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rosykims · 6 months

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my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.

Impatient as he is, he greets his uncle first. He’s the king, after all, and his advisors deserve at least the pretense of an attentive ruler.

Pleasantries are exchanged between them while his squire helps him out of his gaudy golden excuse for armor. Not unexpectedly, the elephant in the room goes undiscussed, as do the half dozen marriage proposals he's certain have piled up during his absence. After six years, Eamon knows better than to press him on that issue. Likely he'll try his luck in the morning, but tonight the wells of Alistair’s patience have been run thoroughly dry. It must read plainly on his face, given how bad he is at cards.

As the arl's debrief draws to a close, Alistair's eyes, for the tenth time in half as many minutes, dart towards the exit. Eamon sighs.

“Well, Your Grace,” he says, tactfully clearing his throat. “The hour is late indeed. I imagine you're weary from your travels?”

Alistair nods. “Oh, very weary. The weariest.”

It's not entirely a lie, but his uncle frowns nonetheless. “Then I won't keep you. Good night, Alistair.”

“You as well, Uncle.”

“I will see you in the morning for your small council meeting. Do try not to be . . . waylaid.”

Well. Hint received. Awkward. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he finally presses the door closed behind him.

Next up: a bath. It's sorely needed, after five weeks back and forth across the Waking Sea. His arrivals home are typically received without much ceremony, per his request, and so the palace is pleasantly quiet. A few saluting guards here, a scurrying servant or two there. It's for their benefit that he keeps his footfalls slow and measured, instead of breaking into the wild sprint down the hallway that he's aching for.

One of those servants must have drawn his bath for him already, he guesses, stepping into his chambers to find it warm and awaiting. He wonders if Teagan roused them from their beds for this, or if they've simply clued into his routine after so many years of it.

He forces himself to bathe slowly. For his own sake, but mostly for hers. The heat soaks into his bones, the grime and dust from the road melting off of him as if little more than a bad memory. He tries to enjoy it, despite his restlessness. And the excitement, Maker, like he's still twenty years old and the anticipation alone might just undo him. Or do him in.

He only hurries as he dries off, reaching for the fresh (and mercifully plain) clothes laid diligently aside for him. A part of him considers forgoing clothes entirely – palace denizens be damned. He wills himself to dress anyway, reluctantly. Quickly. It hasn't been that long since he last saw her, anyway, and they've gone far longer stretches before than this. Nonetheless, between Kirkwall's tyrannical templars and the lingering Qunari threat, he feels as if he hasn't held her in an age.

Clean and fully dressed, he frowns at his reflection. Older, harder, more weary. But happy, still, despite it all. Because of her. Her, waiting for him, just a few rooms away.

Naked, ideally.

He does away with all pretense and hightails down the hall, paying no mind to his kingsguard and their poorly suppressed grins. Smile away, Alistair thinks. I'll be smiling too, in a minute.

Her door is up ahead. And then before him. The handle is inches away from his outstretched hand. He hesitates.

How’s his breath? His hair? He should have shaved, should have put in a little more effort. Can she hear his creepy breathing behind the door? He fixes his clothes. Squares his shoulders. Knocks.

“Elles?”

A pause. Then, “Alistair?”

His heart tightens painfully in his chest. How he's missed that voice. If Ferelden could speak, it would do so through Elspeth Cousland. The strength of the Frostbacks in that voice of hers. The grim beauty of the Kocari Wilds. Rough like the Highever seas.

He can tell she’s been brooding before he’s so much as closed the door behind him. Not that he’s surprised — Maker, does the woman know how to brood. She shoots up quickly to her feet, straight and rigid like a soldier standing at attention. Not, mind you, like a Warden-Commander; at this moment Elspeth more closely resembles a clammy-handed recruit, next in line for her Joining. She’s nervous, that much is obvious, with her hands white knuckled and clasped together with uncertainty. From past experience, he’d wager anything she’s spent the last several days convincing herself he’s somehow fallen out of love with her in the time they’ve been apart.

And they say he’s the idiot.

Life’s too short to waste on “hello”’s, or “I’ve missed you”’s, or "I brought you a souvenir, but silly me, I accidentally dropped it overboard on the voyage back”. They’ve got less time together than most, after all. Crossing the distance between them is a blur; one moment he's at the door, the next he's hoisting her legs up around his waist, arms enveloping every part of her he can get his hands on, lips working relentlessly against her opened mouth. Whatever insecurities she'd tried to voice in the time it took him to wrap her up in his arms, he doesn't care to hear. He'd much rather focus on ridding her of those doubts entirely.

She gets the message — they've always been in sync like that. Her lips catch up with his, matching the hunger and resolve of his kiss. Her hands, calloused and smelling perpetually of iron, snake around his shoulders. The rest of her smells like roses; she must have come just recently from the garden he’d had built for her, the one place he specifically forbid her from moping in. He takes a moment to refamiliarize himself with her scent, lost in the feeling of her fingers tangled up in his hair, pulling him closer, ever closer, close enough to lose track of whose body belongs to who. And still it's not enough.

He needs her. Badly. She can probably feel as much, too. He carries her to the bed, laying her down amidst the pillows and furs. He finds within himself just enough self restraint to stand back for a long, brazen ogle. Maker, everything about her turns him on. Her freckles, her fingers, her breasts. Her long ashen hair in that ever-familiar braid. Storm gray eyes, pale pink lips. Her nose, one of his many favorite parts of her, set crooked after one too many fists to the face.

That perfect, powerful body of hers, hidden away under just a few thin, tearable layers of clothing . . .

She's way ahead of him, of course, because at this point they've got reunion sex down to an art. She casts off her Warden-blue tunic with only a button or two lost in the process, then grabs him by the front of his own shirt (red, naturally, with a tiny embroidered ‘I love you’ she'd stitched so sneakily behind the hem of his collar) and pulls him down on top of her once it's properly discarded. Their pants and various stubborn affects follow suit, until they’re both left blissfully bare and pawing feverishly at one another, limbs tangled and lips locked.

His fingers venture down the valley of her breasts, past her stomach to settle in between her legs. He smiles at what he finds, reassured by the proof that he’s not the only one so blatantly aroused. Her thighs part wider for him, hips lifting from the sheets to sooner meet his digits. She moans, perhaps less so from pleasure than the sheer relief of being touched — loved — for the first time in over a month. And he's right there with her. He sighs (or whines, if he's being honest) into the crook of her neck when her own hands find what they've been looking for, working him all too quickly into a frenzy.

She stops just as suddenly as she'd started, pushing at his chest until he relents and rolls over. She straddles his lap, grinding once, hard and agonizingly slow, for good measure. He moves to drape an arm over his face in some futile attempt to cool his burning cheeks, but she cruelly intercedes, pinning his wrists by either side of his head. He struggles playfully for a bit, laughing breathlessly. His hips buck autonomously at the sight of those strong, muscular arms holding him firmly in place.

They used to spar together, innocently, when they first met. How time flies.

He needs so, so desperately to fuck her. He has all night — all week, all year, all of the rest of their lives— to savor her body the way it's meant to be savored. To make sweet, tender, Chantry sanctioned love to her. But what he needs right now — what they both need, he recognises — is something desperate and ragged and mindless to the point of being no better than animals. The type of fucking that comes from a shared loneliness he's not certain anybody else has ever experienced before.

He's glad she doesn't give him too much time to dwell on that. Her hips rise just enough for the right angle, before guiding him slowly inside. They both sigh. Elspeth frees his trapped hands to splay her own out against his chest, steadying herself. Her nails dig into his skin as she sinks down onto him, inch by inch, although she's bitten them too short to do any real damage. Alistair fights to keep himself still inside her, waiting for her body to adjust, to give him the go ahead. An uphill battle, really. When he's fully sheathed inside of her she settles, save for the frantic contraction of her muscles around him, driving him to the brink of insanity.

“I dreamt about this every night I was gone,” he manages. “Maker, I love you, Elles. I love you so much.”

Her eyes go glassy and her bottom lip quivers. It's that old, familiar grief, the one he's never been able to fully free her from after those long, bleak months in the Deep Roads. But as he moves his hips carefully against hers and feels Elspeth moving back, he's confident he can coax it down again, at least for as little as tonight.

“I love you,” she eventually whispers back, and then begins to ride him in earnest.

Ten minutes blurs into one long wave of curling, cresting euphoria. Alistair groans brokenly. He feels absolutely deranged, delirious, gazing up at her while she takes him so completely. Sweat beads at her forehead, and a deep flush creeps from her chest up to her cheeks. His own face must be beet-red, too.

He's not going to last long, not with the angle she’s hitting and sounds coming out of her mouth. Though, taking those sounds into consideration, he suspects that she won't last much longer, either. They're both too keyed up to pace themselves and too jittery to try, so better to play it out in a wild crescendo. He grabs at her hips, lifting her up and back down onto him, coaxing out one hoarse plea after another. One hand releases its grip to run unfettered across her breasts, and she groans again, falling forwards onto his chest and wrapping herself around him as if she might never get a chance to again.

Once, a hundred lifetimes ago, his friend Zevran gave him some unsolicited advice about arching. He really hadn’t appreciated it at the time, but he does now, right in this moment, with the friction of this exact position to aid him in such an endeavor. She’s done in half a minute if he can keep her held firmly above him. He’s done, too. He doubles his efforts, recapturing her swollen lips and soon reaching with his tongue to greet the muffled cry when her pleasure finally peaks. Normally he would let her ride it out, but he’s rapidly approaching his own climax and his brain can focus on nothing but her gray, glazed over eyes, her hair in the candlelight, the frantic rise and fall of her chest as she writhes and bucks and bounces against him. Her muscles pulse and he feels himself twitching inside of her in response.

He’s so close, at the precipice, suspended in mid air, floating . . . And then she tightens around him once more and he finishes inside of her with one long, obscene moan that vibrates through the room and every part of his utterly spent body.

They’re going to get so many looks from the guards come morning.

His every muscle sings with bliss. Their bodies grow slack and boneless together and their movements slow to lazy, drawn out rolls of the hips. He holds her, one hand rubbing her naked back and the other cradling her head as they find their breaths again, together, in the most comfortable of silences. He counts her exhales, and in the afterglow of their efforts he finds himself blinking back tears. Returning to Ferelden, to Denerim, to the palace itself . . . none of it had felt like coming home until this very moment, enveloped in one another, reacquainted at last with the sound of each other’s breathlessness.

He hates it when she rolls up and off of him, but he’s a grown up, apparently, so instead of whining about it he begrudgingly rises from the bed long enough to grab the nearest clean cloth. Then he’s right back in bed with her, his hand returning between her legs to wipe her down, followed by a cursory clean up of himself. She lets out her now thoroughly dishevelled braid while she watches him, not smiling as he’d hoped, but warm and tender nonetheless. Her fingers trace slow and deliberately along the curve of his bicep, frowning at the jagged scar she knows still gives him trouble in the colder months. He makes a mental note to get at least a half dozen laughs out of her before the night is through, just to keep that damned frown of hers at bay.

He offers her a worldless arm when he’s done tidying them both up, and he’s rewarded with a smile, sweet and sheepish, as she moves to snuggle into it. He pulls her close to pepper the top of her head with kisses, humming contentedly in the quiet.

“Marry me,” he says eventually.

Elspeth tenses, and then sighs. “You’re never going to give this up, are you?”

“Ha! Of course I will. The second you say ‘Yes! Yes! Oh, Alistair! One thousand times yes!’”

“I don’t sound like that. Also, do I have to say it a thousand times, or just the once?”

“Well . . . a couple times couldn’t hurt, right?”

And there it is: her first, exasperated chuckle of the night. Winning that laughter means more to him than every battle he’s ever come out of victorious.

“You know I can’t, Ali.” Her laughter fades back into her usual grimness as she runs her palm across his chest, charting routes in the space between his freckles. She places a kiss above his heart, likely in the hopes of avoiding his eye. “We’ve broken too many rules as it is, and I won’t be the cause for yet more unrest in Thedas. I bear responsibility for enough of that already. Besides, I can’t just abandon my men. The Wardens need me.”

“I need you.” He scoffs as an afterthought. “And the Gray Wardens have Nathaniel, as much as it just kills me to credit that man with anything. But hey! Who said anything about giving them up? A king can be a general. I’m living proof he can be a court jester, too. Why can’t a queen be Warden-Commander?”

She ignores his quip, despite it being a really good one. “Because I don’t know how to be a queen.” She shakes her head hopelessly. “I barely know how to be a person most days. Maybe . . . maybe I could have done it, once, but now, after everything —”

Better to stop this now before it turns into another one of her signature doom spirals. “Every Arl and Bann in the Coastlands calls you queen already, did you know that?” He grins, having anticipated the eyeroll. Of course she knows that, given how much her fellow Gray Wardens love to gossip. And tease. “The nobles have long been made aware that I won't accept anybody else by my side. And, Maker, it’s not like they would accept anybody else! ‘None but the Cousland Queen’ — that’s what they say about you. I know that because half of the bannorn have told me. To my face.”

Some small, dignified part of her — the part that still relishes being a highborn noble — stirs. Her eyes glint with cautious intrigue. “Bann Ceorlic?” she asks.

Alistair clears his throat. “Well, not him.”

“Hmph.”

“Marry me,” he says again. “Don’t you want to?”

“You know I want to,” she says, “but —”

“— Any excuse you give me will just go in one ear and out the other. Isn’t that just so classically me? Hey, here’s a crazy idea. Let’s get maaaa-rried!”

“You’re just getting funnier and funnier in your old age, aren’t you?”

“And you’re getting grumpier.”

He takes her face in both hands before she can deny it, kissing her slow and soft and with all of the comfort he knows she secretly needs right now, and likely always will. Now that he’s home - truly home - he can give her as much of that as she can stand, and then some. Tomorrow’s small council meeting be damned. “Marry me, Elles.”

She blinks up at him, searching his eyes for any sign he might one day get tired of waiting. She can find a lot in his eyes (he is really, really terrible at cards) but she’ll never find that.

“Can I at least ask you how your trip went, first?” she asks finally, softened by the crack of a tiny, rueful smile.

“Ugh.” How could he forget? “Right. That little thing. It -”

Alistair blinks, Kirkwall forgotten again just as soon as he’d remembered it. “That’s . . . not a ‘no’, by the way,” he says, dumbfounded.

Elspeth settles in closer against him, her leg wrapped around his, her ear pressed in snug at his shoulder. He knows she’s listening for his heartbeat, the thump-thump-thump she’d do anything - everything - for. He knows she put him on the throne to keep that heartbeat going for a few years more, and he knows that’s why it’s so hard for her to give up the endless fight for it now.

He knows. It doesn’t mean he thinks she’s right.

She looks up at him only after she’s satisfied that his heart isn’t about to cease functioning in his chest. Her hand reaches out to smooth down the errant hairs around his ears, and she opens her mouth several times to reply before pursuing them together in frustration. Then - finally, bashfully - she nods.

“No,” she admits softly. “I mean, it’s not. It’s . . . it’s not a no.”

‘It’s not a no’. Well, he’s certainly done more with less.

#dragon age origins #dao #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #oc: elspeth #mine: writing #we are so fucking back babey #considering i havent posted my writing in like. over an entire year at best. i did somewhat pop off with this one <3 #elle is so miserable all the time except when alistair pranks her into experiencing joy and i hope that shines through if nothing else <3 #ALSO TY MAIA FOR THE PEP TALK BEFORE POSTING THIS I LOVE U .

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peachviz · 1 month

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Happy May the Fourth ✨

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bisexualseraphim · 2 months

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Alright fine I’m gonna speak my mind.

My cis followers, listen up:

Being attracted to trans people is not inherently a fetish. The way you speak about trans people CAN be fetishistic, but 99% of the time when I see cis people calling out trans fetishism it’s literally just. Someone being really horny for a trans person. That’s not inherently fetishistic.

Sorry but it actually hurts me a little when I see cis people claim that a content creator is being fetishistic for drawing a trans guy with tits and a pussy, or for writing smut where a trans guy really enjoys using his pussy for sex, or God forbid said trans guy is fem. Trans people like that exist, you know. I myself have a pussy and fuck yes do I want people I’m in a relationship with to be attracted to it. And the same goes for many transfemmes who keep their natal parts, especially butch transfemmes.

Trans people are not a monolith. We don’t all hate our bodies or experience dysphoria or express our genders the same way. I swear to God cis people are all “allies” until a trans man is fem or a trans woman is butch or an enby isn’t androgynous or we actually enjoy our bodies or we have a kink or sexual fetish you don’t like.

Cis people: I know your hearts are in the right place and I appreciate that, but spouting “oh this content is fetishistic and Bad because trans men NEVER like their vaginas and are NEVER feminine” (or something equal to other trans people) is seriously not the allyship you think it is.

There is absolutely a conversation to be had about fetishising trans people — chasers in particular — but it’s quite a bit less black and white than hating certain FICTIONAL portrayals of trans people because these types of trans people exist in real life and we can see what you say about us.

I love my dick and my pussy (because I have both — are you aware we can have both?) but I saw a post today by someone I really like that actually made me feel kind of shit about myself because it was a cis person essentially saying that smut that describes my genitals in any particularly horny light is fetishistic and that really kind of hurt me. It made me feel like people think I’m undesirable due to my body only it was said in some backwards attempt to be an ally which is almost worse than deliberate transphobia lol.

I guess my point is: not all trans people’s feelings and experiences are universal. Call out obvious transphobia when you see it, yes, but please stop speaking for us about complex situations you just can’t fully understand unless you’re trans. Trans identities and experiences can be so much more complicated than what mainstream celebrities and articles will tell you and I just really need cis people to stop behaving as though the issues we face are a quick and easy fix. It never is. Sometimes the best allyship is to listen to how WE feel and take it into consideration instead of saying whatever you think we want you to say — because a lot of the time, we don’t.

#Sorry for popping off but that really upset me and I had to say something #I don’t usually speak up about things like this because so many cis people just can’t take a criticism to save their lives #Also I know some trans people WOULD find the things I mentioned fetishistic but that’s part of my point #Is that we all experience and feel different things and don’t all have the same beliefs #And implying it’s inherently fetishistic to be attracted to us harms way more trans people than not #Also transmeds and truscum please stay away from me you’re part of the problem 💜#Hope at least one cis person sees this and does some reflection #long post #text post #trans #transgender #transphobia #trans nsft #trans ally #trans discourse #trans men are men #trans women are women #enby #nonbinary #intersex #gender essentialism #bioessentialism #gender roles #gnc #gender nonconforming #rant #vent #nsft

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water-fan-art · 3 months

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Virgin Gideon vs Chad Kiriona

#mr incredible is Gideon’s body goals #gideon nav #kiriona gaia #tlt #the locked tomb #nona the ninth #i’m a fucking genius #if any of my irregular tlt posts ‘pop off’ as the kids would say. I hope it’s this one

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welcometogrouchland · 1 year

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Pls pls pls pls pls post the willow spiderman au pls pls pls for meeeeeee

[ID: a digital sketch of willow from the owl house with a Spider-Man inspired design. It's based on her flyer derby uniform, with red and blue swapped for green and yellow, and webs on the tank top. She has a mask on with yellow eyes and is doing an action pose. vines come out of her web shooters. the background is pale yellow. End ID]

Mob goon voice ON IT BOSS!!! And a BONUS just for you- Huntlow Spiderman kiss:

[ID: two pieces of fanart depicting Hunter and Willow doing the Spider-Man kiss. In the first image, Willow is in her Spider-Man design and hunter is in his golden guard outfit. She's upside down and they're both leaning in, about to kiss. The second image is the same as the first but with an alternate, pink and yellow colour palette. The background is pink in both. End ID] (@toh-described)

#the owl house #toh #hunter toh #hunter noceda #willow park #huntlow #i wanna tag this for huntlow week so bad but it's not even a little related to any of the prompts #so i will refrain! tags popping off this week anyway I'm sure I'll slide right in #i hope the formatting on this is okay?? ppl in this fandom are lowkey such chumps abt image ids so i get so self conscious abt including em #as if it's not just a thing of like. ppl should be able to see this. i want ppl to be able to see this #hm. anyway the asker here is my irl friend who asked me to draw willow as Spiderman today during school #(i was slacking off and taking reqs <3)#and tbh the design ended up so cute so i don't feel even a little bad abt posting it even tho it's just a sketch #the huntlow spiderman kiss isn't perfect and i probably could've spent more time on it but i definitely don't dislike it!#and it's a cute idea anyway #if it really keeps me up at night maybe I'll take another crack at it #i do have one req in my inbox I'm gonna get to tho!#just gotta get through the fuckin. difficulties (mock exams. evil)

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maliciousalice · 2 months

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👕 & 🍽️? For the trek ask game

Heheh thanks for Asking Meg!!! All aboard another long winded ramble about my wife ST: Voyager!!!!!

👕 Character whose fashion you like.

While I answered in the last one, I think I'll add to it by saying I love the Ds9/Voyager Uniforms--Infact I'm a HUGE sucker for them--At least to me, they feel like THE signature trek costume rather than TNG or TOS ones. Plus, they are fun to draw! I love how they look on the actors with the structured upper half, and loose, high-waisted pants that give everyone the illusion of height.

Those that are dressed in the uniform are portrayed with a respectable heft and a pleasant, overall shape. I know it's not the case, but they look like they are really practical. This is fully intentional as the lead costume designer said they wanted the suits to appear modular and have advantages in different environments. That's why sometimes they are unzipped or twisted around, depending on the narrative.

I could go on and on about them. I act feral over how they look when when all the actors stand together, turned in various ways, posing so that that folds pucker on their joints, or when subtle differences in their body sizes take up screen. It just looks so cool! I'm a big fan of squad-based, colour-coded uniforms and clean silhouettes.

Most importantly though, it gives them all BODY-ODY-ODY!!!

youtube

AYO WHICH LOCATION THEY AT??? CW: GORILLA DUMPIES!!! 👀👀👀 😳😳😳😳

🍽️What alien food/drink would you want to try?

I wish I could find the video but I've seen bits and pieces about how they designed the food on the sets and I think it's super charming!

Lots of effort went into considering the cuisine. It just about decorates every set and It was important to the show. Voyager engaged in a lot visual gags, or dialog discussing food. It was in a comforting way that would present the characters with their personal ideals of home.I find that subtext of world-building really endearing.

Many scenes involved characters bonding in the mess hall, socializing around food, or isolating with it to gain a sense of self. In contrast, it's used as a device for diplomacy, or to make settings seem more alien, unnavigated and removed from regular comforts. It's even incorporated into main plot points, such as with Tuvok in ''Riddles'', when he gains a newfound skill around cooking after a serious accident, and he solves the plot by decorating a code on a cake. Through food, we saw a lot of what it could be like to be a crew member on the ship, and live inside their Universe. It wasn't always pretty but they made it work.

We have a really rich food bowl and diverse food-culture In Australia, I love noticing exotic food that are used as set decoration of as props--I am used to seeing tropical fruit or Asian ingredients around my community, so it's fun to see it transformed. And much like the characters in Voyager, I relate to the comfort and the charting of new territories when it comes to seeing/ eating food.

I suspect being a chef / working in hospitality would be an interesting occupation in Trek. Everyone complains about the lack of authenticity from replicated food, so I'm sure being a good Chef would be worth your while.

I genuinely want to try Old-mate Neelix's cooking. He seems so creative and passionate about what he plates up, and he CLEARLY (they all put on weight haha) kept the crew well-fed. ''Bitches make do'', but you can tell he cares by the questions he askes everyone, or the detail he places into his recipes. I'd like to see what all the fuss is about with Leeola Root Stew. I bet it's not that bad! (I like bitter food) Or better, serve me up a Jimbalian Fudge cake! It's so quaint how there is an evolution to his work as he gets more integrated with everyone.

(crying over this ^) Neelix Nation Rise Up!!!!

#SOBBING I LOVE STARTREK VOYAGER SO MUCH!!!!!!#thankyou if you read my thoughts again lmao the other one is popping off hahaha #i did not proof read this at all so sorry if it's a fucking mess (not much unlike my other textposts lolololol)#now i just want to redraw frames of the body music video with the command crew lmao #i think about this stuff & how it's so underrated in the way that the the REAL subtext behind the characters is right there but y'all slee #instead people are busy infighting or making up stuff little truth behind it when it's actually alot of sincere material is available #dont mind me being a FREAK over their visual language and body dimensions idk #i fucking love just SCANNING the frames and being like YUM A CURVE ON THEIR ARM or a WOW THE SHAPE OF THEIR WAIST #TY MEGGG I HOPE THIS ISNT A BAD RESPONSE IM SO BAD AT PROSE LMAO #neelix #kathryn janeway #chakotay #tuvok #star trek voyager #startrek voyager #st voyager #SORRY ANOTHER BIG TEXT POST #theartmeg

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