astrolabe & carousel

O, HUNGER, I KNOW YOU WELL.

[dutydreamed-a]

indie rp blog for INQUISITOR LAV.ELLAN from bioware’s dragon age: inquisition. under construction, est 7/21, loved by puck.

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OTHER BLOGS: @contrariian / @chaoshurtled / @dutyraised / @soutarasyl

[contrariian-archive]

CONTRARIIAN ;   “ EXCAVATING DOWN, YOU’D FIND THE DROWNING & THE DROWNED—AND THEN THERE’S US, BABE. YOU COULD WALK TO OUR MEMORIAL, BUT IT’S POURING, AND IT ENDS HOW YOU’D EXPECT. ”   //  an independent, selective, & private multimuse feat. NORA BAKER, a railroad-aligned sole survivor from fallout 4. revamped 12/21. loved by puck. ©

[dutydreamed-a]

wclfdreamt​:

.     It takes a maximum of two seconds before the aforementioned promise is broken and the girl is wiggling about in his grip. He isn’t fooled by the tilt of her head, nor the girlish smirk that plays upon her lips. After her faux assertion, It’s not my fault-, Solas lifts his hand as though to cup her cheek, and instead wraps his large hand around her little throat. Her pulse drums against his fingers, and his mild expression darkens into a simper of sinister pleasure.

“You broke your promise,” He chides softly.

.     His lifts her by the neck, and slips his free hand beneath the skirt of her dress and between her legs. It rests against her, unmoving, absorbing her heat through her smallclothes. Solas tsks. “Would you like to know what I think?” He murmurs, “I think… you enjoy misbehaving, because you like to cause trouble for me. Not because I enjoy it. Selfish woman. ”

       lanathara’s breath catches at his grip in delight, as the self-satisfied smile still curling her lips attests. ever proud, she maintains eye contact despite her helpless position, despite her pounding heart and the low curl of pleasure in her gut—pleasure that spikes when he reaches beneath her skirt and between her legs. a moan, small and breathy, escapes her lips.

        in any other scenario, being called selfish would sting, but this is the one area of her life where she lets herself be selfish. just a little.

         just enough to push his buttons.

          she considers her options—weighing further consequences about the ache between her legs—and her smile widens.   ‘ i like you like this, ’  she confesses lowly, still looking directly into his violet eyes.  ‘ i like trying to break your— ’ a slow shift of her hips against his hand, moaning at the friction  ‘ —composure. ’

[dutydreamed-a]

wclfdreamt​:

@dutydreamed​ : “i promise i’ll be good.” 

“Will you now?”

.     Solas noses against the bronze curls at the back of her neck, purposefully distracting himself by winding a single lock indeterminately around a slender finger. Despite her ‘promise’ comes the amusing knowledge that she would not, and could not possibly behave herself. He tugs her against him, and falls onto a plush seat to drag her into his lap. “We shall see.”

     ‘ i can, ’  she retorts as he pulls her along, her breathless laughter ruining her affectation of offense. likewise, her promise is ruined when she takes the opportunity to squirm in his lap. she plays it off like she’s just trying to get in a better position to kiss him, but she doesn’t bother to hide her self-satisfied smirk when she turns her face to his—though she quickly replaces it with a playful pout.  ‘ it’s not my fault you like it when i misbehave. ’

[dutydreamed-a]

wclfdreamt​:

.     The weight of her hand was insignificant when weighed against all they had shared, their secret looks, the quiet exchanges– him, leaving a well loved book on her pillow, and her, leaving her doodled notes in pretty pen on their dog-eared pages. A lexicon of her that at length he had adored and examined in the small hours of the morning. Still, when she takes her delightfully exploratory thumb from him he misses it. Misses the softness against his bare forearm, exposed, because he had rolled his sleeve up just moments before she had greeted him.

.     He has the urge to kiss her. To take her gently to his side and play her head upon his collar, and move her face this way and that by her little pointed chin, and finally lay his mouth upon her Guineverian lips to taste what she had eaten for breakfast. She is close. It smells like fruit.

.     “I have been in contact with a vendor in the city,” He says. “He has a few tomes on the arcane and I would like to see them. It likely won’t be a very interesting endeavor.”

     her eyebrows arch, disbelieving, a coy smile playing at her lips.  ‘ oh, yes, because i am notorious for finding arcane tomes entirely dull, ’  she responds drily. her fingers twitch; she wants to touch him again, take his hand, something... but she doesn’t. lanathara turns her head away, gazing off into the distance, letting the sunlight fall across her face & warm her cheeks.

     she gathers her loose hair in her hands and moves it so it falls across her shoulder, though a few curls catch in the wind and dance freely. a deep breath of cold mountain air and she looks back at solas, silent for a moment as she simply examines his features with her gently intelligent gaze. a weekend in val royeaux...  she’s been conflicted about the city since she first visited in the early days of the inquisition, but she thinks a weekend there with him could convince her of its charms.

       ‘  when should we leave skyhold?  with enough time, i can convince my advisors of a minimal guard so we aren’t slowed down. ’

[dutydreamed-a]

AESTHETICS - COLOR EDITION.

BLUE. cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways.

RED. wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets.

YELLOW. community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams.

GREEN. marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grotto / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theatre productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns.

BLACK. crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theatres / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces.

WHITE. crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art.

[dutydreamed-a]

@standbetween said: "i spent my youth fists up." 

      IT’S NOT HARD FOR HER to imagine: a younger thom, hot-headed and ready to fight at a moment’s notice.  she almost feels like if she squints, she can see the last remnants of that young man beneath the one who has grown and matured in the decades since. well, she silently amends as she remembers the way the two of them and sera had gigged over titsicles the other day, not matured too much.

      still, she doesn’t think of him as a man with his fists up. in her mind, he’s a protector, even knowing now the past that has haunted him all these years.

      ‘ that’s not terribly surprising, ’  she says with a glint in her eye and a mischievous smile.  ‘ you’ve the look of a former hot-headed marcher lad, if i’ve ever seen one. ’

TELL ME WE STILL KNOW HOW TO SPEAK OF KINGS.

[puckrph]

BEOWULF: A NEW TRANSLATION SENTENCE STARTERS

taken from maria dahvana headly’s translation of beowulf. feel free to change pronouns, etc.

‘ tell me we still know how to speak of kings. ’ ‘ everyone knows what men are: brave, bold, glory-bound. ’ ‘ i spent my youth fists up. ’ ‘ a boy can’t daddy until his daddy’s dead. ’ ‘ privilege is the way men prime power, the world over. ’ ‘ even ghosts must be fitted to fight. ’ ‘ we’ll mourn the way men do. ’ ‘ it was asking for burning, but that hadn’t happened yet. ’ ‘ every castle wants invading, and every family has enemies born within it. ’ ‘ there are prayers to call out, and pains to bear. ’ ‘ a hellion’s home is anywhere good men fear to tread. ’ ‘ is it true that something savage walks at night? ’ ‘ i know the difference between words and deeds, as anyone with half a brain does. ’ ‘ horrors happen. i’m grown, i know it. fate can fuck you up. ’ ‘ i heard no one could convince you of clarity. ’ ‘ well, actually, buddy, sit down, you’re drunk. ’ ‘ i knew my duty. ’ ‘ you know how it goes: god’s the final decider, and men only the question-askers, students seeking solace. ’ ‘ only yesterday, i thought my heart would never be mended. ’ ‘ anyone who lives long will endure both ecstasy and ugliness. ’ ‘ fire comes from the same family as famine. it can feast, unfulfilled, forever. ’ ‘ any season is a season for blood, if you look at it in the right light. ’ ‘ if you want to win, you have to forget you’re afraid to die. ’ ‘ no one knows the name of the lost soul who’d interred those spoils long ago, burying the grave goods of a wealthy race. death had snatched them all into a sack and lifted them out of existence, leaving only one. ’ ‘ we existed; now we’re extinct. ’ ‘ we all know stories like this one: a man unmarked by fate may sometimes cloak himself in god’s grace, passing close to monsters, unbeheld. ’ ‘ that trust will turn to dust, like everything. ’ ‘ stricken, suddenly unsteady, i foresaw my fate in the fog, shrouded but certain. ’ ‘ i lived whole lives in my youth. i remember every moment, even now. ’ ‘ there was no way to mourn him, no vengeance to be had, for what could mitigate the blame? who was left to shame for this heart-thieving? nobody. ’ ‘ no settlement in silver can buy a child back from the gods of air. ’ ‘ i’m not dead yet. i’ll lead while taking my last breath. ’ ‘ you won’t be bested while your heart beats. ’ ‘ your fame won’t diminish. your history’s here. ’ ‘ i want to know it was worth it. my dying will be easier if i see what i died to do. ’ ‘ living has killed us all. we’re dustbinned by destiny. ’ ‘ at least i, alone among these ranks, tried. ’ ‘ now is a time for mourning, for walking, downcast, the exile’s road, gray-garbed and grim. ’ ‘ maybe a man’s mighty, maybe he’s known to all as a warrior, but death has his number. no one knows when it’ll be called. ’ ‘ no man knows, not me, not you, how to get to goodbye. ’

[puckrph]

“ALARMS IN THE HEART” STARTERS

taken from dry the river’s 2014 album. feel free to change pronouns, etc.

ALARMS IN THE HEART

’ our dialogue ended before i intended. ’ ’ i had to let it go. ’ ’ i hope you’re well. ’ ’ maybe all that i need is that you’d be straight with me tonight. ’ ’ half the town are underground, and half are halfway there, and we’re the only good ones left. ’ ’ we don’t listen very much to alarms in the heart. ’ ’ i tell myself it’s the end of the world and it makes no difference. ’ ’ always, i’ll be down and out and you’ll be in there clear. ’ ’ it’s just the way it is, i guess. ’

HIDDEN HAND

’ i had a vision in the chapel. ’ ’ when the morning came, i was enthralled by your movement. ’ ’ i was scared. ’ ’ i wrote a letter to articulate my thoughts a little better. ’ ’ when the time came for speaking my mind, it was gone. ’ ’ the garden’s overgrown, is the fact of the matter. now it’s just a field behind the house where the creepers kinda swallow the light. ’ ’ you wait for a talking snake, for a calendar date—something to rely on. ’ ’ you can steady the scale with my heart in a pail if i’m wrong. ’ ’ when i was young and not a cynic, i felt a gravity beyond the city limits. ’ ’ all my lovers turn to friends. ’ ’ i miss my childhood house where my heart slowed down. i could take control of myself there. ’

ROMAN CANDLE

’ there are eyes on us. ’ ’ there were parents advising us; we pretended not to hear. ’ ’ take your time on us. ripen the vine of us. ’ ’ in the sea of love, there ain’t no tides—in the clutching fist of time, we’ll survive. ’ ’ my light never burned that bright, but i know a sign when i see it. ’ ’ now you know. ’ ’ if the will in me blinks like a ship at sea, it doesn’t mean i’m uncertain—just afraid. ’ ’ you like the sound of love, of drinking the dragon’s blood, but you might not like the taste. ’ ’ my light never burned that bright, but i know a sign when i see you. it darkens my door when i need you. ’ ’ the clutching fist of time is a vice. ’

MED SCHOOL

’ i can’t escape the feeling that i shouldn’t be watching today. ’ ’ earlier in the stairway, i couldn’t hear you speak. ’ ’ help me, whisper it for me. ’ ’ now that the time’s come, i’m losing my nerve under your spell. ’ ’ i ain’t got no reason for hanging ‘round the library, 'cause i sure as hell ain’t reading. ’ ’ when the streets are wet with darkness, we might walk to your apartment. ’ ’ i’m losing my nerve, love. and the power of speech. ’ ’ tell me your secrets. ’ ’ i promise you i’ll go. i’ll wander in the night and never come home. ’ ’ break off your spell. ’

IT WAS LOVE THAT LAID US LOW

’ i dreamt of a russian doll bride who spun on the points of her feet like a child. ’ ’ i have the terminal pride of an older man. ’ ’ the angel descends in the shape of a crow, buries its beak in our unfused bones like it’s okay. ’ ’ like a moth goes sad and soft in the streetlights’ umbilical glow: it was love that laid us low. ’ ’ i guess she did her best to depart in the dark night of the soul. ’ ’ by nature, you’re mild and you’re meek. ’ ’ they say you’re judged by the company you keep. ’ ’ it was love that laid us low. ’

GETHSEMANE

’ the moon turned an inexpensive room into st. peter’s. ’ ’ there’s a parabolic story, but it’s boring, and it ends how you’d expect. ’ ’ i’m like a stranger hanging 'round outside the kingdom hall. ’ ’ i’d have carried your wedding shawl—you could have said i was a school friend. ’ ’ you drag your holy horse cart in the sky when i wake up; they say it’s just the sun, but i know that face. ’ ’ excavating down, you’d find the drowning and the drowned, and then there’s us. ’ ’ you could walk to our memorial, but it’s pouring. ’ ’ it ends how you’d expect. ’ ’ you’re everywhere i go, looking faintly disappointed. ’ ’ the devil’s tricks just seem to sit so light on you. ’ ’ they’d never get the marionette this tight on you. ’ ’ in the parliamentary houses there’ll be talk of what this is. ’ ’ there’s inexpert witnesses, and evidence against us. ’ ’ i’ll take my pound of substance from those insubstantial men. ’ ’ whatever their arguments, i’ll prove your innocence. ’ ’ testify allegiance with more puncture wounds than jesus. ’ ’ i’m over-sympathetic, and i can’t control myself. ’ ’ leave that painful memory in the garden of gethsemane. ’

ROLLERSKATE

’ it was a four letter word; it’s the simplest of rituals to observe. ’ ’ you keep on driving until something breaks. ’ ’ you’re a gold star fallen from its natural plane. ’ ’ i hit him in the head with a rollerskate. put him in a dentist’s chair. ’ ’ everybody’s asking do i care. ’ ’ it’s hard to control it. ’ ’ i do what you ask, but i can’t forget the past. ’ ’ it’s peace or desire, but i can’t put the fire out or i’d be in darkness again. ’ ’ is there something in your eye? ’ ’ it gets harder to ignore it in the night, when the whole world’s sleeping and we’re not side by side. ’ ’ you were braver at the start. ’ ’ will you keep on driving until the feeling dies? ’ ’ i couldn’t want you more than this. ’

EVERLASTING LIGHT

’ i remember thinking you’re the coolest girl i know. ’ ’ you were swinging from the ceiling rafters, it fell around you in a halo of plaster. ’ ’ i don’t go to hospitals. ’ ’ i had my reasons at the time. ’ ’ why’s your father always calling me out? ’ ’ you have to put your mind in gear before you drive your mouth. ’

VESSEL

’ i knelt at the sink, like a priest or a prince. ’ ’ maybe i’m to be king, and they’re waiting at westminster. ’ ’ the walls are paper thin. ’ ’ could you lower your voice? ’ ’ i would see my unborn daughter. maybe. ’ ’ we didn’t stage a passion play, didn’t change our given names, or waltz to our bed, or need to make a scene. ’ ’ your skin is paler now than the host in your mouth where the truth never seems to be. ’ ’ the burning branch never speaks to me. ’ ’ i don’t want to be your vessel anymore. ’ ’ these are my words. this is my mouth. ’ ’ i may not see the future, but i see its lonely architect at the door of my house. ’ ’ i laid it all at your feet, on your neck and your cheek. ’

HOPE DIAMOND

’ so the priceless blue diamond is cursed. ’ ’ we both got hurt. ’ ’ maybe i stand in a minefield of words, but i asked you first. ’ ’ i remember what you did. ’ ’ if it seems too far, it is. ’ ’ i was out there in the cradle of thorns when your fears took form. ’ ’ the truth is: maybe youth is a wall. but it’s not that tall. ’ ’ if you want me, you show me in a most unusual way. ’ ’ under the eyes of a frozen lake, i saw your fire and it served me not to wait. but it hurt me all the same. ’ ’ you had to chase an electric storm. you had to wait for the violent wind to call, and it carried you away. ’

HUSK (BONUS TRACK)

’ you were brave as a chessboard queen, but the shoe didn’t fit your feet. ’ ’ you can’t always get what you want. ’ ’ you’re white as a bed sheet ghost, bathed in the light of a star long dead. ’ ’ no one can tell how it ends. ’ ’ if you’re blind to love, why don’t you say it, love? ’ ’ it doesn’t amount to much. ’ ’ you’re a grail without the blood. ’ ’ if you’re blind to me, why do you say you see? ’ ’ shouldn’t it always be clear to us? ’ ’ did you carve out a place in the world? ’ ’ were your white little bones of a bird crushed like a husk in the great deceiver’s mouth? ’ ’ i hope it’s all working out. ’ ’ if you’re blind to love, you shouldn’t try to love. ’ ’ you’re a holy with no ghost. ’ ’ if you’re blind to me, why do you try to see? ’ ’ shouldn’t it always be obvious? ’ ’ proud like a hunter with a bow, cowed like a prisoner below… i don’t sleep so well. ’ ’ i don’t sleep so well. ’ ’ i woke up here, on the crowded seats of a bus. ’ ’ i was a husk. ’

[puckrph]

SHIPPY STARTERS

quotes taken from various poems and love letters. feel free to tweak things as needed to fit with your muses! feat. e.e. cummings, pablo neruda, vladimir nabokov, anais nin, henry miller, vita sackville-west, and violet trefusis.

‘ i carry your heart with me; i carry it in my heart. ’ ‘ you are whatever a moon has always meant, and whatever a sun will always sing is you. ’ ‘ yours is the light by which my spirit is born: you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars. ’ ‘ i like my body when it is with your body. it is so quite a new thing. ’ ‘ i like your body. i like what it does, i like its hows. i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smoothness which i will again and again and again kiss. ’ ‘ your slightest look easily will unclose me. though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always, petal by petal, myself as spring opens—touching skillfully, mysteriously—her first rose. ’ ‘ something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses. ’ ‘ nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands. ’ ‘ i do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no i or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when i fall asleep your eyes close. ’ ‘ i love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. ’ ‘ i crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. silent and starving, i prowl through the streets. bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day i hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. ’ ‘ of everything i have seen, it’s you i want to go on seeing: of everything i’ve touched, it’s your flesh i want to go on touching. i love your orange laughter. i am moved by the sight of you sleeping. ’ ‘ maybe nothingness is to be without your presence. ’ ‘ i love you, i love you, i love you—and perhaps this is how the whole enormous world, shining all over, can be created—out of five vowels and three consonants. ’ ‘ i swear by all that’s dear to me, all i believe in—i swear i that i have never loved before as i love you—with such tenderness—to the point of tears—and with such a sense of radiance. ’ ‘ i love you, my sun, my life, i love your eyes—closed—all the little tails of your thoughts, your stretchy vowels, your whole soul from head to heels. ’ ‘ with my love i could have filled ten centuries of fire, songs, and valour—ten whole centuries, enormous and winged. ’ ‘  i am reduced to a thing that wants [name]. ’ ‘ i love you, and when i awake in the morning i use my intelligence to discover more ways of appreciating you. ’ ‘ wear that beautiful dress you had on last time. i want to see the white of your flesh against it. i want to commit excesses. ’ ‘ i lie, [name], when i tell you that i do not want to worship you. ’ ‘ i am too gallant with you. i want to look at you long and ardently, pick up your dress, fondle you, examine you. do you know i have scarcely looked at you? there is still too much sacredness clinging to you. ’ ‘ i looked around my room to see what i could offer you; i saw only my silly watercolors and notes—notes everywhere, and on the backs your name—show this to [name], ask [name], see [name]. ’ ‘ there is a barbaric splendor about you that conquered not only me, but everyone who saw you. you are made to conquer, not be conquered. you could have the world at your feet. ’ ‘ you are my lover and i am your mistress, and kingdoms and empires and governments have tottered and succumbed before now to that mighty combination—the most powerful in the world. ’ ‘ how i adore and want you. you can’t know how much. ’ ‘ i love belonging to you—i glory in it, that you alone have bent me to your will, shattered my self-possession, robbed me of my mystery, and made me yours. ’ ‘ i am starving for you, if you must know it. ’ ‘ i want to go away with you. i must, and will, and damn the world and damn the consequences and anyone had better look out for themselves who dares to become an obstacle in my path. ’ ‘ oh my darling, precious love, what is going to become of us? ’ ‘ nothing and no one in the world could kill the love i have for you. i have surrendered my whole individuality, the very essence of my being to you. ’

[dutydreamed-a]

wclfdreamt​:

.     The Ancient elf felt curiously aloof from his own self, awash in his emotions– too numerous to name them all. Anger, sadness, embarrassment that she had not only seen him boil over in a fit of rage (so out of keeping with the cool stock character he had been playing), but that she had also seen for an instant the great expanse of his power. He had killed the lot of those loathsome mages in half a second– had she granted thought to that? Or was she focused on the fact that he had, before her very eyes, committed the brisk, bubbling murders of several people who hadn’t reasonably known better?

.     Solas aches once, hard. The scene replays: he steps toward the man who had addressed him, he lifts his hand. The entire group shudders, person by person, as he ignites the very blood in their veins and they suddenly combust. It had taken only a second. No longer. And yet it had been long enough for the strongest of them to look at him with fear and anguish as her blood very literally boiled, and the fat stores on her arms turned her instantly to a human candlewick. He might have laughed, had he not remembered the Lady Inquisitor at his side.

.     “Forgive me. I am not accustomed to taking comfort with others.” He is trying to be amiable at least. If she HAD noticed the viciousness of his magical ability, perhaps he could act unassuming enough that she might attribute such outburst to his anger and not some underlying pool of talent he was neglecting to share.

.     Her hand on his arm sends a vein of pleasure up his spine. Solas leans into it almost imperceptibly. “I might ask a favor of you, in that case. You have been gracious with your time and effort, but…”

“Would you consider accompanying me to Val Royeaux at week’s end?”

        the truth of the matter is simple: she trusts him implicitly. he nursed her back to health after the conclave, and has saved her life countless times in the months since. she can throw herself into battle against demons, red templars, or bandits and trust that he will watch her back. they have shared meals and dreams, talked of magic and history, swapped books and baubles. she would be a liar if she said she did not count him among her dearest friends.

      she would be a worse liar still if she said she had put their kiss in the fade behind her. but solas had asked for time to think, and she has granted it; she can force herself to be content with the knife’s edge they dance upon, half-friendship and half-something more. gracious with your time and effort: his words nearly make her laugh. she suppresses that instinct, but not the way her lips twitch into a smile.

        he acts as though it is some great sacrifice, to help him. as if it is not as natural to her as breathing.

      ‘ a trip to val royeaux? ’   her thumb gently—almost absentmindedly—rubs over his arm, before she carefully removes her hand.  ‘ certainly. i may have to meet with a noble, for josie’s sanity if nothing else, but the rest of my time will be yours. ’

[dutydreamed-a]

wclfdreamt​:

“And like some great plague of grain-starved beasts, alas, my friend has been swallowed by those who know too little, care too little, and believe of themselves far too much.”

.     Solas stares out from a break in the wall, a thread of ivy tenderly brushing against his cheek. Out in the vastness of the valley, a wagon train was hauling its mauve coaches against the harsh blue of a glacier– and he watched it with an almost infantile pleasure as it caught a patch of ice, and capsized into a snowdrift. Like a ship on a foamy sea. Like his poor, bruised heart collapsing inward.

“I suppose it hardly matters now. They’ve received their due.”

      the inquisitor’s expression is solemn, her carefully-composed features belied by the grief in her large eyes. grief not for her own loss, but for his; grief that despite her efforts, they were unable to save his friend. lanathara is silent as he speaks, head canted slightly as she listens to the rhythm of his voice.

       ‘ they have, ’  she agrees, pulling her cloak more tightly around her slight frame. perhaps she might have granted them mercy, were she in his shoes—but he was the one affected by their actions. he was the one who lost a friend. she does not begrudge him his revenge.

       ‘ i am sorry. i know i’ve said it already, but it remains true. ’   almost hesitantly, she lays a hand upon his bicep.  ‘ if there is anything i can do to help, you need only ask. ’

[discolor3d]

The person I reblogged this from deserves to be happy.

[valtsv]

i only set you on fire a little bit. grow up.

[vaultbb-blog]

Could you please reblog this if it is okay to ask you straight up if you want to ship?

[dutydreamed-a]

WHEN DID THEY TAKE ROMAN HOLIDAY OFF OF NETFLIX!!!

[period-drama-blog]

Endless gifs of ‘Reign’ (2013–2017)