open rp post

[troubleyan]

🏹 texts/epistolary 🏹 prompts 🏹 ota*

* pssst if we've threaded together on bakerstreet, consider this an open invite

Comments

ngl i laughed writing this

[firstbornstorm]

[ Some Tevinter magic wasn't horrible. Particularly the little crystals that allow folks to communicate over long distances. They've been in Crestwood for a few days, cleaning up after sealing that Maker-awful rift below the lake, and naturally, Bull had gotten restless and wandered off on his own to stir up trouble.

And who was tasked to retrieve their meddling ox-man? Right. The honest, good-hearted, kind Rivani assassin, of course. So imagine the surprise when the Inquisitor's crystal begins to softly chime, signaling an incoming transmission.

Which happens to be a very out of breath and very pissed off Daemon, trying to keep his voice steady. Not all that easy when wrestling with a bellowing Qunari and a fuckmothering dragon! ]

--anytime you and that Tevinter mage wanna show the fuck up, I'd greatly fucking appreciate it! [ There's a roar, and a plethora of curses laced with animal parts, and Bull yelling right back at the wyrm. And Daemon, grunting with struggling effort. ] Move your fucking asses! I can't sit on him for much longer or we're gonna get fried!

lemme join you

[troubleyan]

[ A girl can't talk to the local herbalist in peace without one of her companions wandering off on their own, apparently. Evelyn isn't exactly busy, but dealing with the villagers of Crestwood is a delicate kind of affair, since now she knows what happened with the rift below the lake and all.

She's just managed to take down the details of a wyvern that's been harassing the locals in a cave up north when she hears a very loaded summons coming from the crystal in her pocket. ]

What the fu - excuse me, miss. We'll come back - probably - Dorian!

[ She's rushing out the door and getting her mage from where he is currently clipping embrium in the herbalist's backyard, with an incredulous look. ] You sent Daemon after Bull? You couldn't just tell me to get a move on - will you get a move on?

[ It's not hard to spot the dragon, not when she's trashing about and roaring loud enough to wake up the entire valley. At least it's a run downhill, not even Dorian protests to that one; they jump on her horse together - it's faster than your fussy foal, shut up and get on - and gallop down to where it's safe to get off the horse. She slaps the horse's arse and sends him galloping away again, to safety, and runs there the rest of the way, firing long shots with her bow as she goes.

A dragon. Fuck.

At least Iron Bull is having fun with this, though she might need to have words later if they make it through the fight. She's a beautiful beast, but a tougher nut to crack than the one in the Hinterlands was. Those lightning bolts sear through them, and she makes the victory hard won.

Honestly? After walking through and working with the worst of human misery in the old Crestwood, this feels clean. When the great beast finall falls, Evelyn is sore everywhere and covered in blood - hers and the dragon's possibly - but her heart is pounding from the adrenalin. ]

Fuck - okay. Camp's up that hill, you two go get the requisition soldiers to come down here and help harvest this girl.

[ Iron Bull grabs Dorian's arm on the way up the hill, with a rumbled little come, kadan, let's go for a walk, and Evelyn just stares at the backs of them for a moment before turning towards Daemon. ]

They're totally going to find the biggest boulder and fuck behind it, aren't they?

[ She sighs, half-tired and half-fond, (she gets it, something about killing a dragon makes her horny too) and walks up to where Daemon is to hand him a healing potion. ]

Nice job on those hind legs attacks, by the way?

by all means. and mobile html is hard also the snark and sass in this is gonna be exponential, lmao

[firstbornstorm]

Being covered in blood was nothing new, really. But hot, stinking, acidic dragon blood was something else entirely. The sand helped; at least his skin wasn't burning so badly anymore. And the offered healing potion was accepted with alacrity, uncorked with his teeth, and then swigged in two long gulps before getting tossed away and the assassin resuming his task of shaking off all of the red, sandy dirt that was just fucking everywhere in Crestwood.

Then he squinted, eyebrow cocking up to watch Bull and Dorian saunter off, and he had to snort. "Probably." But he had other priorities, such as rifling through the loot for anything useful, and had to grin when the hoard revealed a few very nice daggers - we'll be cleaning those up to use later, thank you. But then the Inquisitor handed him a compliment, and Daemon paused, mid-riffle, and squinted up at her.

"I'm sorry, what was that? I think I might have had some blood in my ear or something." He sat back on his heels, smirking like a fiend. "Did you just...compliment me? Gasp!" He stood back up and teasingly clutched at his breast, falling back against a nearby rock. "Oh, no! It's going dark! I think...I think...I'm dying!"

you're right this is easier

[troubleyan]

He was so annoying sometimes, and he probably knew it. Probably did it deliberately. She can't help herself, but respond with a dry remark: "Cool, die somewhere clean so I can loot your corpse."

See if she has anything nice to say about his fighting form again, if he's going to be a sarcastic prick. Her gaze still cuts to him quickly, long enough to take in the shape of his ass, while he's riffling through the corpse of an long dead templar who fell to the dragon they just vanquished, before.

It's a very nice ass. Not the first time she's wanted to bite it.

[firstbornstorm]

Of course he knew. And he absolutely did it deliberately. Just to get a rise out of her. Life was so fucking grim and dour now, and it was far too easy to let that get in one's head. He'd seen it before, been there a few times, and had found that good, old-fashioned sarcasm was the best way to keep one's perspectives clear.

Which was why Daemon pushed off of the rock, gave the Inquisitor a shit-eating grin, and went right back to his perusal, finding a few sovereigns in the dead Templar's robes, as well as an interesting looking figuring that might be worth something back at Skyhold.

"Nah," he tossed back over his shoulder. "Think I'll expire down in a darkspawn horde. So you'll have to really work at it if you want to filch any of my pretties." He wasn't immune to her interest - it was one of the reasons he gave her as much shit as he did. And he knew he was attractive; his swagger wasn't only due to his skill with his weapons.

But, priorities. Especially since their companions had no doubt taken a detour to do a little "reconnoitering" themselves. So he stood, wiped his hands on his trousers, and whistled for the horses. "C'mon, Legs, we better get back to camp and get Harding and her grunts down here, before the wolves show up."

[troubleyan]

Legs? She glances down at her legs, as if to check if they are truly long enough to warrant that nickname. Incredible, he's making her second guess her own physical existence? So rude.

"That's Inquisitor Legs to you."

She catches up in two strides, tossing one last look at the dead dragon behind them. "The scales will take days to harvest and will keep everyone in Skyhold fed for a few more weeks, and she's got enough meat on those bones for all of us plus some stray wolves. I'm not bothered if wolves come in." She shrugs. "Harding can handle wolves. As long as none of those stray Templars move in, I'm good. I'll be satisfied."

She is going to deliberately not look for movement or try to hear sound from behind big boulders, just in case. She is a bit jealous that Iron Bull and Dorian get to...externalise their energies through sex, but she's not about to drag Daemon into a cave to slay some spiders and fuck in their innards. That would be unseemly of a young lady.

"We need a bath."

[firstbornstorm]

[ ohhhh my god it has been a WEEK. power's been out since TUESDAY thank you thunderstorms, but it's finally back and i can SIT DOWN long enough to write something for you. ♥♥♥♥ ]

It was a point of pride, definitely, that the big black stallion was the only one to return at the whistle, and Daemon hid his smirk as he took the horse's reins. "Inquisitor, Herald, make up your mind already."

Swinging aboard the restless animal, he stilled him with a quiet word and a gentle touch - the smell of dead dragon was hardly appealing - then turned back to the Inquisitor with a smile holding just a touch of sly malice. "Yeah, we both reek. We can go take a bath after we get back to Harding."

Then he held out a perfunctory hand. "Wanna ride?" Not...necessarily meaning the horse.

[troubleyan]

[omgOD your week!! If it makes you feel better I've had a heckin busy month(s) so I welcome the distraction as well as the slow tags.]

She is going to be a bit resentful of her horse for not coming, because Daemon is entirely too smug of his superior ground.

If she'd been born any different than how she is, she would've flustered. Had she been a mage - cloistered up in a Circle and all but renounced by her family - she might not even recognised the innuendo.

Instead, whenever he flirts with her, she feels darkly tempted to answer each bite with one of her own. She is undeniably attracted to the man - that's the trouble. It would be all too easy to indulge and fuck him senseless, but then there's the risk that he'd think this is because she's in love with him or something.

"Ugh." She rolls her eyes, and takes his hand, preparing to be hoisted up in the saddle behind him. Evelyn Trevelyan, daughter of a noble fond of his horses, does not ride side saddle like a dainty lady. "You wouldn't know what to do with me," she'll tell him, as soon as she's sat behind him, her arms coming around his waist for a solid grip.

❤️

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon hauled her up behind him with little effort, smirking as he did. Once she was settled, relatively, he gathered the reins and legged the big horse around with effortless ease. "Oh, I think I'd figure it out pretty quick," was his quipped response, not at all encumbered by her arms around his waist. He even gave her clasped hands a brief squeeze before setting off at a smooth trot.

If she was worried about love, or pining, or any of that mushy nonsense that went along with those idiotic feelings, Daemon could definitely spare her the trouble. He wasn't looking for a wife, by the Maker's Divine Ass, no. But a little stress relief here and there wouldn't go amiss, and Andraste knew the woman needed it sometimes. He didn't envy her the job, that was certain.

But despite his irreverent attitude to the world in general, he did respect it, and her, and had to give her credit for stepping up to do what no one else could: save the fucking world. And he'd made a promise to help however he could, mainly because he was one of the idiots living on it. And becoming a slave to a deranged darkspawn magister just wasn't in his cards. He'd worn chains before, thanks.

And of course, not far from camp, his quick eyes caught the flash of a burnished breastplate through the sparse foliage. Daemon reined in, muttering sour curses. Over his shoulder, he said, "Get your bow out, Evie. We got company."

[troubleyan]

Whatever it is that she may be worried about, that stops her from pursuing this further, it feels very difficult to heed that worry when she has him between her legs.

It's been ages since she last laid with someone, she thinks, and this must be why she's so fucking horny.

As just Evelyn, she would've had no difficulty finding a strapping young lad, or a lass, and indulged in some tension relief, but she is the Inquisitor now. Any strapping lads and lasses are under her command, and there's something dirty about trying something like that with someone who works for her.

The ethical dilemma is soon ushered away from her mind altogether, when armor glints in the sun and calls her attention at the same time as him.

"Saw them," she says, and quickly clamps her thighs against his, for balance, drawing her bow and nocking an arrow.

She shoots it before the Templar can finish shouting die, you Unholy Bitch, knocking them on their ass in one go.

[firstbornstorm]

She downed the scout, and of course he was caterwauling when he collapsed, so naturally his buddies took up the charge, only to be met with one of Daemon's arakh's, sailing through the warm air like a scythe and taking the head off of the Templar in front. The Black caught the third, trampling the unfortunate beneath powerful steel-shod hooves as the warhorse thundered through their rude camp.

Daemon slewed the horse around, eyes bright and grinning like a fiend, but there had only been three of them, alas. The Black pranced back to their kills, tossing his heavy head and nickering happily, prompting a roll of sky-blue eyes as the bastard prince leaned down from his saddle to retrieve his weapon.

Absently scraping the blood from the blade on the side of his boot, he asked over his shoulder, "You wanna bother searching 'em?"

[troubleyan]

With all the enemies felled, she returns her left arm to wrap around his waist, keeping her bow out just in case it becomes necessary to shoot again, keeping her sharp eyes on the field.

Focus so intense and intent that she doesn't notice how she is grabbing onto the front of his shirt quite tightly, more possessive than for the sake of balance.

Her heart is racing, blood rushing to her head, and she looks down at the bodies. Her lip curls in angry.

"No - leave them. Something for the refugees."

She has enough boots and belts to clothe all her companions twice over.

"Take us to camp the long way. I want to make sure we're not followed."

[firstbornstorm]

Sheathing his blade, Daemon paused and blinked at the Inquisitor's tight grip on his tunic, but let it pass without comment. There was a time to be snarky and a time to be serious, and this wasn't time for the former.

He wheeled the big horse back around, silently doing as bid, and they loped away from the small camp in the opposite direction, skirting around the boulders that lined the passage way through Crestwood's plain. They both rode in silence, Daemon's sharp eyes scanning ahead of them and Evelyn keeping watch on their flanks, just in case any other unwise zealots felt like dying this afternoon.

Daemon jigged the black warhorse up a rise then reined in, the vantage point giving a good view in all directions. In the distance, even the ruins where the slain dragon still lay were visible. The Black snorted, shook his head, but gave no other sign of alert; Daemon relaxed a fraction in the saddle.

"Looks clear," he said over his shoulder. A stiff breeze tossed his hair and the horse's thick mane. After a moment, he added, "Think Dorian 'n Bull made it back to camp yet?"

[troubleyan]

She hasn't come down from that attack by the time Daemon asks his question, that's the truth. Her heart is still beating loudly, her mind spinning on the 'what if's. For example, what if they'd been on foot? After defeating a dragon, she wouldn't have been up for the whole fighting Templars bit - would he have been fine for it?

It's times like these, trapped in a cycle of battle after battle after battle, that Evelyn feels the title of Inquisitor rest too heavy on her head. What she wouldn't do to shed it for a few minutes, and just be a person. Not a symbol - no-one's symbol.

She meets his gaze briefly as he speaks to her over his shoulder, her heart lurching up to her throat, her fingers loosening their grip on his shirt and splaying against his chest instead.

"I'm sure, yeah," she answers back, her words carried by the wind. "Want to head straight for the river?"

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon wasn't getting paid to think beyond the next battle; he'd leave that sort of worry to those better suited. There didn't seem to be any immediate trouble, thank the Maker. But, since she was more or less plastered against his back, Daemon could still feel Evelyn's slight tremble, the adrenaline of battle taking a damn long time to evaporate.

He knew it was a lot, all these expectations heaped on the poor woman. And she wasn't all that big; those loads had to be hell to carry. So rather than give her any more shit - at least for today - he nodded and aimed the horse towards the bottom of the hill.

A little bit of exploring provided a semi-secluded waterfall and relatively deep pool at the head of a small stream, and it was here that Daemon reined in, allowing Evelyn to slide down before dismounting himself. By now, they both reeked good and proper.

"This should do," he observed, absently tethering the big horse so he could graze while they bathed. "Bring a knife, though. Just in case."

[troubleyan]

As they ride, she scans the horizon for signs of her own horse, deciding that the safest thing to assume is that when she sent it off from the dragon's lair, the smart mare just found the nearest inquisition camp and made herself their problem.

The Black has far less of self-preservation instincts than her own horse, but maybe it's just that these are different breeds. Antivan horses, she muses, are built differently.

Lost in her thoughts, she doesn't notice they've arrived until the horse stops, and she descends easily enough from it. With the waterfall so close, she can feel every inch of sweat on her skin, and the caked dragon blood on top of that, and just feel relief to be clean.

A bath, a meal, a drink or a fuck - she needs one of those to loosen up, but she'll be damned if she knows which one.

"Yes, yes, I don't go anywhere without it, don't worry." She has a whole utility belt full of blades that she throws at people when they get too close for comfort for her bow, she's not about to venture into a lake without them. She also doesn't plan to strip herself fully, but the leather armor can go. The riding boots, the trousers. She has her breeches and the long tunic that, when untucked from her trousers, reaches under her buttocks. It needs a wash, and what better way to do it than on herself?

All her clothes get piled up together near the shore, with her bow and arrows on top, and she makes her way into the stream, letting out a curse under her breath.

"Colder than Morrigan's tits in here."

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon, however, didn't have any problem stripping down to bare skin in order to get clean. His years as a chained war slave had eroded any semblance of modesty he might have had, and he'd learned how to carry on with clothing or without; whatever worked to get the job done. Thus, once he'd secured his own weaponry to leave on the grassy bank, he plopped down on a nearby rock to work on divesting all of the outer layers.

Leathers, vest, tunic, belt (with its complete array of small throwing implements), trousers, and what literal smallclothes remained were all peeled away and casually tossed aside to be rinsed later. Sparing a glance for his companion, the bastard prince gave a small shrug and simply dove in, surfacing in a spray of water as he shook his head to clear his face.

And laughed, because yeah, the water was definitely on the chilly side.

"That's a visual I absolutely did not need," he grinned over at her, paddling back to the bank to fetch the soap. "Every time she even looks at me I feel my balls shrivel, Maker's breath."

[troubleyan]

It is an undeniable truth that she looks. She is looking. As good as he looks in armor and tired from battle, nothing compares with the sudden bare skin she's treated to.

And it is a treat. Fuck, is it ever a treat. She could sink her teeth into -

He thankfully dives and she shakes herself to snap out of it, and follows quickly behind him.

Dives into the stream, coming up to the surface near the waterfall, her tunic clinging to her skin, icy cold and making her teeth chatter.

She still finds the energy to laugh.

"Pretty sure she intends for that to be the effect, Daemon." She pulls at the string that holds her hair braided and wrapped on itself into a bun, letting her hair fall loose so she can stand under the waterfall.

Icy waters or not, she's still feeling overheated. Her skin feels too small for her body, her nipples stiffened to hard peaks, visible through the tunic, a pretty blush spreading from her face down to her chest. She just needs to not look at him, she reasons, and then she won't feel inexplicably aroused and unsatisfied.

[firstbornstorm]

It was probably a blessing for them both that his back was to her, rummaging about in his pack for the soap. When he found it and slewed around in the chest-deep water, he blinked a few times to see the pool empty, but breathed a little easier when he spied the Inquisitor on the far end near the waterfall, fighting with her hair.

And he will admit that it's a very nice view, her with her soaked clothes leaving fuckall to the imagination; he's made no secret of his willingness to provide what she needs, regardless of the arena. She's a good-looking woman, there's no doubt there. Even more so now, practically naked, flustered, and frustrated.

Well, maybe she'd find what she needed elsewhere. Some stuff-shirted limp-dick with a title. Fewer scars. Less trauma. Better manners. More to his name than the clothes on his back, the weapons he carried, and the horse that he rode.

--Andraste's ass, just fuck it.

"Oh, I'm sure she does," was his wry response, holding his breath to submerge again, rewetting his matted hair. Coming back up, he began to vigorously scrub all over, the strong lye soap creating little lather but doing its best to clean all the grime, sand, dirt, and blood from his scarred skin.

"It amazes me how any man could keep it hard long enough to knock the bitch up."

[troubleyan]

Oh good, he packed soap. It's more than can be said for Evelyn, who runs around without remembering her manners and stares at her companion as he scrubs his chest clean.

Because if she stares at his chest, she won't look further down to his hips, and lower still, and her imagination won't run off without her.

Something wants to run.

"Can I have some?" She asks, stepping out from under the spray of water. In an instant, she is deciding that the sensorial unpleasantness of her wet tunic against her skin is too much, and starts to peel it off, figuring she might as well wash it now if he shares the soap.

[firstbornstorm]

"Sure." He's more or less clean by now - desert living taught him ablutions in a hurry. He kept his profile to her, giving her enough privacy and for once not behaving like an ogling lecher. Proof again that he wasn't entirely the uncouth barbarian the rest of the continent believed him to be.

Just his luck that when he waded around to toss the soap over, his companion was in the process of peeling out of her soaked under-tunic, and Daemon paused. Now, he did stare, because why the fuck not? But his wasn't the frozen, wide-eyed stare of some gawky adolescent seeing his first pair of tits.

Sky-blue eyes smoldered beneath wet, dark hair, and before he'd even realized he was going to do it, Daemon moved through the water and reached for Evelyn's soaked garment, yanking it up and over her head in one swift instant. The spray from the falls beaded on them both, and it was absolutely by accident that he had her semi-trapped between his body and the rocks beneath the falls.

But his eyes never left hers, even when he held up the soap. "...here."

[troubleyan]

That bitch if a tunic is tugging at her hair, this was a terrible idea, and she's now giving Daemon a full view of her tits - they may be humble enough to not need binding down beyond the vest of her leather armor, but surely he isn't going to poke fun at her, right?

Her worries might be for naught. As quickly as the come, they are yanked out of her head just as quickly as he pulls her free of the tunic and pushes her back against the rocks.

Fuck.

She should be bothered by the cold surface against her heated back, but all she can focus on is how her breasts are practically pressed against his chest and how broad his shoulders are, blocking her view of Crestwood behind him.

There's no disguising the way her chest heaves, the way she's practically trembling with anticipation, and if there was any kind of doubt about her intentions, she probably takes care of it by closing the distance between them and crushing her lips to his in a heartbeat.

[firstbornstorm]

Thank the Maker for quick reflexes, because for all of their sexually charged teasing and other bullshit, Daemon actually hadn't expected her to just leap at him, taking his mouth with unfeigned eagerness that was absolutely returned in kind, just as his strong arms caught her and all but crushed her against him.

He grunted when she hit him, but the sound was lost between their lips, and Daemon didn't hesitate to kiss her back, hard, forcing his tongue into her mouth to claim hers, possessing it, and he gave her all of the pent-up anger, frustration, and desire that had built within him since they'd exchanged their first snarled words on the steps of Skyhold.

The rock might have been cold beneath Evelyn's bare back, but Daemon didn't care; he reached below the water and hoisted her off of her feet, guiding those beautiful long legs around his waist. Despite the chill of the water, it hadn't had that much of an effect, and the bastard prince had no shame at all about rutting against her, half-hard and already so eager.

[troubleyan]

It's fitting. If they were ever to come to a head with the supercharged tension between them, of course it would be a collision like this one.

She groans against his lips as he all but plunders her mouth, sinking her fingers into his hair and attempting to respond in kind for each ruthless kiss.

It works well for her, up until he picks her up and pins her against the rock wall and she feels him rock against her, only the flimsy fabric of her smallclothes left for barrier between her increasingly wet cunt and his increasingly hardening cock.

She slips her hand down from his hair to his chin, holding it in place so she can break the kiss and gasp for air.

"Fuck," is the first coherent thought that manifests into a word. She focuses her gaze on him, hungry and unrepressed. "Fuck," she swears, and leans forward for another one of those searing hot kisses.

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon almost snarled at her when she took his face and broke their kiss, but he needed to gasp for air himself, and his mouth slanted in a feral little smirk at her exhaled expletive.

"Yeah," he panted along with her. "That's about the jist of it." She kissed him again before he could say anything more, but the next time he managed to use words, he snarled against her mouth, "'m gonna fuck you, Evie. Gonna fuck you good 'n hard." Because she needed it. Had been all but begging for it for weeks.

Her godsdamned smallclothes were still in the way, but it wasn't an immediate problem. Their mouths were still fighting each other for dominance, and Daemon had enough leverage to reach for a handful of Evelyn's hair and give it a sharp yank, pulling back her head to bare her throat for his teeth. They sank into her skin directly over her pulse, and he groaned as his cock surged between her spread thighs.