#laevran

“What luxury to finally make myself comfortable in a real bed,” Zevran sighed. He lay reclined on a stack of threadbare pillows stolen from other rooms, a glass of brandy in one hand and the end of an expensive leather leash in the other. Luxury wasn’t exactly the right word for the stiff mattress that was theirs for the night, but it might as well have been wyvern-down when put next to a salvaged bedroll laid on dirt and pebbles. “A shame that you will not be able to join me in appreciating its joys, hm, little pup?”

Laevis growled through bared teeth, glaring up at Zevran from where he knelt beside the bed, splintered floorboards scratching his shins. While Zevran was clothed in a laced shirt and trousers, Laevis wore nothing but the collar around his neck and the iron muzzle in the shape of a canine snout over his nose and mouth, adorned with folded ears where the leather straps ran across the top of his head.

A quick tug on the leash settled him into a subservient silence. “Now, now. There is no need to be difficult.” Zevran swirled his glass and took a sip. “I already told you, the rule is ‘no dogs on the bed.’ You would make such a mess of it, I’m afraid.”

All Laevis offered in response was a grumble. He pawed at the ground irritably before circling around on all fours and laying with his chin on his hands in a huff.

The collar was tight around his throat like this, and the leather digging into his skin sent a jolt of heat to his cock. As Zevran hummed and nursed his drink, no attention paid to his pup, Laevis angled his head to press the collar into his throat, chasing some kind of pleasure that wouldn’t get him reprimanded. He’d already earned a warning slap on the cheek for trying to hump the floor and a soft kick to the ribs for using a hand to stroke his dick. “You are a beast, so act like one,” Zevran had said when Laevis whimpered at the pain in his side. “No hands, no words, no getting off your knees. Do you understand?”

And Laevis had hung his head, an implied yes, master in his sorrowful bark.

It had been Laevis’s idea to get a room at the Gnawed Noble for a night, to skip making camp in favor of blankets and sheets that it wasn’t their job to wash. They’d announced their plans to spend the night in Denerim, and Laevis was sure he’d heard a collective thank the Maker from everyone in the room—he and Zevran had never exactly concerned themselves with keeping their volume down, much to the bane of everyone else’s existence, and he admittedly wouldn’t blame them for being relieved to have even one rest uninterrupted by moans and growls from the tent in the far corner of camp.

Once they had arrived in the market district, Zevran had gone to acquire their reservation, and Laevis had taken a left toward Wade’s, slipping inside without ringing the bell. It always gave him a laugh to make Herren jump, though Herren was decidedly less and less amused every time Laevis flashed his winning smile after jumping at him from behind.

He and Zevran had put in a special request for the muzzle a few weeks before. The thin lie that it was “for the mabari” wasn’t one of Laevis’s most convincing, but Wade had begrudgingly agreed to make it when a large enough satchel of pilfered gold and drakeskin was tossed onto the counter along with a quickly broken promise to stop startling Herren for entertainment.

It was expertly made, as everything tanned and forged by Wade’s hand was. Adjustable straps and buckles, latches that allowed the iron muzzle to be removed from the leather frame, and ears that fell somewhere between dog and wolf in shape, exactly how they had requested. The leather wasn’t the smoothest, and it was stiff as a board compared to the Antivan-crafted collar Laevis wore with it. But the fact that they’d been able to have it made at all was satisfying enough.

Laevis was through the door and inside the Gnawed Noble before Herren had managed to sarcastically thank him for his patronage. He was already half-hard in anticipation, eager for Zevran to fasten it over his fiery locks, scratch him behind the ear, leash him and scold him like a kennel master training a difficult pup.

Zevran, of course, had made him beg for it first. He had tackled Laevis onto the floorboards and flipped him onto his hands and knees, deft fingers and silver tongue working him open until his hole gaped when it was left empty, stranding Laevis on the brink with his cock untouched and pleas on his lips for Zevran to either give him the release he wanted or bring him to heel like he truly craved. Zevran, satisfied with his wanton desperation, had answered by commanding Laevis to sit and stay as he fastened the muzzle’s straps around his head and praised his easy obedience—obedience that didn’t last all too long, as once the leash was clipped to his collar, Zevran stopped giving him any relief. It had been close to an hour, now, since Laevis had assumed the role of the loyal dog at the foot of his master’s bed, and the nearest he’d gotten to another touch between his legs was a condescending squeeze of his ass.

“Don’t you pout, little hound,” Zevran cooed as he finished off his drink. He set the glass down on the bedside table, and now that he had a hand free, he leaned over to scoop Laevis’s chin up patronizingly. “I promised to give you a treat if you behaved, did I not?”

Laevis gasped for air as the pressure of the collar against his neck was released, and Zevran cocked an eyebrow. “Ah-ah, were you enjoying yourself without permission? Naughty pup,” he chided, dragging two fingertips over the red mark that was left behind.

“I am tempted to let this one slide, you know. It has been quite a while since I have paid you attention, and I admit I am beginning to pity you. But it is almost as if you want to be punished.” He held Laevis’s face more tightly, pulling him so close that the muzzle bumped against his nose. “Do you?”

A whimper escaped from Laevis’s mouth unbidden. He shook his head—as much as he was able to in Zevran’s grip—and he had to bite his tongue to hold back a plea for any kind of touch, any kind of pleasure, whether Zevran’s dick inside him or his fingers, or even just permission to grind his cock against Zevran’s leg and hump him like an animal. Anything would do, now, as long as it was something.

“I see.” Zevran released him, leaning back on the bed as Laevis breathed heavily. He appeared to think for a moment—a long moment, torturously so, and Laevis’s eyes tracked his movements like a hunting hound. A tilt of his head as he considered an idea, a scrunch of his nose as he discarded it. A glance toward his empty glass on the nightstand. An exhale, a hum, and finally he got to his feet, pulling Laevis with him by the leash and tying it to the bedpost furthest from the door, just an excuse to make his pup crawl on the floor a bit, put his dirty paws to use.

When Zevran was sure his knot was secure, he patted the top of Laevis’s head. “I am going to get another bottle,” he announced, making his way to the door. “And when I return, I shall… I have plans for you, little hound. Worry not.” With that, he spun around and left the room, locking the door behind him, and Laevis listened until his footsteps disappeared around the corner and down the hallway toward the bar.

Left alone like this, Laevis wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He sat at attention for a while, waiting as patiently as he could, but Zevran was taking longer than he’d expected—maybe there was a long line at the bar, or maybe he’d run into a friend. Or, equally likely, an enemy. If Zevran disappeared, there was always a chance he’d come back splattered with blood, a shrug his only explanation as he wiped his daggers clean.

Whatever the reason, he’d been gone for nearly five minutes, and Laevis was beginning to grow restless. Idly, he raised a hand to his neck and ran his fingers over the collar that kept him bound to the bedpost. Butter-soft Antivan leather encircling his throat, steel rings and clasps that made him shiver when they touched his skin—and at the back of his neck, a padlock barely larger than his thumbnail, threaded through the buckle weeks ago by knife-callused fingers as he knelt just like this on his bedroll, holding his breath until he heard the click that secured him as wholly and undeniably Zevran’s.

“This is more of a symbolic gesture than anything,” Zevran had said with a chuckle as he tucked the key into a secure inner compartment of his pack. It clinked against something else small and metallic as it hit the bottom of the pouch, but Zevran fastened it before Laevis could ask. “With your tricky little fingers, you could take this off anytime you like.”

Laevis had snorted, and he fished a lockpick out of his pile of discarded clothes. “I could,” he teased. “The lock’s a little small, and it’s a bit of a weird angle, but it’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

Zevran had climbed on top of him, then, pinning pale wrists into the bedroll with one hand, snatching the lockpick with the other—but he was met with little resistance from Laevis, who only grinned as he was overpowered. “Mm, true enough. But you won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” Laevis had said, grinding his cock up into Zevran’s, the desire that consumed him only intensified by the feeling of being his, of Zevran having a power over him that no one else ever could: a lock and a key and a collar, a secret and a confession and a promise. His soul belonged to the Grey Wardens, his blood to the Alienage that raised him—but his body, that could only belong to the man who lay atop him, who held the end of his leash, who forced his tongue past Laevis’s lips and teeth like it would shrivel and wither away if it didn’t bury itself in the depths of his mouth and anchor itself to his throat.

His heart, though—that was another matter. His body could be held, could be fucked and kissed and bitten, could be reddened by a strike to freckled skin or covered by a shirt or a bandage. It could be bruised, sliced, or burned, even torn apart by wolves: no matter what happened, he could say without a doubt that it was Zevran’s, that his scratched-out eye and his bow-worn hands would be cared for by the bird that fled its cage. But his heart was less willing to be tamed, less willing to take a master. It darted away at the first sign of danger and burrowed in nettle-thick grass; it was prey that feared being caught and eaten, the mouse that hid from the crow’s clever talons as its shadow loomed overhead.

His heart a mouse, his body a hound: he could smell it through the wildflowers, bleeding where a thorn pricked its tail, and he knew it could only run for so much longer until the crow spotted it and snatched the little rodent up for its own.

Would the crow tear into it and rip out its innards, fur and bone clinging to its feathers; or would it offer the mouse solace, tend to its wound; or even slice itself with its beak so they could bleed together, both weak and afraid, but neither one alone?

A key turned in a lock, and Laevis jumped, moving his hand away from the collar like it would burn him if he touched it any longer. “I have returned with refreshments,” Zevran called, shutting the door behind him, a bottle of wine held under one arm. His eyes lit up when he saw Laevis sitting obediently on his knees, and the mouse inside Laevis squeaked and tried to flee.

“Calm, dear pup, or I fear your tail may rip itself from your body by wagging with too much excitement.” Laevis frowned as Zevran locked and bolted the door—was it so obvious, the way his heart yearned to be captured, that Zevran could see it in his face? “Well, there is no need to sulk, either,” Zevran said with a smile and a pat on his cheek, and when did he get so close? “You have waited long enough. I would say you have earned a treat, no?”

Laevis barked fervently, his muzzle bumping into Zevran’s hand. “Adorable,” Zevran murmured fondly. Blood rushed both to Laevis’s cheeks and to his cock, and he’d almost forgotten how needy he’d been, so fixated on his vulnerable heart that the throbbing between his legs startled him back to the present with a shuddering moan. Zevran laughed, his fingers gently scratching behind Laevis’s ear, drawing out a string of uncontrollable whimpers. “My, you are quite worked up, aren’t you? Does the little hound want his reward?”

Another bark, louder and firmer, and Zevran kissed the tip of his muzzle, then he stood and began to untie the leash from the bedpost. “He has been a good boy, after all,” Zevran mused as he worked the knot open. “Not perfectly good, but training a dog is far less punishing than training a Crow. And I think of myself as a generous master. Come, my sweet—on your hands and knees. I still cannot allow you on the bed, unfortunately, but we will make do with the floor.”

The pet name was another nail in the mouse’s coffin, pinning its little tail into the wooden slats and ensuring it couldn’t run any further. Laevis felt his heart pounding as talons descended upon it. He saw the crow’s shadow, sharpening like a knife as it closed in on its prey, not close enough yet to pluck the mouse from where it lay helpless on the ground, but the threat felt more like an inevitability now, a when instead of an if.

A tug on his leash made him release the breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. “This way, pup,” Zevran said, slightly firmer, and Laevis didn’t hesitate to follow this time, making himself comfortable with his knees on the folded blanket Zevran had lain on the floor.

Zevran knelt behind him with a pleased hum and a kiss to the small of his back. “Just like that,” he cooed, stroking Laevis’s ass and spreading his cheeks, trailing kisses lower and lower until soft lips hovered over his wanting hole. Laevis trembled at the feeling of hot breath on his rim.

“Mm, is this what you want? Or would you prefer something more?” Zevran’s words sent a shiver down Laevis’s spine, and he could only respond with a pathetic noise somewhere between a bark and a whine. The resulting laugh tickled against his skin. Zevran bit into his plush ass and sucked on the skin between his teeth, making Laevis yelp; seemingly satisfied, he pulled back and gently stroked the mark he left. “Ah, I know what you desire. You wish for me to fill you, don’t you, my pet? You are desperate, in heat, and the only balm to soothe your aching is my spend deep inside you, marking you as mine. Am I correct?”

An affirmative whimper, a shake of his ass, and Laevis finally heard the sound of a bottle being uncorked behind him. “Stay still, my sweet,” Zevran said softly as he slicked himself up. “Allow me to give you the pleasure you’ve been so patiently awaiting.”

With that, Zevran pushed in, slow and deliberate, sighing when he bottomed out; the feeling of being full made Laevis moan unabashedly, rocking his hips back into Zevran to force some friction. “My, how needy you are,” Zevran teased. “I was going to take my time, but if you truly want it that badly…”

No time was wasted in picking up the pace, Zevran’s cock buried far enough inside Laevis that he felt like he might be split in two. Zevran held him by his hip, a fist in his hair, the leash tossed to the floor in favor of having Laevis in his hands, tight in his grip, powerless to escape even if he wanted to.

Nails dug into Laevis’s side, as sharp as Zevran’s unforgiving thrusts, and Laevis, though he howled like a hound, could only think of the mouse: quivering in fear as the crow descended upon it and clutched its face in knifelike talons, beak brushing against dirt-matted fur. No retreat, no refuge, only dark eyes stripping him down to meat and bones, taking the heart within his heart and exposing it, bloody and bare, unable to be denied any longer.

His body belonged to Zevran, that much he had already known; the key and the collar, the muzzle and leash, the fingers laced into ginger locks but not pulling—only holding, possessing, claiming for his own.

But his heart, too, Laevis realized—struck with it like an arrow between his ribs as the fire within him mounted, lust and need overtaking them both, Zevran’s hand around his cock and Zevran’s cock deep in his ass—his heart was Zevran’s, too. No matter how hard he fought to avoid ripping it out of his chest and giving it away, the mouse wanted to be prey, to be caressed by daggers. And so Laevis, the hound, let himself be taken; and as Zevran spilled inside him, his mind was emptied of everything but how full he was and how he’d let the world fall to the Blight just to stay at the end of this leash, in these hands that knew better how to hold a blade than hold a heart but cradled it carefully anyway.

“Oh, what a perfect pup you are,” Zevran breathed into his shoulder, and a bite to skin usually shrouded by Laevis’s hair sent him over the edge, making a mess of the blanket and the knife-worn fingers that stroked him until he was shaking and panting, whimpering from the overwhelming pleasure that threatened to rip him to pieces.

He hardly noticed Zevran pulling out and taking a towel to him, muzzled face resting on his hands as he tried to catch his breath. “Let me free you, my sweet,” came Zevran’s voice into his ear, followed by the buckles around his head being unclasped. “I’ve so missed hearing my little wolf. Much as I love your bark, it will never be quite as entertaining as when you speak.”

Laevis lifted his head to let Zevran to slide the muzzle off, and he exhaled as if he’d been gagged. “You want to hear me talk, huh? Funny, that might be a first.”

“Mm, anyone who doesn’t enjoy your voice is missing out on one of life’s greatest gifts.” Zevran stood to fetch his waterskin, taking a sip before passing it to Laevis, who sat up to drink from it properly.

“That’s… sweet,” Laevis said, and he turned his head to hide his blush. “You brought wine?”

Zevran held out a hand to help Laevis to his feet. “I did. You would like some, I suppose? Enjoy it in bed with me. I cannot allow a dog onto the bed, but I can make an exception for a wolf.”

Laevis snorted. “What, I’m scary enough that you won’t enforce it? You think I’ll bite you or something?” He let Zevran pull him up, and then he flopped right onto the bed with a delighted sigh at the softness of the mattress beneath him.

“Will you bite me? I would certainly not complain if you did.” Zevran sat next to him, bottle of wine in hand. “This may come as a surprise, but there is a chance I might even like it.”

Laevis answered by sinking his teeth lightly into the spot beneath Zevran’s ear, and the soft moan it earned encouraged him to suck a mark into the skin, his tongue laving over the purple bruise—because as much as Laevis belonged to Zevran, Zevran was also his. “I think you like it,” he murmured with a nip to an earlobe for emphasis.

“Perhaps I do,” Zevran laughed. He tilted his head down, brushing his lips against the collar around Laevis’s neck. The leash dangled loosely over the side of the bed, still hooked onto a metal ring hammered into the leather, until Zevran took it and pulled Laevis impossibly closer, a surprised yelp slipping past Laevis’s lips. “And I think you like that.”

Laevis grinned and rested his forehead on Zevran’s shoulder, a pale hand finding his waist and stroking the divot of his hipbone beneath his shirt. He belonged to this man, as fully as he could with his life bound to the Blight—it was terrifying, the feeling of talons closing around his heart, knowing he could never undo allowing them to snatch the mouse up and flee with it, but he’d run away for so long that his legs were beginning to ache, and it was a welcome relief to go limp in the crow’s delicate grasp.

He placed a kiss on Zevran’s collarbone, on his throat, his jaw, his cheek—and he hesitated a moment, stomach knotted at the thought of giving himself away, before pressing his lips onto his friend’s with a gentleness that almost frightened him. But he didn’t pull away, nor did he deepen the kiss to hide from the depth of his feelings like he had so many times. He left it as it was, a confession to his not-quite-lover, though in truth it was more of a confession to himself: I am yours, the loyal hound at your heels, for as long as you’ll have me beside you.

Laevis sat on a log by the fire, sharpening his arrows, pointedly avoiding the looks Wynne shot at him as she chopped sausage for their breakfast. He prided himself on his skill at weaseling his way out of cooking duty, and though he respected her, he also respected his companions’ stomachs too much to subject them to whatever would happen were he left in charge of feeding them. His attempts to explain how awful he was at cooking were always met with eye rolls and muttering about excuses and laziness, and while he wasn’t necessarily not being lazy and making excuses, he also knew his limitations in the culinary realm and knew that those limitations were “slicing bread and eating it.”

Relief washed over him when he saw Zevran finally emerge from their tent. (It was technically Laevis’s, but Zevran hadn’t bothered pitching his own since the second week he’d traveled with them, as the two wound up spending nearly every night together anyway.) He set his arrows aside—they hadn’t truthfully needed to be sharpened at all, but, well. Excuses.

“Morning, birdie. C’mere,” he called, gesturing for Zevran to join him on the log that wasn’t quite big enough for two.

Zevran’s eyes lit up immediately, and Laevis tried to ignore the knot that formed in his chest when the assassin’s leisurely stride quickened as he made his way over. “Good morning. Shall I sing my birdsong for you, my little wolf?”

Laevis scooted over so he was halfway off the log to make space for Zevran next to him. “That depends. Is it a good song?”

“Not really, no,” Zevran said, sitting on Laevis’s lap anyway and nearly sending them both tumbling into the dirt. “But I have been working very hard on it, and I would be quite a sad birdie if you did not want to hear me sing.”

“Sing away, then,” Laevis laughed. He wrapped his arms around Zevran and lightly kissed the back of his neck before adjusting his sitting position slightly. If moving himself back onto the log also involved pulling Zevran closer to him, he wouldn’t claim it was on purpose, but he certainly wouldn’t complain.

He couldn’t see the mischievous look forming on Zevran’s face, the smirk that accompanied his bright chuckle, but he knew it was there all the same.

“We are in a swamp, and Wynne is making breakfast,” Zevran sang with no particular tune or rhythm, impressively off-key from a melody that didn’t exist. Laevis snorted, burying his face in the back of Zevran’s shirt to hide his giggles.

“The sun is rising behind the swampy trees,” Zevran continued, waving his hand in a dramatic flourish. “The morning birds are chirping, and I, the most handsome of them all—”

Laevis swatted at his hand weakly. He felt tears forming in his eyes from laughing. “Stop it! Maker, you’re unbelievable.”

Zevran turned in his lap, wearing a pout that could make even the cruelest of kings fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. “Unbelievable? My, the little wolf acts so sweet, but his bite still makes me bleed!”

“Damn. Unfortunate. Get Wynne to patch it up or something,” Laevis said with a roll of his eyes, but he couldn’t help his fond smile.

“No, no, there is an old Antivan folktale, you see. If a little wolf wounds a birdie, the only one who can heal it is the little wolf himself. Otherwise, it will bleed and fester for eternity, until the birdie’s heart cannot take it anymore and breaks so violently that it kills him.”

“Mhm. And how is the wolf supposed to heal it? He’s much better at killing things.”

Zevran turned around fully now, his legs on either side of Laevis’s, their faces just inches apart. “Well, you’re very smart. What do you think?”

It was clear what he wanted, from his half-lidded eyes and reddened cheeks, from the way he rested his left hand on Laevis’s shoulder and toyed with his braid with his right. Laevis, however, had no intention of giving in easily, and it certainly had nothing to do with the dizzy feeling he always got when the affection that clawed at his chest grew too strong and he had to shove it down, bury it alive, because they could never have more than this, he knew, never more than their nights tangled together and the teasing that followed in the mornings, and letting himself hope otherwise would tear him open from the inside.

“There are bandages in my satchel, if you need to stop the blood, but I’m not a mage. That’s the best I’ve got,” he managed, looking pointedly at a very interesting tree across the clearing and not at the man in his lap.

The hand that was in his hair grasped his chin, forcing his eyes to stare into deep brown ones, pupils blown wide from their closeness. Laevis’s instinct wanted him to run, to bolt into the woods and get away from the creature that scratched and gnawed at his heart when Zevran looked at him like that.

“No, not a bandage,” Zevran teased, and Laevis’s heartbeat was already darting through the trees like a rabbit being chased by a fox.

Laevis swallowed. “I mean, I could try stitching it closed, but I don’t think it’d go very well.”

“No stitches either, silly little wolf.” Zevran’s thumb stroked Laevis’s jawline gently. Laevis felt faint, his hands growing sweaty on Zevran’s waist. “All the birdie needs is a kiss where he was wounded, and he will feel right as rain once again.”

“And where was he hurt?” Laevis’s foot began to tap restlessly against his will, and he tried to focus on making it stop to drown out the beast chewing on his ribcage.

Zevran hummed thoughtfully. “His hand, first, where he was so cruelly attacked.” He held his left hand out in front of Laevis, not letting go of his chin with the other.

“Alright.” Laevis took Zevran’s hand in his own and brushed his lips against his knuckles, barely enough to constitute a kiss, but he hoped it would suffice, because any more would be too fond, too close, too much.

“Very good,” Zevran said, and before Laevis could yank his hand away, Zevran entwined their fingers. “Now, the birdie’s song was silenced, and he will not be better until the little wolf heals his beak, so that he may one day sing his beautiful song again.”

All that Laevis could do in response was nod. He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and leaned forward to meet Zevran’s lips—though they were so close together that he hardly had to move.

Kissing Zevran like this made him feel like he was fourteen, still innocent, sneaking behind the schoolhouse with the boy from across the street, beet-red and giggling after the tiniest peck on the lips. It made him feel like floating into the sky and crawling into the ground at the same time. And he shouldn’t feel this way, he shouldn’t, because they kissed all the time, every night, in Laevis’s tent that neither of them would call theirs, and it was rough and deep and far more intimate, followed by the closest intimacy two men could have. It should be easy to share a kiss that was soft, chaste, no tongue at all, sitting by the fire as Wynne roasted sausages over it.

But it was harder like this, the feeling bursting through his chest that he didn’t dare to name because if he did, it would mean admitting that friendship wasn’t enough, that the sex without strings attached wasn’t that at all, that there were so many strings that he was tangled up in them and unable to escape, a wolf caught in a hunter’s trap, awaiting the knife that would slit its throat.

He couldn’t do that. It wasn’t more than this to Zevran. He’d made that clear enough. And this was just fine, wasn’t it? How could he complain?

One of them had to have pulled back first, but Laevis wasn’t sure who it was. He couldn’t stop the leaping of his rabbit heart when Zevran rested their foreheads together and squeezed his clammy hand.

They were friends. Nothing more.

Zevran cleared his throat. “I must sharpen my daggers. We shall reconvene when it is time to eat, yes? Leave my seat open, or I will sing an even sadder song.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of Laevis’s nose before standing and slinking away, gone to the other side of the camp in a blink.

“Right,” Laevis said hoarsely.

He heard a chuckle from behind him and looked up. Wynne held out a bowl to him, sausages and scrambled eggs and toast. He took it quickly, having forgotten how hungry he was while he and Zevran… talked.

“I know I gave you a hard time, but the two of you are a sweet couple.” Wynne smiled at him, and he nearly choked on a piece of sausage.

He shook his head. “We’re not—it’s not that,” he muttered, groping around for the waterskin he’d set in the grass. “We’re just sleeping together. That’s it. Don’t read into it.”

“…Alright. If you insist.” He could feel her giving him a look, he knew she knew him better than that, but he refused to meet her eyes. Because she saw him, she always did, and she’d try to ask him to talk about it, and he wouldn’t be able to without the creature tearing his ribs apart and baring its fangs for all to see.

arum hawke/anders(/compassion/justice)

okay this might not technically be completely arum/anders considering the spirits that are also there but stay with me. it's when anders realizes he's in love with compassion. arum allowed compassion to possess him while he was traveling to skyhold, and he returns home from weisshaupt with a whole spirit in his body. anders has a Lot of feelings about it—fear that arum could get hurt or warped into something he can't reason with, fear that their relationship would never be the same again and he might fall out of love if arum is changed too much. he's very hesitant around compassion at first, easing up a bit over time as he realizes that arum and compassion really are extremely compatible and have a bafflingly harmonious bond, and that compassion is a large part of the internal healing and growth arum has had over the last ten years. but he still doesn't know compassion personally very well, and he doesn't want to be too physically intimate until he's sure—if he ever is.

it comes to a head when mullein writes to them and details the cure for tranquility. compassion is beyond enthusiastic, determined to use this knowledge to help as many people as they can—and this is what happened with karl, isn't it? he briefly reconnected to the fade with justice's influence. with justice and compassion both working at it, there would be no limit, would there? two of thedas's most adept healers, each with a spirit within them. they could get started right now. where should they go? is there a chantry nearby, a former circle? they must begin right away—

and this resonates with justice, of course, but justice fell in love with compassion quickly and easily, and they'd known each other to some degree in the fade. but it really strikes a chord with anders. the dedication to helping others, the passion for one's cause—the same things that first had him falling for arum, he recognized in compassion. the whimsy, the hopefulness, the heart. and of course, they're two different people, spirit and human, with far different experiences, so they're obviously not exactly the same. but he realizes that he's been falling for those parts of compassion, too, and how much he adores so many of compassion's other quirks just slots into place.

and then they go around curing tranquil willy-nilly and making cassandra mad but first all of them have some insane spirit sex i haven't figured out the logistics yet but just go with it

mullein lavellan/dorian pavus

i've put them through a ridiculous number of aus at this point (mostly with edwin cadash of thorin tytoalbatross's oc fame. hi edwin) and the actual canon of dragon age inquisition is one of the scant few in which they're not friends with benefits before getting together. so their first time is actually meaningful. Not that neither of them Wanted to fuck beforehand, they started flirting like 10 seconds after meeting and that dial went up to 100 and still has yet to go down at all. it's only gone farther. the dial is broken. they're the worst. anyway they didn't fuck because mullein is borderline incapable of making the first move and dorian was dealing with alexius and his father and denying himself the idea of loving and being loved and also there was a war going on and there's not much time to suck and fuck when there are druffalo to herd in the hinterlands.

Anyway. after the whole amulet situation when mullein goes out of his way to care for dorian on purpose by force dorian finally propositions mullein. he tells mullein he'll come by that night. mullein says "why wait" and sucks his dick right there in the library but that's not the point. the important part is that they do finally have sex that night. for like most of it. a lot of times. dorian has his whole self-flagellation moment in the middle of it but mullein tells him that he's already in too deep himself and there's no going back and dorian says "oh i'll be in something deep" and then they have sex again. I don't really know where i was going with this. OH YEAH dorian drops the "amatus" bomb during round like 4 and mullein says "i love you too" and then dorian cums. and then never says it back for like another year and a half which he does by accident and honestly that's another really good moment but i'll get back to that some other time. enough of these freaks i have more freaks to talk about

vervain mercar/emmrich volkarin

Would it be bad if i said the broken hand incident. no i'm not going to do that. i've talked it to death. but it might be my favorite. also up there though is vervain's breakdown moment when emmrich watches him murder his ex-boyfriend in broad daylight and then still insists that he's a good person. it's important to acknowledge that they are NOT together at this point, and also that the ex-boyfriend attacked vervain first, so it technically wasn't murder, vervain just likes to make himself look worse than he actually is because there's something deeply wrong with him.

the gist of the situation is that the ex is working with the venatori, who have tracked a number of shadows including vervain. he was instructed to take vervain in alive. tries to use an ice spell, gets stabbed in the chest before he can cast it. L+ratio+mageknife. vervain takes his boots, his gold, and his written orders to the shop and immediately goes back to the lighthouse to smash some shit. he is not expecting emmrich to follow him. he point blank asks emmrich why he even bothers spending time around him and emmrich is like "well you're passionate and dedicated to your work, so committed to caring for others even at the cost of your own health, and you neglect yourself. i want to take care of you."

and vervain thinks emmrich is insane. "i'm not worth taking care of, use your energy somewhere else" "oh, dear, who made you think that?" "me? i'm a bad person" "you're really not. look at all the good you do." straight up lists things that vervain has done in the past like two weeks and none of it can be denied. and instead of saying "yknow maybe you're right" vervain absolutely refuses to accept the idea that he's anything other than worthless dirt so he just halfheartedly tells emmrich to shut up and disappears for three days getting up to inadvisable activities. he's like mostly normal when he comes back though but it's vervain normal which isn't a high bar. the conversation when he returns is a whole other thing but i'm not getting into that now either. posts to make later though