#qunmance

[maybethings]

Halim: *exceedingly patient, slow to anger, pretty much 90% diplo!Rook*

Ghilly: something something make a new Archdemon with Rook’s fire-breather—

Halim:

Halim:

Halim: I am going to peel off your face and wear it like a hat. :>

[maybethings]

Soft-triggered Taash’s romance and

[maybethings]

Things you said when we were the happiest we ever were with Saemus and Ashaad, please?

They watched the sun set from a rocky outcrop, a dull red globe sinking below the horizon as if into a lover’s embrace. The tide swirled below their feet. Waves inched forward across the sands but never quite reached them. Saemus swung his feet over the edge, smiling to himself as he looked out over the water, the last glowing embers of daylight shining in his eyes. He seemed...

...Content. That was the word Ashaad was looking for, or so he told himself. He rested his bare soles on the warm earth, feeling dry grass prickle his skin. Saemus turned to him, ringed in light, somehow even more fragile than normal. The human was smiling. His voice was quiet, almost shy.

“Don’t you wish we could stay like this forever?” He laughed quietly. Ashaad, half-conscious, reached out to touch his cheek and seemed surprised to find his fingers lingering along the boy’s jawline.

“All things must end,” he said, not so hard-hearted to hold Saemus’ gaze in that moment. “But this time--we shall make the most of it. Of...ourselves.”

The darkening sky held no more interest. Both leaned into the other, and what the stars saw afterwards is not recorded by any hand.

[maybethings]

♖: Having their hair washed by the other. Ashaad/Seamus

Saemus is a little nervous, to say the least. And he feels completely justified, because he’s never seen Ashaad trim those claws of his. No, they’re nails. Beasts have claws, and he is not a--

Freezing water floods every single thought into oblivion as Ashaad empties a bucket over his head. He is seated quite comfortably behind Saemus in the makeshift bathhouse, perhaps once part of an old ship. Bow and mast and flank has become a wooden refuge from the heat and outside dust, with long tubs and leather buckets and whatever else the Qunari use to keep clean. Something is being worked into Saemus’ damp hair. It smells of salt and some flower he cannot recognise from any Hightown parlour.

“Tilt your head back,” Ashaad says, tapping the pad of one finger on his forehead. “This may sting if you are not used to it.”

He complies, one arm bumping up against his companion’s towel-wrapped thigh as he shifts. Then Ashaad starts scrubbing, with the nails, and--oh, they are not too long after all, filed straight at the tip and scraping delightfully against his scalp. He lets out a little moan, then a slightly louder one when Ashaad’s large thumbs swoop twin trails down the back of his neck.

“Parshaara, imekari,” he grumbles, but there is quiet affection in the words as the massaging and shampooing continues. The nails scrape and the fingers work and Saemus nearly falls asleep under such firm ministrations. The world falls away and there is only the smell of the flowers and the sky, the feeling of Ashaad’s fingers against his skin, carding through his hair. “There. Close your eyes.”

With barely a second further of warning, another bucket of freezing water assaults Saemus, then another. He shakes his sodden hair out of his eyes, splattering Ashaad copiously, and grins. His scalp tingles.

“I must look very different to you right now,” he says, barely able to keep the laughter out of his voice: skin gleaming, tousled hair plastered flat against his head, drops of water caught in his eyelashes, eyes clear and bright.

“You look clean,” Ashaad says, and throws a dry towel over his head.

[maybethings]

for the meme, warden x Sten

The tide rises to safe harbour.

[maybethings]

Brosca/Sten, 31

31 - Adopting a pet together

This seems like a p good time to pull out the old Grey Wardens Cat Shelter AU.

“I just don’t get it,” Natia sighed, looking at the great smokey ball of fluff. It let out an impressive baritone mraaaaaoul. “Why do you keep breaking things at your new homes?!”

“It doesn’t like them,” Sten said, cleaning out the last of the litter trays and heading for the sinks. “This is the fifth time, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. But–but Shale’s always so well behaved around me and the others.”

“Because it likes you.” He dried his hands with a paper towel, folding it into a tight square before binning it. “And it is possible that the cat considers this place home, and nowhere else.” He reached for the cat’s head absently and it butted his palm, rumbling like a jet engine. Her favourites were abundantly clear.

Natia looked from cat to Qunari and grinned. “Hey, Sten, I have an idea.”

“This concerns me.” He hid a slight smirk as she glared at him. “What is it?”

“Why don’t we adopt her? You know, she took a shine to you right from the first day you started working here. I bet she’d be as happy as a clam living with us.”

“We live with your cousin. Who has a full-grown mabari.”

“Gelert? Ha, he wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

“That dog is large enough to knock me over if it wanted to.”

“I bet Mina won’t have a problem with it. But will you think about it?” Her face had gone deadly earnest. “Shale could be really happy with us, too. We could help her find a home.”

“You have my word,” Sten said, ruffling the top of her head and heading back to his tasks. And he did. He thought about the smoke-grey cat and the tiny woman he lived with, and her vivacious cousin and her large dog. He thought about his supervisor, grandmotherly and sharp, and his coworkers obsessed with cheese and crows and song and everything in between. He thought about his new neighbours, the pasta maker and the biker and the politician’s aide.

They were not the Qun. They were not his community. But still–yes, they were some kind of home.

[maybethings]

queenqueso asked: 4 for cadash and bull :3

4. Pet names (endearments)

“Oooh. Did Josephine get another batch of those little Orlesian doohickeys again?”

“Vol au vents,” laughed Vyera as she uncovered the plate. It was early in the morning, the Keep was still comparatively silent, and the Inquisitor and her horned paramour had sneaked into the kitchen for an early pre-breakfast. Her hair was out of its trademark braids, swooped back in a thick and unruly twist. “You might as well know what to call those things you’re putting in your mouth!”

“That’s what she said,” Bull quipped. She responded by bouncing one off his forehead.

“Oh, you can laugh all you like,” she shot back, “but I know you can’t resist the little things. And I’m going to eat every last one before you can, salroka!”

“Salroka?” The Inquisitor froze, a flush practically flying up her throat and across her cheeks. “That’s Dwarven, isn’t it? What’s that mean?”

“I didn’t--I mean--I’ll tell you later,” she said, cramming a thick slice of bread purposefully into her mouth before haring it out of the room.

Bull bit into the abandoned pastries, chewing in thoughtful silence. He had no idea the word wouldn’t cross the Inquisitor’s lips again for weeks.

The matter wasn’t mentioned over the next dozen fights, a dragon hunt, and five exhausting sessions in the bedroom. Certainly not right away that night, when Vyera sat thoughtfully drinking and beckoned Iron Bull to bed.

“You have been,” she said in her drink-soused, smooth drawl, and behind closed doors, “exceptionally restrained.”

“Hah. Then I’m not really doing my job, am I, Red?”

“I like it when you call me that.” She hummed in pleasure as Bull did something delightful to her bottom. “But really, all that tumbling and you never asked me what salroka meant again.”

“Should I have?” He stopped, letting her lean bonelessly (and irritatedly) against his shoulder. “The way you reacted, I figured that when you wanted to let me know, you’ll let me know.”

He felt her short, hot puff of breath on his skin, her eyelashes brushing against his collarbone. “It means,” she said, enunciating with over-careful clarity, “one by my side.”

“That’s it?” Bull said before he could catch himself. At which she bit him, albeit not very hard.

“It’s not--well, okay, that’s it. People come and go, you know? Nobody’s ever stuck around. But maybe you will, hey?” She pulled back to look him in the eye, wistful and tender and very tipsy. “Maybe I want you to stay. Maybe I want you to be the one at my side. Oh, Stone, this is hard.”

It was the opening for the perfect joke, but Bull let it pass. “I’m here, kadan,” he said, lifting her off her feet and into bed. And he made sure that when she opened her eyes again, The Iron Bull was the very first thing she saw.

And then Bull cracked his joke, and got a pillow to the middle for his troubles.

[maybethings]

8 for Vyera/Bull <3

8. a love bite

It’s only a ripple, a whisper at first. There are more important things to be said, after all, more important words to be spoken now that Corypheus has been defeated and the Breach closed for good. But those who see can’t tear their eyes away, and the ripple and whisper grows into a concerned murmur.

On the Inquisitor’s neck is a large bruise, standing out conspicuously against her pale skin like a violet. She has made no attempt to hide it, and pays it as much mind as the healing wounds on her face and body–but it’s still not the most conspicuous thing in the room.

Because standing behind her, near beaming with pride, is The Iron Bull himself, master of mayhem, destroyer of demons, scarred from head to toe but standing strong, despite all that–and on his neck, where surely none could reach, is a dark blotch that stands out against his tough hide. Whatever made the mark must have been very persistent–or very skilled.

And as the Inquisitor makes her speech, she glances sideways at her companion, smiling wider and wider, teeth glinting with wicked glee.