the three sovereigns

anonymous asked:

*Romanced* DAI companions react to the Inquisitor's death? Extra angsty, if you please.

I am feeling Super Angsty tonight! So here you go, anon!

Solas: No! It was not supposed to happen this way! She was supposed to be safe! He left to keep her safe. And instead she died for her own stubbornness. She should never have chased him. He should never have encouraged her. He should never have let himself get attached in the first place! And now she’s gone… She was the only one who could touch his heart in this world of walking shadows. She was more vibrant even than the elves of Arlathan. And just like them, she’s only a memory.

Blackwall: She deserved better, so much better. She deserved better than him. She deserved better than her fate. She deserved to be happy. She didn’t deserve the stress and responsibility that the Anchor had saddled her with. She can’t be gone! She’ll wake up. She’s not really gone. She can’t be…

Cullen, as told by Cole: “He holds her cooling body, rocks her against his chest. Wrong, impossible. Stop. Wake up. Breathe. Hot tears stain her face. Mine. Hers? She was meant for great things. Now she’s nothing. No! Never nothing. She’s still the woman I love, who taught me to have strength when nothing is left. She’ll never stop being that.” Cullen, it wasn’t your fault. She loved you, too.

Iron Bull: In the Qun, kadan is a term reserved for one who cannot be lived without, who shares space in the chest with the heart. My kadan was even more than that. My kadan taught me what love could be, something I never thought I’d know. Wake up, kadan! Don’t leave me after all of this. Come on, Boss. I still owe you a drink, remember? Katoh… Katoh…

Josephine, as told by Cole: “Hot tears that won’t stop. I can’t see their body. I can’t bear to see them like that. They can’t be cold and stiff and still and gone. Each time someone opens my door, I expect them. Look up and always think it’s going to be them, smile in place, kiss waiting. Sitting before the fire, missing their touch. Cold sheets, cold bones, without them here to warm me.” This isn’t what they wanted. You know that. They wanted you to be happy no matter what.

Dorian: Damn you, amatus, no! You come back to me! Damn it, you come back! You still owe me three sovereigns… And I… I love you, amatus! Don’t go… Please don’t go! I’d rather submit to my father’s fucking blood ritual than let this be true! Just come back to me! Oh, amatus, don’t go…

Sera: Honeytongue? Wake up. Wake up! You have to wake up! No… no sleepin’, not now! Come on, this isn’t funny! Joke’s over, now just wake up! Inky? NO! No, no, no, no, NO! Don’t you leave me, not now! I’ll make you so many cookies if you just wake up! Come on, wifey! You’re not allowed to die!

Cassandra: This cannot be the Maker’s plan! He was too good, too pious, for this to be His plan. I refuse to accept it! After everything, after all of this, he can’t just be gone! Is this the Maker’s only blessing? Is death the only answer? I still love him. How can this be what I’m meant for? I love him…


        The Three Sovereigns, as stated in Sima Qian’s “Records of the Grand Historian”

                                            HEAVENLY SOVEREIGN | FU XI

                                            EARTHLY SOVEREIGN |  NÜWA

                                            HUMAN SOVEREIGN | SHENNONG

I truly hate it when people say, “How can you like Zevran more than Leliana? He’s a remorseless assassin who likes to kill people for fun.”

a) SO DID LELIANA. If you play the DAO DLC “Leliana’s Song,” you see her ruining people’s lives, and killing or getting them killed for fun. She treats it like a fun game until Marjolaine does it to her

b) What do you think a bard is? An assassin and spy all in one, while an assassin is only that: an assassin. At least Zevran is honest about what he does; he doesn’t wrap it up in euphemisms and excuses the way Leliana does.

c) And this is most important: Zevran didn’t choose to become an assassin, while Leliana did choose to become a bard. 

Zevran was bought for three sovereigns at the age of seven and “raised to know nothing but murder,” was put through “endurance training” (read: TORTURE) from hell for many years until adulthood, and had to adapt or die. And the Crows do NOT accept resignation or failure. If he quits, he gets killed. He had no choice but to adapt and learn to like aspects of his job (like he says in the game) as a coping mechanism and survival strategy.

No one FORCED Leliana to become a bard. She entered the Orlesian courts as a young adult (18 at least), and fell in love with the glamour, excitement, and adventure. She acts like she kind of “fell into” the bard games, but Marjolaine reveals (and Leliana later admits in her personal quest), that she actually enjoyed the games, the intrigues, the thrill of the hunt, the seduction, and the sweet release of the kill. 

And unlike Josephine, who also fell for the bard glamour but became so horrified the first time she had to kill someone that she quit on the spot, learning that being a bard sometimes means killing someone wasn’t a deal-breaker for Leliana. She kept doing it knowing she was sometimes called upon to seduce and kill people, because she thought it was so fun and exciting that she thought it was an acceptable price to pay for the fun she was having–again, until Marjolaine did it to her. Then suddenly she realized how bad the Game is for destroying people’s lives, even though she can be persuaded to keep doing it anyway in DAO and DAI.

So, yeah, I like Zevran better. Zevran might be pretty cavalier about killing, but at least he’s honest about it. 


Brave local and Federal Law Enforcement officers secure the road to the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge center currently under siege by radical extremists in Oregon.

Thank you @motherofgriffins for this prompt! Sorry it’s ages old! For @dadrunkwriting

TITLE: Satin


PAIRING: Cullevelyan

Deep red satin fabric. That’s the one Mae glides her fingers along, being careful not to wrinkle the smooth fabric with her fingers.

“I like this. What do you think, Cullen?” She turns, holding a strip of the cloth out to him.

His brow arches, oblivious to what she’s asking. “Hmm?”

A soft laugh. “You don’t care do you?”

"I’m not sure what there is to care about. I don’t plan on keeping you in it for long anyway. Just long enough to get through the vows,” he growls with a crooked smile while pulling her in close to him.

The ribbon slips from her hand, hanging lazily off the table, then plummets to the floor, curling around her feet as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” He bends to press kisses at the nape of her neck and she lets out a soft whimper.

“Cullen, we’re not alone here.”

“They’re just Orlesians,” he mumbles into her skin.

Another kiss a little higher up her neck. A little nip to go with it.

“They’ll be glad to watch whatever show we might give them.”

Mae giggles. “You’re feeling frisky today.”

“I’d hardly call a bit of neck kissing, frisky.” He rolls his eyes while pulling away.

Scanning the small shop, the vendor reappears from behind a curtain in the back and Cullen smirks. “Besides, nobody saw a thing. And if you want to see frisky, meet me behind that curtain.” He tips his chin in the direction from which the vendor came.

She bites down on her bottom lip while watching him saunter off. He pushes back the curtain and disappears while the shopkeeper isn’t looking. Mae chuckles to herself and snatches up the dangling ribbon. Marching over to the vendor, she holds it up the ribbon and clears her throat to catch his attention.

He shoots up from the floor where he was previously bent over, perusing the stock or perhaps looking for something useful.

“Yes?” He asks in that silly accent.

“How much does this cost?”

“Five sovereign.”

“Five sovereign? How about two?” She bats her lashes, hoping to be a bit more persuasive.

“Three sovereign.”

“Two and fifty silver.”

“Three. If you don’t take that offer, I’ll up it to four.”

Mae sighs heavily and reaches for her coin purse. Counting out the right amount, she hands it over. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you for your patronage,” he replies snidely, before going back to his business.

Mae smirks as she hurries off to the back room where Cullen is waiting. Pushing back the curtain, her eyes search for Cullen.

“Cullen?” Her voice is a quiet whisper as she calls out to him. “Cullen?” she hisses a little louder.

Suddenly hands grasp her from behind. She shrieks but that same hand closes over her mouth and she feels the rumble of Cullen’s chuckling behind her.

“It’s just me,” he whispers into her ear while snatching the satin ribbon from her hand.

She turns into his arms and eyes him suspiciously. “What do you plan to do with that?”

“Tie you up.” He begins kissing her along the neck again, knowing it’s her favorite spot.

“Here? Now?”

Kisses Dust along her shoulder as he begins to untie the leather cords of her antaam-saar.

“You accused me of being frisky. I felt I should live up to the accusation.”

The top hits the floor. He flashes a wicked grin. Dipping his head, he takes a nipple between his teeth, sucking and pulling.

“I suppose I should have purchased two.”

“No. One will do.”

“Really?” Mae knows better than to doubt him.

“Yes, really.” His mischievous smile fades. “Are you alright with this? We can take this…”

Mae presses a finger to his lips. “I’m perfectly alright with this. I’m just not sure I’ll be very quiet.”

Cullen shrugs. “It’s not a requirement. We’re in Orlais. Nobody cares.”

Mae laughs. “Until Josephine lectures us for having a fuck in public when the rumors spread around about ‘The Inquisitor and her Commander.’”

“I suppose I better make this worth it then,” he says before taking her on the table.

i’m like hey, hi, hello ! my name is hannah and i insist everyone watch this video before talking to me because it’ll be the best sixteen seconds of your day. anyway, here’s an introduction to my beautiful love lyla martell, a former celebrity who spun out of control. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of overdose, depression, anxiety, and cocaine. if there’s anything else you need for me to tag, please don’t hesitate to let me know !

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meihua04  asked:

Nevena and Dorian talking about her relationship with Cullen :D.. "We are best friends after all."

It occurred to me I’ve never written much for Dorian and Nevena’s friendship. This must be rectified!

Dorian is someone I’ve not written much of, so I hope it sounds like him!

“Have a thing for strapping young Templars, I see.” Dorian grinned down at Nevena over the back of the leather arm chair she occupied.

She closed her eyes for a moment, cursing to herself , and tilted her head back. “What’s this about?” She asked, cordial but with a soft edge of warning to her tone. One Dorian knew well enough. He smiled, putting her at ease and slid around to sit in the chair opposite hers.

“Oh, nothing,” he patted her knee, “just something I find rather adorable about you.”

Rolling her eyes, Nevena hid behind her book again, staring at the page rather than reading it. She could see Dorian over the edge. He reclined in the chair, like a cat finding a sunny spot in which to bask. He examined his fingernails for a moment and crossed one leg over the other.

“I’m surprised, really.”

“Oh Maker…” Nevena groaned, pushing her face into the pages.

“I thought the two of you would be mooning over each other for another month yet.” He sat with his elbows on the arms of the chair, his hands arched and fingertips touching. “I missed out on quite an impressive pot.”

“Sorry to disappoi– Pot?” Nevena closed the book. “What pot?”

“Didn’t you know?” Asked the other mage, feigning shock and ignorance.

“Clearly not.”

“There’s been a pot building for months around the two of you. Bets on who would make the first move and when.” He explained it in such a casual and dismissive way, waving his hand as if taking bets on someone’s personal life was an everyday occurrence. “I think the final total was around three hundred sovereigns.”

“Three hundred–!” Gaped Nevena, barely keeping her voice down. She covered her mouth with one hand to stifle herself. A handful of messengers and mages glanced into the alcove where they both sat. Clearing her throat she rotated her fingers on her forehead. “Three hundred sovereigns? Who was involved in this?”

“Practically everyone!” Dorian gave his wicked little laugh, “myself, Varric, Iron Bull and the Chargers. Josephine. Even Madame de Fer took an interest.” He listed names off his fingers, “it started with just myself and Varric, but by the end it there were bets coming in from all places.” He chuckled again. “You and the Commander have made Scout Harding very happy.”

“She won?”

Dorian nodded. “By a day. There’s a fellow in the armory who’s incandescent with rage he just missed out.”

Sighing, Nevena smoothed her fingers back through her hair and rest her hands on her shoulders. “Cullen doesn’t know, does he?” She asked, “he’d be mortified.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head Nevena, your Commander is none-the-wiser and his dignity remains intact.”

“Thank the Maker for small mercies, I suppose.” Nevena huffed. She leaned back in her chair, leveling Dorian’s pleased smile with a quiet stare. When he didn’t speak again for a few seconds, she lifted a brow. “What?”

“As much as I enjoy teasing, you do turn the most delightful shade of red after all.” Dorian leaned towards her, clasping his hands together and dropping his voice to a more serious level. “I am pleased. For the both of you. You make a handsome couple and he seems… happier in your company. And you in his.”

A little smile tickled the corner of Nevena’s mouth. “Thank you.”

“Just be careful.”

“Be careful?”

“He was a Templar. Some of those old prejudices…” He struggled for a moment. “I would hate to see you get hurt. You are rather dear to me after all. And Cullen seems… fragile.”

“Dorian…” Nevena took his hands in hers, smiling. “Thank you for the concern, but I don’t think you have to worry. We’re not about to leap into anything blind.” She explained kindly. “Cullen and I are just beginning to learn more about each other… we’re going to go at our pace. We’ll handle any Templar-mage issues as we get to them.” She squeezed a little tighter an earnest smile fixed upon her lips. “Sincerely, thank you. But I think we’ll be fine.”

“Alright, alright.” He laughed and tapped her on the end of her nose. “Look at me, all concerned. Not long ago my only concern was me! This is your damned good influence.”

Nevena poked her tongue out, “you’ve never been that self-centered.” She leaned back in her chair, settling against the leather and the cushions. “Whatever you might like to tell yourself.”

Dorian got to his feet. “You have me figured out.” He sighed dramatically. “Just don’t let it become common knowledge, hm? I have a reputation to keep after all.”

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inquisitor as a companion: banter

Cole’s reflection on their thoughts: “She smiles, but it’s… strained. Stained. Stretched too tight for strangers. So much stone, but I can see the sky. She’s small, slight, but bigger on the inside, bursting like the blue box. Too loud. I can’t hear more. Sorry.”

If her relationship with the Inquisitor is unfriendly, all Cole offers is “She doesn’t like you.”

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Friendly Competition Feat. Cullen, Iron Bull, Dorian, Varric and f!Trevelyan

“So, we are agreed.” Iron Bull declared loudly. “A circuit twice around Skyhold and whomever wins is decidedly quickest.”

“I really don’t see the point of this.” Cullen sighed, trying to recall just how he had been bullied into this show of manliness.

“For honour, little man!” The Qunari mercenary slapped Cullen on the back, a friendly gesture but Iron Bull wasn’t always aware of his own strength. Cullen bit back a groan of pain from the smack, tentatively rubbing his afflicted shoulder when Iron Bull retracted his hand. He could withstand the friendly slaps when he had his armour on, but for the moment he wore only a simple long-sleeved woollen shirt and breeches so had no additional protection.

Dorian arched an eyebrow, “and why am I being forced to partake in this show of masculinity?” Inquired the mage, his tone lilted with amusement.

It had been several days since any of them had left Skyhold to deal with breaches or troubles throughout Thedas, and Iron Bull had a habit of getting a little cabin feverish if stuck in the same place for too long. He had come up with a variety of ludicrous contests to pass the time. Contests to see who was the strongest, who could throw something the furthest across the courtyard. Invariably, he won each contest but always cajoled or goaded others into taking part.

“If it was just between me and the Commander it wouldn’t be fair.” Iron Bull explained, stretching. “The little man couldn’t out run me, at least with a third he has a chance of being second.”

“I … see.” Dorian furrowed his brow a little. “So, you are assuming I will come last?”

“Of course.” Iron Bull guffawed good-naturedly. “You are punier than he is.”

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Dorian stood straight from where he had been leaning on the wall. “I don’t much like your tone,” he said slowly, “or the insinuation that I am slower than the both of you.”

“It’s just a bit of fun.” Cullen explained, placating the mage. “No need to get–”

Iron Bull smacked Cullen’s back again, “no, let him get riled! He will need that fire to compete with me!” He bellowed. Cullen winced and took a deliberate step away from the Qunari warrior, out of the range of his arms.

“What exactly are you three up to?”

The three men turned in unison to the sound of their leaders voice.

Nevena approached across the courtyard with Varric in tow. Her hair was loose down her back, spilling over her shoulders and she wore an easy smile. A drastic change from the usually troubled expressions that graced her delicate features.

“Inquisitor!” Iron Bull barked, “good! You can be the judge! Declare the winner!”

Nevena looked confused, “winner of what?”

“We are to race!” Explained Iron Bull with loud enthusiasm that drew the attention of several recruits and guards littered around the courtyard. “Varric, you must join us!”

“Not a chance, Bull.” Varric rose his hands and laughed, “I’m a storyteller and a dwarf, I don’t do running. Unless it’s for my life.”

“Pah!” Laughed Iron Bull, “perhaps you will allow me to demonstrate my throwing abilities with you at a later date then.”

“Not even if you crawled through a thaig of darkspawn for the privilege.” Varric retorted, smirking.

“Why are you racing around Skyhold?” Nevena asked, watching as the three men warmed up their muscles to ready themselves. Or, at least Cullen and Dorian did. Iron Bull stood with his arms folded waiting for the other two.

“For proof of who is the quickest!” Explained Iron Bull.

“Right…” Nevena crossed her arms loosely over her chest. “Because that… makes sense.”

“Don’t doubt the man’s logic, Freckles.” Varric joked, “how else will they be able to tell who’ll be able to out run the demons and the like.”

“Ah,” Nevena nodded, joining in playfully. “You make a good point.”

Varric chuckled, looking at the three men before him. “What does the winner get?” He asked.

“Glory!” Iron Bull laughed, “and boasting rights.”

“Obviously.” Varric sighed, “but what physically? Gold? Accolades?”

Cullen shook his head, “this is just a bit of fun, Varric.” He stretched his arm, “no one wins anything physical.”

“Well, that’s boring.” Declared the dwarf, huffing slightly. “How will everyone know you won, if you have nothing to show for it.”

“Varric…” Cullen’s tone dropped to a gently warning level.

Dorian interjected, “no, no. He has a point. I don’t see the point of pushing myself to exertion if I’m not getting something in return.” He smiled lazily, “gold would be nice. I say three sovereigns to the winner.”

“Now we’re talking my language.” Varric enthused.

“You are a terrible influence.” Nevena told him, amused.

“It’s a burden I bare daily, sweet lady.” Varric replied, feigning a troubled tone. He grinned, “three sovereigns and…” Varric paused, looking around for inspiration. “A kiss from our illustrious leader.”

“What?” Nevena’s voice rose, joined by Cullen’s.

“No, Varric - you can’t reduce the Inquisitor to a… a prize.” Explained the Commander, stumbling over his words a little. “She’s not some kind of–”

“Thank you, Commander.” Nevena cut in, with a gentle tone of authority, looking at him fervently. “I have no qualms with it, considering he hasn’t specified where on the victor I have to kiss them.” She looked down at Varric, marvelling in her brief moment of triumph. “If I am kissing the victor, then you are providing the sovereigns.”

“Fair deal.” Varric grinned.

Dorian spoke up, “I hate to… a kiss from the Inquisitor is not much of a prize for myself.” He explained with his usual charm and smiling grace. “Not that you aren’t lovely, My Lady, but my tastes lie elsewhere.”

“I am aware, Dorian.” Nevena smiled, “in that case, if Dorian wins perhaps he should receive five sovereigns, an additional two in place of a kiss?”

“Five?” Varric’s eyes widened a little. “You shrewd little…” His mouth tugged into an almost proud smirk as he exchanged looks with Nevena. “Your kisses are worth two extra sovereigns are they? You, dear lady, are in the wrong line of work. I’m good for it.”

“Excellent!” Laughed Iron Bull, “this is a fine arrangement. And the two of you can be our judges!”

“Alright.” Varric agreed.

“Rules.” Said Nevena quickly following as the three men took up a starting place at the gateway into Skyhold. “No shoving, or purposely trying to trip or hurt your opponents.” She turned her gaze on Iron Bull who looked away as innocently as a Qunari with an eye patch could. “No magic.” She looked at Dorian and he gave a small bow, “and… the finishing line is here, back where you started.”

“Two circuits.” Iron Bull reminded his companions. “And may the best Qunari win.”

“Easy now Bull,” goaded Cullen, “don’t strain that over-confidence of yours. How will you tend to your bruised ego when you lose.”

Iron Bull laughed loudly, “keep talking like that little man, and you may actually convince yourself you can win.”

“Barbarians.” Laughed Dorian, shaking his head.

They lined up together, muscles and bodies poised to run with Varric and Nevena standing close by to signal the start of their race.

Nevena dropped her hand after counting down and the three of them were gone in a flurry of dirt and boots grinding on the earth for purchase.

The stationary pair watched for as far and as long as they could see the racing men. Several barrels went flying, knocked aside by Iron Bull’s larger stride and a handful of guards were forced to practically dive out of the way to avoid them.

They vanished from sight as they turned beyond the stables, but cries of surprise could still be heard occasionally.

When they reappeared, Iron Bull was out in front only a little, his head down and practically charging through the Keep. Cullen kept up surprisingly well, his long years of Templar training and his stamina clearly serving him well as he dug his feet into the ground for additional grip and drive. Dorian had flagged a little, falling a few feet behind the other two.

The flew passed Varric and Nevena in a rising din of pounding feet, heavy breathing and dust clouds. Small stones being thrown up from the ground in the wake of their pace.

“Got those sovereigns handy?” Nevena asked, shielding her eyes from the dust.

“You got that kiss?” Varric returned, grinning.

The guards had learned from their previous circuit and stayed out of the way this time, dodging and avoiding the three men more easily. And no barrels were toppled by Iron Bull’s wide horns or stride thankfully, either.

In their absence, Nevena drew a line in the dirt with her boot, an indication of the finishing line and stood at the point with Varric so she could judge fairly who was the winner.

Iron Bull and Cullen reappeared first, pushing themselves with red faces and sweat on both their brows. Varric pulled Nevena away from the finishing point so she didn’t accidently get smacked by one of the men as they raced past.

Dorian, who had been a few paces behind the other two slowed to a jog and then walked the rest of the way to the finishing line, panting and puffing deeply, rapidly pulling air into his lungs to recover. Both Cullen and Iron Bull stood several feet away in almost the exact same positions, upright and leaning back, the pair of them trying to take deep breaths.

“Next time,” Dorian remarked between breaths, “we have a challenge that doesn’t involve running. Something involving magic.”

Both Iron Bull and Cullen laughed, recovering slowly. Cullen drew one hand through his hair, clearing the strands that had stuck to his sweaty forehead away and planted his hands on his hips, head back, eyes skyward and kicking the dirt.

“Good challenge.” Cullen remarked, “I think we’re going to hurt later.”

“Only you with your puny legs.” Said Iron Bull grinning. “I would say I am the winner!”

“Not so fast there, Iron Bull.” Varric said sagely, stepping towards the recovering men. “Freckles, who would you say won?” He turned his gaze to Nevena who was wiping soil and dirt off her breeches.

“Hm?” At being addressed she glanced up. Iron Bull looked at her expectantly a triumphant grin already in place, while Cullen only looked up at her momentarily from the ground. “Oh well… it was very close.” Sweeping her hair back as stood straight, “but I think the winner, by a hair’s breadth was–”

“The Commander.” Varric announced. He looked back at Nevena over his shoulder, her mouth open a little. “Sorry Freckles, you were taking too long. The tension was killing me.”

“What?!” Iron Bull bellowed, “no! I was in front.”

“Sorry, Bull,” Varric grinned, “but you can’t argue with the results.”

The Qunari stared down at the dwarf, a furrow in his brow. A few feet behind him, Cullen looked quietly surprised and Dorian simply smiled, leaning on the wall.

“I do not believe you.” Iron Bull said slowly, “you are a notorious liar. Cassandra has told me so.”

Varric grimaced, “Bull, I am hurt by such an accusation. How can you think I would lie about something so important.” He sighed sadly, dropping his gaze. “Look, if you don’t believe me, at least believe the Inquisitor. She’s not likely to lie.” Both he and Iron Bull looked back at Nevena, who looked terrified to be caught in the cross fire. “I mean look at her face. Is that the face of a woman who could, let alone would, lie?”

“Hey!” Nevena snapped.

Iron Bull’s mouth quirked a little into an amused smile. “No. I suppose not.”

“I’m standing right here!” Nevena remarked crossly. “I can hear you!”

Dorian chuckled behind his hand, stifling his laughter when Nevena turned her eyes on him fiercely.

“My apologies, Inquisitor.” Iron Bull explained, “but you have an honest face.”

“Oh great.” Nevena rose her arms a moment and then dropped them back against her legs, creating a slap sound. “Next time you need an impartial party, pick someone else.”

“There’s still the issue of prize giving.” Dorian reminded her cheerfully, “and Commander, you’ve been very quiet considering you’re the winner.” He patted Cullen on his shoulder with a large grin.

“Uh– well,” Cullen replied, startled. “I… uh, that is–” he cleared his throat gently, trying to cover his sudden bout of unease. He could feel the eyes of his companions on him, but Nevena’s seemed to bore into him the hardest. “I think it’s fair to share the coin. I have no need for it.”

“Generous and diplomatic.” Said Dorian, “I wouldn’t turn down a bit of extra coin.”

“I’m amenable to that.” Varric cheerfully confirmed . “And what about the big prize?”

Nevena sighed, “I’m not kissing him with you three reprobates gawping.”

“Excuse me.” Dorian gasped, jokingly insulted. “I am no reprobate. If anything, I am a roguish scoundrel.”

“Same thing.” Cullen told him, rolling his eyes. “And, Inquisitor, it’s… fine. You don’t have to.”

“You don’t want her to?” Iron Bull queried.

“Well,” Cullen stumbled, “no- wait– yes. I mean–”

“Why not? What’s wrong with her?” Varric added grinning wickedly as Cullen squirmed. Normally, the Commander was unshakeable, and could joke with the rest of them, but Varric had noticed how awkward he became when the subject of their Inquisitor came up. In the tavern and with her other companions, he always seemed to turn fidgety when she was the topic of conversation.

“Nothing is wrong with her!” Cullen explained, his voice rising a little. “I just don’t think she should have to kiss me if she doesn’t want to.”

“Maybe she does want to.” Dorian suggested with disarming innocence. “Inquisitor, do you want to kiss the Commander?”

“For the love of…” Nevena lay her face in her hands, muffling her voice.

Varric shoved him, sending him stumbling unceremoniously towards the blonde woman. Cullen steadied himself, casting an irritated glance back over his shoulders wanting to curse the meddlesome dwarf and his scheming. Iron Bull had won, Cullen had seen it. This was all some awful torture designed to humiliate him.

“We should give them some privacy.” Varric told the others and with only a small argument from Iron Bull, he led them away. “I owe you boys some coin.”

Cullen turned his eyes back to Nevena. Her hands had dropped down to her sides and she had a small, bemused grin on her face, along with very pink cheeks. She looked at him and shrugged her shoulders wordlessly.

Cullen was suddenly very aware of how much taller he was than Nevena when she stood opposite him in such a close vicinity. They had shared a close space before, when he had sparred with her and at the war table it was sometimes necessary to be close. But for some reason, now was when he noticed it the most, and now was when stomach decided to plummet down to his knees.

He was attracted to the Inquisitor, he had been since they had first been introduced but he had not imagined or held any illusions to their relationship being anything but platonic.

“You don’t have to,” Cullen swallowed thickly. His palms felt sweaty and he rubbed them on his breeches, “kiss me.” The word was strained out of his throat because he wanted her to kiss him. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted to have something where a kiss was involved.

Maker, he wanted it, and he shouldn’t have. She wasn’t just some woman who he fancied. She was the Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste. The Maker’s bloody mouth piece. He shouldn’t have been lusting after her. Shouldn’t had felt that tug of wanting in his gut every time he saw her, heard her or spoke to her.

But he did. And it was worse now because all he could focus on were her lips and that they were moving. She was speaking and he should have been listening, but her mouth was hypnotic, and he could just envision her lips on his.

“–don’t you think, Commander?” Nevena concluded, and Cullen stared at her wide-eyed and confused. His whole mind hazy.

“I’m sorry, My Lady I missed everything you just said.” He admitted, no point lying about it. The look she gave him was half-heartedly disapproving. He took a sharp breath, summoning up courage from some deep part of his soul.

Demons and things that wanted to kill him, Cullen could deal with all day and all night. A woman to whom he was attracted, was more of a challenge. “I was distracted by the thought of this victory kiss I’m supposed to get, you don’t mind if I take now, do you?”

Apparently surprised by his sudden forwardness, Nevena stared at him with wide eyes. “Well, I–” she said finally, the colour of her pink cheeks deepening, “no… I suppose not.”

Cullen took the opportunity, bending at the waist and gently, chastely kissing her soft cheek. He heard her release a shuddering breath and perhaps lingered a few seconds longer than he should have, inhaling the scent of her skin and hair. He could feel the heat of her cheeks warm his own, and fixed his lips into a smile as he created the space between them.

“My Lady.” He nodded his head once, polite and professional, trying not to let his mouth break into too big of a grin.

Without another word he turned and walked towards the Keep. A few steps and he glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Nevena touching her cheek where he had kissed her, her lips slightly parted in a rather breath taking smile.

He would spend the night and days to come replaying that moment, that closeness, recalling the heat, the squirm of his stomach, the scent of her skin, eager for another chance to kiss her again.

Maker help him, he was infatuated with his leader. He wanted her, and didn’t care.

Got this idea from something I saw around tumblr, an idea of Dorian and Cullen being bros and having a race around Skyhold because Bull wanted to know who was fastest. And this happened.

I have no idea if Dorian, Bull or Varric are really in character. I tried though! I I will probably die if Bull calls any character in DA:I “little man” or something.

I found the post where I saw the idea for this!! It is here!

All credit to experimentalmadness for spawning this idea in my head.


Across the Waking Sea: Chapter Three

Find Chapter Two here

Chapter Three is rated M/E. Not sorry.

Summary: Six months after the defeat of Corypheus, Inquisitor Trevelyan and her lover, Commander Rutherford, sail to Ostwick to attend her sister’s wedding. It doesn’t take long, of course, for problems to arise. The most pressing problem, however, is who wants Evelyn Trevelyan dead?  

“Chapter Three”

Tossing and turning in her bed, Evelyn sighed heavily. Her shoulder was sore from the packed earth floor of the blacksmith’s, and she was sure a bruise would bloom on her knee where it had knocked into the doorframe as she rolled herself over Marie. “Knew I needed to repair that stone…shouldn’t have gone with the cheapest offer,” the smith had muttered, crawling out from beneath both Trevelyan sisters and disappearing into the back to fetch the sword.

Panting, Marie had gaped at the massive stone, shattered now, but each piece easily weighed twenty pounds of more. An accident, Evelyn thought, but one that was too close for comfort. They had agreed not to mention it to their mother; she was nervous enough already with Tatiana’s upcoming nuptials.

Fortunately, dinner hadn’t been quite the ordeal Evelyn had anticipated, as her mother seated Cullen to Evelyn’s right, perhaps in apology for her comments at tea. While her lover’s proximity meant that the conversation was more pleasant than expected, with Cullen, Evelyn and Marie discussing Chantry politics, theology, and the Inquisition, the closeness of Cullen’s body, his sweet but spicy cologne, and his hand creeping from her knee up and between her thighs, with teasingly light touches…well, he had driven her to distraction. She managed to keep herself in check, as Emilie provided a welcome distraction, wanting a story read to her in between dessert and coffee, and she held Antony for a while to give Cossette a brief respite.  Unfortunately, as soon as Evelyn’s father and the Teryn signaled the end of the meal by toasting to the engagement of their children and retiring to the library for brandy, Jean appeared to escort Evelyn and Tatiana back to their rooms. She’d managed only a quick kiss to the corner of Cullen’s mouth before being swept out of the hall.

Keep reading

This was a shield the Police used at the Bataclan that allowed them to engage the terrorists and stop them from killing more innocent people.


Next time you think to criticize a Police Officer who is wearing Kevlar, or carrying a rifle, or riding in an armored truck, realize that this is what you are complaining about …