thinking about how katari really only turned to blood magic because she wanted the power to make people stop staring and whispering at her and her mother.
how her mother cut her horns off and hid in the shadows to provide for a young katari and how her mother hid her magic for years and years to make sure nothing ever came to take her away from her daughter.
how katari only became cruel and mean after spending so much time with the blood mages, after being treated like shit for being kossith, but even then, if a person earned her respect and treated her with reverence, she was kind to them.
how she went power mad after the anchor found its way to her hand.
it’s honestly kinda....sad....
There’s a hiss ofpain, and suddenly a white flash before his eyes. It burns, it burns, it burns. He grits his teeth, narrows hiseyes. Katari tugs a bit harder at the needle, claws digging into his flesh almost as much as theblade that had cut him did. She rolls her eyes. He shifts.
“You know, theonly reason I’m really doing this is because tomorrow I need you to fight the fucking dragon.” Her words arevenomous, and Armel cannot help but wince. He blames it on the wound. The feeling of hisskin tugging together makes him sick. With a hum, she finishes stitching him up and cleansthe wound with water, wiping blood away. For a damn savage, The Inquisitor certainlyknows what she’s doing.
“That is thethird time you’ve told me.”
“What was that?”And suddenly talons hover dangerously close to the cut she’d so recently sewn up, and he winces for thesecond time. She could kill him. She should. Why hasn’t she? Katari lets loose a mocking laugh,cards sharp nails through his hair. To some, it might look like an innocent gesture, one ofaffection and care. Their relationship is anything but. “That’s what I thought, big boy. Maybe if you dowell tomorrow, I’ll fuck you so much your stitches’ll come loose. Sound good?”
She’s gone beforehe can answer. She seems to be in a good mood today.
‘Yeah, let’s just go into the creepy temple that oozes
haunted or some shit. Like, I’m pretty sure that’s bones
litterin’ the dirt. But, yeah sure - great!’
Or her way of saying ‘we should turn around’. The aura
here just doesn’t feel right & she is positive that is BONES
littering the ground below. Let them ignore all of the that
right? Because it was important to go in there or something.
She didn’t much know. No - Sera had long blocked that out.
Going on missions was g r e a t! Exploring ruined temples?
Not so much.
‘Let’s just get eaten by demons
why we’re at it. Good day –’
❛ NOTHING WILL HARM YOU. ❜
her hands run along the wall, lips twisting into a sick sort of grin as she leans down to inspect the piles of bones. a glint catches her eye - a necklace, wrapped around the neck bones. deft fingers wrap tightly around it and she pulls, watching the bones crumble around it. old, dead and old and long since buried under the rumble. she gives a small pause before turning back to toss it at sera. she doesn’t want it, she just wants to CRUSH the bones under her feet, to listen to the scuttle of rats as they FLEE its ribcage and run; perhaps someone else might have use of it.
❛ catch. ❜
and she returns to inspecting the skeleton, lightly tapping her finger along the skull. energy thrums in the old ruin, and oh there’s so much she could do. her finger hesitate on the blade, wanting so desperately to bring the dead back to spook Sera (oh how she loves to FRIGHTEN her companions; cruel heart and tainted by BLOOD and DEATH; a daughter of demons oh she wants to see them suffer).
❛ you’re traveling with a MALEFICAR yet you’re afraid of
demons? who knew elves could be so....COWARDLY? ❜
It starts with a sickening crack. Blood pours from his nose, down his chin, onto his clothes only so recently washed. For some reason, that’s what spurs the rage. Not a potentially broken nose, or the bruises around his throat, or his smeared lipstick on her nape, but the ripped & tattered shirt & vest. Clawed fingers press half-moons of bright crimson into his neck, drag south from his jugular vein to his collarbone and pierce like blades. Armel feels his breathing quick: the reaction that follows is quick. A hand shoots out before she can grab it, holds tight to a curved horn and he pulls with all his might.
katari feels armel’s fist connect with her nose, and she half thinks that he might have finally succeeding in actually BREAKING it. she doubles over in pain, but it doesn’t stop the onslaught and oh she briefly puts up a fight, but he has her on the ground underneath him, his lips curling into smiles as the fists connect with her face and oh –
❛ FUCK YESSSSSS. ❜
the hiss of words slip out of her mouth, and she feels the air shift; and suddenly, she’s not being punched and that just won’t FUCKING do. katari’s blood red eyes shoot up and she drives her knee into the orlesian’s stomach, flipping them, until she presses all her weight onto him, into his chest. oh she wants to see this fucker turn blue, she wants to watch him BEGGING for either death or mercy. she doesn’t care which; she’ll still take what she WANTS from him, whether he’s alive or dead (she’s fucked corpses warmer than him; she truly does not care).
instead of delivering a series of calculated punches, like an ANIMAL, she wipes the blood from her nose and feels it, uses it, feels the need and power in it. she could kill him - part of her hisses. she could fucking KILL him and he couldn’t do anything to stop her. she could choke him to death, she could use his blood, she could do so much to him, with her weight on his ribs, him pinned under her and she loves it, loves this.
❛ you like this don’t you, you orlesian fuck. ❜
she’s practically moaning the words out as her heavy hands slide down from her face, over her breasts, down her stomach and up his chest, thumbs lightly resting where his throat dips. her lips curl over her sharp teeth and she SQUEEZES his throat, wrapping her long fingers around the skin and pushing her thumbs into the windpipe. her eyes light up with sick glee and fascination as her claws bite into the skin, blood oozing from the puncture wounds and oh….oh it’s so good, so good, it’s so FUCKING good.
instinctively, katari’s magic flares up, and she feels the rush of power in her blood, begging for more, more power, she wants more, more, moremoremoremoremore. fingers tightening, her eyes follow his cheekbones, and his lips, moving up his eyes. she watches for the light, the fading, the way his eyes start to bulge and go bloodshot.
she won’t KILL him yet.
but god is she going to make him wish she HAD.
❛ you’re worse than the horseshit in the barns… but you think you can get away with attacking me? what kind of PEASANT do you think i am, big boy? you can’t even imagine what i’ve done. i’m the INQUISITOR and you are worth less than the shit on my shoes. ❜
katari’s hands loosen, just enough to let him suck in a single lungful of breath before she tightens her grip again, grinning as his hands come to weakly claw at her hands. she’s going to KILL him and she’s going to FUCK him. not exactly in that order; or maybe exactly in that order. she’s UNDECIDED.
❛ i’m the one who stood down that darkspawn bitch at haven. i’m the one with this mark on my hand. and you have the AUDACITY to strike me. do you think you can fuck with me like that? you really think you can? ❜
her hands slide from his throat, and there’s parts of her that swim with hazy pleasure as he sucks in air, coughing and sputtering. and OH she’s bruised him; across his throat are her hand prints, bloodied and bruised. armel’s eyes are fogged and she grins, mouth smeared with blood. she shifts back, pressing herself against him and – oh.
❛ you DO like this. what a DISGUSTING, little orlesian rat. you want to FUCK me don’t you? say it…c’mon, orlesie. say you want to fuck me. right here, right now, in front of this entire fucking fortress. ❜
she grinds against him and her lips are twisted into a smile, fluttering her hands out to use the blood to bind him to the ground. her hands slide up her chest and she cups herself, grinding down on him, purring in that low, gravely voice of hers.
❛ BEG ME. tell me you WANT me. tell me how much you want to bury your cock in me, pretty boy…tell me… ❜
and he does. and katari wastes no time, undoing his trousers, sinking down into him, moaning out tevene insults long since lost in translation. grinning as her hands slide up to hold him by the hair, as she rocks against him, sliding with him, moaning, insulting, FUCKING him. tracing her lips along his neck, she feels his heart racing under the skin and seals her lips over it, sinking her teeth into the skin, listening to his groan of pain and oh this is so much better than fighting, so much better, so VIOLENT and ROUGH and BLOODY.
katari briefly muses that nothing has ever given her more pleasure than this orlesian pinned under her, not the boys she’d killed when they disappointed her, not the elf girls who slipped skilled fingers into her when they’d been learning how different qunari bodies were from the thin elf frame. KILL HIM, a tiny voice in her mind murmurs. KILL HIM AND SAVE HIS COCK FOR LATER. DEVOUR HIM. KILL HIM. she ignores it, digging her claws into his chest as she rides him, taking from him what she wants without even CARING about him. it doesn’t matter what the voices want from her, doesn’t matter what he wants; all that matters is her pleasure, is her being able to come. as long as she gets to feel this, as long as she comes, she doesn’t care about anything. but the mark on his neck, throbbing with each movement seals him to her. he’s TRAPPED now.
the inquisitor murmurs, turning to the templar. evelyn’s cheeks are flushed, filled with fire and anger. katari rises, slowly, like a tidal wave that builds and builds. her eyes flash, the magic under her skin rising and she feels her teeth split into a twisted grin, building and building. the human stands strong, until the vashoth is standing fully, a foot taller than her, intimidating her and she begins to take a step back, to preform a calculated retreat.
surging forward, katari grabs her by the cloth on her clothes, hoisting her forward and up to look her in the eyes. evelyn struggles briefly, her hands scrambling to find purchases on the muscles of the vashoth’s arms, to dig her nails in. her lips form an ‘o’ as katari pulls her closer, smiling even as her cheek is crimson with the blood that’s rushed to it from the punch.
❛ you know what we do to templars who dare try to stop us, don’t you. ❜
she murmurs, taking a deep breath and look around. she doesn’t care who sees, who walks in. she’ll take the human in front of all of skyhold if it fucking PLEASED her. she was the inquisitor; she ruled the inquisition with an iron fist and no one would ever speak out against her and keep their filthy tongue. but this….oh…this is just the beginning, just the FOREPLAY. this was just starting their roleplay, the templar caught by the cruel maleficar, at her MERCY.
the pupils of katari’s eyes are blown wide, and she breathes deeply, taking a step back to situate herself back on the throne of skyhold. the templar is pulled into her lap, pressed against her chest and uncomfortably shifting, trying to get comfortable. one of katari’s clawed hands move from the cloth to settle on the skulls that adorn her throne, laughing as evelyn starts to flinch away, trying to move from them. there’s still blood on some of them; newer, recently added. she recognizes alexius’ skull as the hand that holds her still, moves to pinch her chin between her fingers and turn her head to the side, to bare her neck for the TAKING.
❛ i didn’t think i’d….CAPTURED someone so….. ❜
leaning forward, the qunari breathes through her nose, swallowing the scent of fear and adrenaline that comes off of her partner in waves. oh it makes her want to drown, to dig claws into pretty pale skin and PULL the blood from her skin, to cover herself in it and BASK. it makes her want to FUCK and KILL and do everything she’s been forbidden to do as inquisitor. a low moan rumbles at the back of her throat, as she ducks her head into the long expanse of evelyn’s throat.
pausing for a moment, to just take it all in, katari drags her tongue up the skin, watching the way that evelyn shudders under the touch.
❛ willing to let me do whatever i WANTED to her on my throne. ❜
and as if a switch is flipped, katari’s fingers delve under the cloth, nearly ripping it to shreds in her haste to TOUCH, to TASTE, to RUIN. she digs her claws into the skin of her stomach and surges up to pull evelyn into a biting kiss, teeth TEARING at her lips, feeling the blood run down their chins, mixing, making it hard to tell where she ENDED and the templar BEGAN. her lips curl against hers, smearing lipstick across evelyn’s mouth, breathing, ragged against her lips.
𝔅eware toxic lovers who substitute knives for nails, whose bodies are painted with wounds from their partner, and who have a dangerous love for pain. passionate and untamed, they take pleasure in blissful sadism, marking their territory in wounds upon each other while hunting those that surround them. seemingly ordinary, the two save their animalistic natures for when they are together, transforming into the monsters they truly are when met with each other’s touch.
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