#fatale-distraction

Thank you for the asks, friend!! ^^

👻 ghost: can you tease some wip ideas that have been haunting you/something you want to write in the future?

I just answered this one, and you can find that here. ^_^

🌙 moon: do any of your OCs have dark backstories or secrets they’re trying to keep?

Mmm oh yes lol. This is why I love to write the ancient elves. Abelas does keep the information about Solas secret from Sene for a while, until she asks. He doesn't lie to her, but he never offers information she doesn't ask for, ie: that he knew Solas, that Solas is an ancient elf, that he's Fen'Harel, etc. In Riptide, it's Abelas who tells Sene that Solas is an ancient elf, but only after she figures it out for herself and asks him for confirmation. Abelas is not always sure how to juggle his knowledge of the old world with his burgeoning love for the new world. Sort of like Sene, he wishes to start over, but he's constantly haunted but the things that once were.

Sene also lies to Abelas for a long time about what happened in the Crossroads with Solas during the Exalted Council. She doesn't tell Abelas that Solas kissed her, or that he confessed that he still loved her. More on that unbearable tension is coming in today's update lol. Solas is also desperately jealous, and he's hiding this from everyone. He feels he should be too good for jealousy, since he's a god and all, but the problem is, when he let Sene in, he sort of became more like a man than a god, and now he's all fucked up for it. He wants Sene to be happy, but he can't stand the idea of her being with these other men. He can't go back to her, but he can't imagine staying away. It's just a constant battle for Solas, as usual.

The only character in Riptide who seemingly has no dark secrets is Ameridan. He's seen and done most everything and has no reason to keep secrets from anyone. Sene does keep secrets from him but to avoid spoilers, I will not say what they are. Though you can probably guess lol. In any case, Ameridan is like an open book, which is sort of how Sene used to be. He doesn't get jealous. He doesn't get angry or shaken up by much of anything. He's simply unflappable lol.

IM OF AGE CAN I GET SUM DIICKIN TOO

WHY’S HIS DICK IN SUCH HIGH DEMAND SUDDENLY?

You’re hilarious. How about Avery’s first time seeing Reyes up close:

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus, for @dadrunkwriting

“Ever since then, Fen’Harel thinks twice about playing tricks when dogs are on guard,” June finishes with a small smile to the little group of refugee children who had gathered around in the garden. The children smile, some even clapping at the story’s conclusion.

“Oh no, but I don’t have a dog,” one small boy worries with a frown. “Does that mean the Dread Wolf will come after me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Fen’Harel wouldn’t be interested in a Shem,” a small elven girl laughs scornfully.

“It’s only a story,” June replies soothingly with a patient smile and shake of his head to the concerned young boy. “One that’s been passed down for so long now nobody could say where it originally came from. Probably just a fairy story to frighten little children into behaving themselves,” he admits with a small grin. “If the Dread Wolf ever lived it was a very, very long time ago. Besides, Skyhold is a safe place. There are many soldiers, mages, and Templars here to keep an eye on anyone that would cause trouble, and there’s magic in the very walls of this place.”

“And there’s you,” another child pipes up with a bright smile. “Mama says Andraste picked and sent you to us.”

“And there’s me,” June nods, albeit a little reluctantly, still not entirely used to his title.

“Do you even believe in Andraste,” the elven girl asks skeptically. Ah, the big question, the elf thinks, and possibly the most delicate one posed to him since accepting his role as Inquisitor.

“I believe that I can help to fix this, which makes it my duty to do so.” The small elf seems to consider this for a moment, continuing to scrutinize him. She’s old and clever enough to have realized he’s not actually answered her question, but seems to understand or accept the one he’s given without pressing any further, nodding finally. “And I believe it is probably time for you to be getting back to your parents da’lens,” June adds with a glance at the now setting sun. SUrely it is approaching dinner time now. There is a collective groan of protest from the group as they slowly begin collecting their things.

“I wish you didn’t have to go. I wish you could stay here all the time. You tell the best stories,” one of the younger children whines.

“Mmm,” June nods appreciatively, warmed by the compliment. “But consider, if I didn’t ever go anywhere however would I find any new stories to bring back to you,” he points out with a wry smile. “We have another day yet before I am due to leave. If you come back to the courtyard again tomorrow afternoon I will be there. And when I’m finished with my training, I will see if I can come up with another story to tell you,” he promises. Smiles and cheers greet this as the group finally disperses to go and find their families once more.

“You’re quite good with them,” Dorian assesses, pushing himself off of the pillar he had been leaning on some distance away, watching and listening to him interacting with the children after he and Cullen had finished their weekly chess match under the pavilion. June merely smiles with a small shrug, dusting off his pants as he stands. “And so modest too, what in the Void are you doing with a man like me,” the mage marvels with a soft chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief.

It’s a rhetorical question, June realizes, but he thinks perhaps- some days- Dorian might actually wonder about that. They have been taking things slowly- physically, at least, since their first botched attempt to fall into bed with one another- a nervous June too afraid of losing the mage’s unexpected interest and affection to admit he might not be ready for this yet, Dorian afraid of what the whole thing might mean- or not mean, as the case might be. Still, the elf hopes he is constant and demonstrative enough in his way that Dorian never doubts how fiercely June has come to care about him.

“I was in training to become the clan’s next Hahren,” June replies finally. “The keeper of history and stories,” he adds for Dorian’s benefit before he can ask. “A teacher of sorts, especially for the children and younger members of the clan. Because of my experiences and travels, I suspect. I am far more worldly than many Dalish elves often are. Though, I suppose that the role of a successor has fallen to someone else in my absence,” the elf continues with a small rueful frown.

“You miss them.”

“Of course,” June nods slightly. “They were kind to me. Took me in when they didn’t have to and made me welcome, one of their own after I thought I had lost just about everything. But they are likely safer without me now after everything that has happened. Elves and fame don’t tend to go well together, historically speaking.”

“Will you go back? Once all this is over,” Dorian asks cautiously. June smiles softly, picking up on the unspoken anxiety in his question, despite the other’s probably desperate desire to hide it and any insecurities he may still have about losing him or the relationship budding between them now. June isn’t so sure he’s getting better at picking up many cues from his verbal and social interactions, but it’s pleasing to think perhaps he’s becoming a bit more practiced doing so with Dorian, at least.

‘You learn not to hope for more,’ Dorian had told him when the pair finally started to discuss everything that had threatened to come between them before they’d even begun. ‘This can be more,’ he’d replied.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing them all again,” June admits thoughtfully. “But I don’t think I could stay,” he adds, smiling a little at the surprise that washes over Dorian’s face before he can stop it. “The truth is that I never entirely felt I fit in, even after I began training to be the next Hahren. There are not many places I have,” he adds with a slight shrug, though the words are matter-a-fact, rather than any degree of sorrowful. “That doesn’t bother me much. Not too often. But it was more than just that. Unspoken or not, I was still a flat-ear to most of them. Besides, it seems as though I’ve made a life and home for myself here,” the elf continues with a small smile at him. Dorian nods.

“I’d like to stay with you,” June continues, his gaze never leaving his lover’s. “I- maybe it’s too soon to be saying something like that,” the elf backpedals rapidly, seeing the mage’s pupils swallow up his silvery eyes as his mouth drops open. “I know we haven’t- but I don’t need that to know that’s what I want. I’m-” June hesitates, brow furrowing as he searches for exactly what it is he wants to say, and in a way that Dorian will understand. “I’ve never been this happy. With you I can be myself, but, I’m also the best version of myself. So, yes. I’d like to stay with you,” June nods decisively. “Wherever that takes us when all of this is over. If that’s something you would want to,” he adds hesitantly.

“The things you say,” Dorian replies, a little breathless, shaking his head in disbelief. “Whatever are you going to do if you discover later I’m terrible in bed,” he asks. June raises a skeptical eyebrow that threatens to disappear into his hairline.

“I can scarcely believe you would even suggest that much less it being true,” June replies unconvinced. “Of the two of us, it is far more likely I would be. So you teach me. Tell me, show me what it is you like, how to make you-”

“I- ha, I get the idea,” Dorian interrupts cutting him short and looking a little flustered.

“So?”

“So,” Dorian asks, confused.

“Is that- something you might want?”

“To teach you? I’m not opposed to the idea, I-”

“To still be together, after all this ends,” June interjects quietly.

“Of course, I would you foolish man,” Dorian laughs, shaking his head with a beaming smile forming on his face, and June can see the moment the weight that the other has been carrying around is lifted from his shoulders, the relief at the confirmation that he doesn’t plan to go anywhere without him. Feels it, because, June realizes, he’s been carrying this uncertainty around too. Fleetingly he wishes he could have spared Dorian even a moment’s worry by saying as much sooner. But perhaps, he thinks, catching sight of a familiar sweep of crimson and white robes and a disapproving frown in his peripheral vision, he can do the next best thing.

Dorian lets out a high-pitched, rather undignified squeak of surprise as the warrior abruptly scoops him up in his arms, and encouraging the mage to wrap his legs around his waist, before crushing his lips against his. Dorian’s previously flailing hands, suddenly catch up, wrapping around his neck, long, ringed fingers finding and cradling his neck, the back of his head, before threading through his hair, clasping and tugging a little here and there as he returns June’s kisses with equal enthusiasm.

“June,” Dorian breathes some minutes later, suddenly scrambling to get back down to his own two feet and put a little more respectable distance between the pair of them. “June,” he tries again a little more firmly, when the elf initially ignores it, in favor of continuing to chase his lips. “This isn’t exactly a very private space,” the mage points out. The garden is mostly empty now, most down at the tavern or returned to camp for dinner and winding down for the evening. “We have an audience,” Dorian whispers, gesturing with a shrug towards the opposite side of the garden where Mother Giselle is pointedly avoiding looking at them.

“Just because she means well, doesn’t mean she’s right,” June replies shaking his head, with a small smile, though he doesn’t reach out for the other man, letting Dorian dictate their distance and what he’s willing to share with anyone else.

“You knew she was there,” Dorian’s gape quickly turning into an amused grin as he shakes his head.

“I trust you, Dorian. Infinitely more than I trust her. So she might as well get used to it. They all should. I’m the ‘Inquisitor’ everyone wants to use me for something. The difference is that I’m choosing to allow this. In fact, I’m rather hoping you will use me. Or are you all talk,” the elf challenges, feeling a bit bolder.

“Oh you are glorious,” Dorian grins admiringly laughing.

Sure thing! And thank you so much!! (*/▽＼*)

Attributes are Gorgeous, Pure, Lively, Cute, Warm

CASH CLOTHES ALTERNATIVES (tested for S Rank)

Makeup: Affectionate Eyes -> Fairy Tale Cutie

Right Arm: Eden Bracelet -> Youth Bracelet

Right Hand: Poodle -> Rose Love

Brooch: Suspension’s Wings -> Puff Handbag

Thank you for the prompt, @fatale-distraction! <3

for @dadrunkwriting!

How would we like it if stars were to burn / With passion for us we cannot return /  If equal affection cannot be /  Let the more loving one be me. [The more loving one, W.H. Auden] 

Shadows In The Spotlight

He’d always watched her from the sidelines.

She was never alone, the woman they called the Herald of Andraste, always surrounded by people far more important than he was. There was always someone clamoring for her attention, the ambassador, the spymaster, her companions, and she gave them so much of her time she had little left for the likes of him.

He was just a member of a mercenary group hired by her organization. He wasn’t even a cog in the machine, he just was. The ale that slid down his throat was as bitter as the thought that preceded it.

He vowed to be wiser. To not let a pretty elf get to him. He told himself that she was nothing special, that there was nothing especially appealing about the way her chestnut brown hair curled past her shoulders, nothing unique about those delicate, tree-like markings on her face, nothing remarkable about those sky-blue eyes. She was just another elf. That was it.

He didn’t take anyone back to his tent that night.

Then Haven fell, and he gave his all trying to protect the village, to protect her, but despite his efforts he wasn’t allowed to be by her side. That privilege went to his boss, and it was the first time Krem glowered at the man, mentally vowing to do bodily harm to him if anything happened to Lavellan, but trusting Bull to keep her safe nonetheless.

And then… Bull had returned to their group as they fled into the mountains.

He was alone.

Not even the blizzard that swirled around him matched the ice that was his heart. All he could think of in that moment was I should have told her, why didn’t I tell her, oh sweet Maker let her be safe, please let her be alive, please, I need to tell her, I have to tell her, she can’t be dead.

But the hours passed, and as the wolves howled into the silence of the icy night, he slowly began to lose hope.

Then…

A shout. “Thank the Maker! She’s alive!”

He could have wept for joy.

That her condition was grave, he expected, and kept watch over her, even if it was from a distance. He ensured that she was able to recover in privacy, keeping away the villagers who wanted to get a glimpse of the elf who had saved them. Bull shot him several looks, and he suspected that the boss knew how he felt, but at that moment, with Lavellan sequestered away in a hut, bones broken, blood lost, and fever raging, he couldn’t care less.

There was strength in her soul, a grim determination in every muscle, every sinew. She recovered, and she walked again, inspiring hope in all who saw her. Krem decided to make his move - the timing seemed appropriate - when she was whisked away by the elven mage, Solas.

His heart sank.

He knew she spent a great deal of time in conversation with the older elf, and could understand her attraction to him. Solas was knowledgeable, well-read, well-travelled, and he was able to teach Lavellan things that Krem never could. And he was part of her trusted team. How would he ever be able to compete with that?

Bleakly, he turned away.

They trudged through the Frostbacks, and he was kept busy with one task or another. In any case, he doubted if he would have been able to catch a moment with her; Lavellan was far too busy scouting ahead for signs of the mysterious fortress that Solas had told her about. A part of him, a crooked part of him, hoped that there was no fortress, that what he had told her was a lie. If there’s no fortress, the demon on his shoulder whispered, he would have lied to her, and she will never be able to trust him again.

Luck, of course, was not on his side. Skyhold was magnificent, and the last of his hopes crashed against the massive stone blocks that made up its walls.

And then she was lifted to Inquisitor, a title bearing power beyond anything he could imagine, yet all he saw was her drifting away even further from him. There was no chance for him. Not in this world.

Blessedly, his mind had little time to brood, for there was too much work to be done. The Chargers were kept busy with clearing out debris from the long-abandoned keep, and it was when he was in the middle of breaking down an old, rotting bed that he heard the door close, far too gently for the wind to have done it.

He turned around.

And froze.

Lavellan was standing before him, her eyes fixed on his, her hands clasped behind her back. Distantly, he wondered why she looked so nervous, but the most prominent thought in his mind was why is she here and what does she want?

“I, uhhh, I believe congratulations are due,” he stammered out when she said nothing.

“Oh! I- um, thank you,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the floor.

Though her tunic was streaked with dirt in several places, and her hair was tousled and tangled by the wind, he thought she’d never looked prettier as she did now, the sunlight shining golden on her, making her seem ethereal.

“Can I help you with something, Inquisitor?” he asked, and she flinched.

“Yes,” she seemed to come to a decision, and stiffened her spine. “I don’t want you to call me Inquisitor.”

“Wh-what would you like me to call you then?” he was baffled.

She took two steps in his direction, and it brought her almost flush to him. She was so close, he could see the specks of sapphire scattered through the iris.

“Sora,” she replied, her voice little more than a whisper. “My name is Sora.”

“Sora,” he breathed, the syllables rolling pleasantly over his tongue. “What can I do for you?”

She looked at him, a long, searching look that he thought went straight to his soul; he stood, transfixed, under the power of her gaze. Then she blinked, and the air around them shifted slightly, a light breeze swirling around them.

She leaned up-

-and kissed him.

He was too stunned to respond, certain he was in some kind of dream, but the warmth of her lips was too good to be real, the taste of her, sweet and heady, he could not have imagined, and Maker, she’s here, she’s here and she’s kissing me-

He pulled her close to him, his hands on her waist, and deepened the kiss, the small whimper she made thrilling his heart. When it ended - and it ended far too soon for him, he would never tire, ever, of kissing her, it was just not possible - they drew apart, both breathing erratically.

“Wh-” he began, just as she said, “I’m-”

“You go first,” he said, hope once again sprouting within him.

She gnawed on her lip, drawing attention to it - Maker, he wanted to kiss her again, and he groaned internally - then cleared her throat. “I’m not sorry for that,” she said, almost defiantly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

He could only stare at her, stunned.

She… wanted… him?

She wanted him.

She wanted him.

He claimed her lips again, unable to stop himself, pouring months of pent-up emotions and feelings and desire into it, and when she pulled away, gasping for breath, he enjoyed the sight of her lips, now kiss-swollen and plump. 

“I think,” she began with a small smile, “that perhaps I was not the only one who felt that way.”

“No,” he murmured, moving closer to her. “Perhaps I can show you just how I feel?”