#took writes

[breitweisergallery]

My pride, she murmurs. Her hand cups his cheek; the dam breaks. Solas’ head drops to her shoulder and he shakes with the force of his tears. Don’t cry, vhenan. 

I have done this, he chokes out. Lavellan smiles and shakes her head and brushes his tears away. She presses her finger to his chin and raises his head. 

Lift your chin, my love. Stand tall. His jaw trembles with effort but he meets her eyes. They called you a god in jest, but they did not know your strength. You can save our people, our people, lethallin. But you mustn’t let the stories woven stray you from your path. 

My path is lost. Our people are lost. 

They are not lost, so long as they have a guide. Lavellan smoothes her hand over his cheek, over the pockmarks and freckles, and traces his lips with her fingertip. You have a clever tongue, vhenan, and your wisdom and pride to counsel you.

Solas shakes his head, each movement drowning in hopelessness. I am not you, he whispers, I cannot lead as you did. 

Then lead as you have, she says, and kisses him carefully. His hands settle at her waist, a familiar warmth, and he kisses her back, desperate longing and fear swallowing him whole. Be brave, my pride, Lavellan smiles and nudges her nose against his. His face scrunches up into the look she is so familiar with. Ar lath ma, Solas.

[amazingtook]

Through the Ice

Hey! This is just a little story, I hope you enjoy :)

It was a cold winters day in Iceland. The misfit boys were lounging in their rooms in a cabin they hired for a small vacation. Cam was tidying up the main living room after a pretty rowdy night, while the rest of the boys tried to sleep away their hangovers.

Mason came down the stairs with a blanket draped over him in what seemed to be a makeshift cape

“Cam, does it normally snow this much here,” Mason asked

“I’m afraid so, kinda why they call it Iceland mate” Cam replied with a gentle smile on his face

“Fuck off” Mason went and sat on the couch “are we still going exploring?”

“I don’t feel up to it and I don’t think Matt will either, you know that Toby isn’t the biggest fan of here, but I think you could still convince the other two out”

“So, we can go then?”

“What am I your dad? I don’t give a fuck”

“Or are you?” A new voice pipes up, the two men looked to the stairs to see Jay walking down with a sleepy look “Are we still going out today?”

  “Mason! Don’t you dare.” Swagger said sternly. The three had finally made it out and pulled over near a forest that Mason thought looked ‘magical’. Swagger found himself staring at Mason who was holding a snowball, aiming at him. “Mason, I swear to god”

Swagger should have known better than to tell Mason he shouldn’t do something. Before Swagger could even react, he was met with a snowball in his face faster than he could duck. Staying still for a few seconds Swagger felt his anger rising before running at Mason.

“Swags! Wait!”

However, Swagger was too fast and tackled the shrieking Aussie onto his stomach before grabbing a handful of snow and shoving it down Mason's pants. Defeated Mason just let out another shout before looking at Jay who was doubled over laughing.

“Jay, buddy, I thought you liked me,” he asked with mock hurt

“Sorry mate” Jay held up his hands showing no signs of remorse “I’m not strong enough”

“Damn right, have you see-” Swagger was cut off my Mason getting up and shouting at something.

“Guys look! That lakes frozen over! Do you think we could go on it?”

“I don’t see why not, it’s been snowing quite heavily,” Swagger said making his way over towards the lake. Missing how the clouds were getting darker promising new snow. 

When he got to the lake Swagger tested the lake out placing on foot seeing if it could hold his weight. Deciding it was fine he started to fully walk on the lake. Hesitantly Mason followed trusting Swagger, looking behind him, he saw that Jay was standing still and hadn’t moved

“Jay? You coming?” Mason Asked

“Nah, I’m just going to wait I think”

“Okay, suit yourself”

Swagger and Mason slowly made their way onto the ice, pushing each other and laughing when they almost fell.

“This is so cool Swags, I wish it could snow back home”

“Mason you literally haven’t stopped fucking complaining about the cold since we arrived”

“Shut up cunt”

As the two bickered they turned back to land only to see that Jay had started to make his way onto the ice towards the two boys.

“Well look who decided to join us” Swagger joked

“The ice is safe… right Swags?” Jay asked, noticeably looking nervous

“I mean I’m here I’m heavier than you, if it can hold me it can hold you”

Jay nodded and continued towards the two. He didn’t really want to be on the ice, he’s heard too many stories of people getting trapped, but after seeing the other two messing about he decided to stop being such a pussy. He was trying to follow the path the other two took but failed to see how far off course he had got, he didn’t know that he was currently treading on dangerously thin ice.

 Only ten feet from Swagger and Mason, Jay took a step and heard a sickening crack. Looking down he could see more cracks appearing at his feet, unable to move he held his breath preparing for the ice to break. The cracks stopped, and Jay gingerly moved his foot to match his other one, letting out a deep breath when he only heard the snow.

Looking up at Swagger and Mason he could see them also relaxing, eyes still wide but relieved that the danger had passed. Jay chuckled over them all freaking out over nothing. He shifted his weight to take another step when the world was pulled from underneath him and he suddenly plunged into the icy depth of the lake.

 “JAY!!!”

Part 2 coming soon :)

[breitweisergallery]

You stretch out on the bed, all sharp angles and lithe muscle and I think, again, that I would give you anything. Auburn strands that burn like fire in the light halos around your head. A pleasant, pleased hum leaves you, rumbles in your chest where my head rests.

You are warm and steady, and, most importantly, you are here. Here, touching me like I am nothing more than another body in your bed. Silk beneath us on sweat-cool skin, you wave your fingers in a blatant display of magic. 

I should punish you for such a thing in my presence. Instead I take apart each strand woven, the very colour of your essence, and commit them to memory. The same colour of the branches, my branches, inked to your skin. 

I reach out to trace those lines with my fingertip. You watch with violet eyes, stormy. I don’t mean to make you angry, not again. We have had this argument many times now. 

I would take this from you. I say, repeated like they are carved into my heart. 

The storm deepens, extends. Howling winds with each inhale, a torrential downpour with every exhale. Rumbling thunder in your voice when you say, no.

A single word, meant to shatter. Shatter my heart to pieces like a glass knocked from a height. Scattered refractions of light through each individual piece, breaking and broken. Every possibility happening in a moment all at once, when you say, no.

Your expression doesn’t soften though your touch does, knuckles brushing my cheek. Against better judgement, I long for it, lean into it. 

Why?

It is not yours to take from me. You say, matter-of-fact. It is worse than anger, worse than the cold front you once directed at me. 

It is-

It is mine, you interrupt. On my face. You speak of choice, of freedom, yet you would not allow me the freedom to keep this?

An age-old argument we have had countless times. Again and again, I visit you in these silk-draped rooms of green and gold. An evening spent away from the peering eyes of others, lit by the roaring fire you tend to with a flick of your fingers. An evening spent where you speak freely to me. I am not the All-Mother, not your goddess, your creator, but a woman. I hate it but I find myself returning regardless. 

I yearn for these nights when I am away. The pleas of the people, the queries for justice and mercy, the benevolence, it fades away at the thought of you. You, beneath me, with your talented tongue and seeking lips. You, damp and warm and focused on me. 

I long to touch you. To run my fingers along the ridges of your ribs, the divots of your hips, to feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. In my bed, alone, I dream of you, Desire and Longing making themselves known in the corners of my rooms. Grander than yours, yet so much more empty. Colder, lonelier, where I am doted on and tended to. 

How are you happy here? Where you must share your body every day, every night, to pay your way? I have offered you freedom time and time again and yet you refuse it. Why do you wear your chains so willingly? Like jewellery, bangles clanging on your wrists when you dance in the darkening light of the evening. Green ink painted on your cheeks and forehead; I would free you, if only you would let me. 

Why do you allow your pride to diminish what you could be? What you should be?

Why do you tell me no?

[breitweisergallery]

After the sheer discouragement I've felt with working on my book, I can successfully say I added a prologue.

[breitweisergallery]

The stories never began with once upon a time. It was one of the few things he could remember clearly, even from as young an age as the stories began.

Seated on the bed together, his legs tucked underneath the thin quilt Nanny had brought for him when she found him curled in a ball shivering one particularly cold afternoon, he tilts his head and waits for the story to begin.

The stories never take place in places or time far away. Last Tuesday, Isaac says, or in the case of Yohan's favorite, sometime tomorrow, and then the words weave together and Yohan closes his eyes and listens to the way the stories unfold.

Today is no different. Isaac soothes back his hair and presses a kiss to his forehead and smiles at him from behind smudged glasses. "Tell me a story," Yohan asks, hates the way his voice breaks when he speaks. Isaac doesn't tease him, not like the other kids at school — as though they are any better, as though they aren't suffering the same effects of puberty as him. Isaac smiles at him and soothes his hair back again and wipes away a bit of dried blood from a scabbed-over cut hidden in his hairline. Wooyoung had pushed him, hard enough for Yohan to lose his balance, for his head to hit one of the tables, to start to bleed. Wooyoung had only laughed, Jaehyuk and Hamin laughing with him, shoving each other in a playful manner. Only ever playful, compared to the outright disgust when they look at him.

"Six months ago, I heard a story," Isaac says, drawing him back to the present with that voice he takes on when he begins to weave a story together, the words like magic spinning a web, and Yohan his willing victim, entangled in the web and waiting for his fate. "There was a fish who wanted to walk on land. 'That's crazy,' the other fish said; 'we are fish, we swim in the water and we avoid the people who try to eat us. Why would you want to walk on land, where the people who eat us are?'

"But the fish was determined. He wanted to walk on land. Swimming near the surface of the water, he met a bird. This bird was lonely. He wanted a friend, but the other birds mocked him. He looked different from them. 'Hello,' the fish said, surprising the bird. 'Do you want to be my friend?'

"'No one wants to be friends with me,' the bird replied. But the fish was determined. 'I'll be your friend,' the fish said, 'if you show me the world where the land is.' Desperate for a friend, the bird agreed and picked the fish up, flying him through the air to see the land."

Yohan waits.

And waits.

But Isaac doesn't say anything else, just brushes his hair back.

"Hyung!" Yohan protests. Isaac smiles at him. "Finish the story."

"That is the end of the story, Yohan-ah," Isaac stands, stretching his arms up over his head. "Good night. Sleep well, Yohan-ah."

Yohan wonders, as he drifts off to sleep, if he is the fish or the bird. Even now, even still, he doesn't know. He considers, however briefly, telling Gaon the story. But he keeps it to himself, a little piece of Isaac purely his own.

[breitweisergallery]

@thedeviljudges made me feel good about my writing again so I'll post the little snippet I wrote the other day...

[breitweisergallery]

✨ weekend wip exposure club ✨

rules: post 7 sentences/a snippet of an unfinished work

He was there. His eyes fell on the man, swinging a staff with the practised efficiency of a soldier. He turned, his head tilting up.  Their eyes met.  Felassan? Even across twenty feet and the sounds of fighting and shouting, Felassan recognised the sight of his own name on Solas’ lips. He pulled an arrow, notched, and drew the bow. Solas took a step backwards, eyes widening. It wasn’t worth pretending he didn’t feel a hint of satisfaction at the momentary panic in Solas’ eyes. Felassan let loose the arrow and watched with a calm he couldn’t place as it flew past Solas’ shoulder and met its mark in the demon behind him. Solas jerked back and spun, staff spinning in instinct as mana gathered and sparked off in a knife of ice. 

[breitweisergallery]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Truth be told, Yohan isn’t sure what he’s doing. It’s been a long time since he felt so unsure, grasping at nothing in the sea of politics and revenge that have been underneath his feet for over a decade. Vengeance is so much easier when you don’t care whether or not you survive the endeavor, Yohan thinks more than once, clicking his pen in irritated mindlessness and staring unreading at the documents in front of him. But Yohan knows the depths of pain that loss brings, especially such needless loss. And he could never allow Gaon or Elijah to reach the depths he had sunk to for comfort.

The prologue has been posted :)