#gyedie

[dragcnlxrd]

©©©©©©©© I'm sorry ©©©©©©©© is Lys not canon?! ©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©© sounds like fake news tbh ©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©

YOU ARE TO KIND! SERIOUSLY ILYSM!

[immortalmuses]

✨🧡🌙 SEND THIS TO ALL THE WRITERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL AND SUPER AMAZING ✨🧡 ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

Dani I love you SO MUCH, you are a joy and one of my favorite people on this planet, and I feel so incredibly fortunate to get to write some of the most amazing characters with yours! You bring out the best in me and in my writing and everything you write is a pleasure to read!

My Elf Bae, the Caiera to my Holku, the Mothra to my Gojira ALWAYS! 😘

[fior-dha-fein]

@gyedie​ || closed starter

✧･ﾟ:* ♜ *:･ﾟ✧   He had been waiting a day and a half for the Inquisitor to return from whatever task had sent her outside the walls of Skyhold. In that time, Dorian was nearly vibrating from the eagerness to spill the latest gossip with one of his closest friends! Too long had it been since one of their infamous ‘sip & bitch’ sessions, as he so loved to refer to them as. 

Spotting Amari, he was instantly more animated, striding over to her with a bottle of Tevinter wine in hand, along with two copper goblets. To say he had been prepared with expectation was an understatement. 

“My dear, finally!” he exclaimed. “I was beginning to think you had left me behind for good!” Not that he was actually disappointed, of course. He was never willing to tail along with her when it involved the bitter cold mountains along the border of Orlais. 

“Come along, now. I have much to share with you. Believe me when I say, you truly want to hear this latest gossip...”               

[therelentless]

{ @gyedie​​ ;; sc.

“Hey, you’re not ignoring me on purpose, are you?”

[bledmagic]

✧*｡ ||   could not take a single moment more of her compatriots bickering in her ear. leaving them at the, what one could guess or assume was, a tavern carved into a nook in the hallow she wanders about. feet leading down past the various druids & animals scattered about, rushing & arguing their own troubles about the refugees they have taken in. a lot going on & idrylla was thrown in the middle of it all & barely any time to let it all soak in.

           at least the air is refreshing & the cool of the river she finds herself is terribly needed against her skin. shedding her boots & rolling up pants, the outer of robes tossed aside to then roll up the sleeves of tunic underneath. stepping into the waters & scooping some into hands to splash at her face; hair pushed back after( perhaps she should have tied it back, too late now. ). a hard snort, shake of water off hands & she looks up to see one of the druids.  ＂ oh. shit. sorry is this your part of the river----- or ?＂ // @gyedie​ SC

[dragcnlxrd]

He should never be outside of the Shadow, it had been deemed forbidden for seven centuries now. House Balaur was the Shadow, they had been the reason the Shadowlands had come by the reputation it held now. Lenton hen zaldrīzes. the home of the dragons it had once been called now the seat of House Balaur lay nestled at the foot of the Mountains of Mourn, Se Zaldrīzoti Gaomagon, the dragon’s keep.

While located at the shores of the Hidden Sea near Carcosa, House Balaur still maintained it’s roots. The dragons that had crawled from the cradle long ago before Valyria ever existed had returned with House Balaur three hundred years before the Fourteen Flames sang their song and brought an end to the might of Valyria. Now House Balaur clung to the darkness of the Shadow, controlling the trade of dragonbone or the fire opals mined in the shadow.

Sitting in a tavern though far from where he should have been the young dragonlord watched with amethyst hues at the peculiar woman. He could smell the title of priestess upon her, though just what flavor of priestess was still at a loss to him. He drank the firewine from his goblet and merely watched, intrigued by her presence.

@gyedie​

[immortalmuses]

small starter for @gyedie​‘s companion verse

          “So....” The Iron Bull grunts, settling himself gradually onto one of the felled logs ringing their campfire. The Qunari moves slowly, with a sort of laborious care, as if his bum leg and considerable bulk pain him. 

          (It may... or may not... be an act. Hard to tell.)

          Leaning back, Bull levels his one good eye on Amari, warmth lurking in the brown gaze, “...as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’ve been watching you. Call it... professional admiration. Spy to Spy, if you get me.” 

          A faint grin curves the corner of Hissrad’s scarred mouth, “And I have to say... you are very good. There’s something about you. Something... different.” He pauses, focus sharpening almost too quickly to be detected. But then the Qunari deliberately lets his gaze travel down the length of Amari’s form, the slant of his lips becoming suggestive, 

          “...hmm. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Yet.”

[immortalmuses]

@gyedie​ sent: [forehead touch] // amari & bull !!!

          After this rag-tag Inquisition really settles in at Skyhold, The Iron Bull's days become a seemingly endless cycle of familiar entertainments. Drinking with his Chargers, plotting at the Wartable (or in hidden recesses unseen), and adventuring into the wilds of Thedas. It's a lifestyle that suits the former Ben-Hassrath well, regardless of the purpose, and Bull is grateful for the distraction it provides from contemplating his future as Tal-Vashoth.

           Evenso, there are the quiet moments in between. Pockets of stillness and contentment, when the Iron Bull knows true peace (something more than he ever expected for himself). It’s Amari’s doing, of course. Her resilient presence among the Chargers centers him, the surety with which she touches him a reminder that there is honor yet residing in Bull’s bones. A purpose, as great (and as small) as holding Amari in his embrace. 

          He holds the Lavellan now, arms like iron bands keeping her secure in his lap, reclining together in the massive armchair in their quarters. The Iron Bull rests his brow ridge against Amari’s forehead, counting the rhythm of her breathing, cataloguing any tell-tale hitch. He waits, with infinite patience, for the words he can feel trapped in his Kadan’s chest to find their way past her lips.