A most wonderful gift from @jessicapendragon by the amazing @trashwarden of Abora and Solas :’D YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST AND THIS IS WONDERFUL AND I LOVE YOU
A scene from their dog walking au for my good friend @evilbunnyking, made by my good friend @destinyapostasy. <3 Thank you both for putting up with me! :)
READ THE WORD THEN TYPE THE FIRST WORD THAT COMES TO YOUR CHARACTER’S MIND
Tagged by the magnificent @jessicapendragon :’D (it was hard DAMN)
OC: Abora Lavellan
rough: rope
hide: well
foolish: child
sad: loss
hate: yolk
light: sun
dark: knives
mother: Embrium
father: green
child: naive
marriage: flowers
love: alone
soft: smile
pet: nuggins
dream: fade
divorce: ending
water: salt
loud: beer
announcement: sword
power: gone
fight: always
smack: training
white: foam
sick: green
kiss: him
hug: real
hurt: breathe
happy: sunshine
@where-willows-wail @funkypoacher @ejunkiet @lightofpage @ladymal (I get the feeling you’ve already done it sorry) @tirashani @dragonageisourjam @emmg @frillyorlesiancakes aaaaaannnnnddddd anyone who wants to do it really
I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
Pablo Neruda - I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Her hands tug at the hem of his tunic, drawing it up, and he releases her to shrug it away, shivering in the chill from the open balcony. They are kneeling in her room, on her bed, their meal discarded at her desk and his breath is wine warm in the candlelight, sweetened by fruit and cocoa. She laughs and it is loose, free. The evening is humming, a buzz in his ears and he smiles as he tugs the fabric up and over his sight, shivering as her fingertips trace the revealed skin.
He gives an entirely undignified snort, though, when her hands continue to his sides and then begin to dig.
“Vhenan-”
He wrenches himself free of his tunic.
The Inquisitor, the blessed Herald of Andraste, Banisher of the Wardens and Protector of the Mages is on her knees before him and she is chasing him.
“Aha-!” she cackles, cold hands devilish, and she presses closer to exploit her advantage, tickling until he at last captures her hands in his own.
“Vhenan,” he says again, attempting to admonish, but she only grins at him, eyes bright with her laughter.
“Ticklish, ma’lath?”
He snorts, refusing to deign that with a response - but she twists then, somehow managing to break through his grip and push him into the sheets, and his choked laughter is all the answer she needs.
He resorts to magic this time - a weak barrier, primed to sting and protect but little more - and she withdraws at last, placing her hands on the (relatively) neutral ground of his shoulders.
“Ahhh. That bad, then?”
He fights to keep his expression mild, although he twitches instinctively every time she shifts.
“Merely a defensive measure, I assure you.”
“Mmm, I’m sure.”
He does laugh at that, at her knowing grin, silly and utterly un-fooled- and when his attempt to rise is thwarted by gentle hands, he prepares himself for the next onslaught.
“Vhenan,” he begins warily, pleadingly, and tries to seek her eye.
But her gaze has wandered, he sees - it trails down the arch of his neck and across his chest, a hand shifting to trace after it, and suddenly very different preoccupations rise to mind.
“I suppose,” she says after a moment and then she is moving, settling herself more firmly astride his hips, knees tucked against his sides. He experiences the strange urge to both flinch and shiver. “I could find other ways to amuse myself. This time.”
“This time,” he finds himself agreeing, very agreeably.
Tagged by… a bunch of wonderful people @irrewilderer @eveningshadowrising @dragonageisourjam - thank you! this was a lot of fun. Used it as a writing exercise, so it’s ridiculous and a little long and under the cut. xD
The door creaks. The hands sharpening a quill over a desk littered with note-filled papers pause, twitch, and then in a flurry of motion scatters the shavings and inks the quill, pulling a blank sheet of parchment to the fore almost in afterthought.
The quill scurries over the page as soft footsteps fill the room.
And so enters the Inquisitor, Savior of Orlais, Herald of Andraste, Healer of the Breach.
The quick drag of a chair. The Inquisitor sits.
Her poise, dear readers, has not been exaggerated. Here sits a woman who tamed both a mage rebellion and magic itself, and yet she holds herself with the grace and lightness so common in her kind-
“I was told you had questions?”
The scribbling pauses. “Ah, yes, forgive me-”
The papers shuffle once more. A few fall to the floor. The silence stretches as they are scrambled up.
“-Forgive me your ladyship; just a-.”
The fallen papers are regathered, the table reset and then the quill hovers surreptitiously back over its page, feather quivering, beginning line abandoned, for the moment. The Inquisitor waits.
The interviewer takes a decided breath.
“An easy question to begin with, if I may, your ladyship…”
1. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?
“Abora Lavellan.”
She has a humble beauty, admittedly, but a beauty it is all the same, wrought perhaps in the glow of her eyes. They say it matched the burn of the breach before she-
“Will you pause like this after every question?”
A nervous laugh; perhaps a shift of discomfort. “Of course not. My apologies, your ladyship-”
2. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME?
A deliberate blink. The Inquisitor’s features remain pleasant, though. “That is my real name.”
She gracefully turns away the question - although, dear readers-
3. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU WERE CALLED THAT?
“My father named me for his mother.”
- I’d say I spied a telling smile.
Another pause as the interviewer satisfactorily finished the line and looks back to their sheet. They hesitate. Brace themselves.
4. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN?
Another deliberate blink. “I am unattached.”
Is it surprising that such a rare and powerful specimen is not already bonded to another? Perhaps. However, is it not also difficult to imagine such a force of nature bound-?
A delicate, but audible breath, almost a sigh. The interviewer hurries on.
5. HAVE ANY ABILITIES OR POWERS?
The inquisitor smiles. It is not unfriendly, but it isn’t entirely benign, either. She drums her fingers against the desk and the mark spits against the wood. “Beyond the anchor? I have some skill with a blade. Knives, specifically. I also dabble in alchemy.”
She is accomplished, as would be expected - but even as we speak the mark stirs in her palm. The Maker’s gift- to be so close to such a miracle, readers, can you imagine-?
Another almost sigh and the interviewer decides to go for a joke.
6. STOP BEING A GARY STU.
A beat of silence, before: “Sorry?”
…The interviewer moves on.
7. WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOR?
“Green.”
The mark stirs, and I can confirm, my dear audience, that its magic is indeed the green of her eyes. Some people truly are fated, as they say.
8. HOW ABOUT YOUR HAIR COLOR?
A note of impatience enters the Inquisitor’s features and is quickly smothered. “Red, I’ve been led to believe.”
The quill does not linger long here.
Red and short - finish above desc later
9. HAVE YOU ANY FAMILY MEMBERS?
“I have my clan.”
The interviewer waits a beat for more. It doesn’t come.
10. OH? WHAT ABOUT PETS?
“A nug.”
The quill hesitates, then eventually scrawls: is it part of their fate that such figures stand alone, or is loneliness a sad result of their miraculousness?
11. THAT’S COOL I GUESS, NOW TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE.
The Inquisitor smiles, and this time the interviewer feels themselves smiling back.
she is not fond of shellfish
12. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES/ACTIVITIES YOU LIKE DOING?
There is a warmth in her smile as she describes a litany of pastimes -
The Inquisitor is toying with her talisman. It is a large, heavy thing, the leather cords rubbing lines into her neck, the jawbone resting awkwardly across her breast. “I rarely have the time anymore, I’m afraid.”
from baking to horse-riding to sewing. It is humbling, readers - to be reminded that even the great, like us, take care over the darning of their socks. But not all of our questions can be so banal. Are we not the Randy Broadsheet, after all?
13. EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE?
Her thumb tabs against a tooth. “Undeniably.”
she says, soft voice laden with regret but also firm with the necessity of it, as such figures must be
14. EVER… KILLED ANYONE BEFORE?
Another almost sigh. “Yes.”
at this her voice is almost a whisper, and her eyes have grown dark. We should return to sweeter waters, my readers.
15. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?
The Inquisitor blinks twice, eyebrow quirking. The interviewer takes this as a win.
“Stoat.”
It is the interviewer’s turn to blink.
They decide to skip to the next question.
16. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS.
The inquisitor smiles that smile again, neither friendly or not. “Impatience.”
This woman, burdened with so many duties and cares, laments her difficulties with balancing them all.
“17. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE AT ALL?
She raises her eyes to the heavens in an expression of exquisite piet-
“Our mutual friend, in fact. Lady Josephine Montilyet, who was so kind as to arrange this meeting between us today.”
Ah
18. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL?
Like all cosmopolitan women, she enjoys the company of both men and women.
19. DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL?
The Inquisitor raises her brow and points, self-evidently, to herself.
The interviewer scratches out the question and moves on.
20. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS ONE DAY?
The Inquisitor is quiet a moment.
“Yes,” she says eventually, and will say no more. The interviewer notes it as another ‘fob later’ and moves on again.
21. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANBOYS/FANGIRLS?
"Meaning?”
The interviewer tries again. The Inquisitors brow smooths, understanding sliding into place, and she even laughs as she answers. “As the Inquisitor, how could I not?”
The laughter warms the Inquisitor’s features, somehow - softens the severity of cheekbones, the tight line of her mouth. Despite the fact it’s mocking.
She is well aware of her fans and wishes them all the best. “How could I not?”
22. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF?
Like all mortals, as she says, she fears death.
23. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR?
The Inquisitor only gestures to herself. The quill sets to work.
Ensconced in the heart of her castle - should open the piece with this really i’ll move it in the final draft - the Inquisitor reclines on her chaise lounge, dressed impeccably in a royal blue that sets the red of her hair aflame. The outfit is simple, but stylish. I’m sure we’ll see more than one debutante exhibiting the loose tunic and tight breeches look in Val Royeaux this season.
24. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE?
The Inquisitor’s hand has returned to talisman. She smiles pleasantly.
The Inquisitor professes herself sworn both to her family and her work. But do not despair, interested bachelors; even the most steadfast rock will yield to the sea…. better metaphor needed
25. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WET YOURSELF?
The Interviewer had forgotten about this question. They stare at their paper. Look to the Inquisitor, in horror. She magnanimously waves them on.
26. WELL, IT’S NOT OVER YET!
The Interviewer’s attempt to salvage the situation is met with a snort.
27. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU? (HIGH CLASS, MIDDLE CLASS, LOW CLASS)
A smile remains and an eyebrow quirks. “I am Dalish. Where would you put me?”
...The Interviewer moves on.
28. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE?
she is fortunate in that she has been blessed with more than she could’ve hoped
“In particular, the esteemed Lady Montilyet.”
29. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE?
she expresses a keen fondness of fish pie and suggests that any dear fan who’d like to support her cause might care to send their chefs with such goods to Skyhold, for, and I quote, ‘the winters are so very cold in the mountains’
30. FAVOURITE DRINK?
“Tea.”
The Interviewer doesn’t quite understand the way she smiles as she says that, but records the fact in any case.
31. WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE PLACE?
“Haven.”
The quill pauses. They all know what happened to that little village, after all - it had taken a place of legend. They move on.
32. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE?
You’re in luck, dear bachelors- our herald is single and ready to mingle
33. WHAT’S YOUR BRA CUP SIZE AND/OR HOW BIG IS YOUR WILLY?
The interviewer would’ve been offended at the way the Inquisitor laughed at that had she not, in fact, been the Inquisitor.
34. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN?
The Inquisitor shifts in her seat, crossing her ankles. “The ocean.”
The interviewer does fidget, at that. All these short answers - without any juicy details, this exclusive would simply be - drivel, a dried out list lacking any personality at all. “For any particular reason?” they ask, pressing for the first time, and they squeeze the quill tight in their anxiety.
The Inquisitor looks them in the eye. She is unashamed in her directness, evidently assessing as she takes the Interviewer in, from their white knuckled grip to their trembling lips- but the interviewer stares back, oh so stubbornly, even when their jaw begins to cramp for how hard they are clenching it. They have a job to do, after all.
This standoff stretches.
“I grew up by the Waking Sea, in the Plansene forest,” the Inquisitor relents, at last - and like that the tension breaks, the interviewer gusting a very audible sigh of relief as they return to their parchment.
Our Herald has the ocean in her blood, the quill produces, with a satisfying flick, and the Interviewer regathers their notes, moving back to what (surprisingly) seems to be safer waters.
35. WHAT’S YOUR TYPE?
Your author receives another warm laugh for that - and the sound of it, I assure you dear readers, hums all the way to your toes. “Able to hold their own, intelligent, confident,” our Inquisitor confides, “You can be arrogant to a fault, however.”
36. ANY FETISHES?
Our inquisitor only raises an eyebrow and slowly smiles at that (the saucy minx)
37. SEME OR UKE? TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE?
This, curiously, the Inquisitor waves away and refuses to answer. Not wanting to press their luck, the Interviewer moves diligently on.
38. CAMPING OR INDOORS?
“Dalish,” is all the Inquisitor will say to that.
39. ARE YOU WANTING THE QUIZ TO END?
It was with great sorrow that the two of us saw our conversation come to its natural end. We rose, rosy with the warmth of companionship and an afternoon well spent and the Inquisitor graciously thanked me for my time, clasping my hand warmly between hers. I will never forget the strange, tingling-heat of the anchor against my skin - like a kiss, from Andraste to her beloved Maker’s brow and all too soon I was released and a mere mortal once more. I left there - a friend - one newly made but I assure you, dear readers, not so soon lost…
As the Interviewer happily scribbles away at their closing passages, bowed over their work, the Inquisitor bids them a final farewell and slips towards the doors. Her steps are as light as before, the anchor spitting faintly at her side - she is a flickering green silhouette in the dying light, easing easily into the shadows as she exits the room. When the Inquisitor passes through the door, though, the interviewer hears a flurry of murmured questions and answers before a laugh reverberates through the little interview room, affectionate in its bemusement.
“Three hours Josie. THREE HOURS,” the Inquisitor’s voice comes. “I could’ve been- I could’ve been doing anything else, Josie, for three hours. Never again, alright? Never again. You said it was just this once and I want your word.”
A sigh behind the door. Put upon, Antivan; and the Interviewer has to pause their scribble to catch the esteemed Josephine Montilyet’s soft assent.
Any other person may have been offended to hear that their company was so reviled. And if the Interviewer was anywhere else, interviewing anyone else, they would indeed have been hurt and angered at such an insult, particularly considering how little they too had enjoyed trying to wrangle answers from the obtuse elf as she’d glowered across the table at them.
At this moment, however, the Interviewer was overjoyed.
Not only had they completed the interview, difficult as it was - they’d just confirmed that they’d secured the exclusive.
so the only problem with doing it like this is that ABORA LIED THE ENTIRE TIME ahahaha and OH MY GOD THAT TOOK FOREVER NEVER AGAIN. this is so bad. i’m not even going to proof read it because I’m so tired and this is so silly so enjoy my brain farts people. tehcnically it’s even solavellan
tagging right um @oddmoy @arlavellan and other people uhhhh
