#its so applicable

[tzeentchian-parapet]

i discovered this frame the other day and i'm just- so happy

[whvmp]

eyes fluttering closed while a caretaker begs the whumpee to stay awake

[velarie]

it’s 8:13 am and I’m eating oatmeal and listening to falling slowly and thinking about feysand

[zolanhras]

lost and broke

Recommended Listening: Burning House by Cam

Things have always been… easier for me in the Fade.

That was his constant excuse. He wouldn’t deny it, not privately, to himself. It is true, he is freer there, more than he should be, but it did not excuse any of his more impulsive actions whilst there.

He comes to her regularly. She knows it. Even without the Anchor, her spirit is a beacon to his with it’s familiar warmth. He does his best to keep her unaware of his presence at first, left in the dark about his reservations and his fears, but she is much too intelligent for that. It is mere months before he is discovered, and chased.

Anger and duty was the most obvious impetus for it, the fire in her stride another piece of evidence that chipped away at his hopes.

His sick, twisted hopes.

Over time, her stride turns to a walk and finally to nothing at all. He finds her sitting, underneath a beautiful, mature Mother tree. Her eyes are closed and she breathes quietly, the pattern ever so slightly off as he arrives.

“And the wolf arrives to finally finish his kill,” she murmurs. “How goes the hunt, Fen’Harel?”

Her words, though barbed, are honeyed. He can’t help but take another step forward, and she does not move. The last sounds he had heard from her had been shouts and rage. It almost lets him believe—

But her words still stand and once he has gotten over the initial shock of hearing them, he realizes that he may have preferred the shouts. But words stick in his throat, leaving him when they, most of all, should come. Her eyes open, and she checks around her quickly until her eyes rest on him.

He does not come as The Dread Wolf for her. No, he has never come to her like that, though he knew, one day, he would. That he will. 

He wears the skin he always had around her now. A simple black wolf.

“What do you want?” she demands.

He says nothing and takes another tentative step forward. She stills, but does not stop him. He takes another and one more lands him at the base of the tree. She is still a short distance away, but not far. A mile for lovers.

He lays down in the grass and puts his head on his paws and looks up at her. She stares for a moment before returning to rest her head on the trunk.

“Why?” she says.

It’s difficult to speak in this form, but not impossible. That’s not what keeps him from responding.

“You owe me this much,” she says, not unkind. “I need to know why— Why you still come.”

He lifts his head to see her curled up in a ball, head on her knees. Her head is turned away from him, but he can still see the trail of a tear down her closest cheek. He holds back an instinctual whine, and stands up to be in front of her.

“I never lied to you,” he says, his voice, he knows, only an echo of what she would remember. It was much more gravely and rough. Not fit for her ears.

She looks up at him, surprise coloring her features, before it melts into realization. She groans, looking almost ready to strangle him, but it is all too soon tainted by sorrow.

A pair of arms wrap around his neck and he freezes— But it is her, and she is warm and kind and familiar. Before long, he is not a wolf, but himself— Solas— in her arms and has his own arms wrapped tightly around her frame.

He stays there until morning breaks in the small grove and she begins to falter in and out of the dream.

“I don’t want to leave,” she says, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

He plants a kiss to her temple.

“Neither do I,” he says and squeezes her tight, then straightens. “Now, go. We are both needed elsewhere.”

She looks at him and clenches her jaw.

“I will find a way,” she says, and sinks out of the Fade.

He is alone now, and he smooths his hand over the flattened grass where she had lain.

His arm begins to throb, and he can feel sheets on his body. It won’t be long now. Before he has to continue, become—

“Please hurry,” he whispers.

[stressthevalentine]

“looks bad todd” is such a good fucking meme i wish it had more recognition