#weishaupts

[blacknighted]

@weishaupts asked: why are you looking at me like that ? / THE DUSTY TOYBOX: still accepting.

Forget that! "Sakra, did you just clobber him?"

She probably did! -- but to his credit, his thoughts whirring with the ground strewn far above his head, he is too dazed and too throttled to properly tell. Why, just a second ago, unfortunately, he had been in what Sir Emmrich would label a rather vigorous conniption. See, some bastard had raved about the refugees, that bedraggled, hungry push of such miserable wretches, and riled, his heart but the size of a fifth-month solstice, Hal, come from Skalitz, threw his fist. Maker, and how he ate it, obviously, with the bastard about the size of a far off mountain, but as he ogles this girl with a storm in her eyes?

Not her. Fuck. His wires crossed, his brain wrests with horrified and aroused and picks horribly aroused. "Guh. I'm gonna feel that come morning... Before you start, he had it coming." Can you pick me up?

[dcvrin]

// @weishaupts

“You hear they’re trying to separate us?”

Davrin spoke through a smile as he followed Athera through the forest. His eyes were focused on the back of her head. The First Warden had tossed an old map of the Hunterhorn Mountains into her hands and sent them on their merry way. They had dropped into Laysh to get more supplies and were supposed to be closing in on their destination. It was an unmarked, deep cavern.

Some of their colleagues found weird mutated darkspawn in a mountain a few years back and the Grey Wardens had been clearing them out ever since. The one they were headed to was the last and the smallest. So, the First Warden was hoping, the easiest. Otherwise, sending just the two of them was practically an assassination attempt. Was the First Warden so far up his own ass he would put his own people in danger?

…anyway.

Davrin would see to it that him and Athera got out of this. It’d be a damn shame to not hear that laughter again. “Whoa!”

Davrin caught himself on a nearby tree. He almost fell over. No. He had almost been knocked over. He forgot. There wasn’t two of them here— there was three.

A baby griffon rubbed up against his pant leg. “You’ve ever heard of personal space?” He asked him. Of course, the response was a squawk. He shook his head and scratch behind the little guy’s ears. Still no name yet… but that’ll come.

“That’s why they assigned me as a griffon babysitter.” Davrin entertained the idea that the First Warden sent the little guy along as a test of sorts. But Davrin thought it was a bit dangerous. The griffons were just kids, definitely not ready for the battlefield. Yeah, it was supposed to be in their blood but Dalish was in his and look where that got him. In the middle of the woods with a hot… Dalish girl. Huh. More for that thought later.

“These guys are cool and all—“ A squawk of agreement at that. “But I do prefer spending my time on someone else.”

[blacknighted]

Henry is a great many things: spirited, foolhardy, and, Maker bless him, as loyal as a guard dog. Yet, it isn't often that pitiful's a quality he just goes on and subscribes to like some ten-copper chapbook. Still, often's not quite never, unfortunately, as he looks to her dumbly with her sweet, sweet smile. Now, why is dear Henry sat flustering a tickle awkward? In that seat in the tavern, the dear thing starts.

"Sorry, I don't want to lead you on." Excuse me? "It's nothing against you, promise! You're, well, you're good company, and I'm sure you're a lovely girl, but I've already got someone I'm very much sweet on. She's hair like yours, actually! And them same bright eyes." What? Oh, goodness. How much of this moonshine has he gone on and nursing? And what girl? Same eyes? He can't mean— Oh. Her. "Hard not to notice her. I can go on about that girl, I can." / @weishaupts liked for a starter.

[blacknighted]

@weishaupts asked: i like to think , at least , things can't get any worse . / ↪ 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: still accepting.

"That all? After some bastard comes in and steals you from us?"

How unthinkable. Henry spins on her. Behind them, in her room, the water, her staring baubles, darken in terror.

But, well, then again, when a man would loom lumbering like a maelstrom might, there would wear perhaps no better palette quite like black. Indeed, the whole of him would seem to humble all the twilight, his air as thundering and as fathomless as the emptiest pitch. His jaw clenched, the line of sits taunting like everything a fever as it nears a fucking break, but who here still breathing would scold him for his anger? And fouler yet, who here so foolish would dare to try?

"For you, no, it won't," Henry seethes. "I can promise you that." I can promise that with my heart. "But when I get my hands on that fucking rat," he barrels hotly, "I reckon I'm likely to humble a god, aren't I?" Athera. "Aye, I'll tear down his temples, and I'll tell him that's what I'm due!" He fucking took you! Schism the earth and heavens! Yes, yes! "You hear me?! It's not happening again!"

[blacknighted]

a kiss for athera’s favorite birthday boy

Slowly, he comes to wake.

"Mmm?" Henry, for all the years that the stars have known him, has never cared much to so frivolously want or to so grossly desire. He's simple. He likes simple, tasty stews, and simple, gentle loves — there, in the clasp of her arms by the thump of her heart. To the point, he's learned that it's scarcely the complexity of the matter that would so color all the quality or the heft or the value in something. Not at all. For the fullness of a thing to enjoy on its own? She kisses him. Simplicity! He beams at her, a whole decade or two younger.

"Alright, you." Come here. Quick! He's reaching for her. She's sweet. He thinks of bees, meadow-bright-lullabies, the verdants with giggling, silvery brooks, and bloating groves made fat with the sun-swelled flowering. In his lap now, he feels how cloven she has left him, how divested he has become of both his sword and his armor and duty. He's just Henry. Her love, her darling, and the warm in her bedsheets! He kisses her back, volleying them. Happy birthday. Another year. By you. That's all he's asking.

[blacknighted]

@weishaupts asked: the nightmare, again?

Henry doesn't say yes. Sweating, eyes shut and breaths trembling, he would believe that those tells that shake his body offer answers enough. In saying that, she'd feel all those wraiths that haunt his marrow, his every shuddering like those buildings that had toppled at home. He would see his felled village in the shadows, his ma wallowinf in the space in that dark behind his eyes, and struck, he can hear her bubbling as she grappled at their sword and father... Butchered. Breathing, he catches the greediest, foulest glimpse of drooling blood.

Skin cold, he turns nigh on phantom-like, lonely, smaller than perhaps ever he has seemed in Athera's company. In his bedroll, he appears all of twenty-three again, still soft and still young and still half of a lamb. Alas, he's feeling forty in his seasons, his beard thicker, his heart darker, and that blue that tints his staring like the surging of a sea. He must seem wild to her, lost, struck desperate for an anchor. Their eyes meet. Their campflame smote, he still sees it, the ask in her eyes all bright and silver.

"I hear them," he manages thickly. A frog croaks. The crickets peal, and Henry feels so, so alone in his humble lean-to. "They speak to me, ask me if I know what I'm doing." And... Looking away, he feels it: all the blood on his hands.

[pawnedprince]

" this place sucks, you know that? " a frown sets so deeply into his features, one might be tempted to warn him his face would freeze that way. he slumps further against the wall, perfectly petulant, not spilling a single drop. " we never go anywhere nice. you never take me anywhere nice. " / @weishaupts

[blacknighted]

@weishaupts asked: stop staring at my ass! / ENEMIES TO LOVERS PROMPTS: still accepting.

Sweet Maker! "Oh, so now you care about modesty? Alright! Fine! I reckon I'll just close my eyes then, should I? Would that tickle you, your ladyship?"

Henry, you...! Sakra, what nonsense. They're here on account of her tomfoolery, her loathed-to-still tongue, and now arguing in a tunnel, he's laid here suffering. Wedged behind her quarters, Henry would be bristling at her glower had he the line of sight at all. Alas, all that's here to fill his eyes is his fellow warden's boots and her very nice rear, and beyond that, the dark of the channel beneath the stone of their jail cell! It's night. Even here, he can hear crickets chirruping. "We wouldn't be in this mess if you'd just kept your mouth shut, and you know I'm right," he says, sweat dabbling down his chin. Yelling down an upstart and fighting in the streets... His hands still twinge with it. "Can't you blast us through quietly?"