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@turpisdeus
i have moved! you can find me over at @legionesumus!

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the most eligible bachelor in thedas: fergus cousland - 3/?
fergus cousland: lets do something for the divine, seems the right thing to do
inquisitor sends a bunch of diplomats and templars:
fergus cousland: i made a grave error, i should've just said 'my condolences' and called it good
he has grown quite tired of the chasm that divides him from others, such an on the nose expression and made quite literal at one point. but as he sits, observing her dance from the front steps of the lighthouse, he feels it again. only this one is his to bridge, no one else's. an idea that once would not have filled him with such uncertainty but now threatens to consume him in doubt.
for what if it's a bridge they cannot mend?
she is an ethereal being within the fade's endless possibilities. in a way, he feels as though she was always meant to be here. perhaps not 'here' in the literal sense but—amongst the magic that made her. and as the light gleams, every color imaginable kaleidoscopes off the spun gold silk strands of her hair, he cannot help but feel his feet carry him closer.
so far until he stands at her side just as her leg goes to drop from it's exquisite formation and ankle lands into the cup of his open palm. long digits slowly close as he gently eases her down, but uses it as a means to draw them closer together. she could shove him off if she wished, he'd deserve it. but intimacy has been so sparing he finds himself a man adrift, sand on his tongue and she the only oasis he can see. one he longs to bathe in before she evaporates before him.
❝ forgive me, i— ❞ he pauses, violet eyes gliding over her soft features, fixing within the gilded emerald of hers as he starts to loosen his grip. ❝ lost the run of myself. ❞

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the most eligible bachelor in thedas: fergus cousland - 2/?
random fergus cousland thoughts - 02/??: he's quite thoughtful. the first to offer to have a drink with you when shit is tough. ale, wine, good whiskey, whatever you fancy. but when it comes to wine, he's quite a stickler. he was married to an antivan woman, you think he's going to drink your bathwater hooch? no. perhaps its his privilege talking, but he's the first to tell you if the alcohol sucks. but he's also the first to listen to your woes. a tankard of ale and a listening ear, that's fergus in a nutshell. he's not much of a talker, but he listens. and remembers. he may not wax poetic and go on long winded diatribes, but he remembers you mentioning liking the hearty meatpies from denerim one time, and he'll find a way to get them or get someone to make them for you. quiet but very considerate.
@scvcnofswords - i will always find you
there is little time and even less margin for error as the commander leads a small pocket of soldier's into the keep. he can hear the sound of the archdemon's guttural roars, shaking the rock down to it's foundations. it makes his blood run cold, but he moves swiftly and with purpose.
he watches as some wardens are wrestled to the floor, the inquisition's men shouting orders to remain still as the commander continues through, paying no attention to the wardens that are being pulled into custody.
he wonders to himself if in her zealous mind, does clarel know she's lost?
❛ commander! we have a warden in a cell down here! ❜
the voice rings as it pulls fergus cousland from his thoughts, boots moving with steady footfalls as he makes his way into the cell block. he hasn't seen the warden yet but there's but a brief moment where he feels like his body is flushing, overheated beneath the armor as he slows for a moment, brows stitching together with each footstep.
something is pulling him, string taut and guiding him further until he sees the soldier in his command raise his arm for his attention. it doesn't make his steps any faster, deep brown eyes gliding into each empty cell he passes until he reaches the single, occupied one. and what rests within has all composure draining from his face as familiarity and dread crash down on the warrior's back.
❝ brierley? ❞ his deep voice gravels, hand falling away from the hilt of his blade and instead latches both hands to the bars of her cell. the name that leaves his lips has the soldier looking to him in confusion, stepping back out of respect but watching as his commander slowly sinks into a crouch, his gaze fixed on the broken, wounded woman curled up. ❝ maker's breath, can you hear me? brier? ❞
“what do you think for the scope, @turpisdeus?” shepard swipes through the offerings on the shop's handheld display, back and forth and back and forth as if the decision is somewhere to be found in the blooming of pixels. “the armax one's a little more expensive but it links up to my visor.”
he mingles quietly beside her, finding himself oddly disarmed by their outing than anything else. he cannot recall the last time an employer took him on a social call, much less one that involved the decision of her own gear. still, the drell can't help the smirk that tugs at the corner of full, smooth lips. a webbed hand reaches to halt her swiping so that it returns to the armax listing on the screen, double eyelids blinking before dark eyes level with hers. " credits are hardly worth anything if we're not around to use them. get the armax, you keep going back to it, shepard. "

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mythal sometimes makes me think of the princess from slay the princess. no i won’t be elaborating.
just so quick modesty check for my main blorbos:
solas - would be naked all the time if he could, clothes are confining and only cares for them if they’re protecting his body. dude wears very little in the fade after tethering to the veil. if you’re staring, that’s your problem not his.
alistair - subjective. as time passed, if he’s amongst other wardens, he’s not really worried about it. we’re all here doing the same shit, different day. however, around other people like during origins era—he was shy about it. please not perceive him unless he confessed his undying love. but by the time it’s dai-datv time—i mean i guess if you care to look that much.
fergus - does not care. he is comfortable in his skin, been around military men most of his young to adult life, being shy about your nethers is childish. if you’re gawking he’ll say something to you about it, but otherwise this man has zero reservations about being nude.
random fergus cousland thoughts - 01/??: oriana taught fergus a bit of antivan during their marriage. after her death, he made a point to learn more of it as a means to try to stay close to her.
the most eligible bachelor in thedas: fergus cousland
@prophetries liked for a starter
the arguing is starting to do a number on him. much like this ungodly chair that is doing nothing for his backside. all of his irritations are coming to the forefront and if he has to listen to teagan's grating voice for much longer, the king finds himself beginning to find public beheadings a suitable punishment. but this line of thought does nothing to solve the problem:
the inquisition and it's forces.
he'd supported it's formation when the conflict with the breach in the sky began; inquisitor trevelyan had proved to be the only person capable of stopping it and all that spiraled thereafter. but now, with their conflict finished, they face a new problem. and it all has started to sound like rebellion.
❝ enough—you've spoken for several minutes without cease, your position is quite clear. ❞ fergus groans painfully, a hand lifting to pinch at the bridge of his nose while the other raises almost directly in the arl's face. much to teagan's chagrin but deep russet hues then glide over to the inquisitor, fine lines around his eyes deepening as he looks only at her.
❝ i think i should like to hear what lady trevelyan has to say. ❞

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@avemaria liked for a starter
❝ the men appreciate what you did for those that fell at haven. ❞ he finally speaks as he stands before temperance, his shoulders squared respectfully as his hands remained clasped behind his back. yet there's a sense of appreciation that lords over his expression. honeyed eyes observe her carefully before he forces himself to look away from her, hands tightening around each other as he offers a gentle shake of his head.
❝ i am hardly the most devout of the flock, mother giselle is kind enough to remind me but— ❞ he pauses then, gaze sliding back to land within hers, jaw tightening and relaxing as he's appreciation is so very clear. ❝ it means something to them and to me—so again, i thank you. ❞
@avemaria liked for a starter
he notes she looks lost in thought, the firelight blazes on from the hearth, but dinner had long ended. oren sits upon his knee as he tiredly tells him a story about his lessons with the tutor that morning, which grants the occasional response to let the boy know he was listening despite knowing this was just the precursor to the small child's inevitable collapse into sleep.
in no time, oren's soft breathing tells the man that the boy had finally drifted off. he scoots his chair closer to janelle's after a beat, barely moving the sleeping child when he spots oriana coming up to them. a warmth spreads across his face as he watches his wife pluck the unconscious boy from his grip before she punctuates her quick ❛ don't be long. ❜ with kiss to his head then leaves the cousland siblings to their own devices.
❝ you seem distracted tonight, nell, you alright? ❞ the eldest asks as he takes this opportunity to pick at the left overs from their meal, ripping a piece of bread in half as he waits.