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❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
we're not kids anymore.
🪼
occasionally subtle
YOU ARE THE REASON
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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Love Begins
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@lyrianstartedit
A bunch of doodles that I’ve only shared over twitter.
A fox walks into a room full of buns...
Part 2!
Part 1 here.
A fox walks into a room full of buns...
I wonder what happens.
A new Halamshiral Lyrian design that i’m much happier with than this old one.
Summer comes to Thedas, a bunny refuses to let go of old comforts, and a crush isn’t realized.
A new day, new beginnings, new tasks to complete.
Lyrian hums as he looks over the new cases from yesterday, pulling his hair into a ponytail. As cold as it is in the Frostbacks, summer’s arrival is clearly felt. Not many people stop to admire Skyhold from afar now, after the sun’s rays hit the majestic pristine slopes.
Luckily, most of the inquisition’s guests knew of snow blindness and avoided looking up when everything is bathed in a painful white glow. Unfortunately, that meant most cases brought in were playful, eager children, crying as they covered their eyes and refused to open them for fear of looking upon the reflective snow again.
He’d boop them on their reddened cheeks, have them promise never to disobey their caretakers in such matters again, then send them off with a cookie or three.
They’d usually forget in a few days, but that’s children for you.
He could probably leave his scarf in his room, seeing how hot it got by noon and there were no clouds to curb the sun’s rays, but the thought of it has him squirming in discomfort. The old, weathered thing has been with him since he left the Circle, been with him through thick and thin, helped him stay grounded in the most uncomfortable of situations. Maybe he’d leave it behind after, but not right now, when he still needed a little comfort to get through the lonely days.
He sighs and picks up a sheaf of papers from the desk next to the door, looking through them after he’s sure nothing new happened in the night. The newly arrived healers had offered to take up the night shifts, much to the Inquisition’s healers’ relief, and they’d figured out a good rotation in an hour. Makes things easier on everyone in the long run, to be honest.
A small line of words hastily scribbled in a corner of one page has him squinting, trying to decipher the horrendous handwriting without having to go consult another healer. It wasn’t like the morning shift was going to be any help, since he always arrived half an hour before them, and the night shift would be too bleary-eyed to--
‘You shouldn’t squint like that. It’s bad for your eyes.’ A line of heat against his back, a large, warm hand on his shoulder radiating the soft pull of the Fade, and he turns his head quickly, startled. The Inquisitor smiles down at him, looking on with fond eyes as he squeaks and flushes bright red. ‘Need any help?’
‘I--ah, no, it’s--I’m uh, I’m fine, really--’ He makes a soft noise of protest as the older man plucks the papers from his hands, then finally remembers to peel himself away and put some distance between them. He’s the Inquisitor, and Lyrian’s just a lowly, healer-in-training from Ostwick who bumbled his way into the organization. Another glance up at the man has him blushing a darker red, and he pulls his trusty scarf over his cheeks and nose. ‘I’m fine, really…’
Who was he kidding at this point? Everyone knew of his crush on the inquisitor. It was just about as subtle as Krem’s war hammer, and as massive as the weapon too.
One more glance up at the man, and he quickly whips out his striped woolen ear-flap hat, cramming it on before the inquisitor could say another word.
Now he’s safe.
From more obvious blushing.
For Frei :P
It got really long, sorry!
A continuation to Warden Lyrian getting out of the physical Fade after a year and a half.
And a ‘What if the Hero of Ferelden volunteered to stay in the Fade at Adamant’ with an implied ‘Flemeth/Urthemiel led the Warden to the Crossroads to help him come home’.
--
The real world does not make sense after the year and half spent wandering the Fade and Eluvian crossroads. He falls out of the mirror into Skyhold’s dusty, cold storeroom, and looks up, expecting to see a pale cloudy sky, the soft silence of abandoned pathways waiting with bated breath for familiar feet. The soft groan of a million souls engraved into the stones floating under an ominous green sky, the laughter of a thousand demons echoing in his ears, always hovering on the edges of his consciousness, whispering promises of reunion and safety and home.
He finds a dusty ceiling, cobwebs decorating the eaves and dim corners, the foreign, musty smell of boxes and books fighting desperately against the corruption of mildew. Lyrian stares from where he sits on the moth eaten carpet, dazed by the sudden change in his surroundings. It’s a while before he can summon the strength to stagger to his feet, blood dripping down and not up from the cuts he made in his arm.
‘Not the Fade.’ He manages to murmur, licking dry, cracked lips, blinking owlishly at the door. It’s a mere dozen feet away, and yet, to him it may have been miles. He takes a deep breath, feels the chill of the mountain air in his lungs. ‘Not the Crossroads.’
He lifts his foot, places it forward with some hesitation. A step. It’s not the Fade. The ground doesn’t crumble under his touch, doesn’t leave him standing on air with only faith to keep him walking above the abyss. He drags his other foot forward, limping towards the door. The Nightmare demon had left its marks on him before he had finally burned it to a crisp, the blizzard he summoned sweeping away the ashes and leaving no traces that there even had been such a monstrous creature.
Maybe he should have brought a part of it back for Dagna.
It feels like an age has passed before he places his hand on the door knob, leaning his weight on the wood as he turns the handle to open the door. He’s exhausted, and it takes all his strength to keep standing when the elf passing by the door jumps back with a shriek and drops her books.
‘Elan, what--Lyrian!?’
He rallies the last of his strength to look up from the ground to the Inquisitor and smile before he collapses.
‘I told you--I promised--’
I promised I would come home.
Because I don’t believe that Urthemiel would have left no traces of their brief joining on the Warden. Souls and all that magical mind-link bullshit.
In which I headcanon that Kieran can still find the Warden and walk with them in their dreams because of Urthemiel.
‘Well, you certainly clean up well enough.’ Leliana says as he finishes his first sweep around the ballroom, gathering his cloak behind him to make way for a pair of giggling young ladies. They blush as he bows, a small playful smile on his lips as they scurry away flustered. ‘I see some of his charm has rubbed off onto you as well.’
‘I did play in the Ferelden court for a while after all.’ The warden laughs, adjusting the silver-trimmed mask he’d grudgingly agreed to wear to the ball. ‘I do have to agree though. Zev is an amazing teacher.’
‘No doubt.’ The spymaster smiles, and they fall to small talk to pass the time. She asks how his search is going, and he shrugs, rocking his hand back and forth. So-so. Some promising leads, at least one dead end. He asks how everyone’s been, of the ones she had kept in contact with, and she offers little tidbits for the ones she knows still live.
Occasionally, the inquisitor scurries to their side with a shy smile and whispers of devastatingly interesting gossip, elven ears flicking self-consciously at the attentive looks of the Orlesian nobles. Lyrian smiles, tells him not to worry, and ruffles the elf’s hair, much to the exasperation of the Inquisition members present. The elf lights up and scurries off, curly hair now just as bouncy as the rest of him.
Then he catches the eye of someone lingering on the balconies, and freezes, glass halfway to his lips. Golden eyes flick over his form in turn, before widening as she puts a name to his masked face. Memories of cynical laughter, of soft fingers with a steel grip, of one last night before the end, gently float to the surface even as he lowers his glass.
‘Lyrian?’ Leliana asks, concerned, and he waves the query away, leaving her side at last with an apologetic murmur. He catches the eye of his beloved and mouths ‘save a dance for me?’, to which the Antivan only smiles, nods and gestures for him to go ahead. Of course Zevran would have noticed her presence before his Warden did.
Lyrian had always been hopelessly oblivious.
Minutes later, he leans on the balustrade and smiles, mask hanging from his fingers.
‘How have you been, Morrigan?’
Fudo plays DA2
First impressions: - [ soft sobbing ] - So it can’t handle high quality textures outside of a cutscene? Well dammit. - CARVER MY BABY THAT UNIFORM WAS TOTALLY MADE A YEAR POST BLIGHT. - Flemeth brought out her fancy prom dress for Hawke? Why, that’s a good reason to be polite to you too, ma'am. -God dammit, you can’t change anything in the preset? Well shit. - So looks wise, Garrett is like Bethany and Marian is like Carver. Good! -God dammit I forgot to finish my playthrough for my Fenris-loving Hawke. Well the Anders-loving sasser is up! -Flemeth loves sass. -Dammit Wesley shut the hell up about the Chantry, I will sock you in the nuts. -Noooooo BETHANY! -Bye Wesley. I don’t really miss you. -Flemeth my good lady, teach me the ways of dragons. And elves. And dragons. -Mom, Gamlen is a tit. - [ sees Bodahn and Sandal in the background ] Fuck off Bartrand, I actually see some dwarves who I love! - [ meets Varric ] I LOVE YOU ALREADY. - [ goes to new home ] GAMLEN YOU TIT. - [ Gets Amell family will ] GAMLEN YOU ABSOLUTE TIT. - [ Leandra mentions Warden Amell ] [ screams in delight ] I LOVE DRAGON AGE
TBC
grey wardens: the joining is terrifying..........so dark and awful and inhumane it's truly the most harrowing experience
surana/amell: bitch they put a demon in me like 2 days ago
Tag your oc that meows back when a cat meows at them. You know the one.
HC-Lyrian
After they reach Skyhold, Lyrian develops the bad habit of not eating three full meals a day (he always catches dinner though). He keeps a plate of cookies or fruit near him whenever he needs to go over paperwork, and snacks on the plate’s contents for hours as he works.
His argument: ‘I work faster this way’ and ‘less time wasted’ and ‘I’m not that hungry.’
Of course, once Dorian finds out, everyone else does, and everyone is Not Pleased.
She did not need much, wanted very little. A kind word, sincerity, fresh air, clean water, a garden, kisses, books to read, sheltering arms, a cosy bed, and to love and be loved in return.
Starra Neely Blade (via wordsnquotes)
@xfreischutz, terribly belated valentines for you my darling sinnamon pupper.
For Frei again
@xfreischutz Remember this?
I’m doing it again. With Icarus this time.