half of the cishets i know think lgbt people have no personality or skills or experiences or anything at all besides being lgbt

the other half think lgbt people should never ever talk about being lgbt or express it at all

virtually zero cishets i know see lgbt people as actual people

ofclanlavellan  asked:

For DWC! Dom!Solas "roleplaying" as Fen'harel with Lavellan in front of a Dread Wolf statue. Give me hair pulling, choking, spanking, diiiiirrrrrtttyyyy talk, ALL OF IT. Fuckin go wild with it. I need it

Glimpses: Or the Wolf’s Gonna Blow it Down


Rating: Explicit

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Solavellan

Warnings: Rough sex, Dom!Solas, choking, spanking, etc. 

Reader discretion advised.

Ellian knew exactly how to test him. She was cunning and quick-witted and always teasing. She’d invite him out on excursions in the field only to spend the entire time flirting and tempting him before pulling back. He wasn’t sure whether she was purposefully taunting him or not, but he was at his limit. What that meant, he wasn’t sure. They’d been physical before, in ways that pushed both of their limits, but somehow he still never had enough.

That morning he’d woken up to her straddling him, one brow raised, and though they’d rolled in the blankets for over an hour the actual sex had to be quick and easy to hide. They weren’t alone, after all.

But they were now. She’d brought him deeper into the forest on a mission to gather rare herbs, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off that perfect round of her ass shifting with every step. When she addressed him, turning slightly over her shoulder, he raised an eyebrow and forced his gaze away from her rear. She’d said something, probably. “Hm?”

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bearlytolerable  asked:

For DWC: Dad Cullen and daughter's first ball...her date is Orlesian

for @dadrunkwriting

Lily (15), Adelaide (3), Cullen/Grace,

Lily squirmed in the dress she had been “encouraged” into. The rich maroon satin creased under her palms as the thick golden earrings clinked against golden caps that crimped the ends of each thick braid that ran over her head. She had been dressed to match them all. Cullen was trapped between her and his wife, Grace’s hand firmly holding him in place, his youngest, Adelaide, wide-eyed and blinking at all the colors that swarmed the ballroom. Only one word summed up his collective ire:


Josephine had let them know in her way that it would be very detrimental to not attend this ball. Grace had nearly had a panic attack when she had learned, causing all manners of worry for the baby she currently was carrying. Halamshiral was not a place of pleasant memories for any of them. Especially Grace.

One of the attendants ushered them forwards, his hawk like mask garish in the light. The doors peeled open and a loud imperialistic voice announced them.

“Bann Rutherford, and his wife, the Lady Grace Rutherford, Hero of Thedas. Accompanied by their two children, Lily and Adelaide Rutherford.”

They walked forwards, Grace’s face flinching imperceptibly as they entered the ballroom. Cullen squeezed her hand tightly, leading her through the tiled hall and up the stairs, where he bowed low to the Empress. Grace curtsied carefully, and Lily followed in kind, her head bending low. Celene smiled gently, nodding at Grace and Cullen, and then addressing Lily directly.

“It has been a long time since we have seen you, mon petite,” she said quietly. Lily’s back stiffened. The Game had begun.

“Halamshiral is as though I never left, your Majesty. Truly it is as eternal as the stars in the sky, and just as beautiful.”

Another small, scheming smile.

“Your mother has taught you well. If I may be so bold, I would like to introduce you to my nephew, Alphonse,” Celene said, gesturing languidly to the side. A young man took three large steps to her side, bowing low towards Lily. Celene beckoned her closer.

“Papa?” Lily whispered, frozen in place. Cullen frowned. Grace smiled pleasantly and started to guide Lily up the stairs towards the Empress and her nephew. Cullen frowned more.

There were pleasantries exchanged, and Lily’s tinkling but forced laugh rang over the ballroom. As the pair walked off, she looked backwards, her face a mask of disbelief and a silent plea: get me out of here.

Song after song played and he was unable to get to her. Lords and Ladies demanded his attention, and just as Lily seemed like she was about to slip away, her paramour would swing her into the dance once again, his faltering steps a far cry from her fast-paced, sweeping ones. She was far more at home at court than he was, and she was hating every moment of it.

Grace had settled into a seat, and patted his arm gently, a silent act of permission to leave her side. A duchess settled next to her and started drilling her with questions, which she smiled and answered effortlessly, a sly wink in his direction letting him know her  approval.

They had timed it well, the dignified rescue of their daughter. As the music wound down into a slow waltz, Cullen tapped the youth on the shoulder. Lily smiled widely at him.

“May I cut in?”

Alphonse stiffened. “And who might you be, Serah?”

Cullen chuckled low, shaking his head. “I would be her father. Now, may I cut in, Serah?”

Alphonse paled, his hand shaking as he stepped away with a quick bow. Cullen moved into the space, spinning his daughter over the floor effortlessly, the Lady Dowager Trevelyan’s lessons not going to waste as they moved through the gentle, consistent steps of the waltz.

“Thank the Maker. I thought I would have to lead him into a corner and kill him,” Lily whispered, making a face in Alphonse’s direction. Cullen laughed.

“Please don’t murder the nephew of the Empress, Lily. We want to stay on good terms with the court,” he said, fighting the laughter that threatened to bubble up.  She shrugged and spun around silently, catching the swinging skirt with her hand and tugging it out of his way at the last second.

“He would be asking for it.”

“Still,” Cullen whispered, lifting her into the air and turning around once, setting her down delicately, “best not open that can of worms.”

Lily bowed low and smiled as the song ended. “Uncle Dorian would call the night a bore.”

Cullen laughed out loud this time, leading Lily off the ballroom floor towards her mother and little sister. “Boring would be perfectly fine this time.”


“Ahhhh, I didn’t get the job in the end, but at least I got a free vacation!” by J
Via Flickr:

boss-saarebas  asked:

hurt me with cullavellan pls. or hurt/comfort.

Recommended Listening: Boat to Africa - Abel Korzeniowski

“In death, sacrifice.” Clarel’s lightning is not enough to kill the beast. It is enough to make it howl, to force it to run, confused and in pain. It skitters along the broken bridge, falls with wings outstretched. The weight of the beast is the last such old stones can take. They begin to crumble from underneath Lavellan’s feet. She struggles to hold onto the ledge, fingertips scrapping at stone. The last thing she sees before she falls is Cullen’s horror, the fear in his eyes, his hand outstretched as he races towards her. He doesn’t make it in time.

Her insides turn as she falls, hand outstretched as though the unspoken plea might save her. The mark sparks, sputters, feels the rift before she does. She pulls at it, tears at the veil, falls into the sky. Her fingers touch ground and the illusion shatters. She lands against dirt and dust, pushes herself up on all fours. The air is thicker, fouler feeling, vulgar tasting. It squeezes in from all sides, a crushing weight. She takes a shuddering breath as she rises to her feet. This is… the Fade.

She’s saved not only herself. Amongst the rock and ruin of the bridge, the others emerge. Solas, face filled with wonder. Bull, full of a fear she’s never seen before. Varric, shaking his head as though he’s done this all before. Hawke, taking her place beside the dwarf, her hand on his shoulder. Stroud, staring at the breach in an unfamiliar sky. Lavellan counts them all, looks for every scrape and cut and finds none. There is someone else she does not expect, someone she hoped made it off the bridge.

Lavellan pushes through the others to get to him. He’s on his knees, staring at green, his hand gripped around the hilt of his sword. “Cullen,” she says, her hands on his face, “you’re alright.” His eyes quickly turn to her, wide and half mad, his free hand gripping her arm.

“I saw you fall. I – I didn’t make it in time,” he tells her. “Is this - ? The Fade.”

“Yes,” she says as she helps him to his feet. He’s still holding her arm. She places her hand over his. She can feel the way he shakes, the subtle tremor in his grip. In the distance, she can hear the all-too familiar cry of a fear demon. The rage. The greed. The desire. Cullen is pale but does not waver, guards her back as they look for a way out.

“Perhaps I should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition,” the voice of the demon booms around them, echoes in their skulls. It laughs with mockery, with malice.  It speaks to all of them in turn. “Warden Stroud. How must it feel to devote your whole life to the Wardens, only to watch them fall? Or, worse, to know that you were responsible for their destruction. When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name?”

“Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a God? Fenris is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about.”

“Knight-Captain Cullen. You failed your charges just as you failed your Order. Under your watch, Kinloch Hold was lost to blood mages. Under your watch, Kirkwall burned. Have you told her yet? How you still hear the song? How you hear her magic – how much it frightens you? Did you tell her how you considered retaking the lyrium when you found out the precious Herald was a mage? Smite her down, just like all the other mages you murdered.”

Lavellan’s steps falter. She turns, looks over her shoulder. Her staff seems heavier, the air colder. Cullen’s sword has fallen to the ground, his hands pressed over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut. “No, I – I would never. She is – no, no, no. Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of –”

“Cullen.” She is gentle as she pulls down his hands. “We have to keep moving.”

“I would never hurt you,” he tells her. She smiles, although the smile does not quite reach her eyes. Her thumb brushes against his cheekbones, the barest and lightest of touches. Her staff in her other hand, she turns, continues to lead on. Her back straight, her shoulders stiff, trying not to betray the unsteady beat of her heart.


mapplestrudel  asked:

Is it still Friday at your place?? (Because here it's not and I should be sleeping...¯\_(ツ)_/¯) But if so, how about "giggling like a child, without a trace of past sadness" with Anne and Cullen for DWC? :)

I’m sorry it took me so long to get to these! 

@mapplestrudel - It was Friday when you sent it in, but I didn’t come up with an idea until just now! 

Combining this with @andrasteshaircurlers ‘s prompt for ‘something with a mabari’ ;)

Pairing: Cullen x OC (servant girl, Anne from my Skyhold Abbey fic)

POV: Cullen - Words: 701 - Tone: Fluff

For @dadrunkwriting

Anne burst’s through the Cullen’s door in a frenzy. “Commander!” she yells repeatedly through heavy panting breaths. She must have raced all the way from the kitchen in a panic due to her stressed state. Cullen immediately springs from his desk chair, alarmed.

“What? What is it, Anne?” His eyes search her body, something in him expecting to see blood. Anne slams the tray with his luncheon on it down on his desk with a smash. Rolls, cheese, and sausages no longer on their plate, but strewn about the entire tray instead. That doesn’t bother him though, what bothers him is the alarm of Anne’s hurried entrance.

“A ma…A ma-ba…” she struggles to stammer, but a smile starts to beam on her face. Her heavy breathing erupts into laughter, as if she is amused that she can’t speak.

“Anne, what is going on, are you alright?” Cullen isn’t sure if he should be worried, annoyed, or entertained.

“A MABARI!” Anne finally blurts out, clutching her stomach and falling back to lean lackadaisy against his bookshelf. Her smile is so pure, and while he is confused about the urgency - if there is any urgency at all, for that matter - Cullen can’t help but to smile. She looks radiant when she is flushed, laughing, and limp like this.

“A…mabari? What about a mabari?”

“There’s one in the stables! Patrol found it wandering alone, but it was friendly. They don’t think it belonged to bandits, so they brought it back.” Her breath is steadying now, and Cullen catches himself staring at her parted lips.

“Why wasn’t I infor–”

“Commander! You’re a Fereldan…it’s a mabari.” Anne pushes herself off the books and reaches to grab his hand. Cullen stares at her pale fingers clutching his glove, wishing the leather didn’t keep him from feeling her skin.

Anne tugs and he follows, a grin creeping up the right side of his face. He follows her down to the stables where there is a small gathering of other Fereldan Skyhold workers. When they catch sight of him, they immediately all stiffen and back away from the warhound, their smiles falling. All of them, save Anne.

Anne releases his hand and rushes to the mabari. Cullen takes a moment to appreciate how recently, she’s been far more relaxed around him. Impropriety. Insubordination, at times. But he likes it…because it’s her.

He finds himself staring at her more than the dog as she plops down to her knees, giggling from slobbery kisses promptly attacking her chin.

“He’s just a puppy!” Anne squeals and rubs the dog’s belly. She scratches it’s head and looks up to Cullen, her crystal blue eyes shining in the the afternoon sunlight streaming into the stables. “Perhaps you can train him, have him join the Inquisition.”

Cullen smiles and bends down to one knee, pretending to survey the mabari, but focusing more on the way Anne glows as she looks at the scruffy beast. Whether or not there are still people crowding the space, or if they have all left, Cullen doesn’t know or care. He just watches as the sweet woman plays with the dog and giggles with more happiness than he has seen in years. More happiness than he has seen in decades.

The dog jumps then, catching him off-guard…embarrassing…knocking him down onto his hip. He can’t help but chuckle though, as the dog attempts to lick him, and Anne watches, shining brighter than the sun. “Look! He likes you!”

“I suppose we could add a mabari to our ranks,” he says, rubbing it’s belly as the animal writhes on it’s back happily. “You’ll make a fine soldier some day, won’t you boy?” Cullen asks, and the dog hops to all fours without delay. It is almost like it’s standing at attention, and it barks one quick responsive bark while standing perfectly still.

Anne gasps, her delicate fingers snapping to cover her mouth and lingering there, as she tends to do. “It’s meant to be,” she whispers through her smile and fingertips.

Cullen pats the pup on the back fondly, but looks past it to Anne. “Yes,” he says, his heart feeling full. “I think you’re right.”