#the-fluffynug

[ourinquisitorialness]

Just me and @the-fluffynug gushing about ya boy, @sunshinemage. 🧡

[lorspolairepeluche]

Halla + Titus. A quiet short(er) king, timid and anxious, but learns that no (secret?) passion is too much for Halla. In turn, Halla finds herself pampered in all his little, thoughtful ways. Their first kiss is shy and clumsy, they laugh about it afterwards, that's when they realise: here is safe harbour.

oh fuck YES she'd throw him off so much at first. she'd make a game of it, give him a nickname that she calls him every time she flirts with and flusters him. but then he starts...doing nice things for her? saying these quiet sincere things that she doesn't often hear? she backs off. she's not used to that. even if she'd bed him in a heartbeat if he asked, he...hasn't asked. just is kind to her, and gives her little gifts, asks her how she's doing and means it.

she's like a cat then, shying away until she realizes that he won't hurt her, then reaching back out to him. a cautious touch, a little further, and then...

the rest is history, i guess.

send me an oc + an alternate love interest for them and I’ll tell you what I think of the idea

[thereluctantinquisitor]

“You always do that. You always warm me up.” for Adiran and “I’ll never get over hearing you say my name.” for Riin? (heart eyes) No pressure, as always!

Thank you for the prompt! At first I was certain that I couldn’t combine them, but it somehow happened so TWO FOR ONE - WOO (although I cheated a little with the first one >.>)

Adiran x Riin, in which Adiran’s hands are hopeless in the cold, and Riin just happens to be a human oven. (1412 words)

                                                          --

Adiran hated Hoarfrost. Between the occasional snowfall and the biting wind from the north, everything about the season seemed to conspire to make his life a special kind of miserable. Sure, it would be worse having to brave it outside the palace walls, away from the crackling hearths and heat-trapping stone. But even with all of the luxuries his royal blood afforded, he couldn’t keep the cold from seeping through his skin and into the core of his being. And Divider knows the last thing he needed to be was icier than he already was.

Even training couldn’t solve the problem. Sure, his arms burned and his blood pumped almost audibly through his veins, but when Riin swung down, he fumbled the parry, his grip slipping on the hilt of his blade. Realising what was happening, Adiran braced as best he could, and let himself be thrown down by the blow. The sand rushed up to meet him, and he hit it with a heavy grunt, barely managing to keep his own weapon from smacking him square in the face, broadside.

Sprawled there, with sand in places it had no business being, Adiran just wanted to die.

Or go inside.

Either one would do.

“Fuck!” Adiran threw his weapon aside and hunched over himself, flexing and clenching his traitorous hands. They ached despite his gloves - despite everything they were doing. Damn it - that couldn’t happen! The tournament was in the middle of Vigil; the season just before Hoarfrost. It might not be the coldest, but the weather could still turn frigid with a single gust of wind. If his grip slipped in the arena, or he couldn’t make a proper hold...

“Easy, Adiran. Are you alright?”

Seething, Adiran sucked in a lungful of air and somehow focused it into a glare as Riin crouched down in front of him. “Fantastic, Riin. As soon as the snowfall starts in the north, I stop being able to hold a damn weapon. How could I possibly be better?” He clenched his hands so tightly that his knuckles must have bled to white beneath the thin leather. “Some fucking soldier I am.”

If Riin where a crueler man, he’d shrug call him what he was. Pathetic. But instead, he just shook his head and reached out, taking Adiran’s sword-hand and uncurling his fingers with practiced ease. “I know you think the world sees you as its centre, but you’re not the first soldier to have trouble keeping his grip in the cold.” His hands worked diligently as he spoke, pressing along the softer parts of Adiran’s palm, rubbing small circles into the aching muscle. Even in the cold morning air, Riin somehow radiated heat. It was like sitting next to a campfire, forgotten and left to smoulder gently into late-morning.

Adiran’s eyes lingered on Riin’s hand - on his own, nestled inside it - and for a time, he simply sat in silence, allowing his friend to work. Sure, pride dictated that he should pull away and stalk off somewhere to brood over his shortcomings, but that whole affair was becoming less and less satisfying of late. No - he was more comfortable now. Even when he probably shouldn’t be.

“You always do that.”

Riin stirred, apparently lost in his own thoughts as well. “Hm..?” He glanced up. “Do what?”

“This. That.” Adiran made a slight movement with his hand. Not enough to disturb Riin’s attentions. “You always warm me up.”

This time, an almost self-conscious chuckle rolled from Riin’s chest. “Well, I don’t know about that.” He didn’t stop what he was doing - only let go briefly, so Adiran could tug off his glove. “I have it on good authority that you’re icy in every season. ‘Wind, hail, or swelter’ I think is what they said.”

“Yeah?” There was no point feigning indignation. Not over such an obvious statement of fact. “Who's been saying that?”

“Well... anyone lucky enough to cross paths with you during a soiree. Or a dinner. Or on the palace grounds. Or in the sparring---”

---”Alright, alright. Point taken. Shut up.”

Riin grinned, and it was suddenly hard for Adiran to remember how he’d felt the first time the man had been assigned to him. Back then, he’d just been another set of eyes, ordered by his parents to track him like a bird of prey. There had been nothing but resentment between them for over a year - Divider knows Adiran had never been shy about making his feelings painfully clear. And Riin had just taken it. Sure, he’d avoided him like a plague-rat the moment his duty was over, but otherwise he’d just let Adiran resent him. If he hated Adiran back, he did it quietly.

Sometimes, a cruel thought crept up on him, when they were alone together. Sitting. Talking. Even when they were laughing. It was the thought that maybe he’d done too much damage, back then. That maybe Riin still hated him. Quietly.

“Riin?”

“Hm?”

“You know you don’t have to, right?”

Riin hummed as he worked. “Mm. Cryptic. Have to what?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re the one who asked---”

---”No! I mean, you don’t always have to. When I tell you to. I’m not... it’s not an order or anything.”

Releasing Adiran’s hand and sitting back on his heels, Riin regarded him for a moment, an amused tilt to his lips. “Of course it isn’t. You don’t give me orders, princeling. Never have.”

“But then---”

---”So why do I do it?”

A little mollified by his own predictability, Adiran closed his mouth and nodded. Apparently it was the right response, because Riin’s amused smile suddenly blossomed into a grin.

“Because you always break. Quickly, too, might I add. Most times, I barely even notice the silence.” He laughed, motioning for Adiran’s other hand. “And you know what else? You always get my attention the same way.”

“I... do?” Frowning, Adiran gave Riin his other hand without even thinking, so distracted by the conversation that the other man had to pull of his glove. Despite wracking his brain for a pattern, he couldn’t come up with anything. “How, then?” he demanded eventually, frustrated.

The answer, it seemed, was almost absurdly simple.

“You say my name.” Beginning anew, Riin let his gaze drift down to their hands, the warmth of his fingers soothing against Adiran’s skin. Like an afterthought, the smile on his lips remained. “I’ll never get over hearing you say my name.”

Despite the cold, Adiran felt heat rush up his neck. He would have pulled away, stammering some absurd excuse about having to go, but then that would just make his embarrassment more obvious. So he forced himself to stay almost painfully still, sitting across from Riin on the sandy ground.

That was, at least, until Riin glanced up, a smirk dancing across his lips. “Warmer now?”

The satisfied gleam in his eye only made matters worse for Adiran, who might have actually been sweating a little under his training gear. That sneaky bastard! He was about to snap a scathing reply when Riin hit a particularly sore spot at the base of Adiran’s thumb, eliciting a sharp gasp instead.

“Still giving you trouble, isn’t it?” Amusement draining away, Riin pressed the spot again, gentler this time, working in slow circles around it. “You should see the physicker, Adiran. It might be part of the problem, along with the cold. The longer you leave it the worse it could get. Stretch for me.”

Eternally grateful for the change of subject, Adiran cleared his throat roughly. “Yeah. Maybe.” At Riin’s instruction, he flexed his hand, the muscle tugging uncomfortably as Riin started to work on it again. “I’ll go tomorrow or something.”

Riin sighed and dug his finger in again, earning a yelp as Adiran tried and failed to pull away. “No,” Riin said, “you’ll go now. And by you I mean we, because I can’t trust you not to slink back to your quarters and take a hot bath instead.”

“Oh come on, I wouldn’t...” Under the full weight of Riin’s unimpressed stare, Adiran huffed and abandoned the lie halfway. “Fine. You win. Help me up.”

Riin raised his brows. “Last I checked your legs still worked.”

“Yeah? Well last I checked, my feet were frozen inside my boots.”

“Alright, alright. Here, give me your other hand...”

[lorspolairepeluche]

slammin' the ✨ for Tsar, Ema and/or any of the kiddos! :DDDDDD

✨ Tsar’s full name, plus titles, is Sukendi General Batsarnai Fyoklovchen Qinling of Sar-Arlencaith. It includes their titles by marriage and military, their full first name (genuinely only ever used in formal settings), a matronymic for their mom Fyokla, their father’s surname, and the land they rule. They definitely prefer just Tsar. Or, if you’re friends or family, Tsarya.

✨ Ema’s biology and behavior are birdlike, even in human form. Hollow bones, no mammary glands of any sort, a cloaca rather than mammalian genitalia, and even the extra set of chest muscles to flap their wings, which are necessarily vestigial in full human form. They get broody, they preen, they even get overly alert and HAVE jumped off things after forgetting they’re not in any winged form; no they haven’t; yes they have; no ❤️

✨ Esben is the most carnivorous of the four kids, surprisingly. Erdene is the most omnivorous. They even have a taste for bamboo like their Baba and their Gong-Gong.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

4 and/or 49 for the micro story prompts, for Adiran and/or Riin? :D

Thank you for the prompt! It took me a while to think of something but it is finally here! For context, this scene takes place before the tournament, but after Adiran’s older brother has returned to the palace. Adiran was a bit more of a mess than usual for that frame of time, and wanted nothing more than to get away from it all, even if only for a while...

4. one chance AND 49. nightfall

Most evenings, Adiran spent his time in quiet reflection. And by quiet reflection, he meant locking himself in his chambers with a bottle of something that wouldn’t be missed and the shelve of books Leisha had been collecting for him ever since he’d been limited to the palace grounds. Normally, that would be enough to get him by until dawn, when he’d wake with a throbbing headache and just enough regret to make the morning miserable. 

But things weren’t normal anymore. It wasn’t enough.

Nothing ever seemed like enough.

It was almost like sleepwalking, the way he ‘woke up’ from his usual routine to find himself cloaked and standing in the shade of one of the pines in the eastern garden. It was just past nightfall. Almost time.

Adiran could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Mindlessly, he pressed a hand over it, as though to still it. Smother it. Divider - do something with it, because he just realised he hadn’t even figured out what he was going to say, or how he was going to convince him, or---

“Adiran? Is that---”

“ ---Shhh! Idiot - shut up.”

As far as winning Riin over went, opening with a hissed insult probably wasn’t the wisest move. But with his heart in his skull and his hands damp with sweat, finesse was so far from Adiran’s grasp that it might as well have sprouted wings and flown across The Pale. Instead, he grabbed Riin by the sleeve and pulled him out of the torchlit path, into the shadow of one of the trees.

The branches were so low that Riin had to duck slightly just to clear them. To his credit, he hardly seemed fazed by Adiran’s sudden appearance. At least, not in the way Adiran had expected. Instead of getting angry or irritated by the interruption to his routine, Riin’s surprise melted away almost instantly. Instead, a familiar expression replaced it. One Adiran really didn’t need right now.

“What are you... are you alright? Adiran, did something happen?”

And there it was, right on schedule. The guilt. Adiran felt it like a knife to the gut. He could see Riin not-so-subtly trying to get a better look at him, squinting in the dark. “No, I’m... nothing’s wrong.” After having spent so much of the past three years with him, he could sense the man’s desire to push back the hood of his cloak. Reveal whatever ugly mark lay beneath it. Pre-emptively, Adiran reached out and grasped him by the wrists, his voice urgent. “I’m serious, Riin. It’s not what you’re thinking, okay?”

Riin searched his eyes for a moment, not resisting the makeshift restraint, but clearly skeptical. And who could blame him? It was more than a little strange for Adiran to ambush him on his usual trip out into the city. For years, he’d gone every half-turn, reliable as Valcretian clockwork. And he went alone. “Then maybe,” Riin said eventually, “you can help me out, and tell me what I should be thinking.”

Stomach lurching, Adiran released him and stepped back, almost running into the trunk of the tree in his haste. “Fuck. Right. I’m just -- I mean, I just want to...” Flustered, his eyes darted quickly to the palace, the wall, the unmanned side-gate. Focus. Damn it, he only had one chance at this. Convincing him. He couldn’t afford to screw it up.

It seemed he already was, because concern was all but etched into the lines of Riin’s face. “Adiran, I know you said not to worry, but you’re really starting to---”

--- “Take me.” The words rushed out of him before he even had a chance to check their credentials, but at the stunned look on Riin’s face, the rest hurried to catch up. “With you! Take me with you. To the city. Wherever it is you’re going. I don’t care. Just... take me too.”

The initial shock of what sounded like a very different kind of proposition was frozen on Riin’s face for a moment, his eyes wide, lips parted in what could have conceivably been the beginnings of a smile. A laugh. Disbelief. Something like that. But, after a few beats, the expression slowly faded, leaving the two of them standing there in the growing dark, nothing but the sound of trickling water and stirring insects dared share their company.

It just so happened that any silence, no matter how small, was too much for Adiran to bear right now.

“Forget it,” he snapped suddenly. Hands sweating. Chest aching. He had to get out of here. “Look, just forget I said anything. This was...” Stupid. So utterly, completely, fucking stupid. Standing there now, faced with the reality of what he was asking, a thousand uncomfortable truths seemed to crash down on his head. Riin’s contract was with his father. Not him. He shouldn’t have come here - shouldn’t have said anything at all, yet alone asked him to defy the King because... what? Because he felt like he was losing his mind? Felt pathetic? Felt utterly, crushingly lonely?

So fucking what.

“This was a mistake, okay?”Adiran continued, already bundling his cloak around him like a useless shell. “I know you can’t. I get it. I’ll just...” Mid-sentence, Adiran made what he assumed would be a fatal mistake. He looked up. Met Riin’s gaze, and found him...

... smiling?

“Oh - are you finished? If you need a little longer to, ah...” Wrinkling his nose, Riin made a vague gesture - a little like throwing something up, if Adiran was to be perfectly honest. Regardless, it was startling enough to stem his flood of words before he drowned in them. “I can wait, is what I’m saying,” Riin elaborated quickly, eyes glittering in the dim light. “It’s better you do this here, rather than down there in some tavern. There’s no need for awkward explanations when it’s just the two of us under a tree.”

Rather than down in some... wait... was he...?

“Wait... are you serious? Riin, if you’re caught doing this...” He should be elated! This was what he wanted, right? But instead, Adiran found himself shaking his head, some wordless instinct still trying to drag him back inside. Back to his chambers. Back to another night alone, where it was quiet and cold but safe. Honestly, he didn’t know what would happen if they were discovered defying the King’s orders. He doubted his father would sever his contract with a Kyriin - especially not so close to its successful completion. Worst case scenario, he’d probably end Riin’s duty as his training partner, and return him to loitering at his side like some miserable Crownsguard. But even that... “Damn it. I shouldn’t have asked. We both know I’m a selfish prick, so just do me a favour and forget I was even here.”

“Mmm, yes. How selfish of you, to be this worried about my well-being. You truly are your father’s son.” Even in jest, they both cringed slightly at the remark. “Sorry, I... what I mean is... it has been three years, hasn’t it? Has the King even told you when he plans to put an end to this?”

Sighing tightly, Adiran shook his head. “You know him about as well as I do. He doesn’t let things go.”

“You have already been punished more than enough for what happened.”

“Somehow, I doubt he’d agree.” A familiar sick feeling stirred in his stomach. “Riin, my father killed a man - hanged him in the square - just to send me a message. Just to make a point. This...” Swallowing, Adiran felt his gaze being pulled back towards the palace. “This is nothing. Not compared to that. I shouldn’t be out here.”

How could he possibly complain? He was alive. Breathing. That was more than could be said for others who had crossed the Talveran King.

Suddenly, there was a weight on his shoulder. Warm. Steady. It drew him back to the garden. Back to the tree and the trickling water and the cicadas. “You are not to blame for what your father did, Adiran.” Riin squeezed gently, leaning forward to catch his gaze. “And believe me, you are far from the first person to find themselves in a drunken brawl. Neither you or the other man deserve what happened. What is still happening.”

“But I---”

“Did you kill him? The man you fought.”

Adiran looked away. “I might as well have.”

“No - look at me.” Clenching his jaw, Adiran resisted for a moment, wishing they weren’t having this damned conversation, before finally giving in just to get it over with. “Good,” Riin said. “Now, did you order the hanging?”

“What? Of course not!”

“Then what did you demand?”

“Demand?“

“As compensation for your injuries.”

“Divider’s Own, Riin - nothing! We were drunk, and yeah, we acted like a couple of assholes. But I... I figured the city guard was just going to hold him until he sobered up. I didn’t even know I’d been recognised---”

Another squeeze, firmer this time. Adiran broke off, realising he was breathing hard. Too hard. Hard enough to have been mid-sprint. Nodding rapidly, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to calm down. Tried to focus on Riin’s unnatural warmth. His hand on his shoulder. His voice, softer now, as he spoke again. “Adiran... I’m taking you with me tonight. Okay? In truth, I’ve wanted to for a long time.” Something brushed gently against his jaw - the back of a finger? - prompting Adiran to raise his chin and reopen his eyes. “Listen to me. You need this. I’m glad you’re here.”

What more could possibly be said? To deny the truth was pointless. And with those amber eyes staring straight through him, how could he even begin to try?

“Why?” was all he managed instead, and the answer was delivered with a frown. Not of anger, but genuine confusion.

“Why am I glad?”

“No, I mean... why?” Realising, with the help of Riin’s flat stare, that he was being far from helpful, Adiran grunted and forced himself to try again. “You... you know the risks. Why would you agree to this at all?”

To his surprise, Riin relaxed. It wasn’t quite the reaction Adiran had expected; after all, it wasn’t exactly an easy question. But when Riin’s smile returned, warm and soft and reassuring, it suddenly seemed like it was.

“Because you asked me to.”

That was it? Just because he asked? Divider’s Own, that wasn’t a reason! Not a real one.

Was it?

As the silence lingered, Riin eventually arched one dark brow, something akin to amusement in his eyes. “Do you... need some other reason?”

Fuck, he was infuriating sometimes. Completely insufferable. Folding his arms across his chest, Adiran snorted and looked away, doing his best to reassert some kind of control over the mess he’d created. “I mean, it’d probably make me feel better about losing my shit before, yeah.”

Sometimes it was strange, how much Riin appreciated unfiltered honesty. Surprised, he started to laugh, then caught himself, glancing around gingerly, making sure he hadn’t given them away. “Well,” he continued more conservatively, turning back, “it’s a nice evening, and we’ve got a fair walk to where I planned to go tonight. We should head out.” Smiling, he slid his hand from Adiran’s shoulder to his back, applying just enough pressure to coax him gently towards the side gate. “I’ll try to come up with something better along the way.”

“Uh-huh. You’d better.” Adiran rolled his eyes, but they both knew his heart wasn’t in it. Not really. Because what better reason - what better words than the five Riin had already given - could possibly be said?

No, Adiran decided as they slipped through the gate and he found himself free of the palace for the first time in three years. To deny the truth really was pointless.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

🍏💙💜🌺 for Calayne, please! :D

JUMBO ASK GAME!

🍏 Does your OC have any triggers? What is the history behind these triggers and are they related to any disorders or mental illnesses? In what ways does your OC react to being triggered?

Honestly, her own rage is probably the biggest trigger for her (although I’m not sure trigger is the right word for it). She is trying hard to overcome the side of her that raided and murdered for centuries - and is renowned for it - so whenever she lapses back into that mindset she takes it as a deep personal failure. It is probably more of a regret than a trigger, now that I think about it, but it’s the closest thing she has. Her reaction is typically to spiral into self-loathing and introspection for a while, and vow to do better next time. Though, the more she fails, the more she feels like she is just lying to herself and can never truly change.

💙 What did your OC want to be when they grew up and why? Did they have any lifelong dreams or ambitions they never got to work on or are they currently working to achieve this dream? Has their life taken a very unexpected turn and put all these plans on hold for a while or have they given up on any dreams?

She always wanted to be a military leader, but it’s not clear if that was actually her desire or just the expectations placed upon her due to her mother’s success. Given the history of the Irethani, they are heavily focused on might and warfare and power through conflict. Any other life would, to her, have felt like wasted opportunity, and she has never been one content to live in the shadows. She wanted to fight for her people, and work to regain what had been stolen from them. What else was there?

Her life did take an unexpected turn when she realised that her people were not as ‘born to rule’ as she had always been taught. The first time this became clear was when the Rhaiz, their leader, started using lower-rank Irethani for experimentation (having moved on/run out of prisoners). Calayne realised she couldn’t justify essentially torturing their own people - that the means did not necessarily justify the ends - and that was like the first crack in a pane of glass. After that, she started finding it harder and harder to justify a lot of what she did, until it reached a breaking point and she chose to leave the people she had spent her life fighting for.

💜 Music or Silence? Swords or Spells? Cities or Nature?

Silence (mostly out of habit - she likes to have an awareness of what is happening around her). Swords (although she does practice the thaumic arts in combat, they’re not ‘spells’ per say). Cities (she is used to being among people/leading, so cities are actually where she feels more relaxed. Out in nature, she is left more to her own devices, and that is difficult for her. This makes the fact that she is now seeking a life of isolation even harder).

🌺 Does your OC have any tattoos or other body art? Does their body art have any specific meaning behind it? Do they have any scars? How did they get those scars? Any birthmarks?

All Irethani have dark facial markings, typically resembling those of their parents (with individual variations - the same way children in general tend to resemble their parents but are not carbon-copies of them). There is no real meaning to them, however Irethani who wish to sever ties with their family often alter the pattern (via tattooing) as a kind of statement. And some alter their markings just for the aesthetic, although this is considered quite indulgent and vain.

[ourinquisitorialness]

For the WIP: “You’re gonna-? Why? What, did he do something? Did he hurt you?” Malina narrowed her eyes, ready to go give that hairy nug a chat with her skillet.

UH OH, whoever make the mistake of rousing Malina’s ire had better watch out! xD I would LOVE to know who this “hairy nug” is and who Malina is talking to, hahahah.

Here’s an excerpt from a WIP of Thalon visiting the Val Royeaux alienage that I started YEARS ago and never finished. I rediscovered it recently and have been poking at it here and there, so perhaps something will come of it eventually.

--

They turned left into a narrow passage between two shopfronts, and emerged in a kind of accidental courtyard surrounded on all sides by five- and six-story buildings ringed with balconies. Washing lines crisscrossed overhead, strung with laundry put out to dry, but the tenements were stacked so high that sunlight wouldn’t reach the crowded courtyard until midday.

And everywhere, there were elves -- a pair of women chatting on a balcony as they scrubbed at their washboards, a man bent in concentration over the meticulous work of mending a shirt with needle and thread, a mother and her sons peeling a basket of chestnuts while their grandfather watched from the stoop. A small flock of chickens scuttled, squawking, behind a smaller flock of children, fighting for the crumbs that fell from their hands. In the center of the yard, a few tables had been set up with the tile game that was so popular among city elves in Val Royeaux, especially the old aunties who liked to play against their husbands and scold them for cheating, or so Sera had once told him.

When Thalon appeared in the courtyard, all movement stopped, and it was as if the world itself had abruptly paused to hold its breath.

“Créateur...c’est le Héraut.”

“C’est pas possible!”

--

Send me a line or two from your current WIP and I’ll share one of mine!

[ourinquisitorialness]

Cathaire/Remi is the type of spice-lover who will turn red, tear up, sweat a lot and get a runny nose when eating. He might also get a tummy ache after but he loves spicy food so much. He's still holding out hope that someday his body will build resistance and the symptoms will stop. haha

I love him so much, Essie. Poor dainty white man and his love of spices looool.

As you probably could’ve guessed, Halahn has NO trouble with spices. He will sit next to Remi and eat the exact same dish, as happy as a clam. And you KNOW he’s giggling at the faces Remi makes while he’s eating lol. But Halahn’s taste for spice is balanced by a terrible sweet tooth. He’s always sneaking little cakes and cookies from the Skyhold kitchen throughout the day and cannot understand how Remi lived his whole life in Orlais without getting fat on all the delicious SWEETS.

--

Send me facts or headcanons about your Dragon Age OCs.