Man I miss Cole 👉👈 I do be thinking abt 🥺 coming back tho
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we're not kids anymore.
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祝日 / Permanent Vacation

seen from Germany

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@ghsting
Man I miss Cole 👉👈 I do be thinking abt 🥺 coming back tho
A wee little STARTER CALL!
A wee little STARTER CALL!
If any of you are on cherp I have two (2) Cole prompts with starters of mine that I can link you to 👀
I’ve been ghosting I’ve been ghosting along Ghost in the world Ghost with no home
Thinking of coming back here bc I miss writing Cole 🤔🤔
Mobile but I'm uhh taking commissions if anyone is interested 👀
We got back from Texas on Thursday, and I've worked every day since— but I have tomorrow off so I plan to write a little here and on another blog or two
Precious baby boy ...... Good ... Would let stab me
yall ever realize u forgot to add an icon to a reply. :dead:
theharellan ---
The hymn echoes through the mountain pass, held aloft by beliefs sincerely held. To Solas its words are unfamiliar, as foreign to him as anything in this new world, but its meaning resonates, perhaps too well. The herald held her shoulders close to her as they sang, unsure what to make of adulation she had never asked for, yet certain of the path that lies ahead. There was trust in her eyes as they conversed beside bottle blue flames, trust he finds himself coveting, despite the deception.
He sits alone, now, his magic spent from the battle behind them, unable to contribute to mending the wounded, his heart too raw to place himself amongst his companions. If Cole’s sudden appearance surprises him, it does not show on his face. The same cannot be said of his questions, which tear at him, prying into questions he had asked and dismissed. Pointed ears pin back against his skull, answers running through his head too fast to voice.
“That is not my name,” he says, the gentle quality of his voice belying the ice that runs through him. An old, used-up name, never truly his to begin with. To hear the Dalish speak it is like hearing a stranger’s name, but in Cole’s voice it sounds like a ghost’s. “Nor is it my word.” Lethallen had come so simply to him, rolling off his tongue, but dropped like a stone through empty air when he last spoke it aloud. To him, it had meant everything, and to the world, nothing. In his companion’s face, he had beheld something– hard to place without the Fade to buoy feelings to the surface and impossible to tell if it was what he had seen, or what he had wanted to see. After, he wondered if he had imagined saying it. If he had imagined it all.
“There is no simple answer to the question you’ve asked me. Little in this world is easy to place, reality is simultaneously tenuous and too heavy to bear, yet I find myself wanting it all the same.”
COLE’S EXPRESSION SHIFTS into something of confusion and vague frustration as he processes Solas' words— a name that isn't his, yet it's scrawled all over the inside of his skull like a warning.
He'll let it go for the moment. If only to draw a deep breath and push at something else.
"Things are only so tangled because you tangle them. Simplicity was here, you just didn't see it as an option. You needn't weigh every thing you desire to figure if it's something you should desire. You are allowed! Why deny yourself everything but the bare? Is that living? "
@ghsting | starter call.
COLE looked as though he were barely nineteen. It was a thought that continued to float through his mind unbidden, every time his eyes cut to look at him on their journey to wherever the Inquisitor deemed necessary. But Cole wasn’t a boy, nor was he human. Was he human ? Saren didn’t understand the complexities of it all, but he knew one thing: magic always held the threat of demons. The mysterious boy hadn’t shown any aggression towards them, but his perplexing commentary and bizarre behavior sometimes made him question his intentions.
❝ Cole, ❞ he braves, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, ❝ do you remember anythin’ from… before all this ? ❞
COLE IS QUIET FOR A LONG MOMENT.
" You mean to ask if I was always like this. " He isn't surprised. It's not an uncommon question among those who remembered him— but there aren't many who ever remember. He remembers when Rhys asked, remembers when a Templar or two asked- and he still feels as uncomfortable with answering as before. It feels like a mistake. He wasn't supposed to exist and yet now he does, and he spawned from a failure. (He lives every day with that failure laid heavy on his shoulders)
Cole takes up an uncomfortable looking seat in the windowsill, staring at the courtyard below. "I was two before this. A human mage named Cole and a spirit of compassion living in the fade. Cole's life was awful. It only got more awful when the Templars imprisoned him at the circle spire and forgot. But the spire is where the veil is thin— strange things happen there.
" The spirit heard Cole as he was dying, curled up in agony and begging for someone to help him. Dark, damp, desolate. Haven't seen anyone in weeks. Hunger claws like an angry cat and I want to cough up that hairball, but I know by now nothing will come. So alone. I just want someone here with me, to make me feel better...
“ So the spirit came. It tried to help, but... in the end all it could do was hold Cole. Show him at least one person had cared about him in his life." he shifts in his seat, fists clenched almost as tight as his jaw and held tight to his chest.
" Cole...died. The Spirit died, too, but differently. It had failed to help someone it wanted to desperately to make better. But in their deaths something.. odd, happened. I'm not sure what. Or why. But they became me. And I try my best to be what they would want in the world. "
@ghsting
Snow in his boots is the worst of his problems. He repeats this to himself every hour or so as if it’ll ring true at some point: snow in his boots is the long and short of it, and anything else that happens to be wrong is occurring to some other, less fortunate Dorian. He trudges alone, for the most part, a distrusted Vint hedging outside the clumps of soldiers and civilians that’d naturally formed. Hiking is not his strong suit; he’s been slowly falling to the rear.
The scent of smoke still strikes him with every odd shift in the wind. Haven’s destruction had been absolute, blown to little pieces by templars of all detestable things, the ramifications of which has kept his mind occupied through the frozen slog to… somewhere, eventually. The Herald has let them believe there’s a safe place at the end of all this, but Dorian isn’t quite the optimistic fool to think they’ll all survive that long. He feels them die, if they’re close enough – the souls of the mortally wounded finding some warmer, kinder place, with any luck. Speaking of souls –
The young man who’d appeared so abruptly at the gates, speaking in riddles. Had he mentioned his name? Had he lived? Despondency falls over Dorian anew, and reflexively, he casts a look around as if it’d produce him somehow.
So many dead.
HE’S THERE LIKE THE WIND-- A GUST IN AN INSTANT.
"Maybe if you tell the snow it doesn't belong in your boots it might leave." Its spoken with the cadence of a question as Cole follows Dorian step for snowy step, filling the holes in the snow he's left behind (no one will know he was there, too). "Magic is intent." Or at least, that's how Cole understood it. (Did understand it, in life, when he was an apostate mage. Thrown in prison for it. Forgotten for it.)
"its kind of you to worry about me. I didn't think you'd remember so I didn't make you forget." He could feel the weight on Dorian's shoulders, piled on by each corpse left behind. He feels responsible for it. Like he ought to have prevented it somehow— but how could this have been stopped by one man alone?
Cole's pace quickens until he's beside Dorian, matching him step for step. "You did your best." He assures, tone soft yet firm. "That's all we can do. And what matters is that you tried. It's because you tried that these people here live."
Coughs, SHIPPING CALL?
Y'all ever think about Cole's crippling anxiety abt depending on someone only to be forgotten by them :) y'all ever think about how he's so resistant to let anyone do anything for him bc leaning on someone else is such a foreign concept to him now
On my blog more like (to the tune of old MacDonald)
A Wulf wulf here
& a Wulf wulf there
Here a wulf
There a wulf
Everywhere a Wulf because I wld die for him
new header ;hrm: