i have a feeling the more he warms up to dorian

wanna be your lover


sebastian and you are co-stars on a press tour. you’re the best of friends, but when sebastian finds something suspicious in your luggage, that may change everything. (based on this request.)

word count: ~6K

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: smut 18+ ONLY (light dom/sub, anal play, dirty talk, dom-ish!seb, etc. it’s filthy.) 

a/n: pls blame google translate on my incorrect romanian. english translations are at the bottom. i don’t know why all of my seb AU’s are dom!seb. i will fix that eventually. anyway, here’s some sex. 

Originally posted by walkingshell16

masterlist | request

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We Are Young: Chapter 4

Throne of Glass High School AU

Summary: Senior Rowan Whitethorn is new to town. It doesn’t take him long to get use to a new school, make new friends, even join the local hockey team. But it also doesn’t take him long to meet sophomore and figure skater Aelin Galathynius. And it doesn’t take him long to realize one thing; he can’t stand her.

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Hometown pride was just as big as school pride when it came to hockey games in Rifthold.

The stadium was packed with the people. The bleachers on both sides of the ice were full, and Aelin was sure the whole town showed up to watch the first game on the season.

And what a game it was.

Second period was coming to an end, and both the Rifthold Royals and Skull Bay Pirates had yet to score a goal. Dorian was definitely living up to his nickname this game. But the Pirates’ goalie seemed to be just as good.

The tension in the arena was thick. Everyone was waiting for someone to score that first goal. And it only grew thicker every time the puck got close to a net.

But though the scoring was lacking, the fights and penalties definitely weren’t.

If Aelin didn’t know any better, she’d think the only reason Fenrys, Aedion, and Lorcan were on the team in the first place was to pick fights. They spent more time throwing punches and sitting in the penalty box than they did actually playing the game.

“If he wanted to throw punches all day long,” Lysandra watched with narrowed eyes as the referee broke up another fight between Aedion and one of the Pirates players. “He should have just joined wrestling.”

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anonymous asked:

Hhhmmm...I'm just imagining the DAI companions reacting to a Teenage Inquisitor being kidnapped and how they were rescued (lol, just read the one where the DAI companions reactions to a normal age Inquisitor being captured, so I'm curious). Keep up the good work! Both you and Mod Sarah are awesome!

Cassandra: Maker help anyone who gets in her way. Provided she knows where they are, she’ll kill anyone she finds where they’re being held. No one can stop her. When she finds the shaken but very much alive Inquisitor, she pulls them up and looks them over for injuries, then just stands, hands on their shoulders, and staring at them. Finally, she lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank the Maker you’re alright…”

Blackwall: He blames himself; he thinks maybe if he had been more vigilant, this wouldn’t have happened. He throws himself into battle to save them with no reservation, and comes out of the fray more battered than the Inquisitor is. Even so, he rushes up to them and frees them. “Are you alright?” he asks repeatedly. “Maker’s tits, you gave us all a heart attack! You’re absolutely sure you’re okay?”

Iron Bull: Death and destruction befalls whoever took the Herald. A trail of corpses is left in his wake as he hurries to rescue the Inquisitor. Once he finds them, they peer up at him, covered in blood, but all he does is grin broadly, pick them up, and pull them into a rib-crushing hug. They groan and might complain about the blood, but he just grins toothily. “Glad to see you’re alright, Imekari.”

Sera: She throws an absolute shit-fit when she finds out, and when she finds out where they are, she grabs anyone she can and heads out immediately. Arrows upon arrows fly through the kidnappers. As soon as she sees the Inquisitor, battered but alive and intact, she practically pounces on them with a hug. “Don’t scare me like that again. Please.” she demands.

Varric: He’s encountered kidnapping and hostage situations before, and they’re among his least favorite problems to handle, especially when the Inquisitor is the one taken. It’s a situation he knows well enough that the best thing to do is remain calm and plan carefully how to approach the situation, and with the others, fights his way through to them and rescues them. He checks them over before finally patting them on the back and offering a reassuring smile. “We’re here; you’re safe now. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Cole: He knows where they are, and he knows who did it. He moves quickly and silently, appearing out of nowhere and stabbing whoever is in the way, and he follows the Inquisitor’s fears right to them. He feels their relief at the sight of him, and he smiles, daggers dripping blood, a man gargling on his own blood on the ground behind him. “You’re safe now. I’m happy to see you, too.” he greets cheerfully.

Dorian: The man insists on going with whichever companions head out to rescue them, and fights dirty and with little restraint. The whole time, his mind and heart are overtaken with worry and fear, and he takes it out in the form of risen kidnappers turning upon their own fellows. When he finds the Herald, he runs to them, helping them up, looking them over to ensure they’re not seriously hurt, before letting out a heavy sigh of relief and smiling at them, fighting back tears. “Come along, now,” he urges gently, “let’s get you out of this dreadful place.”

Solas: His heart clenches in fear, and as soon as he knows where they are, he takes off without waiting for the others. The Inquisitor, the da’len, is his responsibility, bearing his mark, and he would not tolerate anyone threatening them or endangering them. The Herald is somewhat startled by the calmness with which he kills all of the kidnappers, as if it is but a chore. His heart lifts at the sight of them. “Da’len,” he greets quietly, “are you harmed?”

Vivienne: Like Leliana, she handles it calmly, hiding whatever worry bubbles inside away. Cole may try to bring it up, but she shuts him down quickly and keeps working. A trail of frozen corpses is left in her wake as she approaches the Inquisitor. “My dear, were you hurt?” she asks as she begins examining them, healing any wounds she finds. They say no, and she lets out a quiet breath as she escorts them out, promising them a warm meal and a hot bath to soothe their nerves.

Leliana: The Inquisitor is back within a few hours, escorted by Leliana’s agents, and they’re battered and wide-eyed and shaken, but alive. She smiles calmly as they come back into Skyhold, and comes to visit them. “Welcome back,” she greets, “I trust my agents got you out in a timely fashion?”

Josephine: She panics the most. In spite of Leliana’s reassurances that her agents are on the case and that they’ll be back within a few hours, she finds it difficult to work. All of her terrified thoughts go to the Inquisitor. As soon as the Herald arrives back in Skyhold, she bolts out of her office to meet them, pulling them into a hug if they allow it. “I was worried sick!” she cries. “Are you alright? Do you need anything? Food? A warm bath? Did they hurt you? Let me help you however I can!”

Cullen: His reaction is to send about a hundred soldiers to rescue them. Leliana has to talk him down, saying that a subtle– and stealthy– hand was needed for this, lest the kidnappers see his forces coming and take off with the Herald in tow. He grouchily and reluctantly relents, though he has some soldiers hang back as backup. He can be see pacing the battlements, waiting for their return. He runs to meet them as soon as they appear in sight.

Fast Firsts and Sloppy Seconds  (a Manorian/Rowaelin AU)

NOTE: This is a piece very near and dear to my heart!! Welcome to my very first TOG fic, and second fic overall! This is kind of a celebration of hitting 100 followers, and kind of a celebration of ACOWAR, but first and foremost, this is a gift for my girl @highlady-casandra. You’re pretty cool, I guess and I love you so so much but you already knew that <3 but also I really hope you’re sleeping right now or we’ll have to fight  Second, it goes to to my fellow Revolutionaries,  @miladyaelin  @snaps7@jxmessjrjuspottcr @throneofstars @fictionalcharactersaremyreality, y’all are the true heroes ;) Third, for @propshophannah, my favorite SJM blog and one of my favorite writers for this fandom, who is a hero in her own right for a million reasons. Thanks for existing. Last but not least, this one’s this is for all of you guys reading it!! I hope you enjoy, and I hope I didn’t butcher them too bad! ( @meabhd You’re a queen and amazing artist and I hope I didn’t butcher your accent/country too much :/ ) Without further ado, here we go!

Dorian and Aelin burst into the small lively Irish pub. Well, “burst” was kind of a strong word, considering how bogged down they were by their huge backpacks. The two friends had decided to travel across Europe after their college graduation. It was supposed to be a group of them, but they’d lost Lys and Aedion back in Italy. Chaol was supposed to meet them in Dublin – but that was if they ever made it there. The huge storm had come out of nowhere, and their flight had been redirected. Aelin had insisted they try to catch a ferry to continue on to Dublin – but when the huge waves had almost flipped over the boat, she conceded, and they were dropped off on the beach in some other part of Ireland. Trudging up the long hill, they finally came to the bustling pub – the only awake part of the small sea town. Gasping for breath and dripping wet, they glanced around for an empty table in the crowded bar, and spotted a couple getting up in the corner. They quickly grabbed the table before anyone else had a chance, pulling the massive weights off of their backs and flopping into the hard wooden chairs.

They could feel the heat of the packed pub seeping into their bodies. Groups of people danced around, producing more and more warmth as they jumped and whirled to the tune of the lively reel. The band in the corner looked like they’d been playing for a while, empty beer bottles scattered around their feet as they played.

They took a few minutes to settle down – wringing the water out of their soaked shirts. Aelin was running a hand through her long blonde hair, trying to untangle the wet tresses, when Dorian shook his head at her like a dog, spraying water everywhere. It was at this moment that the waitress walked over, a hand on her hip and a smirk on her face as she watched Aelin smack him repeatedly.

She stopped quickly when she noticed the gorgeous girl. A tray was balanced against her hip, and she had a long, messy white braid over one shoulder, along with a wicked grin on her bright red lips. “Name’s Manon,” she drawled, her Irish accent washing over them. “What can I get you lot?”

Dorian cleared his throat, quickly running a hand through his hair in an effort to look presentable. He began to stumble over his words as his eyes ran over her lithe, muscular body. “I – uh – we – do you have any, um, menus?”

She snorted, raising an eyebrow at the boy. No – man. He was in his early twenties at least. Her eyes quickly flashed to his flexing muscles as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. He was broad, tall, and all around gorgeous. His bright blue eyes avoided hers as she watched him squirm under her golden gaze. “Aye, o’ course lad, would you like some gold rimmed plates, too? What d’you think this is? A palace, princeling?” She rolled her eyes, scowling at the gorgeous man. Why was it always the pretty ones that were like this?

“I’ll take a Guiness –”Aelin’s cool voice cut in, as Dorian struggled to regain his composure. “And some food. We’re both starving.”

“Aye, and soaked through the bone,” Manon mumbled, glancing at their wet clothes. She let out a deep sigh as she crossed her impossibly long legs. “I’ll see what the boys can dig up – kitchen’s supposed to close any minute now.”

The full weight of her golden gaze turned back to Dorian, a smirk on her face as she watched him startle under the attention. “Anything else I can get you, princeling?”

He cleared his throat and narrowed his stormy blue eyes as he forced a smirk on his face. “A double shot of whiskey, please.” He winked at her then, feeling the bravery re-enter his voice. “Need something to help warm me up.”

“Aye,” she smirked, “and some of that Irish courage will do you good, as well.”

With that, she turned, making her way back to the bar. He couldn’t help but stare at her enticing hips as they moved from side to side. Just like she’d wanted him to.

He was cute, this American boy. Kind of ridiculous, but cute.

Soon enough she was back with their drinks, shot Dorian some heated looks, and was off again. He wasn’t usually a one night stand kind of guy, in most situations. But for her? For her he’d make an exception. Miles of long legs were barely covered by a pair of ripped jean shorts. She had on a loose red t-shirt, further accenting her bright red lips. Yet, even in the simple outfit, she looked like a queen. His queen.

Aelin rolled her eyes watching Dorian eye-fuck the white-haired beauty. Aelin thought she was kind of a bitch, but Dorian never listened to her opinions on his conquests. He was usually more of a relationship guy, but she could tell that this time he just didn’t care. And she wasn’t drunk enough to put up with his shenanigans.

With a heavy sigh, she stood up from her seat to get another drink. Dorian barely paid her any attention as his eyes followed the waitress, watching her float from table to table, laughing heartily as she flirted with everyone, lighting up the room with her smile.

Aelin stepped up to the bar, the barkeep nowhere to be found. She eyed the empty seat in the corner and decided to take it right as she noticed someone else about to make a move. It’s not like Dorian was much better company. She ran a hand through her long blonde hair, still wet from the rain. She’d opted to keep her soaked sweatshirt on, wearing nothing but a small tank top underneath. But between the grossly wet fabric against her skin and the heat of the pub, she was leaning closer and closer to taking the damn thing off. Finally, she gave in, ripping off the soaking wet hoodie. And of course, this was the moment the barkeep chose to arrive.

Rowan Blackthorn couldn’t help but watch, shell-shocked, as the blonde beauty pulled the dark sweatshirt off of her curvy torso. As if the barely-there lace tank top wasn’t bad enough, it slowly slipped up her body as she struggled with the sweatshirt. And there, in that moment, he knew he was absolutely fucked. He cleared his throat as he stepped up across from her, averting his eyes.

“What can I get you, lass?” His voice was a soft sensual rumble, but she couldn’t really properly enjoy it in her struggle.

“Right now,” she grunted, “a hand would be nice.” He winced at the fact that he was completely and totally about to begin his descent into hell, and reached over to pull the girl’s sweatshirt off.

She was suddenly greeted by six feet and four inches of pure muscle. She wasn’t exactly short, but the bartender towered over her. His short white hair was cut close to his head. Gaelic tattoos trailed down half of his face and one of his arms,clearly showing off his heritage. His bright green eyes caught her gaze, and she found herself unable to look away. “Um, thanks,” she mumbled, reaching to grab the sweatshirt that he was holding out to her.

They stood there then, just like that, watching each other. He took in her wet blonde hair that fell just to her shoulders, and her tight light pink tank top. At least it wasn’t see-through. Then he would have definitely lost it.

“Y’know,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood, “normally I don’t let guys undress me until after I’ve learned their name.”

He snorted at that. “Is that all it takes with you, then?” Shit. He couldn’t stop himself. The words were already out, but he’d immediately regretted them. Well, that was that, he supposed.

She narrowed her eyes at the man. As pretty as he might be, she wouldn’t put up with any bullshit he was presenting her with. “Give me another Guiness,” she snapped. He raised an eyebrow before turning around to grab it without another word. He pulled the cap of the beer straight off with his hands, the asshole. The muscles in his arms tensed and relieved as he accomplished it, and Aelin just about died.

It was in this moment that Manon sauntered over, two plates in hand. “Are you goin’ back t’yer boyfriend there, or are you stayin’ over here?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she scowled, reaching out a hand for one of the two plates. “On a good day he’s my friend. Right now though, he’s my pain in the ass. So yeah, I’ll eat over here.” Manon smirked as Aelin finally accepted the Guiness Rowan had been holding out.

She walked away, an extra bounce in her step as she once again made her way to Dorian. Aelin rolled her eyes at the predatory smirk that was growing on her friend’s face. It looked like he’d found his footing fast enough. She turned back to her beer, and the asshole of a bartender.

He’d begun to clean a glass, obviously trying to look anywhere but at her. She scoffed, rolling her eyes, and turning her attention to her meal.

Rowan was a fucking idiot. Yeah, Rowan. Great idea. Get the gorgeous girl to like you by insulting her. That always works. Then again, he was sort of out of practice. And more than that, she was only here for, what, a day? Two maximum? He was willing to bet the storm had rolled her in, and she’d be leaving as soon as it was over. Slowly shaking his head, he sighed. Rowan didn’t have time for more attachments to beautiful women who were just going to leave. So maybe being an asshole was a good idea.

Except then he heard the moan slip out of her mouth. And every logical thought left his head as his entire body stiffened at the sound.

“God,” she sighed, “who the hell is your cook, and can I marry him?”

Rowan cleared his throat, straining to talk as her husky voice just played over and over in his head.


He was in such deep, unending shit.

“We have two cooks,” he grumbled, trying to prevent his voice from cracking as he watched her lick her fingers, unable to look away.

His words ran away from him as he watched her dip her soda bread in the Irish Stew and take a large bite, letting out another long, low moan. “Please tell me whichever one made this stew is single.”

A low growl built in his throat, the sight much too sensual to bear. That moan. However good that stew was, it couldn’t taste nearly as delicious as he was sure she did. What he wouldn’t give to have her thighs around his head, how she would moan then –

He grit his teeth, shook his head, and forced himself to look away, discretely adjusting his pants as he once again tried and failed to regain his composure. At the sound of bickering voices coming up behind him, Rowan let out a small sigh of relief. Saved by the devils.

“Fenrys, Connal!” He called behind him, welcoming the distraction. And then he remembered what she was wearing. And that he’d been an asshole. And that she had wanted to marry one of the two idiots. And suddenly regretted everything. “You have an admirer,” he ground out. He hesitated, cautiously glancing at Aelin once again as she slowly enjoyed the bread, her eyes closed and a soft smile on her face. He began to smile as well, and then stopped, scowling instead. Remember. Lyria. With that thought in his head, he stormed down the walkway behind bar to go pour some other drinks.

Aelin opened her eyes at the sound of the barkeep stomping away. Her eyes were quickly drawn to the tightness of his pants against what she assumed was his equally tight ass. Dear god. She quickly looked away, chastising herself. She shouldn’t pine after what she knew she couldn’t have.  She didn’t even know his name.

It was then that she found the twins stepping up to her behind the bar. Both were well-built, with gorgeous dark eyes, and deep tans to their skin. They seemed older than the barkeep. The one on the left was easily the most beautiful man she’d seen in her life. He had long golden hair and a mischievous grin on his lips, easily accompanying his onyx eyes that held her favorite kind of sinful promises. The other was just as beautiful, though with long dark hair, and thoughtful dark eyes. He seemed calmer – more melancholy in a way. The dark to the other’s light. Though for some reason, neither could compare to the bartending buzzard.

She took a sip of her beer and grinned at the twins who were eyeing her just the same. The blond was unashamedly appreciating her figure under the tank top, offering her a wolfish grin, hinting that cooking wasn’t the only thing he was good at doing with his hands. Meanwhile the dark-haired twin simply stepped back, leaning against the bar and rolling his eyes at his brother’s behavior.

“Name’s Fenrys,” the blond purred, holding out a large hand for her to shake. She took it slowly, feeling the calluses in his palm as her eyes met the heat in his.

“Aelin.” She smiled coolly, dropping his hand and returning to the stew, feigning aloofness. She could eat politely when she wanted to. And now that the beautiful barkeep wasn’t around, she had no reason not to. She almost laughed thinking back to his attempts at discretely readjusting his pants. As though his lust for her wasn’t entirely obvious. I hope you hate every minute of it, she thought, glaring at his gorgeous broad back.

“So,” Fenrys drawled, dragging her attention back to him. “Is our dear cousin Rowan treating you well? Irish hospitality and all that?”

Rowan. Gorgeous name for a gorgeous man. Her eyes followed him as he poured out shots for a group of boys who looked just barely legal. Then she dragged them back to Fenrys, and lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug, her face entirely blank. “Well enough, I suppose.” She took another small bite of the stew, even though all she really wanted was to devour it.

“You know,” Fenrys murmured, his fingers lightly playing with the tips of hers, “I could certainly treat you very well, if you’d let me.”

She drew her hand away from his and placed it under her chin, raising a single eyebrow at his forwardness.

“Since I’m not a dog, I doubt you’ll be surprised to hear I don’t respond well to treats. Though since I’m not entirely certain you’re not a dog, unless you’d like me to rip off your balls so you can play fetch, I suggest you leave me alone.”

Connall barked out a laugh as Fenrys staggered back, an incredulous look on his face. A surprised laugh escaped his lips as he stepped away, reaching for the whiskey and mumbling to himself about crazy American women.

It was at this moment that Rowan walked back over, an aggravated look on his face. He should’ve been relieved that she’d probably already agreed to sleep with Fenrys, but for whatever reason, all he felt was a quiet stifling rage. His shoulder rammed into his cousin’s as he passed by him, stepping up next to Connall.

“Congratulations,” Connall grinned at her, “it’s not often a lass sends my brother off with his tail between his legs.” The two chuckled at the joke between them, Aelin finally smiling again as Rowan stood there, confused.

“What happened to your betrothed?” He bit out, defensive, not allowing himself to hope for what was too good to be true.

Aeliln’s smile turned sensual as her eyes once again roamed over his muscular frame. The heat in them almost burned him as they finally met his once again. “Turns out he wasn’t my type. Too easy.” A smirk spread on her lips as Rowan flinched. Connall chuckled again and began to walk away, clapping Rowan on the shoulder. “This one’s all yours, cousin. Good luck.” He winked at him and continued into the kitchen, finally ready to clean up for the night.

She took a few more bites of her stew, and Rowan went back to methodically cleaning his bar.

He wished he could say he’d forgotten she was there. But he hadn’t. Even with his back turned to her, he could feel her behind him, burning him with her gaze, and then it was almost as if her moans were ringing in his ears again. With a low groan, he wiped down the bar harder, angrily scrubbing.

A mischievous grin stretched across her lips, entirely aware of the affect she had on him. He’s going to sleep with me tonight, and he’s going to like it. And then we’ll see who’s the easy one. She ignored the small voice in her head that pointed out the fact that she would no doubt more than like it as well.

“So, Rowan,” she purred, placing both elbows on the bar and leaning her chin on her intertwined fingers, “tell me about yourself.”

Part 2

Picture Perfect - Request

Requested by anon:  Hi o was wondering if you could do a dean x reader imagine where she’s like taking cute polaroids of him and he realises he loves you :)

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word count: 1,682

Warnings: None, I guess.

A/N: Fluffy Dean. I feel like this is too simple and that that’s what gives it the charm I craved for. Let me know what you think! ;)


Originally posted by frozen-delight

“DEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!” She cheered, storming inside his room and jumping to his bed.

Dean groaned in response. He had been sleeping until then.

“Wake up, I found something great!” She insisted, trying to tickle him.

Dean extended an arm, wrapped it around her body and pushed her to be by his side.

“Dean!” She squealed and Dean covered her mouth with a heavy hand.

It was weird how his relationship with (Y/N) was.

Of course, they weren’t dating, but they weren’t friends like so neither. What he felt for Charlie was far too different from what he felt for (Y/N). There was obviously something more between them, but Dean wasn’t completely sure what it was.

At first he thought it was mere sexual attraction, but that got discarded when he realized he felt something else and away from his pants. Yes, she could turn him on with the simplest action, but there was also something more.

That’s when he thought he thought of her like a sister, but then on New Year’s Eve he felt the immense need of kissing her – without mentioning the many times he craved to have her physically and emotionally – so that too got discarded.

It ended up in him admitting he liked her. It wasn’t love, just a small need he had developed and that would end when he found the one. However, since he started feeling things for her, every other woman seemed to be less interesting, less beautiful and less funny.

Dean no longer dated anyone else, and he stopped having one night stands. He claimed that it was because he was too old to be fooling around with girls, and that the world needed him to focus, and many other excuses.

It’s not like he didn’t want to fully admit his feelings for (Y/N), but the exact opposite. Dean had grown fond of her – feelings or not – and he knew that if he ended up screwing things up because he confused friendship with love his whole relationship with (Y/N) would be affected. Therefore, he remained quiet about it until he was certain of his true feelings for her.

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The Future Looks Good: Prologue

In the end, there is no other choice. Aelin sacrifices herself for Erilea. But when it seems that all is lost and she will never draw breath again, something miraculous happens. A few months later, Aelin and her court discover the unexpected consequences from that miracle. Apparently, not everyone stays dead forever.

Word Count: 2042

Read on AO3



An intense, skin peeling, hair singeing, earth melting burn.

That’s the only sensation Aelin knows. The only one she’s known for a while now. For all of the five months she’s been in Maeve’s grasp.

The burn of her iron box, iron chains, and iron mask. The burn of whip across her back, her shoulders, and her legs. The burn of her fire, restlessly waiting and building under her skin.

A sudden BOOM and the shaking of the earth beneath her reminds Aelin of where she is. In her box, next to the battlefield. So close to Rowan, to her mate. Her husband. She can feel the bond between them, more alive than it’s ever been. She knows he’s fighting to get to her. She almost cries out with the joy of it, with the joy of knowing she’s within his reach. But she can’t get distracted. She has a job to do.

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  • Bonding over a mutual love of learning and snark to cover the rising feeling that neither of them have any idea what they’re doing
  • Dorian feeding her lines when she’s trying to flirt with her love interest
  • Bookclub in the library where they unironically love the hell out of Swords and Shields. They give Cole dramatic readings.
  • A mage who’s never had to fight before learning from Dorian because “you might as well learn from the best. And that’s me. I’m the best.”
  • The Inquisitor defending Dorian from anyone who even looks like they’re going to talk smack about him
  • A rogue or warrior planning combos to take advantage of the literal firepower Dorian can bring to bear
  • Judging other people together
  • The Inquisitor slowly realises how lonely Dorian is
  • Sitting in the dusty, forgotten library next to the kitchens together, because it’s warm and food is close at hand, even if the spiderwebs make Dorian sneeze
  • The Inquisitor noticing that there is something going on with Bull and Dorian and dragging them both everywhere because he deserves to be happy, dammit
  • Dorian being completely hopeless at relationships because flirting is easy and risk-free but putting himself out there and asking for more is terrifying and risky
  • Bull waking up at 2am to find the Inquisitor has locked the door so they can have an If You Ever Hurt Him conversation
  • (he will never speak of what transpired, but he came out of his rooms white as a sheet)
  • The Inquisitor coming home to Skyhold after a day wading through Fallow Mire or baking in the Hissing Wastes to find Dorian waiting at the gates with her favourite drink and all the juicy gossip
  • Dorian abruptly refusing to enthuse about magic with Solas anymore after he breaks up with a Lavellan Inquisitor
  • The Inquisitor pretending to be exasperated by Dorian’s seemingly endless list of complaints he has about the south in general and whatever place they happen to be specifically
  • (she’s really not)
  • Both of them flirting shamelessly because it’s fun
  • Dorian always listening attentively when the Inquisitor finds something magically unique, because she “always finds the strangest things”
  • The Inquisitor feeling so happy she could sing when she sees how Dorian has been adopted by the Chargers (if she’s an elf, Dorian claims she definitely made that Ghoul’s Beard grow with her humming. He might even be right)
  • Dorian and the Inquisitor having each other’s backs … even when he goes back to Tevinter
  • (If those talking crystals had minutes, they would both be paupers)
Fun and Games

A night that starts off as just fun and games gets a little more heated than anyone expected when feelings get involved. An old OTP prompt of a game of Twister that gets a little touchy-feely combined with the classic spin-the-bottle  that I never had the motivation to write by itself. Rowaelin romance/fluff (high school AU). One shot.

“Right hand, yellow.”

Lysandra grunted as she tried to shove her arm underneath Aedion, who was already hopelessly tangled on his own. Lysandra managed to slide her fingers over the yellow circle for about three seconds before she collapsed, knocking Aedion down with her.

The laughter that Aelin and Rowan had barely been containing finally sprung free. Aelin leaned back against Rowan’s arm as she tipped her head back, howling. The contact let her feel the low rumble of Rowan’s laugh on her back. When she tipped her head up to look at him, with his eyes crinkled and dimples showing, it was an effort not to lean further into him and rest her head on his shoulder.

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Literature Asks

Quotes from literature to inspire you when writing!

  1. “She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.” - J. D. Salinger, “A Girl I Knew”
  2. “The curves of your lips rewrite history.” - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
  3. “A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it.” - Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
  4. “I took a photo of us mid-embrace. When I am old and alone, I will remember that I once held something truly beautiful.” - Joe Dunthorne, Submarine
  5. “If equal affection cannot be, let the more loving one be me.” - W. H. Auden, “The More Loving One”
  6. “And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.” - John Steinbeck, East of Eden
  7. “Who, being loved, is poor?” - Oscar Wilde, A Woman of No Importance
  8. “Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.” - Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
  9. “The pieces I am, she gather them and gave them back to me in all the right order.” - Toni Morrison, Beloved
  10. “If I had a flower for every time I thought of you…I could walk through my garden forever.” - Alfred Tennyson
  11. “I’m watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don’t deserve them. Her warm memories. I’d like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.” - Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies
  12. “I don’t want you to miss all the things that someone else can give you.” -  Jojo Moyes, Me Before You
  13. “You can love someone so much… But you can never love people as much as you can miss them.” - John Green, An Abundance of Katherines
  14. “If you expect nothing from somebody you are never disappointed.” -  Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
  15. “Just… isn’t giving up allowed sometimes? Isn’t it okay to say, ‘This really hurts, so I’m going to stop trying’?” - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl
  16. “I’m just so thankful for our little infinity.” - John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
  17. “I hope, or I could not live.” - H.G. Wells
  18. “I hadn’t expected that a tiny glimmer of hope for the future could transform someone so utterly.” - Dai Sijie, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress: A Novel
  19. “Your eyes are full of language.” - Anne Sexton, Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters 
  20. “You were at the age where you could fall in love with a girl over an expression, over a gesture.” -  Junot Dìaz, This Is How You Lose Her
  21. You can pretend for a long time, but one day it all falls away and you are alone.” - Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea: A Novel
  22. “I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one. My reason for life.” - Ian McEwan, Atonement
  23. “You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.” - Margaret Mitchell, Gone With The Wind
  24. “I like flaws. I think they make things interesting.” - Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever
  25. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
  26. “He doesn’t want you to be real, and to think and to live. He doesn’t love you. But I love you. I want you to have your own thoughts and ideas and feelings, even when I hold you in my arms.” E.M. Forster, A Room With A View
  27. “The more you love someone, he came to think, the harder it is to tell them. It surprised him that strangers didn’t stop each other on the street to say I love you.” - Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated
  28. “Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.” -  Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
  29. “We can experience nothing but the present moment, live in no other second of time, and to understand this is as close as we can get to eternal life.” -  P.D. James, The Children of Men
  30. “I know. I was there. I saw the great void in your soul, and you saw mine.” - Sebastian Faulks, Birdsong 
  31. “Above, the starts shone hard and bright, sparks struck off the dark skin of the universe” - Stephen King
  32. “The mouth is made for communication, and nothing is more articulate than a kiss.” - Jarod Kintz, It Occurred to Me
  33. “If it weren’t for her, there would never have been an empty space, or the need to fill it” - Nicole Krause, The History of Love
  34. “I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world…” - Frank O’Hara, Having a Coke With You
  35. “It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.” - Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

1. “You could rattle the stars. You could do anything if only you dared. And deep down, you know it too, and that’s what scares you the most.” —Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass

2. “When people fall in love, they burst into flames.” Jandy Nelson, I’ll Give You the Sun

3. “The words were on their way, and when they arrived, she would hold them in her hands like clouds, and she would ring them out like the rain.” —Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

4. “Things were rough all over but it was better that way. That way, you could tell the other guy was human too.” —S.E. Hinton, The Outsiders

5. “I try to think about how it all works. At school dances, I sit in the background, and I tap my toe, and I wonder how many couples will dance to ‘their song.’ In the hallways, I see the girls wearing the guys’ jackets, and I think about the idea of property. And I wonder if anyone is really happy. I hope they are. I really hope they are.” —Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

6. “To be careful with people and with words was a rare and beautiful thing.” Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

7. “He didn’t give me flowers or candy. He gave me the moon and the stars. Infinity.” —Jenny Han, We’ll Always Have Summer

8. “He was contemplation and enthusiasm. Ambition and strong coffee. I could have looked at him forever.” ―E. Lockhart, We Were Liars

9. “She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.” Rainbow Rowell, Eleanor & Park

10. “Slowly, very slowly, he sat up and as he did so he felt more alive and more aware of his own living body than ever before. Why had he never appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart?” ―J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

11. “Real life was something happening in her peripheral vision.” ―Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl

12. “Without a filter, a man is just chaos walking.” ―Patrick Ness, The Knife of Never Letting Go

13. “Don’t be afraid of death; be afraid of an unlived life. You don’t have to live forever, you just have to live.” Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting

14. “Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing.”—Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

15. “It’s like the people who believe they’ll be happy if they go and live somewhere else, but who learn it doesn’t work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. If you see what I mean.” —Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

16. “We feel cold, but we don’t mind it, because we will not come to harm. And if we wrapped up against the cold, we wouldn’t feel other things, like the bright tingle of the stars, or the music of the aurora, or best of all the silky feeling of moonlight on our skin. It’s worth being cold for that.” —Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass

19. “The right belief is like a good cloak, I think. If it fits you well, it keeps you warm and safe. The wrong fit however, can suffocate.” ―Brandon Sanderson, The Final Empire

20. “October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces.” ―J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

21. Sometimes writing is running downhill, your fingers jerking behind you on the keyboard the way your legs do when they can’t quite keep up with gravity.” ―Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl

22.  “His soul might be a sun. I’ve never met anyone who had the sun for a soul.” ―Jandy Nelson, I’ll Give You the Sun

23. “I bet you could sometimes find all the mysteries of the universe in someone’s hand.” ―Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

24. “Libraries were full of ideas–perhaps the most dangerous and powerful of all weapons.”Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass

25. “To draw you must close your eyes and sing.” ―Jandy Nelson, I’ll Give You the Sun

anonymous asked:

Can we get a reaction to the Inquisitor being a bloodmage?

I’m doing this for the Inquisitor not performing human sacrifice for power, just using their own blood or that of their enemies during combat.

Cullen: He’s horrified. The first time he sees the Herald use blood magic, he feels like he might throw up, memories of pain and betrayal almost overwhelming him. It takes him a long time to trust the Herald, but it helps that they never summon demons or kill anyone for their blood. If Romanced: With how strained their relationship was in the beginning, he takes a lot longer to trust her enough to enter into a relationship, but once he does it’s no less intense. Yes, she’s a mage. Yes, she uses blood magic. But she’s still a protector and a good person. Eventually, he sees her call upon the power of blood and feels relief because it means she’s even more powerful.

Josephine: Like Cullen, she’s horrified at first. She recommends keeping that aspect of the Herald hidden from public eye. There is, after all, a very powerful stigma against the practice of blood magic outside of Tevinter. If Romanced: She’s hesitant about the power the Inquisitor wields, but she can’t help but be charmed out of her fears. It’s just another aspect of magic, she realizes after a time, as long as it’s not misused.

Solas: He doesn’t mind. The Inquisitor clearly knows the limits of the morality of it and doesn’t cross them. He finds it rather fascinating, in fact, but isn’t bothered by it in the least. If Romanced: He worries about demons hurting his vhenan as a result of her practice of blood magic and takes great pains to ward her dreams, but he’s actually sort of proud of her for practicing such an art.

Leliana: She’s seen blood magic do terrible things and she’s seen it do great things. She keeps a very watchful eye on the Inquisitor and looks for any sign of demons or abuse of power, but otherwise she doesn’t interfere or make any comment.

Vivienne: She’s disgusted. It’s uncouth and it’s a big contributor to the stigma about mages in general. No one should ever use blood to fuel their magic. She makes her distaste for the practice known.

Dorian: It reminds him of home, and not in a good way. He spends some time talking to the Inquisitor and making certain they won’t use blood magic for harm or to control others. Once he knows that they’re careful with it, he leaves the matter alone, though he does watch them closely. If Romanced: He mentions, briefly, that they might discontinue the practice for a lot of reasons, but if the idea is met with resistance he lets it drop. Like Solas, he takes pains to help ward his amatus against anything that might hurt him as a result of the magic.

Cassandra: In the beginning, it fuels her conviction that the Herald must be guilty. And even after what she sees at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, she’s wary of them. It’s unnatural, an affront to the Maker. She tries to hold her tongue, but she can’t help but ask why. If Romanced: Her views change. She’s not unreasonable, after all. The magic is just another power, just another ability, and the stigma comes from those who abuse that power. And yet a bad politician can do the same or more damage and not suffer the same repercussions as a blood mage. And if a politician kills a lot of people, all politicians aren’t punished the way mages are. Blood magic isn’t the problem; people’s fear is.

Blackwall: He can’t say he’s pleased, but he doesn’t have a strong opinion one way or the other about it. He believes in forming his own opinions before judging; after all, who is he to say what’s right? When he sees that the Inquisitor is using the power to help rather than hurt, he just grunts and accepts it. If Romanced: He worries about backlash from people and from demons. He wants her to be safe, but he wouldn’t ask her to change for him. He wants to protect her.

Iron Bull: “Demons shit up everything,” he mutters as the Herald uses blood magic. He’s uncomfortable with magic in general, though less so than most Qunari, but blood magic just has to be bad news. He keeps his mouth shut for the most part, but he’s always on the other side of the battlefield from the Inquisitor when they use blood magic. If Romanced: At first, it’s not a factor in the relationship. They’re having sex, they’re unwinding, the Inquisitor needs somewhere to be able to let go. The magic isn’t a factor until he realizes that it’s not just sex, it’s not just a way to unwind. He cares for the Inquisitor and it’s looking more and more like they care for him, too. That’s when he gets worried. What if they get possessed? What if they get lynched? What if Thedas turns on them because of the magic? It’s as he’s having these thoughts that he realizes that his only problem with their blood magic is the potential risk to their safety, not to his or anyone else’s. He’s not afraid of their magic, he’s afraid of them getting hurt for it.

Cole: Slice and it’s warm, flowing, glimmering with power. I can do this and not be corrupt. I can do this and help people, not hurt them. I don’t have to hurt them. But you worry about demons. Don’t worry about them. You’re still safe.” He comforts them whenever they start to feel unsure about what they’re doing. He doesn’t mind the magic. It helps.

Sera: Ew, no. Magic alone is bad, but blood magic? Extra bad. Is the Herald one of the baddies she needs to stick arrows in? She can’t tell. It’s confusing. Why can’t it be simple?! If Romanced: No one is allowed to badmouth Inky! She still doesn’t like the magic, but no one is ever allowed to say that! Her honeytongue is hers!

Varric: He’s seen the kind of damage blood magic can do. But he’s also seen the kind of damage the stigma against blood magic can do. After all, Daisy couldn’t hurt a fly if she tried. He waits until he knows the Herald better before deciding if it’s a good or bad thing that they practice blood magic.

schmoop alert!! i wrote a thing
adoribull, T, kisses and fluff and not much else really. dorian is a grump but bull always makes things better ^_^

He hadn’t woken up in a terrible mood. Waking up had been rather pleasant, really, for all that he’d been crushed partway into the mattress. His bed was small, and Bull took up most of it. Dorian liked that, though. There was something about the way Bull took up space in his life now. Unapologetic, smiling, warm– he’s never once regretted opening his door to Bull.

Closing the door behind him, however. That’s where the trouble lies. It’s in the moments before Bull turns to walk away, when he’s still leaning on Dorian’s doorframe with that terrible smirk, that’s the problem. He wants something more. More than a tangle of bedsheets and a smile across the tavern later. More than knowing that Bull’s door is always open to him, more knowing he can go to Bull. What he wants– terribly, selfishly– he wants a promise that Bull will come back to him.

It’s not something that he can ask for. It’s not something that fits in what they have. Dorian knows that. His role in this, after he and Bull have spectacular sex and fall asleep in each other’s arms, is to tease Bull about sleeping late and close the door behind him. He can’t ask for a promise, or even a kiss goodbye, because that’s too much like asking for Bull to care.

That’s the feeling that lingers for the rest of the day. Not the warmth and calm of waking up with Bull, but the pointless aching. Why should one kiss matter so much? Why can’t he be satisfied– for once in his life– with what he has?

And asking for affection isn’t something he can do. He has far too much pride to ask for it, and if he’s honest, he’s afraid that Bull might say no. Then of course, he might say yes, and not mean it, and give Dorian everything he asks for but secretly resent him, and–

Dorian slams his book shut. He wasn’t really reading it, anyway.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

More Manorian smut ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Ok…but just a quickie. ;)

Manon woke to a hand gently brushing hair from her face. Her eyes still closed, she smiled and said, “I’ve heard that it’s creepy to watch someone sleep Princeling.”

Dorian pulled her braid from where it lay across her back. “Mmmm,” he moaned. “I’m not watching you. I’m playing with your hair.”

Manon laughed, “That does not sound less creepy.” She opened her eyes to find him grinning at her. She ruffled his dark hair. “Yours will be as long as mine soon. Then you can play with your own. Perhaps some braids…”

He rolled onto his back, pulling her along to rest on top of him. “Only if I can practice braiding yours first,” he said, smirking.

With mock horror, she said, “My hair is the source of my power over you!” She took it from his hand and wiggled the ends in his face. “I’ll not have you practice anything on it!”

Laughing, he said, “So you figured out one of my weaknesses then?”

“Quite a while ago Princeling,” she said, then paused. “Wait. One weakness?”

His eyes shone with mischief. “I have several when it comes to you Witchling. Your smile. That I will do anything to see.” He brought her face to his and gently kissed the upturned corners of her lips. “Your skin. That I love to touch.” He lifted her chin and ran his nose along her collarbone. Manon sighed her approval. Dorian pulled back and gazed into her eyes. “Your eyes…that saved me.” He stretched and kissed each eyelid.  “I can keep going if you like.”

She did want him to keep going, but she also liked their teasing. Running her fingers through his hair, she said “Don’t you want to know what mine are?”

“I have an idea,” he said, grinning and biting his bottom lip at the same time.

Manon smiled and traced his mouth with her fingertip. “Your lips. Yes,” she said, her voice betraying her growing desire. “And your eyes, of course.” Her finger brushed lightly over his long, dark lashes. “And…” She took one of  Dorian’s hands. His hands that brought such pleasure. But also, gave her strength when she needed it, often with just a touch. She pulled it to her lips, taking one of his fingers into her mouth. A soft gasp escaped him. Releasing his finger, she said, “Would you like me to continue?”

He answered by undoing the tie at the end of her braid, and letting her hair fall over them. With both hands, he held her face, tilting it back so he could draw his full lips up her neck. When he reached her mouth, he paused, keeping a hair’s breadth away. “All of you Manon. That’s my weakness,” he said in a low voice. “And my strength.”

With a small smirk, Manon slid her hands down his forearms then up to his shoulders, her fingers tracing his sculpted muscles. When she ran them down his chest, Dorian gave in and closed the space between them, finally kissing her.

She moaned in protest when he broke away. But it was only to adjust their blankets so there was nothing between them. No longer sleeping outside meant no layers of clothing to keep warm. Or no clothing at all, she thought smiling. As Dorian resumed kissing her, she moved herself down his torso. But he stopped her and sat up, letting her wrap her legs around his waist. He dipped his head under her hair, his lips gliding up her neck again until he reached her earlobe.

Manon moaned as he took hold of her, pulling her hips closer against him. Dorian lifted her slightly, letting Manon position herself. And when his hands released their grip, she sank down onto him. Her head tilted back as she gasped, too overcome by the feel of him inside her to notice her iron nails slip out. She loved this moment, that sweet sensation of being completely filled by him, his strong arms clutching her to him. Slowly, she began to move, her own arms clasped around his neck, fingers grabbing his hair.

He was still covered by hers as he whispered, “My Queen,” in her ear with each breath, each thrust.

Manon dragged a single nail along his jaw, smiling as he groaned loudly. “You are my King, Dorian,” she purred.

He untangled himself from her hair and met her eyes, blue flame meeting her gold. Holding her by the waist so he remained inside her, he flipped them over.

She cried out as he pushed deeper. Again and again. Grasping his hand she pressed it down between them and he smiled as he realized what she wanted. Dorian barely had to touch her as the next thrust sent her over the edge. Manon arched her back, tightened her legs around him, wanting to feel more of him, all of him, losing herself as the intense heat spread throughout her body.

As her orgasm dissipated, she continued moving against him, her hands running up and down his muscled back. purring his name into his ear. She knew he loved the way she said his name. Another weakness, she thought, licking his ear. She couldn’t be smug about it though. Dorian was her weakness just as she was his. And he was her strength too.

“My mate, my King…”

The slight touch of her nails in his skin was all it took. Dorian called out her name as she clutched him close to her, savoring the feel of him coming inside her.

Moments later, Dorian rolled over, back to where they’d started, her on top of his chest. She propped her chin on her hand, watching as his eyes fluttered shut. “You’re not going to fall asleep on me are you?”

“You’re on me Witchling,” he said, still trying to catch his breath.

Manon rolled her eyes. “Your jokes. Definitely not a weakness…,” she trailed off, trying to sound annoyed.

“You love it,” Dorian said, reaching up to kiss the tip of her nose.

100% inspired by the talented @meabhd and her lovely Manorian fan art - thank you!!

Some overdue ~manorian~
Check out my masterlist if you like checking stuff out! 


Dorian didn’t know what to do.

Ever since he had been forced to leave his beloved country, had magic thrown onto him like the waves in a storm, reunited with his brother in arms, Dorian liked to think he’d had a semblance of control over what was going on. That he was in control. That he knew what was happening.

Dorian didn’t know what to do.

He pushed Abraxos in the side, the great Wyvern growling in return. Dorian could barely smell the forest between the ash in his nose and could barely see from the debris flying through the air and the tears clouding his eyes.

How could he do this? How could this have possibly happened? In this moment, or maybe it was when it happened, the war had never been as frightening, or as real, or as horrendous or atrocious or appalling or heartbreaking-

“Please, just move.” He sobbed as he begged the wyvern.

Abraxos was curled up delicately so as not to hurt what he was protecting, but Dorian couldn’t do the same. He couldn’t pretend nothing had happened and that they were safe and that all would be well.

Somewhere, trapped between the warm muscle of Abraxos, was the body of his rider and the woman Dorian loves.

Manon, who had only come back because he made Aelin and the others leave him behind. Manon, who he had grown to love with his whole being. Every crevice of his body was filled with the memory of her touch, and now all those memories were turning to same bitter ash that was filling his lungs every time he gasped.

Abraxos whined as Dorian shoved him again, baring his teeth but noncommitting. Abraxos was as likely to hurt Dorian as the king was to hurt a child.

Eventually, Dorian just laid down by his side and cried into his leathery skin, letting the feel of the scales distract him from the pain that was tearing through him. It didn’t take long for Abraxos to shift his wings and huddle Dorian into his embrace as well. The king was, of course, the only other person who had ever been permitted to ride Abraxos.

Abraxos shifted and lifted his wing to snuggle Dorian in and protect him from the ash storm the way he was Manon.

Dorian, although appreciative of the gesture, was horrified when his body knocked against Manon’s. He had been trying to get her free of Abraxos – they had to get to safety and he wasn’t going to leave her alone.

How could he? How could he leave her to rot in this forest when all she had ever done was fight? He wanted to send her away with dignity, to mourn her with the others, but fuck he didn’t even know how witches treated their dead. More than anything, he wanted the last hour to never have happened, to never have heard her scream his name as she was hurt and then whisper it again as she died.

I never told you,” She had whispered, “but I love you. And I will love you in this life, and whatever comes afterwards, Dorian.”

He turned to look at her now. Her golden eyes were still open and her hair was still shiny.

Another sob tore through him, and he reached out a warm hand to clasp her cold one.

In the distance, he could hear the battle cries of the enemy drawing near once again, and with curt realisation realised it was too late to flee. Aelin would be mad, Chaol would be furious – they had told him not to stay and that they had to leave. He assured them he would be okay, but in the back of his mind he knew that this day would likely be his last.

He moved his hands up Manon’s arms to cradle her face. He pressed her eyelids gently with his thumbs, closing her eyes and making it look like she was in a blissful sleep.

Next to his love wouldn’t be a bad way to die, and as Abraxos tightened his wrap and twitched as the enemy attacked them, Dorian closed his eyes with her and joined her in eternal rest.

Shadowed Eyes, Red Veins

I finished replaying In Hushed Whispers and had an urge to write a scene that’s been in my mind since I first played it. So I finally did!

Rating: T (alcohol use, references to alcoholism)
Pairing: Pre-romance Solavellan

Her legs swing over the edge of the dock, just a little too short to reach the edge of the frozen waters. The not-a-Magister was at her side; wrapped head to toe in several layers of robes and furs to protect from the cold. She couldn’t remember what the term was that he corrected her with was; there were so many different human titles to keep track of, and they were different if you were from Fereldan, Orlais, Tevinter… though she supposed It didn’t matter too much. He was Dorian, and right now he was probably the only person who understood what was she was processing. No words passed between them when he found her sitting out alone by the frozen lake and joined her, and none were needed.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Bath Bomb *Treat yo self gif* anon back at it again :) - I kinda messed up my phrasing with my last request lol but I still loved your reply so thank you! What type of bath bomb do you think the inqusition's inner circle member + advisors would use?

DISCLAIMER: This post is not sponsored by Lush, Mod Vic just really likes them!

Blackwall: What better scent for the man you found wandering the forest than Blackberry? This cozy bomb is perfect for winding down after a hard day and forgetting your troubles, right Thom?

Cassandra: If you tell anyone, she’ll deny it then kill you for good measure, but just like those trashy romance novels of hers, Cassandra loves a good Sex Bomb every once in a while. Even battle-hardened Seekers need to relax every once in a while!

Cole: Even spirits of the fade get tired, and Cole needs to show himself some compassion, and what better way to love yourself than with the beautiful hues of Twilight? Tonka and lavender come together to have Cole becoming a wisp of soothing scents breezing through the halls of Skyhold, providing an extra comfort to those he passes by. 

Cullen: Andraste’s Holy Tits this man needs a break. And do you know what goes well with a break? The simple, calming feel of the Butterball bath bomb. The soothing cocoa butter and vanilla scent are guaranteed to relax even the most tightly-wound warriors. 

Dorian: This magical Avobath bomb is perfect for Dorian, it leaves the user feeling soft, relaxed, and absolutely sparking. He’ll be positively glowing on even the harshest winter days in Skyhold, and you’ll be left green with envy. 

Iron Bull: Oh he would, without a doubt, LOVE Dragon’s Egg. I mean, the second he sees the name he’s GONE. Plus, the refreshing citrus scent is sure to awaken even the most tired individuals after… eventful nights. 

Josephine: This simple, exhilaratingly scented bath bomb is perfect for the romantic Ms. Montilyet. Tisty Tosty is a beautifully sophisticated combination of rosebuds, jasmine, and citrus. The only thing more romantic would be dueling your lover’s fiancé for her hand! Oh wait…

Leliana: Leliana’s had a tough life, and becoming the spymaster of the Inquisition isn’t making things any easier. Sometimes you just need to take a breath and enjoy the simple, frivolous things in life, like shoes and bath bombs. Leave time Frozen for a moment and just remember, the Maker has plans for all of us.

Sera: Although it may have a rather plain exterior, Fizzbanger is perfect for Sera. Swirling colours, the scents of apples and cinnamon, a plethora of little fizzy pops, like Sera this bath bomb is an experience. 

Solas: When the feelings of stress and dread are just too much, and finding abandoned ruins to meditate in is out of the question, the next best thing is to run a warm bath and experience the Guardian Of The Forest. Includes the calming scents of the forest without the risk of wolves!

Varric: Every writer comes across it: writer’s block. But when the world’s got you down, there’s nothing like a Metamorphosis to get you going again! The deep earthen scents and bright colours are sure to get anyone’s creativity flowing again. Now if only water-proof parchment existed…

Vivienne: For such a refined and classy lady such as Vivienne, the obvious choice would be Rose Bombshell. The relaxing scents of rose and lemon giving way to real rose petals? This is perfect for the Orlesian Mage. 

Mr. Laufeyson's Ward

TITLE: Mr. Laufeyson’s Ward


AUTHOR: goddessofmischief

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you are living in the late 1800’s and your parents pass away due to a tragic accident. Leaving you an orphan, you are sent to a miserable orphanage. Then, a mysterious and harsh man named Loki visits the orphanage and takes you on as his ward. He brings you to his crumbling mansion in the English countryside, where you face his cruel intentions, and eventually discover that you care for him much more than you’d like to admit.


NOTES: This is another short chapter, but I promise the upcoming one’s will be much longer! Hope you enjoy, and please comment, like & share. I always love to hear your opinions ♥︎

“I was certain that you would have went back to bed.” stated my master once I met up with him at the stables. He held the reins of his horse Dorian, who was directly at his side, ready to be mounted. I looked up at him through the veil of black netting that partially covered my face.
“It was indeed what I desired, but I thought it’d be best to concur with your wishes, master.” I teased, with an overemphasized bow.
He chuckled. “You will not regret coming with me, I promise you. Now, up you get.” He gestured towards Dorian.

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The Future Looks Good: Chapter 3 - The Arrival

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

As Chaol, Nesryn, Sam, Nehemia, Rhoe and Evalin finally arrive in Orynth, Rowan and Aelin prepare for their wedding. 

Word Count: 1921

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For those who asked to be tagged: @rebornasqueen @deziremypete

Anyone else who wants to be tagged in the next chapter too let me know! :)


“Aelin! Aelin, the sun has been up for hours. Get up!” Aedion’s voice is muffled through the door of Aelin and Rowan’s massive bedroom. Rowan groans sleepily beside her and buries his head in her neck.

“If we ignore him, do you think he’ll go away?” Aelin whispers, the remnants of sleep clinging to her voice.

“Aelin! Now!”

“Shhhh…” Rowan’s breath warms Aelin’s neck and shoulder as he tries to shush Aedion’s obnoxiously loud voice and huffs.

“I swear to all the Gods, if I open this door to something indecent, I will murder both of you. I don’t care that you’re getting married today.”

At the reminder of the wedding to occur in a few hours, Aelin can’t help but grin. Until, of course, she realizes that Aedion is about to open the door and neither her nor Rowan are covered by clothes or blankets. Frantically, she pulls the sheets from where they had been discarded at the end of the bed the previous night and yanks them up over both of them, disturbing Rowan’s position as her big Fae blanket and causing him to let out a sleepy sound of protest. Ignoring Aedion’s yammering on the other side of the door for a moment, Aelin looks down at her mate. Although his eyebrows are pulled together in irritation at being woken, his eyes are still closed and his entire body is spread on the bed like a sack of potatoes, his limbs intertwined with hers. The fact that Rowan can be so relaxed and content with her after…the events of the war…it warms Aelin’s heart, and she can’t help but press a fond kiss to his forehead.

Unfortunately, Aedion interrupts Aelin’s musings by pushing the bedroom door open in an infuriated huff. At the sight of the two mates tangled together under the sheets, he sighs in exasperation, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair.

“You both need to get up. Now. Your wedding is in only a few hours!”

“Technically…we’re already married,” Aelin argues half-heartedly.

Yes, I know, but this is an official ceremony. To show Terrasen that we’re on the path to recovery. And you’ll both be crowned. I have to go meet Chaol and Nesryn to show them the way to the castle, and if you stay in bed, you’ll never get ready in time and I’ll be waiting to walk you down the aisle and you won’t be there and Rowan won’t be waiting for you at the other end and I’ll just be standing there and the whole thing will turn into a massive disaster and–”

“Gods, Aedion. Fine. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were the one getting married in front of the entire city, not me. We’re getting up, okay?”

Aedion scowls and doesn’t move. “Promise me,” he says as Aelin rolls her eyes.

“I promise, Aedion. As soon as I can get this buzzard up,” she replies, causing Rowan to pinch her side in retaliation, “we’ll get dressed and I’ll go find Lysandra and Elide to get ready for the wedding. Okay? Now, get out.”

Her cousin lets out a breath. “Okay.” He leaves the room and closes the door behind him reluctantly.

As soon as he’s gone, Aelin rolls over to face her mate. His eyes are wide open now and they meet hers without hesitation. “Good morning,” he says, his voice low and rough, with the undertone of a fond smile.


“Should we really get up?”

“As much as I hate to say it…we are going to be getting married and crowned in front of most of Terrasen today. And I’d rather not see my cousin die prematurely of stress and rage.”

Rowan heaves a large sigh, kisses Aelin deeply, and pushes himself from the bed to gather his clothes and dress himself. Aelin swears she can feel the touch of his lips on hers even minutes later, when she is dressed in a casual tunic and on her way through the halls to Lysandra’s room to get ready.


The day Nesryn, Chaol, and their guests reach Orynth, the sun is high above them and the sky is an impossible shade of blue. They make their way through the cobblestone streets of the city, their horses’ hooves clopping loudly on the stone.

Summer is approaching, so a warm breeze drifts through the air. Newly hatched bugs flutter lazily on their small wings. Bright and colorful birds, native to Terrasen, dart back and forth through buildings and alleyways.

And the people…Chaol cannot help but marvel what a difference a year and a restored Queen made on Terrasen. The last time he saw the people of Terrasen, they were starving, desolate, and clinging to any piece of hope that they could.

Now they are magnificent. They are everywhere – hanging silver and green banners over the streets, draping vibrant streamers from their balconies, darting out of doors and pushing carts full of fresh food. The smell of freshly cooked bread hits Chaol’s nostrils. Children are laughing, dressed in their best clothes and running from alley to alley, chasing each other and avoiding the scolding looks of their mothers. Somewhere nearby, a dog barks. The city is full of noise and excitement, obviously thrilled that their queen is soon to be married.

Chaol glances to his left and right. Nesryn watches everything attentively. She remains stoic, but Chaol knows her well enough to know that she is amazed by the activity and vibrancy of the city. Wide grins split Evalin and Rhoe’s faces, and Chaol knows they couldn’t be happier to see their citizens happy and thriving. They both wear hoods to disguise their identity for now – they don’t want to shock anyone too soon. Nehemia simply sits atop her elegant stallion and watches with wide eyes. Sam seems to not be able to decide what to watch. His head darts from side to side, taking everything in with awe.

Before long, they reach the blinding white castle of Orynth. From the ground, Chaol thinks it seem high enough to touch the clouds. All six of the visitors dismount in the shade, a few meters away from the closed castle gates.

“Stay here,” Chaol says, absentmindedly rubbing a hand through his scruffy brown hair. “Aedion is supposed to meet us. I’ll go talk to him first so he isn’t too shocked when he sees you. Ryn, can you make sure they don’t wander off?”

“Yes sir,” Nesyrn replies with a mock salute. Chaol leans over and presses a quick kiss to her lips before turning away and striding toward the guards at the castle gates. There are just two of them, but they stand to attention as he reaches them. They wear silver and green armor to commemorate the upcoming wedding. “Captain Westfall, welcome. The Queen and her court have been expecting you,” one of the guards says. He must recognize me from the war, Chaol thinks. Indeed, he notices a long, wicked scar reaching across the man’s forehead, indicating that he had most likely seen a lot of fighting on the battlefield during the war.

“Thank you,” he replies, “Is there any way you could send Prince Aedion down? He was supposed to meet us but he must have been delayed. We brought some unexpected guests with us, and I think it would be best if he could warn Aelin before she sees them.” The guards peer at the other five visitors curiously.

“Absolutely, sir,” the second guard says before slipping through the gates and jogging through the front courtyard to the massive doors to the castle.   


Less than ten minutes after they dismounted, a member of Aelin’s court emerges from the castle and heads towards Aedion at the gates. Evalin recognizes him as a court member due to his striking green tunic, the sword at his side, and the small golden circlet atop his head.

As he gets closer, Evalin leans forward and squints, hoping to recognize him. The man’s hair is shoulder-length and golden, and his nose is slender with a small crook.

He looks a little bit like…Oh my gods, Evalin thinks, Oh my gods. It’s Aedion. She reaches for Rhoe’s hand out of reflex, and it is clear he’s recognized Aedion as well, as his face is two shades paler. Chaol and Aedion grasp arms and embrace, grinning and casually conversing.

Suddenly Chaol’s hand reaches back to scratch his neck nervously, and Aedion’s face drops in shock. Chaol must have told him that we’re here.


“Captain,” Aedion greets.

“Prince,” Chaol replies. The two shake hands and grip each other in a tight hug, slapping each other on their backs.

“How have you been? How’s Nesryn? And Dorian?”

“They’re great, actually. Nesryn came with me. After everything that happened during the war…we’re slowly recovering. Dorian is still doing…something with Manon. I’m not sure how that’s going to end, but he’s happy. How is everyone here? It seems like the city has certainly been busy preparing for the big day.”

“It’s great, isn’t it? I’ve never seen people so excited about something before. Aelin and Rowan are…still recovering. But they’re better. I don’t hear their nightmares as much anymore. Rowan is more relaxed than he used to be – less overprotective.”

“That’s great,” Chaol says, genuinely happy for his friends. “Listen, Aedion…” he continues, “I’m not sure how to put this in a way that you would believe.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just…we brought a few guests with us, and I really don’t think they’re who you’d expect.”

Aedion stiffens. “Do I need to be worried for Aelin?”

“No! No, no, it’s not like that. It’s…well, they used to be dead. But apparently Mala resurrected them at the same time as Aelin. They ended up in Adarlan and found their way to the castle. They arrived just before Nesryn and I were leaving, and we volunteered to take them here. To Aelin,” Chaol explains nervously.

“What does Aelin have to do with this? Did they know her?”

“Yes. And you knew some of them too.” Aedion stiffens.

“Who are they?”

“Two are them are Sam Cortland and Nehemia Ytger.”

“Excuse me?!” Aedion exclaims. His face drains of color.

“I think you can guess why I thought it would be best to meet with you before we saw Aelin. I don’t want to shock her too badly.”

Aedion nods absentmindedly. “Yes…I think I will let Rowan know first, after the wedding and coronation. Who are the other two?”

“I think it might be better if you saw that for yourself,” Chaol says with caution.

“Very well.”

With Aedion at his side, Chaol makes his way back towards the area where the five other visitors and their horses stand.

Now that Aedion knows who some of the visitors are, he can identify Nehemia by her dark skin and hair, and notices a brown haired young man beside her who he assumes is Sam Cortland.

When they reach the group, Chaol calls to Nesryn, and she and the two other guests turn around from where they were gathered.

Every single bone in Aedion’s body goes numb.

Because before him stand his adopted parents – those who took him in when he lost his mother. The woman who wiped his tears when he woke up from nightmares and the man who taught him how to hold a sword.

Evalin Ashryver and Rhoe Galathynius.

follows-swallows  asked:

For the non-sexual acts of intimacy prompts: ♟: Patching up a wound, Cullen x Inquisitor!

Alright, here I go with NO SMUT! Thanks so much for this prompt @follows-swallows​! It was sort of challenging, but I hope you enjoy! <3

SFW Dragon Age Fanfic Prompt
Rating: T 
Pairing: Female Mage Trevelyan x Cullen Rutherford
Word Count: 1k
Tags: Graphic descriptions of injuries, hurt/comfort, mild angst, fluff
Fic title inspired by: Dorian by Agnes Obel

The Inside Out On The Open by fereldenpeach

“Hold still.”

“I can’t! It fucking hurts!”

Cullen gingerly hooked his fingers through the line of torn fabric enough to continue the tear, carefully ripping it from Evelia’s body with the intention of preventing any further discomfort to his sore, exhausted, and maimed paramour.

The physical visit to the Fade had not been kind to the Inquisitor and her party—their bodies wracked, resources depleted, and minds bewildered with conflicting and unnerving visions meant to torment and torture what semblance of hope of which they all had desperately clung—an effort that was meant to keep them there—in defeat—for the rest of their days.  

The battle for Adamant had been nothing in comparison to the Fade, and Evelia had the wounds to prove it. Long ribbons of raw, red, and jagged flesh had burst across her right shoulder blade—her souvenirs on behalf of Fearlings converging on her from all angles. Dorian had covered her too late—a self-blame that had left him in tears at the edge of camp despite her insistence that she was fine, that she was alive, and all would be mostly right in the morning. Her stomach knotted at the thought of leaving Loghain behind—a decision that she knew would haunt her dreams for as long as she was living—but the burn and throb deep within the lacerations in her back would suffice as punishment for the time being.

Cullen said nothing while he inspected her wounds, his hands shaking as they continued to work her arms from her clothing, rending her partially naked there in his tent. He stole a glance back to the tent’s entrance, ensuring the flaps were secure and that no one would be able to glimpse her in such a state.

Why didn’t you bring Solas with you?” Cullen’s voice was calm despite the fear and irritation wrapped around his nerves. He opened a glass container, pulling its cork with a satisfying pop—the smell of elfroot swirled throughout the tent.  

“Dorian. I thought he and I could handle it. Solas has been—ahhh! Maker, Cullen, that’s fucking cold! It burns!”

Evelia squirmed, her fingernails digging into the meat of Cullen’s thighs and he paused his attentions on her injuries to band his free arm around her waist, pulling her closer so that her hips nestled between his open legs. Shushing noises slipped between his teeth, his fingers massaging into her biceps to distract and coax down her pain and anxiety.

“It was foolish.” Her voice was low, despondent, regretful. “I should have insisted that he come with us. I know things would have turned out differently had Solas been there.”

Cullen said nothing and instead rubbed a large dollop of salve between his palms, warming it in preparation of a second application. Deft fingers lightly patted the treatment into her wounds, taking care to prevent discomfort from the rough calluses of his fingers—and he nursed her despite her curses, watching as the skin around her torn flesh paled to its natural color—the magic of the herbs calming the angry inflammation branching within her veins.

Once he had finished, Evelia flashed her strongest healing spell throughout her body, using the power from the elfroot to hasten her recovery. Cullen tensed momentarily, but relief flooded his heart upon glimpsing her mostly smoothed back—only the largest of her wounds staring up at him from the mess of salve glistening in the glow of the lamplight.

“None of us expected you to physically enter the Fade, let alone your entire party,” he whispered, setting aside the salve in favor of a needle and suturing thread.

“I know. But it’s no excuse.”

Cullen hummed in contemplation. “Take a deep breath, darling. This will sting.”

Evelia did as she was told, filling her lungs to capacity as the needle pierced and threaded her flesh. Cullen worked as quickly and precisely as possible, and Evelia said a quiet thanks to the Maker during her long and careful exhale—grateful for her paramour’s expertise and skill, thankful for the elfroot’s numbing properties—and with that, the stitching had ended almost as quickly as it had begun. Cullen sliced off the remaining thread and proceeded to securely bind her injury. He wrapped the long, thin strip of linen around her chest, under her arms, over her shoulder, and tied it neatly so it would cause her as little discomfort as possible.

Cullen stood and looked down at her, assessing his work before reaching into his pack to withdraw a cream-colored tunic. Gathering the fabric around the collar of his shirt, he slipped it over her head before proceeding to gently pull her hands through the sleeves and smooth his fingers over her shoulders so her scarlet hair could cascade down her back. He took a seat next to her and reclined against his bedroll, extending his hand for her to join him by his side.

“Come, love.”

A small, sheepish smile spread Evelia’s mouth and she carefully stretched over him, snuggling against his shoulder and inhaling his warm and delectable musk. She nibbled at her bottom lip and he turned more to his side, looking over at her with a curious expression.

“What?” he asked.

“You’ve never called me that before—love.”

Without a second of hesitation, Cullen’s cheeks burned a warm pink that quickly flooded down his neck. But despite his blatant embarrassment, the look he bore in his eyes was unabashed—an intentional stare that relayed more than a simple glance as they flicked back and forth between the gray-green pools he’d come to search for from his earliest waking moment of the day until the Fade overtook his dreams at night.

“How do you feel?” he asked, cupping her cheek and gliding the pad of his thumb along her soft skin.

“Like I want to hear it more often,” she said.

His heart skipped a beat and Cullen was overwhelmed with immense excitement coupled with a nerve-wracking fear. But he drew in a deep breath, leaned forward, and kissed her—a delicate and familiar touch that suddenly felt different simply because his heart had slipped on his tongue. And it only made him long for more.

“I meant your injuries,” Cullen whispered, his lips grazing her jaw.

“I know,” she whispered back.

(Likes and reblogs welcome. 😘 )

Elorcan- It's your turn

Another shot at some Elorcan smut. As always, your feedback is appreciated! If you have any comments or criticism feel free to let me know :)

* * *

“May I ask why you are naked in my bed?”

“To delight you, of course.” Elide answered firmly with a wicked smirk.
“Tell me love, do I look inviting?” she purred, spreading her bare legs wide to reveal her center.

If his breath hadn’t ceased at the sight of her, Lorcan would not have caught the faint pop of her skin unfurling itself to display her entrance.

It was heaven to see her like this, sprawled out on his bed, body flushed and languid. To hear the sounds of her wet center opening itself to him and her ivory skin scratching against the cotton sheets. She was waiting. Her skin waiting for his touch, her lips waiting for his kiss, her heart for his love. He was content to watch her then. The flutter of her fingers through her dark hair, the batting of her lashes. But when her slim fingers came to rest on her breast, he was no longer satisfied with observing.

With sure steps he covered the distance between the door and his bed. Within seconds he was on top of her, calloused hands running down her smooth sides to savor the feel of her bare skin. His mouth on her neck tickling the sensitive flesh with his warm breath. Elide allowed her eyes to close and tilted her head so that her throat was more easily exposed. Her mates tongue left warm wet trails down her neck, leaving her humming in satisfaction.

“You are a mischievous thing, Elide Lochan.” her lover whispered in the space between one explicit kiss to her neck and another. “All cunning and ill-intent hidden behind those beautiful big brown eyes.”

The girl laughed at his accusations. Her fingers found his black hair, twisting and tugging until his painfully handsome face met hers, “You’ve seen nothing yet, love. Treasure these few moments of control I allow you.” His eyes watched the words fall out of her devious mouth. Mesmerized by the movement of her full lips as they warned him of what was to come.

She let loose another melodic laugh before taking his face in her hands. Her thumb ran over his smooth lips, reveling in all of the pleasure they had given her. Whether on her lips or puckered around her nipples, they were the source of countless moans.

Their lips met in a bruising kiss. As she had spoken her intentions to him, it became increasingly difficult to restrain the force she meant to subject him to. His fingers traced patterns up her torso, winding their way up from her stomach to lock onto her generous breasts. Elide’s lips parted to allow him the access she knew he craved, her fingers pressing into his cheeks.

His tongue traced patterns over hers as his fingers rolled and pulled at her nipples. It was enough to make her moan low and sweet into his mouth. Her hands moved from his face down to the hem of his shirt, tugging on the fabric to display her want.

“This should be off.” she managed between pants. Her fingers brushed against his stomach as they began lifting the material from his upper body. Lorcan pulled away from the allure of her breasts and rested on his knees to oblige his love. Once his shirt was off, he made quick work of his pants, tossing them to the floor as well. Elide’s response was the flash of a smirk and a hungry stare as she took in his unveiled frame.

The male took pride in the ravenous look she was giving him. She had seen him undressed a thousand times, and yet he still had this effect on her. He leaned down to take her into another bone crushing kiss but a small hand pressed against his heaving chest. “Not so fast.” Elide said breathlessly. She lifted herself onto her knees opposite her mate, the tendrils of black swaddling her ankle making her movements less troublesome.

She pressed her breasts flush to his chest, and used her body weight to force him down to the cotton sheets. “It’s your turn to lie on your back.” she whispered, punctuating her statement with a thrust that made Lorcan groan.