#skyheld

[sylvansmercy]

        “you can go wherever you want to.” mei tilts her head curiously. she thinks if she had spent as long as ameridan did trapped in some kind of time spell, she'd want to get traveling as soon as possible. surely he's given enough to this world already. why stay? “you're free now.” — @skyheld (ameridan) / sc.

[accultant]

continued. @skyheld

Iago's work is a safety net for them, damn good as they are at it. It keeps them busy, quiet, out of sight, out of mind, and, most importantly, useful. They relied on this same sort of protection in the Circle, keeping both themselves and the spirit nestled in their chest Safe behind their dispensability. 

As selfish as their reasons are, Iago is still, well, damn good at it. The Inquisition is young, barely fluttering, but Iago can see it grow even from behind their often closed door. The insight of a bookkeeper provides very tangible, numerical proof of such. Not that Iago find themselves particularly hopeful. They'll crunch the numbers, do the deskwork, and leave the rest to the soldiers and scouts until the 'Herald' takes care of the holes in the sky. If their brother was here, they might lull themselves into being more invested (he's always been their needed push towards compassion), but for now, they wish only to keep their head low, letting the Inquisition fly or flounder as it wishes. With Iago's steadily growing funds, of course. 

"It's no bother," Iago is careful not to reply too quickly while Halliserre looks over the paperwork that drowns their desk. 

They manage a mumbled, “at least he tries…" at the work she hands them, in dire need of Iago's corrections. 

"I am sure you have much better things to do than collect dust in here with me," Iago says, reluctant to lose their work. The First Enchanter took that lifeline first, before she eventually came at them with a brand and a promise of a quieter, mind-tamed life. 

As if they aren't half-buried behind the work, they add, “It really isn't so bad.” 

[avrorean]

🌲

POSITIVITY MEME || Accepting ↪ send 🌲 and i'll recommend a blog with thought-provoking headcanons

I only got a handful of these prompts so I'm gonna cheat and do multiple (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

@laperlina the sheer extent of storycrafting and worldbuilding Aqssa writes absolutely floors me. I love Adelaide so much. sometimes I just go through her info blog about her because it really is like reopening a chapter full of information about my favorite book, and it's one of those instances where I feel like I can lose myself in the world that's being crafted around this oc. I have so much respect for oc blogs who run entirely off original lore, and Aqssa's creativity is equal parts stunning and inspiring all at once. The dedication makes me feel inspired to push the boundaries of my own hcs and how I build them as well~

@isalarevas Farllee has been in the Big(tm) hc game for ages now and it's ALWAYS fantastic to read. The amount of work they've put in to craft this big, multi-warden universe with interconnecting threads and complex narratives—especially with my faborite bby albatross cenah at the center of this big shifting narrative—and I'm always ready to lock in when he drops another Big(tm) hc because i know I'm in for another expansion to Cenah World. The way she gradually grows from the unfavored child of Clan Lavellan into THE symbol of inspiration for the elves even after her (first) end coupled with the Tabris curse is 🤌

@craftsjoy Saint has put in so much work not only gathering all the canonical information on June throughout the games that often gets unseen or not paid attention to, but has taken all those pieces of the man that haunts the entirety of the series' narrative and has built the character I wish he'd been allowed to shine as. June as a person who both embraces his identity with so much pride and joy and struggles with his place in the empire and where he is in the aftermath, all with the depth and respect he deserves to have had. I love him SO much

[chaostides]

unprompted !

@skyheld sent: An acorn is flung at Alara with such force it shatters the glass in her hand. Ameridan doesn't know why Hakkon needed to take control momentarily to do that of all things, but for once he doesn't question the war-god's intentions. Of course, he is innocent, judging by his expression.

❝       hey– !       ❞

one minute she's enjoying the sweetness of their spoils, the next, her goblet is crudely halved, the smooth lip suddenly a jagged-edged & uneven crown. that's good wine she nearly protests, but it withers on the vine when she nearly steps on a perfectly golden acorn the size of a pit, still settling among the bed of shattered crystal & amaranthine red, which also pours down her hand & stains her sleeve the garnet of blood.

she wheels on him, lurching forward with all the elegance of a drunkard evicted from a tavern, but the confused cleft between his brows declares his innocence, sobering her into mortified stillness. no, as the red drains from her cheeks & her vision, the culprit becomes obvious.

crunching a path over the broken shards in the grass, alara chucks the sharp remains of the cup, a weapon she does not trust herself to hold when confronting his demon, into the campfire. coolly, then, she turns & addresses the unlucky fello who'd woken up with to find himself stranded on a battlefield in the middle of a war. ❝       i'd like a word with that parasite of yours, if you would summon it.       ❞

[inevitableking]

@skyheld from here:

He'd been hoping the joke would land better than that, but Shianni looks about as relaxed as he felt the first half-dozen times someone had tried to kill him. Which is to say not relaxed at all, and he knows that it's on him to try to talk her down as well as himself. He doesn't blame her, either - she's just watched guards haul somebody away, and now she's stuck standing alone with him while everybody else continues to socialize none the wiser just a few rooms away.

"Would you like her to be tortured?" he asks honestly, because it's not something he suspects if her expression is anything to go by. This thing is - he hadn't noticed anything. Not the knife, not the expression, not the weird slink. He'd been too busy thinking about everything he'd need to discuss before the night was over, and which fork was going to be the right one for dessert. Shianni had recognized the pattern and acted before he'd even noticed the girl was there. It was impressive and frankly, a little humiliating. But he at least owes her the grace of her opinion for it.

"Or," he continues, "You saw something I completely missed about the situation. You're better at reading these things than I am, clearly. Maybe you and I could skip the rest of the dinner and go down there to talk to her, see if we can figure out what's going on. Because I'd really rather make sure I understand, and I'd really like to know if I've done something to make my own servants feel homicidal. Seems like something I should at least be aware of, don't you think?"

[scapedgrace]

        “i'm sorry, i...” hawke hesitates, swallowing, a furrow in their brow. they recognize merrill, her lilting voice the trigger for a handful of precious memories, but they still feel...awkward. uncomfortable. like they're trying to fit back into old skin that doesn't suit them anymore. “i'm just...having some trouble remembering.” — @skyheld / sc.

[intothewildsea]

@skyheld (merrill)

The steps they sat on weren't on the main path, but it was still easy to people watch. Hawke had dragged Varric into a nearby shop to grab some things, leaving Niamh and Merrill to their own devices for the time being.

"I bought the cinnamon bread. It smells great! Hopefully it tastes good, too." The bread from the bakery was still warm. Niamh tore off a piece and held it over to Merrill, smiling. "I miss baking my own, but it's hard when I don't have access to an oven."

[wisdomsought]

❝ Mercy is rarely a complete mistake. ❞/ameridan

disco elysium // accepting // @skyheld

   “But you admit it is a mistake.”

It was not a question; not in tone, intonation or in the light eyes that stare into the Inquisitor of old.

It would be a mistake that would cost them dearly, not that Solas had given them an opening to strike - even if they had wished to. It would be a critical flaw that would only lead to their undoing: this belief that he could be stopped if they could only reach him. It reached in between his ribs and cut him up like knives: how many times would they be willing to accept the reality before their eyes. How many times until disappointment stopped being the particles that blinded them and finally settled. How many times until they understood they only put themselves in danger and made his work harder, harder on the heart and harder on the world they stood and claimed to love.

There was no other path but through; and if not him, then who?

   “If you can convince Varric and the Inquisitor to stop this endeavour… You should.” truthfully, it should be his main goal, if he was truly traveling with either of them. Perhaps both. There is a shadow of a bitterness for a warm past that wraps around his shoulders like a swift hug, releasing him just as quickly.

The Dread Wolf looks upon Ameridan, his armour barely a smudge in this dream but so different still from the clothes that Solas had once worn. The lightness, the enjoyment that he had allowed himself to linger in, it was an indulgence that they now all paid for dearly. That the real price would still come to pass “The mercy they offer will not be offered in return.”

It was cruel, but this was the only gift that he could offer them: a period of peace while he prepared, making adjustments, focused on reduce the damage to this world and the fade as the Veil came down. An offer for them to stop and a promise that to continue chasing him would not change the outcome, it could only worsen it.

The path he walked was filled with misery and death, and if Solas could shield them before the time came, that was what he would wish for them.

If there was anyone that could change their minds, Solas trusted, that it would be Ameridan. One of the few that allowed him still to walk into his dreams.

They both sat before a soft roaring fire, there are voices in the distance. The edges of the dream are too unfocused for Solas to make sense of them though he could make sense of the shapes that looked like Aravels. Nothing looked familiar though the weather around them fell warm despite the depth of the darkness just beyond the small circle of light.

Solas raises from where he sat. His eyes lingering in the neatly folded linens half embroidered atop the nearest stump. His face cast in the darkness from the fire, the brightness from his armour washing out everything else - how did it come to be that even in dreams he felt himself worn too thin, fraying at the edges. Listening the crackling of the fire in a split pause that feels like an eternity, he can almost hear the tension at his neck as he returns to look to Ameridan, both hands coming to rest behind his back. His lips settle in a distant as he walks into the undefined darkness, leaving the other by the fire.

   “It would be kinder in the long run.”

   You’d have my gratitude.