#pawnedprince

[laperlina]

🍓 🥺

let me say nice things about you. ♡

It’s Monnnnnnk Appreciation Hours !!!!!

as a mun and a writer both, i have nothing but praise for you. You’re suuuuper easy to talk to, and i like that I didn’t have to go through some strange formal talking phase in the beginning and could start bullshitting around you instantly lmao. you’re one of the first ppl i followed around when i came back and im so so so glad i did.

writing wise, im gonna put the spotlight on you here for a thread you have with @sanctifisol whom i also love !!!

❛ i think you know ... i know you know. ❜ they two are both hollow reflections of their parents, are they not? cold fathers and absent mothers cast long shadows, darkening whatever family portrait hangs above the mantle. he could reach out, extend a hand across the table, dangerously close to open flame but offering an invitation of warmth all the same. but he doesn't. he's made himself an island here, safe and secluded, digging for the ruins of a girl he knew a lifetime ago. she's not the same; but then again neither is he. he looks down at his own useless hands, folding them politely together.

i really love how you spiraled so deep into the emotion and pulled it all out to the surface to write abt, this haunted grieving tortured feeling. what he can and cannot do. what people feel like when they’re stuck and just looking to feel something different but have this habit of miring themselves in what feels safe even tho it might not be all that good for you. that’s sooo real. I didn’t know anything abt KCD before you or Dean and it’s bc of you two that im so hooked on this rly character driven story now !!! and you do such a good job of continuing that in your writing with hans who has a looot of emotion driving him.

you’re doing a great job and you’re such a staple on my dash that I could never imagine it without you 🤍

[saintsdawn-a]

“ gods are stubborn, but so am i. ”

↬ @pawnedprince liked for a starter!

[joyuex]

voices and warmth and laughter, a dizzying world of red and gold and red again — some time before the shape of the inn had been lost to him, swirling away smoke up the chimney ... or drowned in the dregs of a soot - brown beer. he searches for it in the tankard he clutches now, but comes back with nothing but a woodland - warped fantasy: the simple frame turned into a tangle of bark and branch and root. he's drank too much. or, perhaps, he's drank just enough. he is not sure what wild hair of a whim had sent him down this path, but he is sure where it will lead him ... his hands quiver at the very thought of a warm bed and his lady's touch, and quiver still more at the shame that lingers behind it.

❛❛ have a drink with me ! ❜❜ and here, another touch, hard and heavy and real. @pawnedprince forms before him, brandishing yet another beer.

he could laugh, he could cry ... but instead he gives his companion's shoulder a solid squeeze, releasing those far - flung fantasies with a heavy sigh. ❛❛ i am done drinking, and so are you. we leave in the morning, it is time we rest. ❜❜ yet, he lists even as he speaks — unsteady now on ever - steady feet — and finds himself clinging almost desperately to that outstretched arm. ❛❛ walk with me ... ? ❜❜

[drahnovice]

ㅤRE: IN THE AFTERMATH OF VIOLENCE [ ... ] ㅤCC: @pawnedprince.

FUCKING BRIGANDS. Soldiers left behind in Bohemia and wearing the League of Lords' colors Erik once aligned with but now no longer, the one man whose heart held Erik's loyalty dead and buried. Fuck Sigismund, the bastard, and fuck Sigismund's wayward soldiers, slain by the hand once belonging to their brother and slain brutally. He'd recognized one, once a follower of Erik's commands, by voice alone, blood coughed up and wheezed from a mouth that once spat vulgarities, but Erik's unflinching in the face of an eruption of blood from the coup de grace of a slit throat. Erik, astride the soldier, is still, short sword falling from a trembling hand and to the wild grasses surely swarming with ticks that the winds susurrate. A beautiful summer's day, it would be, with birdsongs and the scents of flowers and herbs, marigolds and chamomile, carried by the breeze, were it not for the corpses, were it not for Rattay soldiers staring at him as though he were some beast. The Lord of Rattay's hand lies against Erik's face, battle calloused knuckles brushing away blood, and it's then, and only then, that the wild dog, kicked, finally flinches, eyes almost wide as he stares at the fool — the kind, courageous fool.

"Capon." A warning, but Erik's shoulders are slack, hands still and voice still, too, though strained and vulnerable. A warning not for violence then. He swallows, heart aching against his chest and stomach churning; sickeningly sweet and cloyingly tender, Capon is. He hates it. He fucking hates it. "Don't coddle me." He's eyeing the sword still by his side. He could take it. "Don't forget who I am." Capon's captor and prisoner, would be slayer. He could take the sword. He could. He doesn't.

[sanctifisola]

" my father and i don't really get along. ugh , saying it out loud makes it sound so . . . common. little girl who doesn't get along with her father. read that story a hundred times. " - @pawnedprince liked for dialogue / still accepting

[ofkunstadt]

@pawnedprince sent: My  muse  tilts  your  muse’s  chin  up,  searching  their  eyes.  “You’re  sure  about  this?  About  me?”

it felt unreal. as if soon this all would fade and she would find herself in bed, staring at the ceiling & wishing morning had not come so soon. but no dream ever managed to be so vivid, so perfect it could be wholly confused for reality. he had kissed her, and even now it still seemed to linger, that blissful feeling, leaving her in a daze until hans moved to tilt her chin. his words pulled her out of her bliss, soft frown upon her brow as response, while hands grabbed onto his clothes & pulled him closer with a forceful tug.

" i have willed myself to love you until i found that choosing to love you was not difficult at all. i loved you quietly when i believed you would not ever be mine. " to say she was certain was putting it too lightly. it was nowhere near the proper wording for the way her heart had held the door open for him time and time again. even when he was not hers. even as she watched him with henry.

until now, there had been acceptance that her heart's desires would never be more than gentle dreams, nowhere near reality. had resigned herself to this fate, made peace with it, and life went on as it had since her arrival. " certainty is too weak to express how i feel about this, about you, about us. i will choose you, over and over and over until the very end of time itself. there has never been, nor will there ever be, any thoughts of doubt. it is you i chose, it is you i love. "

[gospul]

❘ ❘ ❘ @pawnedprince ( hans ) : ♥︎ for a TAROT STARTER, ( CARD DRAWN: the HANGED MAN ... reversed. ↳ stalling, standstill, new perspectives, suspension.

stained glass casts radiant shades of reds, purples &. blues down into the chapel — carving brilliant lines across her features, a ghostly shadow of christ kissing cecily's skin. no holy ground carries any weight to her, now, &. her laws predicate on no sacred book ( ... ) leaving this shrine to feel hollow. rattay has proved a good place to run from her problems, yet it appears her strange presence hasn't gone unnoticed, as she'd earned an escort to the castle itself. footsteps behind her snap cecily from her reverie. an airy glance is cast towards the towering armor - clad figure assigned as her watcher, &. then she's pivoting to watch the rightful lord of rattay stride through large doors. ❛ ❛ forgive me– i would hail you as my lord, but i know not what title you claim for yourself. ❜ ❜

↳ the upright hanged man represents being temporarily suspended. life is on hold, but it serves a purpose. it suggests that you need to take a step back &. reassess your current situation. this is a time to be introspective &. to consider all of your options very carefully.

[warplanetarchived]

from @pawnedprince / with hypatia — in this world , you can trust two things ; your intuition and your sword.

she doesn't like this. she doesn't want to do this. she can tell hans is trying to help her — his tone is thoughtful and patient, not pushing her too hard or demanding too much improvement from her at once — but hypatia does not want to be helped. this is the last thing she wants to do. swing a sword. fight an enemy. if she had her way, she'd be in the gardens or in her room, or maybe in the small skyhold tavern chatting with new pilgrims or other soldiers. instead, she's out in the grassy center of skyhold's practice field with hans capon, allowing him to guide her through proper techniques and defensive stances. trust your sword, he tries to tell her, but how can she trust her sword when she barely trusts herself? "i'm not meant to do this," she warns him after a few minutes, her weak smile dulled in the noonday sun. "i'm not... good at this. sure, i'm getting better, but i... how do they expect me to lead the inquisition when i can barely block an attack by myself?" her eyes dart to hans, searching for his disapproval. will he be like her father and lecture her, or will he nod and understand her predicament? "there are quite a lot of people counting on me," she adds, and this time her voice sounds weak. she sounds hurt. "i don't want to let them down, but i... i can't be something i'm not. what do you think? am i a lost cause?"