#roksanalyasin

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Sarah considers herself the meek English girl of Bon Temps. After moving to the sleepy Louisiana town more than 18 months ago, she's no longer exciting and new and doesn't consider herself pretty enough to garner much attention beyond a tip at Merlotte's. Resigned to the quiet life of a bachelorette, she never expected to catch the attention of a vampire, let alone a towering, alluring man like Eric Northman.

Thank you for the prompt for @dadrunkwriting! Since I obviously need more Cullavellan in my life, have some more Cullen and Enansal.

Fluffy Prompts

Since the Inquisition had arrived at Skyhold, the fortress itself had been unseasonably warm despite being buried deep in the snow-covered Frostbacks. Even though Ferelden was in the throes of early winter, Skyhold seemed to be in a perpetual state of mid-autumn. Solas had given the Inquisitor the impression that it could attributed to residual magical energies throughout the fortress that gave it the illusion of being frozen in one season. Enansal actually rather enjoyed the semi-permanent autumn. Her only complaint was that some nights could become bitingly cold.

Even buried under several layers of furs and a fire roaring in the fireplace, the Inquisitor still felt cold at her desk. While she had promised herself to get through all of the reports that were currently piled atop her desk, the mental image of retiring early with a bed warmer under her mattress kept distracting her from her work. She sighed a little and returned her quill to its holder; she doubted she would be able to get anything else done for the night.

Just as she pushed herself to her feet, she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs leading up to her chambers. She turned towards the sound, a smile spreading across her face as she saw her Commander cresting the top.

He glanced her way, and paused on the top stair. Pink dusted his cheeks as he cleared his throat in embarrassment. “A-ah, Inquisitor. I thought you were meeting with Josephine to discuss your trip to the tailor next week.”

“We finished earlier than anticipated,” she explained, but then fixed him with an amused expression. “Yet you still came to my room, even while under the impression that I would not be present. Now, why is that?” she teased.

Cullen cleared his throat once more. “Well, I, er…” He sighed, and held up a brown paper package. “I wanted to leave these here as a surprise.”

She crossed the room to his side, taking the package from his hands; she tore through the paper to reveal a pair of supple leather gloves. The pale cream color reminded her of halla, and the green stitching around the cuffs could not be mistaken for anything but Dalish craftsmanship.

The Inquisitor let out a soft gasp and looked up at the Commander. “Oh, Cullen, you didn’t have to…”

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,” he said, sounding simultaneously amused and embarrassed. “Do you truly like them?” he then added, brow creasing a little in worry.

“Oh, I love them.” She smiled and pulled them on to emphasize her point. She then wrapped her arms around him, adding, “Thank you.”

He returned the embrace. “Of course, love.”

She sighed a little and snuggled a little against his chest. For once, he was dressed quite simply, with no armor pieces in sight. As such, she could feel the warmth radiating off of his person, and she much preferred this heat source to the piles of furs she had abandoned at the desk. After a few moments, Cullen began to pull away, and Enansal let out something of a whine.

“No, wait, I’m freezing. You should come closer.”

At that, he chuckled a little. “I thought you specialized in frost magic, my dear.”

“Just because I wield the element does not mean I enjoy the accompanying change in temperature.”

Cullen laughed again. “As my lady commands. Give me just a moment.” He finally left her embrace, and moved to drag the loveseat across the floor to place it in front of the fireplace. He then recovered the furs from Enansal’s chair and piled them up on the cushions. “Here. Perhaps we should sit here together for a while.”

Enansal smiled faintly, and joined him. Once they were seated and wrapped up in some of the furs, the Inquisitor leaned against his shoulder. “This is nice…”

“Yes, it is.”

“I love you.”

Yay! I’m so happy you sent me this one. Asha/Cullen for @dadrunkwriting​

If you’re not up on Asha’s canon: she told Cullen how she feels a couple of months ago, and he pushed her away in favor of focusing on the Inquisition. She wanted to get over him, but… things happen.

Asha presses her tongue tentatively against her swollen lip and hisses at the pain that radiates from the wound. She should have hesitated long enough for Dorian to heal her before she spoke to the Empress, but she wouldn’t. The future of Orlais was more important than a split lip, and now she can’t find him or Henry, and she has to deal with it herself.

After Florienne was arrested, Asha slipped away. She stands now, silent, on one of the balconies circling the ballroom. It’s empty, and she relishes the quiet after so much chaos and fighting during the evening’s festivities.

She bends at the waist, as much as her armored corset will allow her to, and leans against the balcony railing with her forearms flat against the stones. She takes a deep breath and peers deeper into the gardens, trying to figure out what’s happening in the shadows that cloak almost every flower and shrub from her view.

She doesn’t hear when Cullen comes up behind her, doesn’t realize anyone is with her until he leans against the railing next to her.

She hides her surprise, turning slowly to gaze at him with green eyes red around the edges. 

“You did well tonight,” he says, voice pitched low so that no one else will be able to hear him. “I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.”

She stares at him, so resplendent in his dark Inquisition formal wear, his curls carefully controlled, his scar begging for her attention. She wants nothing more than to turn into him, to release the pain she’s been holding in the weeks since he turned her away on the battlements, to tuck her head under that strong chin and let him hold her.

She doesn’t.

“Thank you,” she says, voice sounding strangled even to her own ears, and then she turns away, staring back out into the gardens as Cullen continues.

“You… look lovely tonight,” he says, voice halting at each word like he isn’t sure of what he’s saying.

Asha doesn’t respond. Her head bows between her shoulders, dipping down towards the railing between her shoulders as she continues.

“You stabilized Orlais. Now Corypheus won’t have as strong a foothold when he makes his next move.” His voice is quiet, accent beautiful, quietly rumbling through Asha’s chest. Every word makes her shoulders rise higher around her head until she just can’t hold back her words any longer.

“Cullen.” She sighs his name, cutting him off. He falls silent mid-sentence, amber eyes turning toward her to see what she has to say.

She doesn’t look at him.

“I can’t do this.” Her voice breaks, and she hangs her head even lower. “I can’t–Cullen, I know you don’t want to be with me, but I need time.” She covers her face with her hand and doesn’t see Cullen turn to fully face her. “I need time to get over you, Cullen. You know how I feel. I just… I just need some space.”

She’s almost begging. She’s exhausted from fighting the Venatori and the Harlequin, exhausted from running across Thedas to close rifts and put the continent to rights, exhausted from pretending seeing Cullen almost every day does nothing to her.

Cullen is silent for a long moment, just watching the way Asha stands. Her head is hanging low, each of her breaths sawing in and out of her chest, left hand closing convulsively around the Anchor. He can’t see her tattoo under her green dress, but he knows it’s resting between her shoulder blades, ready to tease him.

The dress she is wearing is much more modest than the original, safer, hiding basic armor, but it still looks beautiful on her.

She shudders, and he looks more carefully at her face. She’s turned away from him, but he can still see when a tear slips from her eye to fall from her cheek into the gardens below.

“Asha,” he breathes, and she looks up at the sound of her name. He’s called her nothing but Inquisitor since that day she foolishly told him how she feels, and now…

He takes a step back. “Will you dance with me?” He’s holding one hand out for her to accept, a small smile on his face.

She should say no.

She doesn’t want to.

She takes his hand instead of speaking and steps into his embrace, allowing herself this one moment. His free hand settles at her waist, drawing her a step closer before his feet begin to follow the tempo set by the band.

They move together through a simple box step, following the beat well enough if not the actual steps of the dance, but still Asha refuses to look at him. She studies one of the decorations on his collar, staring at it stubbornly as they turn together through the dance.

“Asha.” His voice is deep, beautiful, tantalizing. She can’t help it when she begins to curl in on herself, ready to give up for the evening if Cullen wasn’t holding her. “Asha.” His voice breaks a little, just enough to pull her attention from his jacket up to his lips, and finally to his eyes.

His beautiful eyes, brown and gold and amber, the kind of eyes she would happily drown in.

“I’m sorry.”

Of all the words she expected him to say, I’m sorry didn’t even make the cut. She raises her eyebrows and stares at him, waiting for more of an explanation.

“I… I shouldn’t have sent you away when you came to… to talk to me that day.” There’s no question of what day. There’s only one he could mean. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t respond, just lets him hold her through the dance until he speaks again.

“Can you forgive me?” His hand leaves her waist to find her chin, tipping her face up so she’ll meet his gaze again. “Asha, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

She huffs and looks away. “What’s to forgive?” she demands. “I shouldn’t have approached you like I did. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Cullen shakes his head, dropping his hand back to her waist. “I shouldn’t have turned you away when… when I feel as strongly for you as you do for me.”

It’s impossible. There’s no way his feelings run as deeply as hers.

And yet…

She looks up at him, eyes full of new tears. “Cullen?”

He meets her eyes without shying away.

“You once asked if I could care for you as you cared for me, and I ran away. I was weak, afraid of my own feelings. I’ve cared for you as long as you have for me, and I can’t… I can’t let you face these threats alone. I… I want to be with you, Asha. I do.”

Asha blinks, letting his words sink into the places of her heart she never thought would be touched again. The parts she walled off after he turned her away that day on the battlements, the parts she walled off when she saw him speaking to the serving girl who always seemed to be there when Asha arrived for their appointments.

She trembles in his grasp, fingers shaking where they’re clasped in his and where they rest against his shoulder. He can feel her weakening and pulls her just that much closer, ready to support her should she fall.

“You… you have feelings for me?” Even Asha’s voice is shaking when she asks him, eyes wide and watery when she looks up at him.

Cullen’s smile is small and sad, stretching his scar a little as he looks down at her. “I do,” he repeats, echoing his words from just moments earlier.

Asha glances away then back up at him. “You’re not just saying that?”

He shakes his head. “Of course not, Asha. I want to be here. I… I want to be with you, if you’ll have me.” With the way his cheeks are turning pink, Asha has no doubt that he would be rubbing at the back of his neck if he could.

“I…” If she’ll have him? Would she have him? After everything that happened? After he turned her away, left her crying alone on the battlements? After he chose the Inquisition over his own happiness? Over hers?  “You want to… to be with me?”

She won’t look at him now, but he answers honestly. “Yes.” Nothing has changed since their talk on the battlements save the depth of his feelings. He saw the way he hurt her, saw the unexpected depth of her feelings for him. He thought she would get over them right away, but the way she acted the day before they left… “I don’t want anything more.”

Silence reigns between them. They move together until the end of the song, but even then Cullen doesn’t release her. If she had stepped away, he would loosen his grip immediately, but… she doesn’t. 

“Asha?” he asks, voice very quiet, tentative, afraid of what she might say.

She swallows hard. “Of course, Cullen. I l… I want to be with you too.” Her cheeks heat at whatever work she trips over, but Cullen beams, pulling her the half step clsoer to crush her aganst his chest in a hug.

They stand like that for a long moment, tangled in each other’s arms, before she speaks again. “This isn’t some kind of joke, is it?”

Cullen laughs from deep in his chest. “Not that I know of. It would be a particularly cruel one, if it were.”

Asha hums. Ain’t that the truth? 

She still has no idea where to go from here. She doesn’t know what lies before them, waiting for their attention in the weeks to come. All she knows is that she has her man, her templar to herself for now.

She isn’t going to argue with that.

When she finally pulls away to look up at him, he tips her chin up to hold her the rest of the way. 

Their eyes meet again, and she smiles in silent consent to what he’s thinking. He bends down, closing the distance between them to press a kiss to her mouth.

She allows the contact for a moment, her toes curling in the lovely shoes Josephine picked out for her, before a sharp pain reminds her of where they are and what they’re doing.

She whines and pulls away. Cullen obeys, following suit even before he sees what’s wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, looking down at the blood now smeared across her chin. Asha shrugs, reaching up to smooth away the bit of blood now against his lip. 

“It’s fine,” she mutters. “I just… I need to get this healed before… before anything else happens.” Her cheeks are red again, but Cullen ignores it in favor of smiling brighter and pulling her closer.

“Of course,” he murmurs, and somehow, somehow, he makes her toes curl again. “I will speak to you later, Asha.”

He releases her, and she steps away, smiling up at him. 

“Goodnight, Cullen,” she says, head cocked to the side, fingers pressed against her split lip.

He grins. “Goodnight, Asha.”

He turns and disappears back into the crowd, and Asha waits several minutes before following after him to find a mage to heal her lip.

She has a lot of making up to do.

Garrett Hawke x Fenris getting stuck in the Bone Pit for @dadrunkwriting. Thanks for the prompt @roksanalyasin!

The mage gives one final push of his magic at the pile of rubble which crashed down behind them after the pair of them entered this newest cavern of the Bone Pit where the workers had been complaining about beasts attacking them, before shaking his head. Perhaps if they had brought Merrill with them, she was far better with rock and earth sorts of spells, but knowing just how much his current elf companion disliked and generally bristled at being forced to keep the company of the blood mage, he’d decided to refrain from asking her to accompany them. No doubt she was busy getting herself lost somewhere in the markets, or marveling at the strange customs of the elves in the alienage, or other humans of Kirkwall. Varric had unfortunately, or perhaps fortuitously rolled in the opposite direction when the collapse had occurred, finding himself stuck on the opposite side of the newly formed wall. It’s muffled, but the dwarf manages to shout something about being alright and going to get them some help.

“Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…” Hawke observes, a little bit sheepishly. Fenris idly kicks a nearby pebble with his foot, shaking his head with a soft snort of amusement.

“I don’t suppose I should be surprised,” Fenris grumbles. “But honestly, Cave ins, strikes, drake infestations… this place must be closed half as often as it is up and running. How much did you say you paid for your half,” the elf asks skeptically. “It seems too much to believe you could be seeing any return on your investment.”

“You forgot dragons.”

“I recall one,” the warrior replies. “Unless you decided to fight more without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of depriving you,” the mage winks with a grin. Fenris raises an eyebrow, tempted to make some remark about the strength and sturdiness of the rest of their friends when it comes to fighting such a foe, but decides against it, for the moment at least.“Alright, so it was only the one,” Hawke concedes with a slight shrug, “but it was a big one. Hard to put a price tag on that.”

“Yes, shame that it had to die,” the elf teases in his usual deadpan.

“Yeah,” Hawke laments. “Would have loved to have kept it around. Maybe as a pet.”

“You would have lost your manservant if you had.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m sure Sandal would have loved it. Besides, dragons aren’t stupid, I’m sure we could have housebroken it or something.”

“You are ridiculous,” the elf accuses with a chuckle.

“Mmm,” he assents, “but you love me anyway.” Fenris falls silent, and for a moment the mage wonders if perhaps he’s finally gone and pushed the boundaries of being a smart-mouth a bit too far.

“Yes,” the elf replies finally, taking the other by surprise. “Yes, I suppose I do,” he smiles faintly as a positively beaming Hawke crosses the room to seal his lips over his.

Thank you for the prompt, @roksanalyasin! ^_^

For @dadrunkwriting

Featuring my newest Inquisitor, Fenasha Lavellan, and Solas. Non-canon, set post-Trespasser.

You may write me down in history / With your bitter, twisted lies, / You may trod me in the very dirt / But still, like dust, I’ll rise [Still I Rise, Maya Angelou]  

Spider’s Web

“Fen’harel.”

She felt a vicious stab of satisfaction when he spun around, his face clearly displaying his disbelief. A second later, however, he had recovered, his face pulled into that neutral mask she was so familiar with. “Inquisitor.” 

She took a step forward, propping herself up on her staff for support. “I am not the Inquisitor, as you well know.”

“Though you may have stepped down, there are many who still associate you with the title.”

She hated Halamshiral. Everywhere she looked, her people were pushed to the background, trodden over, much like how the Winter Palace was built on the ruins of her ancestors.

They spoke about her even before she stepped foot into the palace grounds, not even bothering to lower their voices to a whisper.

“What is a rabbit doing dressed like that?”

“I hear she is the Inquisitor.”

“What? Such nonsense. How can one of those filthy things hold a title so honorable?”

“Just another knife ear. Reckon by the end of the night she’ll be scrubbing the stones of that path she’s walking on.”

They laughed, they jeered, they gazed at her with disgust - the women - and lust - the men. Through it all, she held her head high, never once losing her calm composure in front of them.

By the end of the evening, they hung on her every word as she stood next to the Empress and Briala, victorious, the fate of Orlais having been decided by her - a “knife-ear.” But she cared little. She did not need them; she had the Inquisition.

“If they did once, they no longer do so,” she scoffed. “You made sure of that.”

He had the grace to look guilty. “It was not meant to happen, I assure you.”

“Is that so? Forgive me for having a hard time believing it. You are known for the lies you tell, after all.”

“I do not lie about this, vhenan.”

“Do not call me that! Not after everything!” Her eyes flashed in anger, and she would have charged at him had it not been for her injured foot.

“You must know I would not have done anything that would have caused you direct harm,” he pleaded.

“If that was the case,” her voice lowered, “why did you not try and help me even once?”

She watched as they tore her - and the Inquisition - apart. It mattered little to them that she had given her sweat, her blood - no, her very life - to saving them. No, she was still nothing but a knife-ear to them, and like hungry, slobbering mabaris they eyed her Inquisition greedily, their hands reaching out to try and take the power she’d amassed for themselves.

And even then, even in the midst of that treachery and betrayal, she still worked to save them, ripping, slashing, her way through the Qunari hordes, giving up her arm - and her lover - in the process, and not once did they acknowledge what she had done for them.

She disbanded the Inquisition. She did not need it; she had her family, her  friends.

“I did not know where you were, Fenasha. I had my agents search for you, but you had vanished. Each time we found a trail, it lead us nowhere. How was I to help you, if I could not find you?”

“You could have helped,” she hissed, “by calling off your men. Do you know how many times someone has attempted to assassinate me? Do you know how many people have died in my stead?”

His look of horror almost convinced her that he was innocent. Almost.

“Ma’asha, vhenan, I did not know of this, I swear. Who came after you?” he demanded. “Tell me!”

“How would I know? They were your men!” she retorted.

She remembered his words the day everything unraveled around her. An enemy can hurt you, but only an ally can betray you. She had had to go into hiding after Briala betrayed her.

They called her the Dread Wolf’s harlot. The bards sang of how she had conspired with her lover to end the world, and would have done so had Corypheus not interfered. She could not step foot in any village for fear of being attacked by an angry mob. The shems hunted down her clan, attempting to slaughter them all for a falsehood that wasn’t even their fault; and she had been powerless to stop it.

She was left as Keeper and First and everything else of Clan Lavellan. She was all that remained. But she kept moving, even as a part of her soul shriveled and died, because she still had her friends.

“All of them?” he questioned, brow raised in skepticism. “A few rogue agents, I can believe, but if you have been attacked as many times as you say you have, I find it hard to assume that they were all my men.”

She looked away. “Not all of them,” she muttered the confession. “But make no mistake, Solas - they were all a result of your plan!”

“And what do you know of this plan of mine?”

“Enough to know that everything I have been through has been orchestrated by you! I may be a fool, but even I am not so blind as to miss the manipulations of a master puppeteer!”

His forehead scrunched up in confusion. “What manipulations?”

She scoffed. “Oh, please. Are you going to tell me that Briala was not working on your orders when she announced that I was your agent?” Her grip on her staff tightened till her knuckles turned white. “That one lie destroyed me. I lost everything; my clan, my friends, my home… everything.”

They had suffered a huge blow to their plans; with her name sullied, obtaining allies was next to impossible. Her friends tried to defend her the best they could, but even with Leliana’s secrets and Josephine’s tact, few refused to believe that the knife-ear who had falsely worn the mantle of Inquisitor was innocent. It was easier to believe that she was one of them, one of the rebel; the elven rebellion that hid in the darkness of the shadows and struck swift and deadly. She looked like them, and so they said she was one of them, even as she tried to prevent their cities from turning into rubble.

In the end, her association with those she considered her friends proved too dangerous for them, and she pushed them away in order to protect them.

And was left with nothing.

Five steps, and she was pulled into his arms, her staff falling to the floor unheeded as he crushed her to him. “Ir abelas, vhenan, ir abelas,” he breathed into the top of her head. “I am sorry for all you have been through, truly I am.”

She laughed, the sound bitter and mocking even to her own ears. “And what am I supposed to do with your apologies, Fen’harel?”

“I know you hurt,” he soothed, and suddenly, she felt calm and serene, almost as though she were in a daze. “But vhenan, would Briala’s statement have made that much of an effect if you were not an elf?” He gazed down at her, his eyes ringed with silver and gleaming in the low light of the decrepit building. “If you were human, they would not have turned on you, Fenasha. They would have branded her a liar. How much of what happened can you truly blame on me?”

She frowned; why wasn’t her mind working properly? “My clan,” she said at last. “You could have helped them… stopped the attack, or at least warned them…”

“Would you believe me if I told you I did warn them? I sent several agents to Wycome to tell them to leave immediately, that they were in danger. I offered to help them escape, to find them shelter until the shems rage ended. But they refused, secure in the belief that the humans they had befriended would not turn on them. And yet…”

“… the shems turned on them,” she finished dully.

 “I am so sorry,” he said again.

All the fight went out of her, and she slumped against him. “What do I do now?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Where do I go?”

“Stay with me,” he said, his hands wrapping around her wrists, his thumb stroking the soft inner part.

“I- can’t… I… shouldn’t,” she said, but she sounded uncertain.

“You can,” he persuaded. “What have the humans done for you? They do not appreciate you. You defeated Corypheus, and yet they told you that the Inquisition was a threat. They were so quick to turn on you at a single falsehood. They turned against your clan - and they claimed to be friends with your family, did they not? And what of your friends? Why are they not by your side? After everything you have done for her, surely Cassandra could have used her position as Divine to offer you sanctuary? But she did not, did she?”

“She offered,” Fenasha stated distractedly. “But I was worried the rest of the Chantry would turn on her…”

“For offering aid? Would they have felt the same if you were of their kind?”

“I… no…?”

“So why do you insist on standing for them?”

“If I don’t, then who will?”

He brushed his lips against hers. “Have you not given enough of your blood for them, vhenan? Do you not deserve some peace?”

“But- I-” Why couldn’t she remember why she had come here?

“Come with me, ma lath,” he whispered into her mouth. “You do not have to be alone.”

He was right. Why should she have to be alone? Why did she have to pay the price for the shems, after all that they had done to her? After everything that they had taken away from her? They did not deserve her.

Her people needed her.

They would not let her down.

She would not have to be alone.

All right, this was a TOUGH question, which is why I saved it for today instead of trying to answer it late in the night. These are not in any particular order, just three longfics and three one-shots which I especially love. These are by no means all of my favorites, of course, but I felt guilty about selecting pieces that are based on my own fanworks (e.g. To Rest in the Warmest Places).

Three One-Shots

1) Lemon Tea by Shimegami-chan. This is a Fullmetal Alchemist fic, which I think may have been based on the 2003 anime because it doesn’t quite match up to the canon of the manga. It’s extremely enjoyable; it’s about Roy, Riza, and Hughes as military cadets and how Roy manages to become the first person to get past Riza’s guarded exterior to befriend her. I’m not sure exactly why it resonated with me so much, but I have read it many times and am quite fond of it.

2) Shot Down by Janieshi. Roy/Riza, from Fullmetal Alchemist. This is a funny and also touching little piece about the Mustang unit at the Eastern Command outpost, where a new transfer takes a shine to the beautiful Hawkeye... only to find out that she’s untouchable for a very good reason.

3) The Tower of Hanoi by Meredith T. Tasaki. This is a Professor Layton story and I actually had to read it twice to fully appreciate its brilliance, because on the first read you don’t really know what’s going on. Layton and the kids are in terrible danger, but they don’t know why, or who’s trying to warn them away. The answer is a shock.

Three Longfics

1) JUST THE BEST MARY SUE EVER! by Bamfwriter. This bit of hilarity is from the heyday of the LXG fic era, when someone had published a litmus test for judging the Mary Sue levels of OCs. The author, with whom I am still Facebook friends, decided to write a story in which she could answer “yes” to every question on the test, with hysterical results. The funniest part was that somehow, some readers managed to miss the fact that it was a parody, and complained about the main character being... a Mary Sue.

2) Say It Thrice by Bookworm Gal. I admit to being somewhat biased here, because the author is a friend of mine (or rather, became one through our mutual admiration of each other’s work) and this has a one-shot prequel dedicated to me. Anyway, this is what happened when the author decided to do a crossover of Beetlejuice and Danny Phantom, with very impressive results. It’s highly respectful of both canons and a very enjoyable read.