three of swords ⚔️

Reunited

no matter how terrible my day is. i can always end my day in bed imagining fictional characters making out sloppy style and fucking raw. and that's beautiful. there's some good in this world mister frodo and it's worth fighting for

Hush

do you think that dalish weddings ceremonies have rituals to “appease the dread wolf” as a blessing for the couple? like dressing up the fen’harel statue at the edge of camp with flowers and burning strong incense near it so he cant catch their scent. or symbolically “tricking” the wedding guests by baking a single pepper into the cake that ends up in someone’s slice for fen’harel’s enjoyment. basically doing things to make sure fen’harel doesn’t feel neglected so he won’t bring nightmares to your wedding night and misfortune to the marriage

and when lavellan marries the dread wolf she gets great amusement out of dressing him in flowers and giving him spicy cake

I’ve had this piece like 90% done for years now but originally formatted it to be a notepad (it didn’t really work very well which is why it kind of just sat in my files and never got finished/printed) BUT!! I’ll be at C2E2 next week and figured I’d fix some formatting and finish the last 10% and turn it into a cute miniprint.

back on my bs :)

turning seasons 🌸🌻🍁❄️

. .

start of new cycle of spring, time to finally posting the full sets!

In another world.

do you ever think about how wild it must have been for solas to experience any physical contact after his 5000 year nap and one year of wandering around as an apostate hobo. i think about this a normal amount

unrequited love, Morrigan+Mahariel+Zevran

"It's a pity you mar your beauty with that scowl, Morrigan," Zevran said, his sly crow eyes glinting with mischief. "You'd look better as a benevolent goddess, not an avenging one."

"'Tis a pity we didn't slit your throat when we found you," Morrigan snapped back waspishly. "You'd look better as a corpse."

It was too much. She could see the surprise register on Zevran's face even as he laughed, the instinctive eye-widening that came with an unexpected blade. Alistair, sitting opposite the campfire and peeling potatoes, raised both his eyebrows.

Morrigan wanted to hiss like a viper. "What?" she demanded, crossing her arms. Too defensive, even to her ears, but better that than to reveal how unsettled she was by her own outburst. She hadn't meant to spew her poison quite so vehemently. A worrying lapse of control.

"My dear witchy companion," Zevran said, cautious with his smile, curious with his gaze. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything is perfectly fine."

Alistair snorted. "Just your usual mood, then?"

Morrigan did hiss then, baring fangs she didn't have. Alistair's split-second of alarm before he frowned was sweet balm to her soul. "Is everyone determined to vex me tonight? Leave me at peace."

"I suppose we all have bad days," Zevran said philosophically. He went back to sharpening his weapon, his retreating body language a peace offering. But he kept looking at Morrigan, carefully, out the corner of his eye. "Still, if I've done something offend, please let me know. I find it's better to air grievances before they sour into hidden knives in the dark, no?"

And how to answer that? Zevran hadn't done anything wrong, not in any sense lawful or unlawful. He simply stood too close to Mahariel, touched him too freely. Gave him smiles that shone too vulnerably in their contemptible honesty. He and Mahariel didn't even share tents in a vulgar way, which Morrigan would have at least understood. Instead they shared a connection that frightened her as much as it burned at her.

She shook the thought away. "I have no quarrel with you," she lied, and tried to make it feel true.

Zevran's gaze lingered. Underneath all the playacting he really was more perceptive than he was given credit for, subtle with his insights. His lips curved up in a smile that was more understanding than she deserved, and to his credit slightly regretful. Then, as asked, he left her at peace.

"Hey. I'm back."

Morrigan snapped to attention. Coming out of the woods was Mahariel, shoulders ladden with firewood, footsteps silent and assured on the forest floor. He looked tired, the way he always did, but he kept his head high and his back stright. His black eyes glinted like an animal's in the firelight.

"Welcome back, mi amor," Zevran purred, a sincere pleasure hiding underneath the theatrics. "Did you vanquish all your enemies?"

"Those dastardly trees are no more," Mahariel said in a perfect deadpan. Still, a smile hovered over his lips. Just a small one. "Any trouble while I was gone?"

"Morrigan was being mean," Alistair piped up.

Morrigan's hackles immediately rose. "Are you a child?"

"No loyalty," Zevran said faux-mournfully, shaking his head. "Tattling to mother without a second thought."

"Hey! What's wrong with tattling? Keeping lies is even worse!"

"Is that what they teach you at that Chantry of yours?" Mahariel asked, bending down to feed the branches to the fire. Then, while Alistair sat there looking moronically thoughtful, he looked up at Morrigan. "Everything alright?" he said quietly. Almost intimately, with his eyes so serious, his regard so focused. He always offered her such undivided attention.

Morrigan pressed his lips together, her nails stinging as she dug them in her palms. "A headache plagues me, that is all."

Another lingering look, calm and pensive. Mahariel's eyes were dark as the starless night, and twice as hard to read. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. Do you need some elfroot?"

"Save your remedies," she told him, aiming for a lofty tone. "I have no need for them."

Another nod, and Mahariel returned to his task. Once the fire blazed tall and cheerful he brought out the cooking pot, setting it up. Zevran stood up to help him without being asked, as if it was the natural order of things. He didn't even make a quip. Just passed along ingredients, answering smile for smile as the two of them worked quietly in tandem.

Morrigan felt like a fluttering bird; agitated, wanting to take flight. "I have no appetite tonight," she announced, rising stiffly to her feet. "Eat without me."

Eyes fell heavy on her back as she walked off. She ignored them all, and satisfied herself with her cold and lonely tent.

One good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.

commission done by @ DING for my favorite gang

It was a simple mistake to make.

Hey so you know how there's that early game Arlathan side quest where you have to appease the panicking spirit of comfort? And how if you have Lucanis along, he explains that it just needs some sort of gesture to make it feel like the dead are put to rest because spirits of comfort are very empathetic but not very smart? And how it's Spite who tells him this? Spite is the one who suggests the little memorial.

Have we considered the implications of this on Spite's character? Like. Ignoring video game mechanical quest reasons for a second, Spite, being Spite, would have no reason in the scope of his purpose to offer this information to Lucanis. Especially at this point when they're still at odds with each other. Unless!!!! It's purely because Spite saw this spirit of comfort in extreme distress, on the verge of becoming a demon, and decided he wanted to help. Sure, he does so with a snarky insult to the intelligence of spirits of comfort (cos he's still Spite), but he still helps! Cos he knows what it's like to be in that kind of distress and doesn't want a fellow spirit to go through that.