seen from Russia
seen from Togo
seen from Nicaragua
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from Malaysia
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Iraq
seen from Jordan
seen from Belgium
seen from Spain
seen from Togo
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from China
seen from Thailand
seen from Türkiye
obsessed with the way the tips of solas' ears are slightly downturned. obsessed with the fact he had an ultra edgy deathhawk--like, they gave this man a double side shave. obsessed with the incessant prim and proper mannerisms. obsessed with how pink his lips are, and how his eyes resemble the periwinkle tones of delicate little forget me not flowers, as if he could ever be forgotten.
Rest now…..my warrior. Rest now, hardship is over. Live. Wake up. Wake up. And let the cloak, of life – cling to your bones. Cling to your bones. Wake up, wake up. Live. Wake up. Wake up. And let the cloak, of life – cling to your bones. Cling to your bones
Wake up. Wake up!
Live!
( for @lifereturned )
be his valentine ♥
CAMERA WENT RIGHT INTO HIS--
I am thinking fondly of Solas making it out of the Fade thanks to Rook, the only one second to the Inquisitor who seems to understand him. Rook carries Solas with his fresh scars, sad eyes, and weary body to a plush bed tucked away in a warmly lit nook, and Solas finally has his rest, letting his eyes close to sleep, with Rook at his side, watching over him.
The sun has set, the world is dark and quiet. He sleeps… and sleeps… for months. Perhaps a year. Perhaps forever, to a mortal with limited time in this world. Rook changes with time, maybe a few greys from stress, or a newfound ache in their bones. Maybe they change their hair, or style it like Solas' used to be. Maybe they grow old. They never leave Solas for long, isolated from the world, a promise to keep of never letting him be alone again. And Solas stays the same, curled up on his side in deep slumber, with slow, deep breaths. Rook never left, whether it was a few weeks, or their whole life, sitting against the bed, waiting, even in death. And perhaps his soul lingers in the room until it merges with Solas, giving him a soul.
Someday, the sun will rise again.
I'm imagining Solas holding as many mirrors as he can in his arms up to each other with dozens of reflections of himself in all of them, huffing about trying to get it just right
