Emily. 36. Just a place to obsess about Mass Effect and Dragon Age.
I'm new to writing fanfiction, but I have three fshenko oneshots and an in-progress slow-burn enemies-to-lovers longfic about Elissa Cousland and Nathaniel Howe up on AO3 here.
OCs:
Erin Shepard (x Kaidan)
Elissa Cousland, Machiavellian edition (x Alistair)(but also x Nathaniel Howe in an AU of my canon worldstate)
Laurel Hawke (x I shan't say in case I decide to write it!)
Alana Trevelyan (x Cullen, don’t @ me I played Inquisition first)
Yaryna Aldwir (x Bellara)(... x Davrin?)
Ah it’s DA Kiss Week and I do love kisses! I’m going to try and have something for every day!
Today’s features Zevran, Enora Cousland, and a little bit of Alistair at the end!
First Time for Every Question
Rated: General
Length: 1.4k
Simple camp conversations have a way of getting out of hand. Or Enora grew up sheltered in Highever and missed out on important childhood experiences, like a first kiss, and now she’s trying to speed run the experience.
“Zevran?” Enora rolled the empty bottle in her hands back and forth, testing the bounds of her dexterity as her fingertips and palms barely held pressure on the glass. Her hands had never been soft, but in recent days they had become rough enough to catch on the small fibers of her clothes. On the bottle though, no surfaces pulled at her skin. Roll forward, roll backwards, roll forward, roll backwards. There was comfort in the monotony.
She had become so focused on the way the glass caught the light of the fire that she had nearly forgotten that she had spoken her companion’s name. So when his voice broke the still of the night, she jumped, the bottle tumbling to the hard packed earth. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface. She frowned at the bottle before turning her attention to Zevran who looked at her expectantly.
He cleared his throat and tried again, “Yes, My Lady?”
The deference earned him a shove. He had adopted it by way of exacting revenge on Alistair’s behalf for her constant teasing of his noble parentage. In truth, she was simply happy to not be the only one in camp with high Fereldan blood in her veins. It made the world seem less lonely. And if it also was usually accompanied by a blush and a whine for her to stop, then, well, one act could have multiple benefits.
“Enora?” Zevran knocked his shoulder into hers, pulling himself into an upright seated position against the log they were sharing for their turn on the watch. His eyes gleamed amber in the firelight as she looked up into them.
Zevran was her friend, and her quickest confidant. Mere months had passed since he had tried to kill her and yet here she sat, shoulder pressed against his, trusting him to watch over their other friends. And to not kill her in her sleep.
It was easy to talk to the crow, and yet no words except for his name would pull themselves from her mouth. She worried her lip between her teeth and narrowed her eyes on his mouth. A corner of it quirked up and her quick glance upward revealed a brow had followed.
He leaned in close until their noses were nearly touching, “See something you like?”
“I was just thinking…” she started, her cheeks taking on a faint pink glow.
“About kissing me?”
“Well, about kissing, yes,” Enora hesitated, her eyes darting over the sleeping forms of their companions tucked tight against the warmth of the campfire, “but not you. Well not- sort of- I was thinking about… Alistair. About kissing Alistair.”
“Oh,” he dropped his jesting tone and sat back away from Enora, his smirk fading into a gentle smile, “What about kissing your golden boy?”
“How I’d very much like to,” she wished she could swallow the words whole, multiple syllables at a time until they no longer reverberated around the sleeping camp. Yet as she considered dragging the sounds back out of the air, her mouth continued to dump more into the space between them, “Except, well, it’s complicated. And you’ll think me foolish, and I shouldn’t even be saying anything. I’ve not said anything but I keep thinking about. That is that I- We should- Have you considered that-”
Zevran held his hands up, “Breathe, Enora!”
Her mouth snapped shut as Zevran rested his hands on her shoulders. The pink on her cheeks flared down her neck and up into her ears.
“Our fearsome leader rendered rambling mess by a chantry boy,” he chuckled, “What has the world come to?”
As her breathing evened out, Zevran tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and gave her cheek the quickest pat. He still held her shoulders, as though to keep her anchored to the dirt floor of their temporary camp rather than allowing her to bolt off into the woods as she wanted. What he failed to understand was that it kept Enora present within her body, grounded by the points where his fingers dug into her.
“Would you like to try again?” he mused with a quick tilt of his head, “What about wanting to kiss Alistair?”
“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” she steeled herself against her own embarrassment and what she had concocted to ask of the man before her, “and I’d like your help.”
She was met with no judgement, not that Zevran had ever judged her. Not for her anger or her placidity, not for when she spoke or when she chose silence. No, Zevran had always met her where she was at, from the moment she had stood over him as he lay in the dirt expecting death. His eyes softened, “You’d like some pointers then, no?”
“Not exactly,” the heat in her face had no chance of dissipating, “I’m more of a hands on learner.”
“What then? Shall I demonstrate on an orange?” his hand flicked towards their pile of supplies and he chuckled to himself, “or a peach, if you’d rather?”
The next piece came as a rush as the last dregs of her conviction left her, “I’m awfully nervous about Alistair being my first and I thought maybe you could be and then it won’t be so scary.”
She watched in flashes as Zevran blinked, once, twice, and on the third time his brows pulled down together. The corners of his mouth pulled inwards and down, the line of his mouth pressed tight. Her own heartbeat sounded far too loud in her ears. She was ready to pull out of his grip when he finally snorted, “What?”
The firelight dancing in his eyes and the smile he was doing a terrible job suppressing flooded her with relief. With a quiet laugh, she tried again, “I thought, perhaps, you could be my first kiss. And then the first is out of the way and Alistair would be my second and the second time of anything is far less scary than the first.”
“You do not want to share a first kiss with Alistair?” Zevran settled back against their stump. He had not outright refused her.
She wriggled in next to him until he finally pulled her in under his arm. Settled, she replied, “He told me he has technically kissed someone before. Granted they were eight and it was just a silly little crush. And nothing could ever come of it because, well, him being a bastard and all. But I don’t even have that! Could you imagine my father -no-my mother’s wrath if I had been flitting around Highever kissing boys?” And in a small voice she quickly added, “or girls?”
“So this is about being even?” he asked.
“This is about not messing up.”
“But it is okay if you mess up with me?”
“Yes,” the word brokered no argument, nor did the ferocity with which she stared into his face. She saw the start of his protest and barreled past it, “You will not fault me, Zevran. You will not judge me. You will not mock me. You will not think less of me.”
“Alistair would hardly fault you for even your truest of poor qualities,” he shot back, “You could kiss him with all teeth and no finesse and he would thank you for it anyway.”
“Will you kiss me or not, Zevran?”
“Do you not think Alistair will be rather upset with you for kissing me when you should have been kissing him?” he had settled into bemusement, twirling the strands of her hair between his fingers.
She huffed as he gave her hair a quick pull on the final word. “Alistair need not know.”
“Then I am to kiss the Lady Cousland and tell no one of it?” he scoffed, “Hardly seems fair. What am I getting from this exchange then?”
“My eternal gratitude?”
“We might all die, eternity may be short lived.”
“Need I remind you I spared your life?”
“You’ll leverage that for this? Have you no honor, Enora?”
“I am desperate.”
“Clearly!” Zevran opened his mouth to continue but was cut off by someone clearing their throat beside the bickering pair.
Enora whipped her head up towards Alistair who stood in front of them, waiting to take his place on the watch. His hands fidgeted nervously and he cleared his throat again, “Everything alright? You two are being quite loud.”
Zevran shot her one final wicked smile before rocketing up to his feet and closing the gap between him and Alistair. The kiss was quick enough that Alistair was still half open mouthed as Zevran turned on his heels and walked backwards away from Enora, “Now you are down two, Warden.”
“What was that?” Alistair turned between her and Zevran’s retreating form. Red ran high across his cheeks and his mouth seemed incapable of closing fully.
"Your brother and I go into battle, not an afternoon tea. Who knows what will happen to us? I trust you completely to carry on the Cousland name if the worst should happen."
hi j! is it possible to do stained glass banners? take that creatively however you want <3 thank you for all your work, I feel so lucky to have found your blog!
hey kylee!! 💖 you are too sweet, thank you so much! I can do that for sure - I tried a couple different ideas/styles for you. Hope you like them!
Thanks for the tags @toboe-roll, @wardencommandershepard, and @inkmaw! I managed to find the "most played" list on Tidal. I skipped everything that's for my kids except Misty Mountains because it slaps and also, parenting tip, if you have a baby this song is like Ambien for babies.
Rules: Put your playlist on shuffle, post the first five songs as a poll, and let everyone vote on their favorite.
Have at it!
Fox on the Run - Sweet
Misty Mountains - The Wellermen
Where is My Mind - Pixies
Fire Again - VALORANT, Ashnikko
Cherry Bomb - The Runaways
Voting ended on4h
I'm not tagging anybody except @presidium-pigeon-76 because you always do the best music posts (@capnmarvl does too but already did this).
“He wished that he could break out his knitting, but for some reason, people didn’t take you seriously as a warrior when you were knitting. He’d never figured out why. Making socks required four or five double-ended bone needles, and while they weren’t very large, you could probably jam one into someone’s eye if you really wanted to. Not that he would. He’d have to pull the needle out of the sock to do it, and then he’d be left with the grimly fiddly work of rethreading the stitches. Also, washing blood out of wool was possible, but a pain. Still, if he had to suddenly pull out his sword and fend off an attack, there was a chance he’d drop the yarn, and since he’d been feeling masochistic and was using two colors for this current set of socks, there was absolutely no chance the yarn wouldn’t get tangled and then he’d be trying to murder people while chasing the yarn around. And god forbid the tide rose and he went berserk. You never got the knitting untangled after that; you usually just had to throw it away completely.”
challenging myself to write one lil ficlet type thing for each of my dragon age romances per day since i haven't written anything in a few months
day fifteen: penowyn lavellan & cullen rutherford
Penowyn finds Cullen on the battlements after midnight.
She sees him before he notices her, outlined against the torchlight with both hands resting on the stone. The wind shifts his cloak and carries loose snow over the wall. She can't hear it, but she feels the cold air against her face and the faint vibration of the fortress beneath her bare feet.
Cullen turns. His expression softens when he recognises her.
He signs, slowly, Could not sleep.
His movements are still careful and slightly rigid. He had begun learning her language shortly after Haven. At first, he'd approached it like military instruction, memorising each sign with intense concentration. Over time, his hands have become more natural.
Penowyn joins him at the wall.
The sky is unusually clear. She points upward, tracing a line between several stars. Cullen follows her hand.
What is it called? he asks.
Penowyn gives him the Dalish name. He repeats the sign incorrectly, turning "hunter" into something closer to "goat".
She corrects the angle of his fingers. Cullen tries again and watches her face to see whether he's succeeded.
She nods.
Below them, Skyhold sleeps. Penowyn prefers it this way, stripped of speeches, bells, and crowds she experiences mostly through their movement around her. At night, the fortress becomes visual: lanterns in windows, guards crossing pale courtyards and breath clouding in the air.
Cullen signs, The lyrium is worse tonight.
There is no apology attached to the admission. Penowyn appreciates that. She does not want him to conceal discomfort to protect her, nor to treat her as the cure for it.
She places his hand against the stone wall. With a small movement of magic, she sends a slowp ulse through it - steady, repeated, and strong enough to feel beneath the palm.
Cullen closes his eyes.
Penowyn stands beside him until his breathing settles. Then he opens them and signs, Stay?
She leans against his shoulder and directs his attention back toward the stars.
