dominar of the booty

ssshhhh fandom detritus trashblog. nsfw, sometimes. current fixation: dragon age.

[wolfpoets]

someone, about zevran and iron bull: haha yeah i like their romances because they’re just flirts and aren’t serious about relationships :)

me, clutching my 5,000 word essay on why they’re the most invested and loyal of the romance options: you fool. 

[inorheona]

more merribela right

[fernacular]

Warriors in flannel part 2

[warriors in flannel part 1]

[stars-collected]

I think these images perfectly define my sexuality, kudos

[fernacular]

Warriors in Flannel!!!

because why the hell not

[warriors in flannel part 2]

[heronfem]

Immutable

There are a great many women he has known.

His mother, of course.  Cool and distant, an exceptional beauty often dressed in elegant red and gold, her skin the rich bronze of Qarinus that he inherited. His first betrothed, quietly elegant, with a quick smile and a calculating mind that had her in the Magisterium by the time she hit the age of 23. His grandmother, with her hawkish nose and soft hands, mute, who gave him sprigs of orchids that he learned to preserve, hanging around his bed as a quiet ward against darkness.  

Livia Alexius, fiery and handsome, with wild black hair and an unparalleled gift for the sciences, full of love and passion and a thirst for life, always with a kind, gentle smile for her husband and blazing with the glory of a thousand suns.  

Cassandra, a glory and force to be reckoned with, Vivienne, powerful past words, beautiful and mighty. Sera, laughing and joking even as the tears threaten. 

There are hundreds of others. Those who frequented the kind of clubs he did, mercenaries, people calling at the markets, sailors, pirates, noblewomen, farmers, charioteers, gladiators, dancers, merchants, all of humanity spread before him and he loves them in the way one loved flowers, or loved the world.  They were of the world, no more or less precious for their place in it.

But there is no call there.  No turn of ankle attracts his eye, no sinuous attempt at seduction reels him in, no cajoling from those who wanted him to dance ever moves him to more than a laugh and indulgence.

The flirting is a learned response, a way to make friends with no fear of repercussion. Maevaris he met while still growing into himself, uncertain and afraid as she stood firm, and learned the fine art of deflection from her.  So much safer, Maevaris teaches him, to let them see the shell.  See the beauty, see the fashion, see the elegance and grace and poise, the illusion of the shallow flirt as he navigates the waters that sharks inhabit.  People would trust a man with a somewhat wicked smile but soft eyes, and no intentions outside of flattery.

ooo

His father attempts to push him in line with bribes, with desperation, with screaming matches, with cuts to his funds, and finally, Dorian finds the papers on his desk. The page is old, the writing faded, but there is no mistaking the circles in all their complexity and ancient binding runes. He presents them to his father, anger and fear bringing tears to his eyes.

“Do you hate me so much?” he asks.

“I don’t hate you at all,” the stranger before him says.  “All I want is for you to be happy.”

“You don’t want me,” he says.  “You want a shell to parade.”

“This is the last resort,” the stranger wearing his fathers face says, spits, grinds through his teeth. “Why?  Why can’t you just let this go?”

“This is who I am,” he says, screams, aches. “I didn’t choose this.  I’m not a piece of furniture, to arrange my life like a sitting room.”

“Just marry, and take someone to the side,” th- his father says. His father’s mouth moves, spilling the words. “Keep a body slave if you must, let the damn Magesterium fuck you, I don’t care what you have to do.  A marriage is nothing but an inconvenience, you need not have more than one child.”

He cannot breathe.  The air is gone from the room.

“No,” he says, and for all his gestures, for all his moving about, for all his deflection, he has never told him no. He has never had a need to. “No, I will not. I won’t be you, trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman I hate, I won’t be that man. I will not live a lie.”

They stare at each other, and Dorian can picture the circles on the floor as if his mind has painted them.  The space between them stretches like an ocean, and Dorian thinks of the bag hidden in the stables, the staff secreted against the garden wall, thinks of being ripped from bed and dragged from the man just murdered in it and how he swore to never be caught unprepared again.

“Get out,” his father says, ice in his voice. “You are no son of mine.”

ooo

The Inquisitor flirts with him. With intent. With too much intent. He deflects, after a time. She pursues. She pursues with aggression.

There is the meeting in Redcliffe.  She talks of sympathy, but sits intently, watching him too closely.  He feels her eyes on him, feels the curiosity.  

The words began to spill from her.  What would it take- what do you like- would you ever- perhaps you just haven’t been with the right woman.

He feels chills. He fakes having mistaken a file for hers, goes up to her desk.

There are notes, reams of them.  There are lists of books.  And in the corner of the paper, a circle.

Dorian cannot breathe.  The air is gone from the room.

He burns the paper, walks down the stairs to where she sits in court.  Watches her from the sides.  She means to change him.  She means to take a piece of him, the one thing he knows to be true, and warp it.  Warp and weft, weaving a new Dorian out of a shell of the old.  He would love only her.  Perhaps, he thinks, heart in his throat, she will smile for him, pulling him like a puppet.  He found the right woman, you know.  He loves me.  I’m the only one for him. Too special to let go of. I was special. The only one.

He leaves- but only the Great Hall.  He has words with everyone, whispers to Vivienne fears of demons, begs protection from Solas, pleads with Cassandra the sacred nature of how he was made, speaks to Blackwall and Sera about how to flee if caught, lets Cole help him find a way to breathe through the fear, prepares an escape with Varric. He barters information with Leliana who blazes with fury, finds Josephine and asks for a way to break the plans apart without bloodshed, tells Cullen and breaks when he’s believed, and goes to The Iron Bull, lets himself be held and lets plans be made.

He is who he is.

He will not be changed.

No woman is for him.  He is for no women.  And he will not break, he will not be changed, and no one may have him without his consent and his love.

He wins.

He looks her in the eyes, echoes the words he spoke months earlier with the backing of his friends and those he loves, who love him no matter how they do or do not say it. Cassandra stands with her sword beside him, Sera has her hand on a dagger, and Vivienne stands at his back, a pillar of power and immovable against any threat.

The Inquisitor stares at him, thwarted, angry and fingers grasping like claws.

“You tried to change me.”

Never again.

[manynamedshe]

On Voodoo Dolls Or, Your Misogynoir is Showing And You Should Tuck it Back In

From Wikipedia:

The form of the voodoo doll as it is most commonly understood is based on a magical practice that historically derived from Europe rather than Africa or the Americas.[2] Textual records attest to the fact that certain cunning folk in Britain made dolls of a witch out of rags and other materials and then pierced them with pins with the intention of inflicting physical harm on the witch and breaking their bewitchment.

I find this contextually appropriate for what I am about to say.

For I have grown exhausted from the way in which misogynoir has manifested itself in the Dragon Age fandom (note: this undoubtedly applies to other fandoms). From “shade” (scare-quoted for a reason) thrown at Black characters to extensive arguments about why those Black characters shouldn’t dare touch their faves, it has been made clear time and again that Black characters - especially Black female characters - take up too much space. And that angers some of you quite a bit. So much, that some of you have taken to writing revenge porn about them.

In fact, I am referring to the post called “Vivienne’s Intervention” by MarlenaWatches as an example, as published on AO3. I have seen requests for such fic come out of the Kink!Meme, but had never seen it fulfilled. Here, the person who wrote this uses her white character to inflict suffering on Vivienne De Fer. Because, allegedly, she needed to be “taken down a peg.” This person also justified the fic’s existence based on her sheer dislike of the character. To wit:

“Vivienne regularly glosses over the abuses of the Chantry, and initiates some atrocities of her own if allowed to become divine. Her being black had nothing to do with how I see her character.”

and

“Vivienne is a woman of privilege who brushes aside the plight of her fellow mages as if they were beneath consideration or notice. She willfully [sic] ignores or disdains any arcane knowledge which falls outside that sanctioned by the circle, and nothing seems able to change her mind, about anything. She’s always right, about everything, and others can either fall in line or be left in her wake.”

I hardly see this as a viable reason to write 1,903 words dedicated to her graphic torture and rape.

But this is not unsurprising. I have witnessed countless Dragon Age Confessions and other posts about Vivienne beyond the nasty nature of MarlenaSees’ work. Some of you want nothing more than to see her suffer even though her history and conduct are nothing in comparison to your seedier faves. Though I argue that each character in Dragon Age has their flaws; you just look for them with unparalleled vigor in Vivienne and Isabela because they exist as Black women. Had they been white, their “crimes” (real or imagined) would have been forgiven as easily as a Chantry bomb.

And given some of the ways that some of you have reacted to Black people (especially Black women and femmefolk) in the fandom, it is obvious that Vivienne and Isabela are just proxies for Black people in real life. Your replies drip with condescension, overwhelming levels of racism, and willful ignorance. You lash out against Black members of the fandom. You vociferously defend your right to exotify Black skin, reduce them to edibles, and write as much fetishizing work as you can without paying attention to historical context. And when the dust settles, you turn and declare that the fandom is subsequently tainted, run into the ground by bullies. Because Black characters - and Black fans - won’t cease to exist.

Some of you have made it clearer than Serault glass that you will stick as many pins into Vivienne and Isabela as you can. Consider this a PSA that even if you scare away some of the fandom’s talent with your hatred, on the whole we aren’t going anywhere. Dragon Age will continue to have Black characters. Outside of Dragon Age, Black people will continue to thrive, create works of art, and gain the visibility you’ve tried so hard to deny them.

But ultimately, even if you’re as vile as MarlenaLooks, you will always run out of pins.

We will never run out of the will to create.

[against-stars]

anyway i know the “hawke messing hilariously with cullen at skyhold” fandom joke is great and all but i’m not really here for it, i’m so much more interested in a weapons-grade red hawke and all the simmering hostility that comes with her never forgiving the templar who took her sister and scraped his way out from taking true responsibility with his “last minute change of heart”

[theconfusedartist]

Can I add to this? Blue hawkes who wear tight grins every time they see cullen, subtly reminding the occupants of the rim that this man was Meredith’s right hand and perhaps his judgement is suspect. Red hawkes outright pulling out receipts, blades in hand, demanding justice for their crimes at kirkwall. Purple hawkes getting real close to cullen a large grin and pointing out at the scar on his lip and claiming that it was their handiwork and that he had no battle expertise at kirkwall so how can he command entire armies. Idk, just hawkes not putting up with cullen’s bullshit and calling him out for his past actions in front of everyone he calls ally without necessarily resorting to violence because the point is that words can cripple better than swords.

[eliotdrawings]

When you mentioned I should meet “your baby”, I pictured something different

[demi-pixellated]

Okay, but consider: Isabela/Merill

[eazzy--pink]

Man, it is just so fucking heartbreaking that a majority of fandom looks at Isabela and just doesn’t see her as worthy of protection or love, or that she’s incapable of feeling emotions. Like, take away the magic and the primary role of being a bodyguard, and her and Fenris have almost the same exact story. Two people who survived and are trying to piece themselves back together despite it all and spark a friendship between each other and the people around them.

Yet only Fenris is somehow worthy of protection and love, but when folks look at Isabela, they just chalk her up to being a conniving woman that is incapable of feeling anything.

Isabela is so feeling, so vulnerable, moves on in her own way and when she loves you, she may deflect with a bit of humor but she feels so strongly about you that it makes you realize just how few people have ever had her back or cared about her emotionally. I mean, when you talk to her after your friendship is a certain level, she’s honestly surprised that you care as much about her as you do. She’s surprised and she tells you that it’s been a long time since she’s had someone to watch her back, someone that she can trust.

When she told me that, I nearly broke down. I don’t wanna coddle her because she would hate that, but I also wanna wrap her in a blanket and just sit with her for a bit because shit… she literally tells you that she’s had no one watching out for her or trying to be understanding of her pain since the beginning. She’s strong, stands on her own feet and lives in ways that make her feel good, that give her back some control of her life, but she’s still vulnerable in some ways and it’s just really great that, even if you don’t romance her, she and Fenris find that familiar struggle within each other, understand what they’re going through together, still fight sometimes because they are individuals, but form a relationship and a bond that only they have the most profound understanding of between each other and they do it on their own terms.

How fucking heartbreaking is that.

[telvannis]

carver hawke fistfights people and is the dude who takes off his shirt to do it. he never grows out of it. you insult him and he starts fiddling w/ his warden buckles on his armor and yelling shit like SQUARE UP BITCH

[thecheshirecass-deactivated2018]

Doriwall, with literally anything, please. (Modern aus are cool?)

Well nonny, this is something I’ve never written, so who the hell knows how it turned out, but it was kind of fun. Thanks for the prompt, hope you like it.

It wasn’t Dorian’s fault that he had a type. It wasn’t his fault that burly, muscular men who looked like they ripped tree stumps in half with their bare hands appealed to him on a deep and primal level. It wasn’t his fault that he got a bit weak in the knees over luxuriant facial hair. And it most definitely wasn’t his fault that Thom Rainier insisted on dressing like a lost lumberjack and keeping the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up to display perfectly chiseled forearms, surprisingly elegant hands, and a very intriguing tattoo.

It was also not his fault that Blackwall’s had the cheapest beer in walking distance from his flat. Nor was it his fault that his alarmingly meager finances upon his arrival in Fereldan had lead to him developing a taste for Southern wheat beer of all things. Essentially Dorian was blameless and the Maker obviously wished him to suffer from an unfortunate infatuation and terrible/wonderful alcohol.

“Rainier, what IS this swill you keep serving me, and why do I keep drinking it?” He looked at the golden liquid with suspicion before taking a drink. Delicious.

It was early afternoon and Dorian was perched on a high stool with a pile of tests to grade on the bar top beside him. Admittedly a coffee shop would have been a more sophisticated place for him to work on his grading. Somewhere off the beaten path with cold pressed coffee, vegan muffins, and three types of specially imported Orzammar mushroom teas. That was the sort of establishment his peers and students no doubt expected him to frequent.

But Blackwall’s had better heating, more seating, free WiFi, and excellent chips served at a very reasonable price. Chips and a beer for lunch wasn’t exactly elegant, but it filled his belly and didn’t empty his wallet. He’d drink water for the rest of the afternoon because he was a Very Responsible Adult, but ordering some beer was just the polite thing to do. And really grading 50 odd undergrad papers on ancient Tevinter history required some liquid fortitude. 

“That swill, lordling, is a very good local weiss called Honey Pot, as you know since you order it every damn time you saunter in.” Rainier was patiently wiping excess water from a set of glasses, and Dorian was resisting the urge to admire the play of muscle under his tan skin. He was most definitely not wondering if Rainier was that color all over, or simply on the bits exposed by all that flannel. Surely he wasn’t attracted to a man with tan lines.

“I’m fairly certain the cold has obliterated my taste, that’s the only reason I could possibly keep coming to this dingy little hole in the wall and drinking this imitation of real alcohol.”

Rainier raised one unkempt black eyebrow, a smirk hiding somewhere in the silver touched confines of his beard. To Dorian’s surprise the bartender set down his glass, towel flung over one shoulder, and walked over to him. Those hands that Dorian most definitely did NOT think about by himself in the dark, landed on the smooth wooden bar. He caught Dorian’s eyes and looked at him just a little more intently than seemed appropriate for lunchtime.

“Or…” Rainier had a Marcher accent, diluted by years in Ferelden, but with enough of a burr left to make Dorian’s toes curl. The thing his tongue did to the “r” sound was a sin. ”It could be that you like things a little rough around the edges, and that mouth of yours knows what you need better than your big brain.”

There was no way a man in a flannel shirt with a towel, leaning over a plate of chips should have sounded or looked anything but ludicrous, but that didn’t stop heat from rushing down Dorian’s spine to sit burning in his belly. Oh fuck me… he thought, not sure if it was an admission of defeat or a request for deliverance.

“But maybe you just like cheap beer lordling, there are worse sins.” With a surprisingly charming smile, Rainier stood straight and went back to his drying. Once again Dorian did NOT admire the width of his shoulders, or the shape of his ass as the flannel pressed around it when he moved. Absolutely not.

It was not Dorian’s fault.

[anadoribullholiday]

gift for @heronfem from @justanotherscribblejunkie- prompt was “mobverse ANYTHING”

[raesoldblogg-deactivated2022032]

ok but can we talk about female inquisitor & dorian friendships that aren’t centered around the “i want a gay best friend” trope?

dorian & the inquisitor spending HOURS in the library, pouring over books together & analyzing them to the point where people begin seeing their handwriting in the margins of the text when they check a book out

dorian & the inquisitor sharing a platonic dance at the winter palace after the inquisitor shares one with their LI (if they have one). they get plenty of gasps & judgmental looks but they just want to have fun together

a mage inquisitor & dorian sharing tips & tricks they’ve learned over the years. dorian telling her about how circles in tevinter work, then the inquisitor telling him about ostwick’s or their keeper’s training in turn.

elf inquisitor showing him cool stuff about plant & animal life that reminds her of home, though dorian probably finds it a little off putting when she tells them how one of her clan’s favourite dishes included insects.

qunari inquisitor offering to let dorian ride on her shoulders or back when they take trips to the storm coast & have to wade through water. dorian does not find it the least bit amusing.

dwarf inquisitor asking dorian if they can ride on his back or shoulders on trips to the storm coast. he probably pokes fun at them struggling to keep their head above water half the time.

late nights spent together in deep conversation. they talk about anything and everything, from how they feel being away from home, how the inquisitor feels being thrust into a position of power they didn’t ask for, and how dorian feels about being known as “the vint” by most everyone in skyhold.

the inquisitor decking the shit out of someone who calls her friend, no, her best friend, something awful. dorian doesn’t admit it but he almost cries when he hears about it, because no one has stood up for him like that.

MORE FEMALE INQUISITOR  DORIAN FRIENDSHIPS THAT DON’T CENTER AROUND A STUPID & HARMFUL TROPE !!

[thecheshirecass-deactivated2018]

Cadash who’s been to Tevinter and is familiar with the rich Dwarven culture that co-exists there. Discussing favorite spots from Minrathous and discovering that have a few amusing and unsavory favorites in common. They share an appreciation of both fine wines and the utter rotgut swill that the Fereldans call beer.

Trevelyan and Dorian discussing the pressure of nobility, the Game and it’s many parts, and how family expectations can crush you even from a distance.

A Vashoth Inquisitor pulling Dorian aside quietly by the camp fire and asking him plainly if he really thinks her people are nothing but savage ox-men, making him examine his assumptions and the hurtful nature of his language. Dorian, who balks at first but then begins to understand how much pain his clever tongue can cause when he doesn’t really intend it. Having to be humble and vulnerable to seek change within himself.

A City Elf Inquisitor (because fuck your Dalish only nonsense) who in blistering and no uncertain terms tells Dorian to fuck off with his idea that bondage is better than poverty. And elf who’s seen people stolen from her alienage and sold to Tevinter slavers, who’s having Absolutely None of His Privileged Shit. Their “debates” get loud and angry as Dorian has to brake through his own reflexive defensiveness toward his country. Dorian spends hours and hours in the library pouring over sources on slavery and trying to understand her anger.

Female Inquisitors who never really warm up to Dorian and vice versa, because sometimes people are just DIFFERENT. And Inquisitor who respects his power and contribution but feels no great need to make friends. 

[mainframe-art]

Happy Easter!

[apfelgranate]

Can we talk about your design for Ghila'nan and how awesome it is? The pupils are such a subtle touch that just ugh, I dunno I just really love it I don't have anythign fancy to say lol Would you ever consider designing the other gods? Do you have any ideas in mind? xx

we sure can!!

i’ve actually tweaked ghilan’nain’s design a bit since i posted that comic, so now she is 500% fluffier (not in the personality sense. definitely not in the personality sense) and the horns are part of a halla skull mask

i’m v v fond of the idea that all the evanuris look at least vaguely creepy and, for lack of a better term, inhuman. something that’s not suuuper obvious, but like ghilan’nain’s deer eyes (both her pupils, and the fact that they’re quite far apart), something that sets them apart from regular elves.

solas/mythal’s wolf is actually kinda tricky in that regard bc the way i’ve been drawing him is p far from uncanny-valley-ness, so as of right now i’m headcanon-ing that this is only what he looks like towards the end of arlathan: over the years his appearance shifts gradually towards one that is v much one of a normal elf bc he (either subconsciously or with intent) feels to be on their side, as opposed to the ~godly~ side.

i also have some ideas that the wolf mask/cloak doesn’t actually have eyes–but when he puts it on properly (meaning his face isn’t visible anymore), it gets eyes. a lot of them. also that pm all the evanuris have some kind of mask/helmet they wear when interacting with their worshippers, so their real faces is something only other evanuris and their closest servants & slaves get to see.

also also ghilan’nain and solas are basically the same height, and the shortest ones out of all the evanuris. andruil on the other hand is one tall, lanky bag of dicks

as seen here, also a tiny bit red-lyrium-infected. i’ve seen a few designs where she looks somewhat, uh… punk? which doesn’t really give me the creepy factor i want for the evanuris (especially for andruil), so i tried going for a more sleek, predator-y vibe. and give her an arrow-head face shape, bc, y’know, huntress.

i technically want to design all the evanuris (mostly so i can draw all those beautifully horrific ideas i have for the vashothari arlathan au), but apart from these three i’m already super stuck on mythal even though we have the most visual info on her. like i don’t wanna just replicate flemeth’s design, and i wanna incorporate that helmet thing her statues wear, and it’s proving Difficult. for el’garnan there’d def be a sun motif, something like celene’s weird backpack sun? for dirthamen an odin-esque design would be hilarious, considering the two ravens (if that was him, i keep mixing him and falon’din up), june as craftsmaster gets wood-and-metal skin, sylaise is the only one who actually looks old, and her hair is probably perpetually on fire what with the hearth goddess thing

now i’m not saying she created the arlathan equivalent of greek fire but she totally did

[bunchata-deactivated20201029]

a fool: The iron bull has a six pack. the iron bull is shredded. Me: the only six pack the iron bull has is the six pack of beer he’s gonna share with the chargers because he loves them, you monster.

[pigeoncheeks-archive]

he does not have a six pack he has a Keg

[bunchata-deactivated20201029]

SHIT u right