solas & Blackwall

(While near Ferb’s old fishing pier in the Exalted Plains)

Blackwall: Wonder if the fishing’s good. If we had an hour or two… Solas: Do you consider yourself an angler, Blackwall? Blackwall: I wouldn’t go that far, but I do enjoy the sport of it. Solas: I’ve never considered it a sport. Blackwall: Probably because you’ve never gone fishing just for the fun of it. Next time we make camp, I’ll show you.

Inquisitor: So, how’d your fishing expedition go? Blackwall: You should’ve seen the size of the gar I wrangled. Solas: It was not half as impressive as he believes. Blackwall: He only says that because all’s he caught were minnows. Solas: (scoffs) Inquisitor: So... where is it? Blackwall: We threw it back, of course. Wasn’t like we were going to eat it. Solas: A convenient excuse.

(Along the Storm Coast)

Blackwall: Ever heard of the pale ship that appears on the mists? The Windy Marcher – I think that’s what they called it. Solas: I cannot say I have. Blackwall: An old story, no idea where it started. Must’ve heard it a dozen times in the Free Marches, always a different ending. Solas: As is often the case with legends, the content and moral changes with the teller. Blackwall: One man claimed he’d seen it himself, said the ship was captained by beautiful spirits who’d called him to the sea. Solas: A case of wishful thinking, I assume. Blackwall: He was a bit of a lonely bastard.

(After Revelations)

Solas: You and Cole seem more friendly, of late. Thom: He took some getting used to, but his heart’s in the right place. There’s enough darkness in the world without pushing away the good. Solas: I imagine it was chilling, knowing he could break your cover on a whim. Thom: That did keep me up some nights, yes. Sometimes I wonder why he didn’t say anything. Solas: Perhaps he saw in you what the Inquisitor sees. Thom: Well, I’m grateful. On both counts.

Solas & Vivienne

(After the events of Bring Me the Heart of Snow White)

Solas: I heard the news of Duke De Ghislain’s death. As I understand it, the two of you were close. My condolences for your loss. (if the Inquisitor gave Vivienne a regular wyvern’s heart) Vivienne: (coldly) There was a chance at saving him, but he is beyond saving, now. At least, by mortal hands. Solas: Then I am all the sorrier. (otherwise) Vivienne: He was at peace, and we had the chance to meet at least one last chance before he passed. Solas: Be thankful for that closure, it will bring you comfort in the days to come. Vivienne: It already has.

Solas: How do you feel about the moniker ‘Madame de Fer?’ Vivienne: Oh, I think it’s darling. Why do you ask? Solas: Iron is cold, unyielding without the proper tools, some may use it as an insult rather than a mark of respect. Vivienne: Of that I’ve no doubt, but let them. I embraced it wholeheartedly, and from then on no one could ever truly use it against me. Solas: True enough, such a tactic has worked for others before.

Vivienne: You will be wearing shoes to the ball, won’t you? Solas: My comfort is not worth jeopardizing the Inquisition’s image, so yes. Vivienne: Many elven servants in Orlais go barefoot, it would hardly be a scandal. Still, it would be beneficial. We must all present as a unit when the time comes, not a single hair out of place. Solas: That will hardly pose a problem for the two of us. Vivienne: (makes a sound almost like a laugh) Right you are.

Solas: There are rumours that your name be put forward as the next Divine. Vivienne: I wonder who might have started those. Solas: After all that has happened these past few months, you believe it possible they will accept a mage into their fold? (if the Inquisitor completed In Hushed Whispers / is a mage) Vivienne: Whyever not? Magic is what solved the problem, after all. Solas: Magic has solved countless problems over the centuries, and yet it is still reviled. Vivienne: I am not any ordinary mage. If any mage can achieve status of Divine, I am she. Solas: On that, we agree. (if the Inquisitor completed Champions of the Just and is a non-mage) Vivienne: With the Inquisitor’s support there is nothing I cannot accomplish, my dear.

Vivienne: The Inquisitor gave you that hood not half a day ago and it already has a hole in it. Solas: Two, in fact. Vivienne: Are you afraid we’ll forget you’re an elf if we go five minutes without seeing your ears? Solas: My estimation of your abilities is not that low, Enchanter, and I would be careful were I you. Two holes cut in a hood is not nearly as desperate as donning a pair of horns every morning.

(After Ian is made Tranquil during his personal quest)

Vivienne: I hope you know what you are doing, my dear. The Rite of Tranquility is not something easily undone. Solas: As I understand it, the Seekers did it quite regularly. Vivienne: And through a far gentler process. What they did to Ian was barbaric, but undoing it is not necessarily a kindness. One might even call it selfish. Solas: I never made any claim to selflessness. Vivienne: Go through with it, and he will relive what happened to him every morning and night for the rest of his life. Solas: (with restrained anger) Do not pretend as though you suddenly care for his well-being now, you showed little regard for him before. Vivienne: It is a warning, nothing more. Solas: Your warning is heeded, but it changes nothing. I am under no illusion this will be simple, but to give up on him now— I would be no better than the Circle that once wanted this same fate for him.

Solas & Dorian

Dorian: That book you have on your desk, Solas… Solas: There are many. Which are you referring to? Dorian: There’s one that looked to be in Ancient Tevene. Do you speak it, or are you just keeping it around to look clever? Solas: I would not go so far as to say I speak it, but I understand it well enough. Dorian: How did you go about learning it? Solas: Memories of Tevinter’s empire litter the land, there is hardly a place in Thedas where the world does not remember it, and with memories come language. Dorian: So you learned through the Fade? Solas: I did, though my pronunciation leaves something to be desired. An unfortunate consequence of learning any language alone. Dorian: I might be able to help, but only if you give me the satisfaction of hearing you muddle through it out loud beforehand. Also, I’ll be next in line when you’ve finished reading that book of yours. Solas: (snorts) Very well.

Solas & Cole

Cole: So they’re nobody, but somebody. Empty shells, filled with someone else’s memory. Solas: For the most part, it seems. Cole: If they’re heartless, why are they so angry? Solas: Perhaps it was not so much the absence of feeling, but the lack of recognition of said feelings. Cole: Belief makes them real, even if they’ll always be different.

Cole: It remembered. Delight in discovery, always pushing further into the unknown— someone like that does not simply disappear, and yet... it cannot remember his name. Solas: Names are not so as important as the spirit of the person they belong to. Cole: It remembered the person. Sadder, but stronger. If I ever return to the Fade, I would like to meet it. Solas: Nothing would delight it more. Cole: Oh, I know. I think we’d be friends.

(After the banter where Solas helps prevent a panic attack)

Cole: You breathe in— one, two, three, four— then out— one, two, three, four— feel the grass beneath your feet, magic between your fingers, remember what is and what was. How long did it take you to learn? Solas: More time than is ideal. Cole: I’m sorry. Solas: There is some comfort in knowing I’ve learned enough to help others with such struggles. Cole: I’ll count with you, if you need. Solas: Thank you, Cole.

Solas: I’m curious how your efforts are coming along since we last spoke. Cole: Josephine misses how saffron tastes, but she hasn’t asked the chef to purchase any. I wrote it on a list when no one was watching. Cullen doesn’t like my letters. He says they don’t make sense. Solas: I cannot imagine he devoted much time to understanding them. Cole: No. Listening is... difficult, when you’ve been taught not to.

Cole: Eyes fall shut, but they do not drift away. Their feet are tethered, tied to the ground. Solas: Even dwarves who lived and died on the Surface never dreamed. Cole: But they are still remembered. The song drowns out their thoughts, but it does not smother them. If I listen, I can hear. Solas: I have seen fewer glimpses of dwarven history than I would like, but there are always memories preserved by particular attentive spirits. 

(When passing through the kitchen, or lingering nearby. Solas stands over the stove and Cole sits on a nearby counter, hitting his leg against the wood.)

Solas: Would you like to try it, Cole? Cole: Would it not be a waste? I don’t need to eat. Solas: To overindulge, perhaps. A taste will do you nor the world any harm, a good meal is about more than survival. Cole: Then I’d like to try it, please.

Cole: You don’t have to eat, Solas. Solas: Strictly speaking, no. Cole: Sometimes you do anyway. Solas: When the urge takes me, or if refusing would be seen as ill-mannered.

Solas: If I could ask for your opinion, Cole. Cole: It remembers the garden. The sun bakes it red, colour working through it like a blush upon a maiden’s cheeks. Solas: Excellent. And this? Cole: It was lost in weeds for weeks, neglected and forgotten. It tastes like oversteeped tea. Solas: I see. Then we will find another.

Cole: And it remembers the ocean? Solas: It knows the mountain streams and rocky coasts as well as any well-seasoned traveller, though the paths it takes are laid with smoother stones. Cole: Rough edges wicked away by river waters. Soft enough to stand on without any shoes. Solas: Though one must still take care not to fall. (optional) Inquisitor: Speaking from personal experience, Solas? Solas: I suppose one might say that. Cole: Feet forget the ground, flying out from beneath him, but the rest of him doesn’t follow. Solas: (tinged with embarrassment) As I said. Inquisitor: (chuckles) (otherwise) Cole: But you always get up again.

Solas & Cullen

Cullen: I’m curious how you’ve avoided Templars all these years. Solas: I would prefer not to say. Cullen: I’m no longer a Templar, you know. Solas: Then why do you still wear their heraldry? Or am I mistaken? Cullen: I… Solas: Templar or no, your support for its cause endures. I would not endanger fellow apostates by revealing our methods.

Solas: Master Tethras tells me you served in Kirkwall. Cullen: Varric has no shortage of stories, that one just so happens to be true. Why do you bring it up? Solas: My travels have taken me there, on occasion. Cullen: I admit, I’m curious what your impression was. Solas: All the world is steeped in tragedy, but in Kirkwall the Fade overflows with it. Spells flow from the fingertips with such ease you may forget the Veil altogether. Cullen: That doesn’t surprise me, the amount of abominations I saw during my years there… Solas: They were but a symptom. Kirkwall’s sickness ran deeper than what any one spirit could cure.

Solas & Leliana

Solas: I have heard the Inquisition call you many titles. Sister, Nightingale, Spymaster. Leliana: I have worn many masks, some I’ve liked more than others. Why do you mention it? Solas: Which do I refer to you by? Leliana: (laughs) Whichever you prefer. You may use Leliana, if you wish. Solas: Then I shall see which suits you best.

Solas & Josephine

Josephine: It took several tries, but we managed to remove the wine stain from your sweater. I apologise again for Lady Vérène’s indiscretion. Solas: The fault is hardly yours. It is a pity she is not more open to an apostate’s perspective, but the loss is hers. Extend my sincere gratitude to whoever expunged the mark. I have only a few shirts to my name. Josephine: You know, Solas, now that the Inquisition finds itself in more favourable circumstances, we can afford to purchase you a new wardrobe. Solas: With respect, Ambassador, I value comfort over style. I’m uncertain the Summer Bazaar will be able to accommodate me. Josephine: It would be a most... unusual request, but I believe I know the tailor for the job.

Josephine: Have you found the library to your liking? Solas: I have. I cannot imagine any other circumstance where someone like me could have such unmitigated access to the written word. Most human libraries are not so liberal with their guests. Josephine: I confess, I have never been without books. Ever since I was a child they were always within reach. Solas: Then you must have recommendations. Josephine: One or two come to mind. If I can secure faithful translations, you will have them.

Solas & Morrigan

Solas: You seem well-versed in courtly manners for a woman raised in the wilderness. Morrigan: What are you implying? Solas: That you have a talent for winding nobles around your finger, or that the infamous ‘game’ is not so deadly as they like to believe. Vivienne: Or that more talented souls paved the wave for her. Solas: Another possibility. Morrigan: ‘Tis true that Orlesians overestimate the challenge of this ‘Game’ of theirs. Empress Celene had her desires, and ‘twas a simple matter to keep her satisfied. Vivienne: Which is why you’re with us. Morrigan: With you at my side, I could not help but notice. Vivienne: Believe me, dear. Court enchanter is a trifle compared to where my sights have set.

Solas: I found your son atop the rotunda’s scaffolding today. Morrigan: He has long been fond of climbing, and Skyhold’s trees are too new to bear his weight. Solas: It was no harm. My only regret is I did not have an answer to every question he asked. He is a curious boy. Morrigan: (laughs) That he is.

(During What Pride Had Wrought, upon finding the mosaic of June)

Morrigan: Ah, clever June. The most elusive of the elven gods, insofar as legends are concerned. Solas: Their silence is deafening. Morrigan: I take it you have insight? Solas: Merely that he does not deserve what little credit he is given. Time has forgotten the name of whosoever built the first aravel.

Solas: Rumour spread that Kieran went missing. I trust your presence here means you have found him? Morrigan: I… yes. Solas: He is unharmed? Morrigan: Yes. Solas: Then I am glad. And… you? Morrigan: I have much to think upon, but my son is safe. Everything else can come after.

Solas & Renn

Solas: Tell me, Lieutenant, why did you remain with the Legion? Renn: Having trouble seeing why it’s your business. Why d’you ask? Solas: Escaping would be a simple matter of finding the right battle to slip away from. Freedom would only be a few day’s journey from where we stand. Renn: I couldn’t abandon my men... or my city. Solas: You show great loyalty to Orzammar, considering you will never see it again. Renn: Yeah, well. You never forget your home. Solas: No. I suppose you don’t.

Solas & Valta

Solas: “But the truth is the truth— no matter how political it may be.” Valta: Do you disagree? Solas: Just the opposite. The truth does not change with our ability to stomach it. I am glad a historian such as yourself agrees. Valta: A shame the rest of the Shaperate doesn’t agree with us. Solas: True, but if they had you would not be here, on the brink of uncovering secrets buried centuries ago. In their attempt to keep you out of the way, they unknowingly set you upon the path to even greater knowledge. Valta: Orzammar will know the truth. If I don’t make it, then the Inquisitor— Solas: You are not yet dead, Shaper Valta. Do not count yourself apart from the living so soon.

Solas & Merrill

Merrill: You snort when you laugh. Solas: I’m well-aware. If you are about to ask me to stop, I’m afraid I’ve tried before. Merrill: Oh, it’s not a bad thing. It might be the most charming thing about you. Solas: Damned by faint praise. Merrill: It is a very charming laugh.

Solas: Why did you leave your clan? I read Varric’s Tale of the Champion, but I suspect most of it was a lie. (if present) Varric: Hey! I’m right here. Solas: You did well to lie. To name her as a Dalish mage would be to paint a target upon her back. (otherwise) Merill: I left… I— it wasn’t exactly my choice. There was a mirror, tainted by the Blight. I thought we should fix it, even if it meant turning to blood magic. My Keeper disagreed. Solas: You cleansed the Blight from an eluvian? That is remarkable. Merrill: I used to wonder if it was worth it. I sacrificed so much to get it working, years of my life, my— I’m just glad we’re getting use out of it, now.

Merrill: You’re wrong about my people, Solas. The Dalish aren’t as lost as you think. Solas: They cast you to the streets of Kirkwall, exiled you for the crime of pursuing the duty they tasked you with. Merrill: Some of them said such awful things, they looked at me like I was already a demon, but… that doesn’t mean there isn’t good, too. Sometimes I wonder, had my Keeper not been so against me, if things might have been different. Merrill: I don’t know what they said to you, but I know what their scorn feels like. It hurts, but… there’s so much to admire. Solas: You still feel for them. Merrill: They’re my people, they always will be. No matter how much they might hate me, I’ll always love them. Solas: Put like that, I suppose I understand the sentiment. Merrill: It’s a lonely feeling, isn’t it? Solas: It never ebbs, no. Merrill: Then just— remember them, when you think unkind thoughts about the Dalish. The people you miss, the people you don’t, and what you’d sacrifice for them both.

(in the Exalted Plains, outside the boundaries of Hawen’s camp)

Merrill: (giggles) Datishan was asking about you before we left. Solas: Datishan… Hawen’s little hunter? Merrill: Who else? She wanted to know when you’d be back. Solas: What did you tell her? Merrill: I told her you needed time, that good stories don’t grow on trees. You will go back, won’t you? Solas: It seems I shall have to, or else suffer the wrath of her arrows. Merrill: You joke, but she almost poked out my eye last night. Solas: (chuckles)

[itsclydebitches]

Godddddd I'm so upset that I dislike yen this much, doing main quests in skellige and Freyas ppl were doing stuff and she again disrespected other cultures with Geraly being against, "I may be inhumanly beautiful" I know she's meant to be confident but wowww. She's not confident and worried for Ciri she just comes off arrogant and selfish and vain. Like, fuck.

The ultimate mood, anon. My Witcher fandom life would be so much easier if I enjoyed Yen ... but I just do not lol. Remember how I mentioned that things were going to get even worse than her stealing and using a potentially dangerous artifact? Yeeeaah. She also resurrects Ciri's friend to torture him for information, all while destroying another sacred garden to get the power to do it! It's not even a "She's so evil and I love it 😏" situation for me because the game tries so hard to convince us that she's still The Best. Geralt's sexy soulmate, Ciri's adoring mother, the baddest bitch around who gets things done and does it with an effortless confidence... all while ignoring how horrific her actions and attitude are. Oh sure, other characters speak ill of her at times, but considering how much Geralt is written to adore her, no matter what you choose, that's all undermined. I love morally gray/evil characters, but I've never enjoyed them when the text refuses to appropriately acknowledge that side of them. Nothing is more frustrating to me than a story that frames disliking a character as the unambiguously wrong thing to do, especially when the text is piling up reasons to dislike them and, as a result, ignoring or shrugging them off their actions as not that bad. Yen is a rather extreme example of that for me. Despite her attitude, her choices, and other characters outright going, "Why do you like her?" the story as a whole works under the assumption that it's correct to like her anyway because Geralt loves her. And he loves her for... reasons.

They do meet before the wish, but only just. Major "The Last Wish" spoilers in this paragraph, so feel free to skip. Basically, Geralt and Dandelion run into trouble with a djinn, he goes to Yen for help since she's a sorceress (first time meeting her), he instantly falls for her because she's gorgeous and such (there's an elf there who is also madly in love with Yen. Men just... fall for her, instinctually), she heals Dandelion, Geralt agrees to pay her, but Yen has already decided on the payment she wants. She takes control of Geralt's mind and forces him to attack the town to seek revenge on those who have insulted her, resulting in him waking up in prison awaiting execution for "his" crimes. Meanwhile, Yen has gone after the djinn for herself because power/trying to regain her ability to have a kid. Geralt escapes, finds her failing to master the djinn (an attempt which btw has endangered the whole town) and despite what she's done to him, Geralt tries to get Yen to escape with him. She refuses, set on capturing the djinn even though it's obvious she can't. So as a last resort he uses the final wish to bind their fates together, saving Yen from the djinn in the process. Aaaaaand then they have sex.

So yeah, their rocky relationship is one of the main reasons why I can't enjoy Yen. For some their tumultuous history is evidence of realism, for me it's evidence that they're not actually very compatible and they're only together because a) that's the fantasy trope: protagonist men get together with the hot sorceress and b) because the magic is literally ensuring that they can't escape one another. I mean, canonically their fates are tied together by magic and canonically they spend about 20 years swinging between passionate love and fearsome fights... but there's supposedly no connection between these two things? No chance at all that they keep coming together because magic is drawing them rather than because they actually want/should be together? I wrote a meta a while back about the short story where they meet, which includes a present day scene where Geralt is criticized by another character — Nenneke — for running out on Yen. Thing is, he tries to explain that he left because she was "too possessive" and this is... flat out ignored. By both Nenneke and the fandom. There's a strong trend of ignoring Geralt's words in favor of a pro-Yen interpretation of events. He says he left because she was too possessive and she treated him like ____ — he's not allowed to finish the sentence and say what she treated him like because Nenneke interrupts him, saying she doesn't care about his version of events. Major yikes imo! She turns a claim of being possessive into Geralt not being man enough to stick around. The fandom likewise turns this into a case of Geralt getting cold feet and running out because he's a bastard who hates commitment. Likewise, Nenneke and the fandom claim Geralt is trying to get Yen money as a way of appeasing his guilt for leaving, he claims he's doing it simply because he still cares for her — even if he doesn't want to be with her — and knows she needs it. Geralt's words are frequently dismissed, in the same way others characters' opinions of Yen are dismissed. Any mark against her is treated as either a lie, or a convoluted claim that they don't really know her... never mind that an understanding of why she may act this way doesn't excuse the behavior itself. (Plus, the whole "Yen had a horrible upbringing, so of course she struggles being kind" perspective always fell flat to me when so many, including witchers, had horrendous upbringings too. The whole point is this world is a mess and most everyone suffers). It's supposedly true love, yet if someone came up to me and went, "I magically tied my fate to this woman to keep her from getting herself killed and we've spent the last couple decades having what many would term a rocky relationship, to put it kindly. I left once because she was too controlling. She once cheated on me. I likewise hooked up with others during our frequent breakups. A mutual friend used magic to get me to have sex with her — also while my lover and I were broken up — and though I view it as a dumb decision I'm happy to forgive her for, my lover is ready to commit murder because again: possessive. A lot of the time we're only a family because of our daughter. I once thought she'd horrifically betrayed us both. She didn't, but it says something that I was so ready to believe it, huh? Hmm? Permanently separated? Of course not! I love her. We're destined to be together after all :)" I'd be like, "Uh... you sure about that, dude?"

Not that Geralt doesn't make his fair share of mistakes in the relationship — he absolutely does — but I don't think it helps his case that he's immature in other ways and, frankly, that he's a very strong, badass witcher. It's easy to turn the hints we get about their relationship into a simplistic "emotionally naive man can't give the poor woman the commitment she wants" situation. Given Geralt's status as the badass fighter of the tale, it's likewise easy to dismiss his admissions of her being "possessive" and his general discomfort. He's the man. He's the witcher. If he's making any claims about how Yen isn't treating him well, they must be excuses, or exaggerations, because real men, especially physically powerful men, would do something about that — a something that's not sneaking out in the middle of the night. A lot of people read Geralt leaving as the ultimate proof that he's an immature bastard who doesn't deserve her. I read him leaving and think, "What were you trying to get away from? What was going on that made you think you could only leave by sneaking out without a word?" To me, that doesn't read as someone who felt safe, comfortable, and respected enough to do anything but slip away and try to wash his hands of things. And I'm not just pulling this "Geralt is at least somewhat afraid of Yen and isn't comfortable establishing boundaries with her" reading out of my ass. When Yen wants Geralt to kill the golden dragon for her and he refuses, saying he doesn't care anymore, his thoughts are:

He expected the worst: a cascade of flames, flashes of lightning, blows raining down on his face, insults and curses. There was nothing. He saw, with astonishment, only the subtle trembling of her lips. Yennefer turned around slowly. Geralt regretted his words.

And everyone is like, "See! Yen has improved so much. Geralt nearly made her cry, but she's supposed to be the bad guy here?" Meanwhile, I'm going, "Uh... anyone want to unpack why he expects fire, lightning, insults, curses, and blows to his face for telling her no? Why he's astonished that she wouldn't use her magic against him? Anyone think that Yen refraining from attacking Geralt when he refuses to murder on her command is a pretty low bar? No? Just me?"

Geralt and Yen's relationship makes me uncomfortable and a great deal of that discomfort derives from how much of the Witcher fandom shrugs off the fictional warning signs. I mean, I post primarily about RWBY. We watched a man in that show try to sneak away with his kids when his villainous wife planned to use them for a eugenics plan... and the fandom still blames him for that, refusing to admit that he was in an abusive relationship. Because that doesn't happen to men, right? I'm not saying it's the same for Geralt and Yen, simply because they are written to be soulmates. An abusive relationship was, quite obviously, never the authorial intent. However, I am saying that the a "This isn't a healthy relationship" reading is there, it exists as an interpretation, and both the story and fandom's tendency to dismiss it is something that hasn't helped me enjoy Yen's status as an otherwise well written, complex character. Their equality supposedly stems in part because they're both so flawed, yet each time I see a list of Geralt's supposedly equal faults they're... lacking imo. "Geralt bound himself to Yen without her consent." Yeah, to save her from dying from the djinn she was trying to enslave, after she refused to leave, while her actions threatened a whole town. "Geralt ran off without a word." Mmm hmm, anyone care about why? And my personal favorite is a scene you may not have gotten to yet (or may not get depending on your choices), but suffice to say, Yen is supposedly justified in physically attacking Geralt if he dares to challenge her in any way. That's the main takeaway across the fandom: If Yen is pissed off, you must have done something to deserve it which, in the relationship deliberately written to be "stormy," is something that sets all the alarm bells in my head off. Honestly, it kinda makes my skin crawl to go, "Geralt didn't deserve that" and get responses back of, "Yeah he did because he [insert basic human action here]." The Witcher world is hard and cruel, absolutely, but that doesn't mean I personally enjoy seeing an equally messed up relationship presented as something that's enviable in its flaws. "That's actually true love because the magically bound man who often expresses discomfort with his lover, written by a male author with a very iffy perspective on women, says it's true love." Crazy theory here, but... maybe it's not?

Idk, lots of rambling on my end tonight! For me, Geralt/Yen reads as something rather tragic which, in a canon that unironically upholds the relationship, and in a Yen-adoring fandom, doesn't make enjoying her character any easier. I keep coming back to Witcher 3, the comics, the show, even the books going, "Maybe I'll like her this time?" but nope, still trying lol.

[slashscowboyboots]

The Blackboard Jungle: All I Want For Christmas Is You (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Izzy tweeted!  And in celebration, here’s the final part of this fic

Tag list @izzysdenimjacket​ @no-stone-no-bone​ @sexcoffeeandrockandroll @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands ​ @smokeandmirrorz ​ @sodalitefully ​ @roger-taylors-car ​ @harley-m-rose ​ @whisperess33 ​ @shawolat​ ​ @80snikki @rumoured-whispers

Warnings: the f-bomb, total holiday fluff

You wound your way through the department store, dodging people and wanting to puke from all the Christmas music as you searched for your mother a nice gift.  She was the last one you had to buy for, and you wanted to get her just the perfect thing this year.

I think she has plenty of snow globes, you thought, absentmindedly turning one upside down and watching the glitter float down, then heard someone call your name.

You turned and looked into the grinning face of Miss Peterson, Patti’s third-grade teaching cohort.

“Hiiiii, doll,” she chirped.

“Hello, Cindy, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m just great.  Are you shopping for your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend?  I don’t-”

“Patti told me all about it.  I mean, well she made a long post on Instagram, how the two of you had been friends for so long, good friends, at least she was to you, and you chose that Jeff Isbell over the happiest day of her life-”

“Did she really?” you snapped.  “Well, since the two of you are so close, please tell her I said, ‘Merry Christmas.’”  And go fuck yourselves, you thought, deciding your mother would enjoy a very nice pair of diamond earrings.

It was unbelievable to you, how you and Jeff were the names on everyone’s lips anymore, especially since it was all so mistaken.  It was heartbreaking how everyone thought you were a couple, when you were simply coworkers who were also close friends.

Of course, you were never able to get him out of your head, especially since the Thanksgiving program.  Your combined classes had first traced their hands and colored their drawings in, decorating their turkey pictures with feathers and googly eyes (you stifled a laugh watching the Harrison twins hungrily eyeing the paste, and snorted when you saw Jeff leaping over a chair with his gangly legs to glue their turkey eyes down himself) and enjoying their lunches together.

He had excused himself during the break, and you paused while eating your sandwich, thinking about how really good he was as a teacher, how he never once talked down to the kids or lost his patience with them.  He always had time to listen to them, hanging onto their every word.

And they loved him in return, every single one of them showing them their turkeys the second they finished them, and the amount of praise he heaped on their artwork made you smile.

Putting away your lunch bag with a sigh, you looked up just in time to see a six foot tall turkey, complete with wattles, standing in the doorway of your classroom.  His tail feathers were so impressive he had to turn sideways just to make it through the doorway.

The children erupted in cheers, and Mr. Isbell strode in and fanned his plumage to their great delight, then announced that if they all quieted down, he would read to them, “Bear Gives Thanks.”  After he closed the book, he asked them what they all were thankful for.

He got various answers, from “my new puppy” to “my dad got a new job.”  But the one that stood out the most was from Cicely Brown.  She raised her hand and said in a quiet voice, “Mr. Isbell, I’m thankful for a teacher like you.”

Tears pooled in his eyes, and you heard a catch in his voice when he whispered, “Thank you.”  He turned around (well, awkwardly walked in a circle to turn around) to you and asked, “Miss Y/L/N, what are you thankful for?”

“Hmmm.  I’m thankful for friends.  And I’m thankful for every person that’s in this room.”

His eyes met yours, his smoldering gaze still able to buckle your knees.  “Me too.”

“But I don’t want to be an elf.”

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N, I went and got an elf costume just for you.  Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

You put your hands on your hips and pouted.  “I have plenty of Christmas spirit.  Why can’t I be Mrs. Claus?”

“Because she doesn’t hand out candy canes.  She stays home and entertains strange men while Santa works all night.”

“Oh, she does not!”  You smacked Jeff’s arm, shaking your head.  He really was going to talk you into this getup, wasn’t he?”

You took it from him and he said, “Hurry up and get changed.  I need you to help me put on the Santa suit.”

“Why do you need help?” you called from the coatroom, pulling your green and red striped tights on.

“Because I make a skinny Santa, and I have to hold the belly while you button the jacket.”

When you came out, he had already changed into his Santa pants and boots and was sitting at your desk expectantly holding a pillow over his chest and stomach.

“Jeff, you really should eat more if you want to wear this suit,” you laughed, buttoning the buttons over his padded belly.

He made a face, and you said, “What?”

“Nobody calls me Jeff except for my mom.”

“What do they call you?” you asked, puzzled.

“Izzy.  Or Iz, if you’re into the whole brevity thing.”  He buckled his belt as all the wind left you, then he slapped your elf hat onto your head.  Flicking the bell to make it jingle, he said, “C’mon, Sugar Cookie, let’s make a bunch of little people happy.”

It was entirely possible that you wished all the students a Joyous Holiday and handed them a candy cane after they visited with Santa.  You had no idea if you actually did, the earth had screamed to a halt after you’d heard Jef-uh, Izzy’s admission.

After all the pupils had left, he shot you a delighted grin, then furrowed his eyebrows at you.  “Hey, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you said softly.  “I’m….hot.”

“Me too.  Let’s get changed and go back to the party.”

Although you were dazed, you flung your elf costume off in record time, exiting the coatroom in time to see Izzy unbutton his Santa jacket and toss aside his pillow.  He slumped in your chair clad in a white undershirt, slinging an arm against his forehead to wipe off the sweat, and when he dropped it down beside him you could see a tattoo just below his elbow.

Without thinking, you walked over to him and picked up his wrist.  Written in delicate script high on his inner forearm was desperadosdreams.

He tried to pull away from you, then he noticed you gasping for air with tears in your eyes. “Does that make sense to you?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, then pressed your lips to his, leaning down and throwing your arms around his neck.  When you pulled away for a breath, you looked into his eyes, then pushed the sleeve of your shirt up and extended your arm.

“Does that say IZ?” he asked in a halting voice, and you nodded again, then climbed onto his lap for another passionate kiss.  You carded your fingers through his hair as his lips traveled down the front of your throat, then he rubbed his nose against yours as you heard PJ Jones say, “I saw Miss Teacher kissing Santa Claus.  And he liked it!”

“Hi, Ian!” you smiled, holding up your ring finger.

“Hi!” he grinned.  “Ooh, that’s nice!  Congratulations!”

You held your phone toward Izzy.  “Ian, this is Izzy.”

“Oh, shit, he’s cute,” Sia said.  “Hi, Sexy!”

“Izzy, this is Sia.  She’s Ian’s fiancee.”

“Well……” she said, then they both held up their ring fingers.

“Omigosh!  You guys got married?!” you exclaimed.

“Yes!  I had to promote ‘Sharknado’ at the MGM Grand, and well, since we were in Vegas, we-”

Sia interrupted, “We found this Elvis impersonator, and it was so tacky and cool, I couldn’t have asked for a better wedding.”

“Congratulations!  Can you guys come to ours?”

“When is it?” Ian asked, with Sia hollering “Hell yeah!” in the background. 

“Next spring.  We don’t want to wait that long.”  You leaned over and pecked Izzy on the lips.  “We’ve waited our whole lives to find each other, we want our married life to begin as soon as possible.”

Thank you so much for being a part of this fic!  Because of wedding plans and moving and all that good jazz, I won’t be writing fics online anymore, but I will never forget how wonderful it was to have all your support.  Love you always, desperadosdreams

“I do,” you said.

“You bet I do,” Blaze said, sliding your beautiful wedding band on your finger.

“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.  Blaze, kiss your bride,”

He swept you in his strong arms, spinning you around, then dipped you and kissed you hard, the first kiss of the rest of your lives, as the fiery red sun sank in the horizon behind the two of you.

Now it was time for the two of you to begin your lives together, and dream as one.   And as he kissed you again, you knew you’d found forever, and he had been worth waiting for.

[valerie-royeaux]

OC Kiss Week - Day 1

Junia Cadash & Frey Mahariel

Starting OC Kiss Week 2018 with Zevran pairing my Junia and @crashed-down-in-a-hurricane‘s Frey Mahariel. @crashed-down-in-a-hurricane is one of my favorite artists, a great friend, and a huge inspiration. So I wanted to give her a bit more than just a drawing: here’s also a ficlet set in the AU where Junia and Frey coexist, and telling how this kiss happened:

Fifty Sovereigns Word count: 1,644

The Herald’s Rest was bursting with activity and people. A murmur of voices, song, booze and smoke that filled the air with a particular scent the elf liked to breathe. Not quite the incenses and quiet of the Sabrae camp from so long ago – Gods, how long ago? He couldn’t remember. A life almost forgotten, somebody else’s. It faded before the years side by side with Zevran, taking care of their little girl. It was muffled under the sweat, song and booze that made that corner of that inn so cozy for Frey.

“Por el amor de nuestro Criador, Frey! Do you have to be the Hooded Man Sitting in the Dark Corner?” Zevran handed Frey a pint of ale, and took a long sip of his own, taking care to wipe his thick lips with his tongue afterwards. “I will never get used to Fereldan booze. You would think a dwarf running this Inquisicion would have better ale, but of course that would be too much too hope.”

“An Andrastian dwarf, Zevran. What kind of spirits do you think she would carry?” said Frey, taking his time savouring his pint. It wasn’t half as bad as Zevran was waking it sound. “And regardless of faith or drinks, we are safe here. Nobody other than Leliana knows who we are. And she said this is the safest place for us. For our family. Until the dwarf and her Inquisition take care of Clarel, we stay put.”

Frey waited for Zevran to sit next to him, to join him in being the Hooded Men in the Corner. But the other elf kept standing, his eyes fixed on the main table in the hall: the Herald herself. Frey knew the mischief brewing. It thundered Zevran’s brows, and the former Dalish was tempted to just take his loved one by the hand and walk out of there. But Frey Mahariel loved Zevran. He knew the Antivan was getting stir crazy in Skyhold, so… Maybe it would be for the best to let him roam free for a bit.

Although, maybe it was not a good idea. Zevran had not averted his eyes from the table where Junia Cadash and a few friends were sat, drinking and laughing as loud as everybody else in the Herald’s Rest. In fact, Frey could clearly hear the Herald saying how she was afraid of finding cobwebs in her mouth, so long it had been since she kissed someone. A bearded man on the other side of the table from her seemed to have issues with that. He was worried what others would think hearing the Herald of Andraste say such things. And Frey liked Junia more when she replied, in half a scold, that the Maker’s word was love, and all love should be seen and taken kindly, whether given for free or purchased. In fact, she was the Herald of Andraste, and she knew better than anyone what the Maker wanted. So she should order everybody to kiss everybody, so all could finally understand what the Chantry was about. But alas, the people were not yet ready for the nakedness of the Maker’s truth. The other two women at the table, another dwarf and a tall, blonde elf, bent over in laughter, and raised their glasses at that, much to the bearded man’s dismay.

“You know, if the Chantry had been introduced to me this way, things might have been different, Zev – Zevran?!”

But Zevran was already on his way to Junia’s table.

“Excuse me, everyone. Excuse me, por favor.” Frey kept sat in his Dark Corner, knowing, somehow, Zevran would involve him in his plays. “I could not help overhearing the Lady Herald of Andraste say how she misses the tender lipery touch of somebody’s kiss.” Frey was ready to sink in his seat and maybe find what lies beneath Skyhold, while Zevran, full of his typical flamboyance, continued. “As it happens, the Maker may have set me in your path, your Sanctity, because as it happens, I – Horacio Malvidar de la Vega y Carrera, am a renowned salesman. I sell the best kisses in Thedas!”

Despite all his worries, Frey couldn’t help but feel drawn forward. It was Zevran being Zevran, and there was no better moment to love him when Frey could do just that: watch him being Zevran from the perfect distance and angle which allowed the Antivan to be witnessed in all his glory. A glory that could easily be pounded by the bearded man who stood and proved to be at least two full feet taller than Zevran. But the women at the table didn’t seem to take offense.

“A kiss seller, yeah?” Said the blonde elven woman “And you have a box full of ‘em?”

Zevran couldn’t have a readier answer: “Not a box, no, my lady, but lips! The best lips ever created by the hands of Our Heavenly Father. A kiss second only to Andraste’s! And since this was clearly meant to be, Thy Holiness will be able to have it for only… Fifty sovereigns.”

Frey didn’t flinch when the bearded guy rose immediately and clutched Zevran’s neck in a hand. “You will apologize to the Lady Herald and drag your sorry ass out of here”, said the man in a husky, coarse, beautiful voice. Frey was sure that aroused Zevran. What surprised Frey is that the Lady Herald’s eyes were focused instead on him, Frey. She held his gaze for a few instants while Zevran inundated the bearded man in a slurry of words which would keep a fist away from his elven face.

“Let the elf go, Blackwall.” Junia said nonchalantly, with a soft smirk in her thick lips. Frey liked how they looked. She looked up at Zevran who adjusted his throat back in place. “This kiss better be worthy fifty sovereigns, señor Vega y Carrera.” She made a pause of effect, with both hands on her hips, slipping a quick glance at Frey before returning to Zevran. “I will have Blackwall behead you if it isn’t.”

Zevran did not even flinch at the threat, although Blackwall smiled at that, and the other two women were clapping and ooing. Zevran simply bowed in thanks, and turned to Frey: “Mi amor, queda-te a cá!”.

Frey widened his eyes and jolted forward, letting some of his drink spill out of his mouth. “Wait, what?!”

“Kiss the lady Herald, and show her how soft these lips of yours feel”. And turning to Junia, Zevran continued: “It is rumored in Orlais that empress Celene had a marriage arrangement with a gentleman, and a mere week before they tied the knots, said gentleman kissed these said lips. Well… The empress is single to this day.”

Upon hearing that, Junia chuckled lively, and after pondering for a few instants, so did Frey. What the hell! He stood from his seat and walked slowly towards the dwarf, not a single word said, only a discreet bow of his head given. “This better be really good. It is not everyday that I am in a mood to kiss men. Right, Sera?” said Junia. Sera and the other dwarf giggled at the provocation; Blackwall didn’t.

Frey and Junia stood there, looking at each other for a long time. Frey was willing to play Zevran’s game, but something about Junia’s gaze held him. Her eyes were full of an odd longing. He felt as if she was looking at details on his eyes, but not at them. Even her breathing felt elongated. But when that lasted too long, Sera shouted “kiss already”, and Zevran simply brought their heads to together, making Frey and Junia put a lot of laughter in between their lips as they kissed.

It didn’t last more than a few mere instants, but as they broke apart, Junia slapped her thigh and shouted at all around her: “Holly Maker, this is the best kiss I’ve ever had! Someone pay Horacio his fifty Anoras!”

The crowd around started to cheer and laugh, and soon kissing games started going all around. Sera did not let that opportunity go, and in an instant, she was kissing the other dwarf, who responded sheepishly. Frey heard Junia congratulate her, calling her Lace. As in a name, not a bow. And he could feel Zevran’s breath on his neck, the Antivan all too excited with all the merry going all around them. Blackwall had left. And maybe it was time for them to leave too.

***

Blackwall was leaving the Herald’s Rest in broad steps, the cold smoking his breath as he walked away, the snow of the trodden path no longer crushing under his boots. He stopped but didn’t turn when, already away from the noisy door, he heard Junia’s voice calling the name.

“Yes, my lady?”

“I did not mean to upset you. I am sorry. It is the liquor, I guess.”

He had not yet turned to the dwarf who slowly approached him from behind. He took a deep breath, and looked at her. “And I apologize for letting it get to my head, your worship. I shouldn’t bother.”

“No, no”, said Junia, hugging her own arms and stopping next to Blackwall, looking up at spot in the sky were some stars shone amid clouds. “I got carried away.” They stood in silence for a few moments, their breaths joining the clouds in trying to hide the sky. “I met a Grey Warden once. Over time, he developed the same eyes as that elf. A constant red outline. The skin that looks cracked close to the lips. Pupils that are not perfectly black.”

She continued after a pause: “You still don’t have those eyes, Blackwall.”

Blackwall swallowed and said nothing. He cupped his hands behind his back, and stood silent. Junia took a deep breathed and walked away.