#magic merrill

[thereluctantking-blog]

wildflowers in bloomingtide

It's the third day of Bloomingtide, which means that they landed in the Free Marches on the last day of Cloudreach which means that on the first of the month, he was locked in talks and negotiations behind closed doors from dawn until dusk, waking up before she had opened her eyes and leaving before she had been awake enough to think about rolling over to turn her back to him and returning long after she had separated the coverlet from the comforter, wrapping the latter around herself and leaving the former in a haphazard pile on the far side of the bed, "his" side, the tousled bedclothes a clear demarcation of where his territory was limited to. He had been so absorbed in talks, in trying to sort out the complicated issues facing him, that he had barely spoken to her at the banquet that had been thrown for the visiting royals (too angry, too, at the clear wastage of food; they had dined as though the entire hall was filled with kings and queens, despite there only being one of each in the room, while he had recognized eighty percent of the beggars in the streets as Fereldans). Their marriage was not one marked by affection; they didn't brush hands or meet eyes or exchange quick, gentle kisses at every opportunity.  But still--on the first of Bloomingtide, he usually tried, at least, to make an effort. Instead, he hadn't spoken a word to Anora all day, and now it was forty-eight hours late in coming and he was hiding his face under a cloak, rapping his knuckles gently on a door in the Alienage that barely looked to be staying on its hinges.  When it opened, he looked up, flashing a quick sheepish smile at the occupant. "Hi, Merrill," he said quietly. "I know we haven't had much chance to get to know each other, but...I'm two days late for my wife's birthday, and Varric promised me that out of anyone, you'd know best where to find the prettiest wildflowers. I was hoping--unless you're busy! But I was hoping you wouldn't mind coming with me up to Sundermount?"

[wittymagehawke]

☎

Hawke was pressed against the wall, the belt of her finery removed and her shirt that was open, but not enough to show all of her breasts, it revealed her ivory skin and her navy blue small clothes that matched the bandana of a certain pirate queen

[Text]: I'll show you where exactly you can get your thrills in Hightown, sweetheart.

[Text]: Better come to the estate before I get cooold. ;D

[andersspicyshimmy-blog]

☎

Accidental Sext Meme

//From an angle above his head; Anders sits on his splayed knees, head tilted back and hair loose, eyes half-lidded and gazing into the camera with a banana deep in his mouth. Strategic arm placement is the only thing keeping the photo from being truly indecent.

[Text]: Tastes good, but not as good as you do[Text]: How far do you think I can push it in?

[andersspicyshimmy-blog]

 me: shows Brianna the Fenris dakimakura commission image Shink just reblogged

 Brianna: throws up

 Brianna: punches through a wall

 Brianna: hollers into an open field

 Brianna:  A thousand birds fly away into the horizon

 Brianna: sits in the empty field

 Brianna: weeps

 me:  I have lost all ability to can

 Brianna: wonders why she cannot touch this fictional elf nerd

 Brianna: pets her laptop screen softly

 Brianna: thinks that perhaps she has grown too attached to Fenris

 Brianna: starts to shut her laptop

 Brianna: stops

 Brianna: coos at Fenris

 Brianna: shuts eyes briefly

 Brianna: sighs

 Brianna:  "I love you"

[andersspicyshimmy-blog]

♪ *

Sleep On My Shoulder

"…Merrill?"Her words had trailed off into nonsense some minutes before, and he had lain there quietly, mulling them over and trying to decipher what she had been trying to say. Once the silence had dragged on, however, he had realized that perhaps she had finally fallen asleep—and when his query was met only with the silence, and the quiet, even breathing of the elf that lay curled in front of him, he knew that to be the case. Her fingers were laced loosely through his, and in the moonlight, he could see the thin lines of the scars that crossed her arms—the evidence of her blood magic. He stared at them for a moment, his mind caught up in wild fancy. He wondered if she had evere used that magic against them. She had pledged—and he had seen for himself—to use the additional strength and power only for good, only for the benefit of those she wished to help—their group, her people, her clan. Yet he couldn’t help wondering if that was all she had done. He wondered if she had ever controlled any of them, had ever peered into their minds to see what secrets they kept. It was idle fancy, nothing more, and he sighed with discontent. She shifted in his arms, and he pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered, and she sighed happily and nodded, just barely, enough to make him wonder if she had ever woken at all. 

[andersspicyshimmy-blog]

◆

The New Munday

◆ If you had been born into your muse’s world, who would you be and what sort of life would you have?

Is this supposed to be who I would actually be or who I would want to be? I suppose if I wanted to keep my life as close as possible to real life…I’d probably be ahuman born in Ferelden to a healer and a carpenter, and grow up as a fairly middle-class citizen in a place like Denerim—or maybe a smaller village somewhere on the outskirts of the capital? I’d live a fairly boring life, honestly, probably toy with being a bard, dream of travelling to far-off places, and eventually fall in love with a beautiful, captivating Dalish girl who would, for reasons I would never be able to explain, agree to come and live and dream of adventures with me—and maybe even go on an epic adventure together one day. 

[thereluctantking-blog]

✿

Leave a ✿ for a random kiss!

stomach kiss oh no

Alistair glares suspiciously at the dwarf—Varric—from his place on the floor. 

The group of them—Hawke, Anders, Varric, Merrill, Alistair, and Zevran—are gathered in a circle on the floor in Varric’s rooms at the Hanged Man, having been informed by a red-faced Corff that he won’t abide their antics in his main room any longer. If it weren’t for the ale sitting warm and sweet in his belly, Alistair might have agreed; but he’s drunk enough that the game seems fun, and even the painful truths the group manages to draw out of him now and again are dulled against the numbing alcohol. 

He’s kept to truths for now, the first dare resulting in Zevran with his tongue down Hawke’s throat making it clear that Alistair wants no part in dares with this group, and so far the questions have been more of the embarassing, sexual sort than the soul-crushing emotional ones. They’re a good group of people, if unfiltered, and the first indication of the pain in his past seems to have given them all the reason they need to stick to the superficial. It’s a compromise he’s readily accepted. 

Except now, now, the dwarf is giving him a cheeky roguish grin, and Zevran looks as though his birthday’s come early, and this is a question he simply will not answer. So he takes a large gulp—drains, actually—his stein of ale, wipes his mouth, and gives the booze a chance to steel his nerves before he speaks.

"Forfeit. Dare."

Anders whoops, and Merrill gasps, and Alistair sends up a silent apology to Lyna’s memory. "Nuh-uh, your Royal Shyness—a forfeit means a double-dare. Two dares, or you streak naked through the bar," Varric says with a dark grin. Alistair groans, but nods, and awaits his fate. 

The first dare is easy—he’s apparently been nursing his drinks too much for the satisfaction of the others, and he’s made to down a concoction made by mixing the remnants of all their glasses. It’s disgusting and sour with booze, but he manages, thankful for Varric’s seeming show of mercy. It makes it somewhat easier, then, when Varric tells him the second dare.

"Why don’t you go ahead and plant a big wet one on Daisy there."

Merrill gasps, and reddens, and Anders and Hawke exchange a grin like there’s a private joke to be had there. Alistair reels at the prospect, but the fresh alcohol is blazing a trail through his nervous system and eradicating his sense of self-preservation; and it could have been worse. It could have been Zevran. 

Alistair has a niggling sense that he’s getting off lightly, here, and nods, not willing to give up so easily. He rolls around onto his hands and knees, his rear smarting numbly as it is finally relieved of the hard floor, and begins crossing the circle at a crawl. He’s unsteady, uncoordinated, and it’s a feat of concentration to make it even halfway. 

Halfway is all he can manage, though, before he tips forward, coordination abandoning him, and he falls facefirst into Merrill’s lap. She shrieks a laugh in surprise, and the circle erupts into fits of giggles; face burning, he purses his lips, kisses the skin under his cheek, and scoots backwards hurriedly.

"It counts!" he claims, trying to hide his burning flush, and casts about for another drink to drown his embarrassment. "It counts!"

[andersspicyshimmy-blog]

"spit it out"

Blurted Sentence Starter Meme - 45

Anders grinned at Merrill as he entered her little home, pleased by the quaintness of it, even if it was a bit…homey. That is, until he spied the carpet, teeming with bugs and lice, and his face fell. He looked up at Merrill, the smile turning fake and pasted-on.                    ”…Does the carpet match the drapes?”