#holyhorns

[ahvir-a-blog1]

holyhorns replied to your post: 

WLEOCME TO THE FUCKING BONE ZONE

FUCK YOU JOSH WASH

[bloodhunt]

@holyhorns.

do not let your guard down, cassandra reminds him endlessly. scream and cry all you need, look into the darkness, jeer or bare against it, but do not blink. there is no exception with demons,once-was’s and were’s are no exception.

yet here he is, cupping the limp head of a stranger.

“come on,” he soothes, smooths hair caked with viscera away from bloodied brow, “i need you to wake up. come on—”

his head dips down, big hero horns and all, presses lips to forehead. he kisses, and all at once he is reassured. still warm, still warm, still. still he smooths coagulate-sticky hair, still, he is unbelievably gentle, tender as he lifts the man off the ground. no cassandra-tongue-clucking, no i-told-you-so’s, only soft linen and the man in his arms and the taste of oxidation.

“i got you. come on, time to— you gotta wake up. i need you to.”

   slowly, one dark eye fluttered open, then the other. at the sight of his savior, joseph grinned (as much as a half-dead man could). 

   “ goodness gracious me, ” he said, voice hoarse and strained but spirited, but his smile charming as it ever was. “ my hero, swooping me off the ground and stealing a kiss as i lay dying. wicked man, are you toying with my heart? ” 

    he chuckled, which then turned into a wheezing cough from the ash in his lungs. “ i may swoon, ser, were you not already carrying me bridal-style. ” gods, this was ironic. and embarassing. and typical. a blood mage, covered in buckets of his own blood. also, half-dead and at the mercy of another. by the looks of it the man was on his side and trying to help him, but he doubted that would last for much longer once he spotted the ribbons of cuts peppering his wrists, sleeves ripped and torn by the battle. well, take them as they come, eh?

   joseph gazed up at the unknown qunari rather fondly, before squinting. “ this may be the delirium of blood loss talking, but may i say that you have really nice lips? oh yes you do. ”

[kcpeka-blog]

( what is jag's opinion of polydactyl cats i must know )

All cats are his children. He is a big cat, so smaller cats are his babies. If these small cats with extra toes became bigger cats, they would be that much more deadly with more claws. If they are big cats with more toes, he loves them even more.

And he loves small, gentle things that are considered ‘abnormal.’ He’ll care for them all.

[forgedstorm-blog]

laughter bleats from his throat; raw and BITTER. the sound is unfamiliar within his own ears, consequences of a tired mind. if the action is found daunting it goes unspoken, and for this he finds himself thankful. lips eventually ache from grinning, retiring to their familiar smile.

   “ i’m sorry-- that was rude. to answer your question, no. i doubt the inquisition is well liked where i come from. ”

@holyhorns

[bloodhunt]

✿ (WILD SHRIEKING)

21. upside down kiss

   “ you alright down there? ” he grins. he’s sitting at the head of parshaara’s cot as the qunari slowly comes to, elbows resting on his knees, his head directly over the other man’s. “ you’ve been out for hours, hero. glad to have you back with us. ” he leans down then, pecking parshaara on his unbelievably nice lips, upside-down. 

   “ sorry. always wanted to do that. upside down kiss, i mean, though your lips are terribly pretty. oh, don’t look so surprised, big man. i know i’m a beautiful sight to wake up to, but really. people are going to start thinking you’re in love with me if you pull a face like that. ”

[ahvir-a-blog1]

mom! what do u think of big sad qunari who just wanna see ur daughter shine

ASK MAMA LAVELLAN QUESTIONS. // accepting.

        “From what she tells me in her letters, he seems wonderful.”  A faint smile, long arms crossing over her chest.  “Creators knows that girl needs some support from those who aren’t — WELL.  I’m glad she has him.”  There’s a faint laugh, head shaking once.  “I suspect she’s glad to see more Qunari — she loved speaking to Vashoth when we traded with their settlements.  Made her feel worldly and she’s always loved to learn about others.  He seems — good for her.  I’m grateful that he’s there.”

[fuckthedivine-blog1]

@holyhorns

        She’s letting the flames dance across her fingers; the library is largely empty, and she trusts her abilities too much to fear that she may accidentally set the books alight.  A single spark of flame rolling back and forth across her fingertips --- the movement is a calming one, if nothing else, and she is grateful for the quiet of the library which enables it.  After all, hardly appropriate when the library is full and BUSY with mundanes that already despise her.

                     She doesn’t look up from the flames even as she feels his eyes on her.  Focus on this small thing is much of what is keeping her grounded in the NOW rather than --- well.  It hardly matters.  Still, her dark lips are quirked in a smile when she speaks.

              “Are you alright, Inquisitor?”  Voice is soft.  “You’re staring.”

[ahvir-a-blog1]

@holyhorns 

                     All things considered, today has been --- UGLY.  The anchor always ACHES, but today is been particularly bad, spitting heat without provocation and causing its owner to suffer.  The forever housed inside her palm is ripping her body apart --- worse, the well has been UNSETTLED by the manic ache of the Fade within her and the voices are LOUD, whispers that aren’t whispers, pounding erratic against her skull.  There is so much it HURTS ( there are no words for the sensation; she would crack her skull against the wall if she thought opening up the bone would let the pressure out ) and she is struggling to remain TOGETHER.  

             She’d excused herself from the conversation, sensing that she was close to falling --- the agony reaching a peak she wouldn’t be able to hide despite her skill with lying.  Barely made it to the door of her quarters before it had FALLEN; fingers shooting to tangle in her hair, heels of her hands digging into eye sockets in some DESPERATE attempt to to soften the shouting.  It doesn’t work.  She doesn’t even make it up the steps before she COLLAPSES, back to stone wall, curling in on herself.  The mark sparks, too bright against her eyes, and she lets loose a LOW SOB.

                      It must be a pathetic sight.  She barely hears the door open, but she does hear it.  the spark hand darts to press to her chest, but she cannot move the other from where it still digs into her eye.  Optics are wide and darting and even as she tries she cannot force her expression into something neutral.  She cannot HIDE once she’s allowed herself to break --- SHIT.  SHIT.

         “Leave ---”  It’s a gasp, desperate.  “I’m f - fine, just ----”