#burnpast

[honeyglaze-a-blog]

SHE CANNOT HELP BUT STARE, STUDYING THE VERY MAN SHE HAD ONCE CALLED A THIEF, what else do you call the man who ran away with your heart tucked in his pocket? how she’s dreamed of his smile, of his laugh, of the sound of her name falling from his lips -- poetry, she had always thought so -- somehow, he could cast a spell with just her name. but spell had broken months before, when amber eyes awakened to an empty bed, left with nothing but the fragments of broken promises. and even with her rage, her sorrow and guilt storming inside, she cannot seem to find the words... 

lips purse, and eyes fall -- what courage she had mustered fading away, insecurity clinging to aching heart, urging her away -- he had left you behind for a reason, merrill. why try to force what he doesn’t want into his life? tears sting at her eyes, lashes fluttering in attempt to keep tears from falling --    ‘  --- i’ve missed you.  ’    the words fall from her lips in a trembling breath, unable to keep the TRUTH from her lips, now salted by straying tears -- heartache unraveling itself before his feet.

PLOTTED STARTER, MERRILL  /   ↺ @burnpast

[guiltsworn]

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡  &  𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐲, going silent in preparation. vic sits eagerly atop a tree branch, gloved hands holding onto another just above the path to skyhold, mounds of SNOW waiting to be released at any moment. krem  &  the chargers are soon to return from ... charging, or whatever they do,  &  vic intends to greet them from his snowy perch. fewer steps than expected are heard, but this slips his mind--------perhaps krem is walking ahead of the others. 

once the TARGET is underway, the branch is released, billows of snow tumbling below. 

snow hits, so he lets out a gleeful laugh, swinging upside down from the branch he occupies.   ❝ bit cold ? ❞   he snarks, eyes still focusing,   ❝ i wanted------oh ... ❞   they focus, to horrify him with the knowledge that this ISN’T krem nor a charger, but someone else entirely, who he recognizes but does not know. jumping to the ground, laughter is masked with a sheepish look.   ❝ er ... you’re not-------shit. sorry ? ❞

@burnpast​​ ╱ 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐞

[soultamed]

gwyn  isn’t  a  rebel  mage.  not  really.  sure,  she  was  no  great  fan  of  the  circle,  but  she  would  have  remained  there  had  it  not  become  a  powder  keg  like  seemingly  every  other  circle  in  ferelden  and  the  free  marches. templars  don’t  seem  to  care  about  the  fact  she’s  not  aligned  herself  with  any  given  faction,  though  -  an  apostate  is  an  apostate,  after  all.  there  are  probably  safer  places  for  apostates  than  the  hinterlands,  but  gwyn  isn’t  foolhardy  enough  to  make  those  dangerous  treks  further  out  without  aid,  which  she  is  currently  woefully  lacking.

she  could  use  some  of  that  missing  aid  right  about  now,  truly.  alone  in  the  hinterlands  had  quite  suddenly  become  less  alone  when  a  group  of  patrolling  templars  had  somehow  sniffed  out  her  meager  camp,  hidden  away  in  the  sparse  woods  of  the  foothills.  the  jangling  of  their  ornate  armor  and  the  heavy  crunching  of  boots  on  fallen  branches  she  had  purposefully  scattered  to  raise  alarm  had  given  gwyn  a  few  second’s  head - start,  but  that  gap  between  them  is  closing  as she  skitters  past  trees  and  through  brush.  the  edge  of  her  robes  catch  on  the  grasping  twigs  of  a  thorny  bush  and  steal  another  handful  of  seconds  of  her  space  from  the  encroaching  templars. it’ll  be  best  to  try  and  loop  back  behind  them,  back  towards  her  camp  and  down  the  hills  into  the  valleys.  gwyn  moves  to  dart  to  the  left  but  is  stopped  short.  shit.  there’s  a  gleam  of  armor  too  close  on  that  side.  she  looks  to  the  right  and  spots  the  same  glinting  metal  through  the  trees  there,  too.  they’ve  flanked  her.  all  this  for  one  lone  apostate? there  are  more  sets  of  footsteps  than  she  remembers  hearing  -  an  added  pair,  slightly  different  than  the  loud  crunch  of  the  templar’s  heavy  boots  -  but  gwyn  shakes  off  any  interest  and  tries,  desperately,  to  come  up  with  an  escape  route  in  the  scant  seconds  she  has  left  before  the  templars  will  be  on  her. @burnpast

[goldcasted]

THIS OR THAT?

honey and lemon or milk and sugar  //  musicals or plays  //  lemonade or iced tea  //  strawberries or raspberries  //  winter or summer  //  beaches or forests  //  diners or cafes  // unicorns or dragons  //  gemstones or crystals  //  hummingbirds or owls  //   fireworks or sparklers  //  brunch or happy hour  //  sweet or sour  //  rome or amsterdam  //  classic or  modern art  //  sushi or ramen  //  sun or moon  //  polka dots or stripes  //  macaroons or croissants  //  glitter or matte  //  degas or seurat  //  aquariums or planetariums  //  road trip or camping trips  //  colouring books or watercolour  // fairy lights or candles

stolen from  :  @soultimed  uwu tagging :   @godesing  .  @driptgold  .  @burnpast .  @unmaidens . @absterreo

[honeyglaze-archived]

    ARIANNE MARTELL RECEIVED AN ASK   /   ↺ @burnpast​ “i couldn’t stop thinking about you all day.”

❛  ― OH?  ❜    SHE PERKS IN INTEREST, A SUBTLE SMILE CURLING THE EDGES OF SOFT and rosy lips at the very notion -- the notorious hawke drowning in her shores: sensuous hills of golden sand, warm to the touch and sticking to his skin, and her kiss -- washing away every ache and every worry, waves of passion crashing against his lips. she remembers it well, fond memories -- a night she, too, couldn’t seem to shake, haunting her every thought. smile blossoms at the memory, teeth scraping atop the tender flesh of her lip as smile threatens a grin. how sweet it was to discover that she was not the only  one -- he had drowned, but the sea was far too happy to hold him. 

fingers dance atop his skin, soft -- barely there, pass his lips and down his throat, dipping beneath gifted silk.... she leans closer, her lips but a breath away, for a soft and sultry whisper:    ❛  ― which part?  ❜    breasts brush against his chest, wide amber eyes searching for the blush she was sure to follow, and the silent gasp once she guides calloused fingertips up the shape of her thigh to settle upon her hip, freed then to wander.    ❛  tell me, my ever favored guest -- which part of me has distracted you so?   ❜

[lastwished-a]

“ why do good intentions always turn out bad ? ”

he doesn’t have to give any context. if even one story she’s heard about kirkwall and it’s champion is true, then she’d argue that no one knows about good intentions gone wrong better than the man beside her. the ‘ gone wrong ’ part in particular.

“ i’d like to think it says something about the state of the world, not the people in it. ”   she stares off into skyhold’s courtyard, taking a seat on the edge of the battlement and crossing one knee over the other. violet eyes flash back to the champion, briefly, before she nods to the scattered crowd shuffling about below.   

“ nothing but good intentions in this place. is that why you came here ? ”

angst prompts / accepting! ( @burnpast !! )

[idolbound]

@burnpast​ sent:  ‘ people have killed for a lot less. ’ (x)

  “Perhaps they have, Hawke. Though that would depend on the circumstance,” Meredith’s voice takes a low tone, one that borders on challenge -- this game of power and pawns has become a lot more complicated than she had bargained for with the very man before her.

  “Are you suggesting you would kill, for less? Or perhaps, you already have?” 

[gunnerychief]

❝          I DON’T SEE HOW THIS PLAN     ends well .     kinda sounds like a great way to get killed ,    though .          ❞

@burnpast​ .           ♡ .