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 ive  never  understood  where  the  line  is  drawn  between  self-sacrifice  and  self-slaugter.

#WARUINS 

an  independent,  highly  selective  and  private  original  special  forces  combat  medic  SFC  GLORIA  DE  LIMA.  established  in  2019,  reworked  several  times,  and  now  returns  to  her  original  telling.  this  blog  features  trigger  themes  about  war  and  its  aftermath  as  well  as  other  mature  subject  matter.  please  DNI  under  21. 

ENLISTED  BY  BLAIR.  SHE/HER  25+

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Patreon request for LeinadObtrebla on twitter!

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"White Rabbit #20" and "White Rabbit #24" by Debra Broz.

Source

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okay so i've decided a few things to try and make me less stressed about being here, because sometimes i worry people won't wanna respond to my threads if i write too much. but whenever i try to limit how much i write, i hate what i write. idk why. it stresses me out to no end. it's like, it feels bare and lifeless when i try and tone it down and kind of just .. limit my descriptors / insights into my character. and it makes me insane. so i'm not gonna do it anymore!!!!! you can respond back with any length you want, unless it's like one line -- generally i don't mind how much my partner writes, and there's no pressure to match me as long as i feel my effort is being respected. but on my own end, i don't want pressure on myself to match a shorter reply. (also nobody has pressured me directly, but i pressure myself!) but that's not to say that i won't write shorter things when i'm satisfied with it.

also if anyone has an issue with the fact that i may put other interactions on hold when i have brainrot for a specific fandom/muse, you can kindly leave! :3

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sometimes i think about how i could fix what bioware did w. lucanis and the disney-ficiation of the crows.

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“what should i do if... if i think a woman is special...” - for loghain - @vowspurned

LOGHAIN'S BROW SHOOTS UP WITH A SOFT GRIMACE. his lip wrinkling in a modicum of disgust, that is less in relation to the meek questioning of his son, and more-so due to the clear implications of such... and of course one could certainly argue that loghain was ill-equipped to handle such... potentially emotional conversations... and perhaps that was somewhat true, even now. it has always been difficult for loghain to entertain his own emotions regarding certain subjects, however fatherhood is subject to change a man... and your expectations are subject to grow and change, as your children grow older. honestly, if he had thought such a thing wouldn't come up, it would have been preposterous. and with maric's blood, the soft way in which he spoke and the words he chose were strangely comforting in themselves. even as he lingers a bit unsure in the threshold of alistair's quarters, where the warmth from the hearth cannot reach him. his icy blue eyes considering him, thoughtfully.

not every man parented the same way. his own father would have been honest with him, if loghain had half a mind to entertain ( or possess, for that matter, ) any romantic desires at such a young age. he'd never slept with anyone until he'd met rowan and maric, and before that, his life had been chiefly about survival. though looking back, he could realize that after his first brushes with the primal and devious desires of man, he would have little interest in such things until he'd felt a draw of love and gentleness to replace the traumatic notions such thoughts had carried beforehand. besides, this line of questioning was not necessarily about sex. and loghain was a man who was, at his core, a romantic one. even if it were in his own way. carrying his memory of his first attempt at courting, and the first sting of rejection. he had been clumsy, and he remembered such words and actions felt ill-fitting, at the time. though such memories only work to soften him, in preparation.

"why? --" loghain's head tilts to one side, and the raise of his brow becomes questioning. his dry, raspy voice extended slightly. in-fact, there might even be a soft, amused smile quirking at his lips, as he gestures. "have you met someone, then? or is this more of a hypothetical question?" he finally enters, shutting the wooden door behind him and making his way to alistair's bed. sitting down next to him similarly, with joined hands dangling between parted knees as his head turns to regard him.

soft black hair brushes his temples where it laid shorter in the front, the remainder of the waves shoved back, and falling over his tunic-clad shoulders. and he notices that, somewhere along the line, he had become more relaxed regarding the ordeal. 'because it would depend on the situation, i suppose." loghain shrugs.

AS SAID BY ALISTAIR THEIRIN. @vowspurned.

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loghain's banter with leliana is so painful and nobody understands.

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i swear every time i open pinterest i come across this picture and so i needed to finally draw something based on it

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"ROWAN --" loghain's coarse voice is curt, and sharp as it insistently cuts through the burning hot air that veils them within the thin walls of her tent. his chest is heaving, as he lies above her broad yet exceedingly lovely form. strong fingers wrapping about her wrist, as her insistent ones creep below his belt-line, and form around the shape of his indiscriminate arousal... ultimately halting their actions before they can go any further, with a pinched jaw and regretful curl of his upper lip as he stares down at her mortified eyes.. slowly morphing into those of understanding, when she nods at him, and both of their grips ease in tandem. "i... can't do this..." he says grimly, looking away, and she nods. "i understand." she tells him. and loghain, like always, knew that she did. they had both known what this was. and perhaps she had meant it, when she'd said that she no longer wanted maric. perhaps she never truly had. perhaps she had simply yearned for a future not destined for a loveless marriage. something loghain can hardly fault her for.

loghain hadn't remembered when he'd started crying. he hadn't even cried when he'd watched his father die, in that clearing. but when rowan had inevitably clutched his cheek, he was as surprised as she was to find tears had been clasped between their flesh. a flash of shame crossed his unsettling eyes amidst that confusion, as her breath hitched.. and he could not keep himself from surging forth in the midst of all of his overwhelming hurt, and anger, and kiss her.

it isn't as if loghain hadn't been attracted to her. he is, undoubtedly. rowan is a skilled warrior. one whom had almost bested him in single combat. partial to her wild curls, which he still remembered falling carelessly from her green-plumed helmet that day. she had broad, strong shoulders, and toned arms that could knock a man clean off his mount, when she had half a mind. she wasn't like most nobles. or, most women, in general. and loghain hadn't lied when he'd told her that she looked beautiful in the dress she wore, no matter the opinion of others.. she was a fine woman, it was true. but he did not love her. loghain is naught but an off-leash mabari war hound, helplessly loyal and imprinted to maric. always at his side, and snarling in wait to sink his teeth into anyone who so much as threatened him.

loghain crawled off of rowan, reluctantly, and she cleared her throat and gathered her raised silk skirts. both their faces were red from exertion, and the guilt-ridden shame, and they both sit silently at the edge of her bed, for a time. "you love him, don't you." rowan says, but it doesn't sound like a question, and loghain's pensive expression deepens. he does not answer her question. "i'm sorry, rowan." he says instead, "you didn't deserve this." he was surprisingly earnest, and his voice was eerily quiet. rowan shook her head, and loghain looks at her once she spoke. again, understanding one another almost wordlessly. "no, i did. and i agree with you. [...] i think in a way, we were both doing the same thing." she starts. "we were being selfish." loghain winced, but nodded. "i should go." he tells her, when normally he would silently move away. a tentative hand raising, and placing fingers once more to her rounded cheek. leaning forth to press a soft kiss to the one opposite.. and with a nod, and a visible clench of his jaw, stands and leaves her tent.

loghain knows what he has to do.. and if he wanted to do it in time, he had to start now.

[...]

the town of gwaren is still quiet, as loghain walks briskly towards the stables. the twilight's dew covered grass creating a pleasant smell in the air that mingles with the wet stone of the manor atop the hill, that loghain is entirely partial to.. as his early rising has always been a common occurrence. he had needed to wait for a maid to make her sleep-ridden appearance, in order to procure some of the items he'd needed for his journey.. even despite not yet knowing how long said journey would be. already surmising that once he arrived back to the old camp, and did what he had to do there... there was nowhere else for him to go. not quite belonging anywhere, it seemed. and the one place he had, he'd been spurned from. such worse than an unpaid tax on his family home. no four walls having comforted him as much as maric's presence.

but he had to let him go.

and this particular morning, loghain found no pleasure in the smells, nor the early-morning chatter of the rebel camp, post-victory. everything was quiet, and by all means, should be almost comforting. the smells, the sleepiness of the stables and the soft breathing of the horses.. loghain was even wearing his old, studded leathers, fitting almost like a second skin. longbow slung over his shoulder as he lead a beautiful beast from his pen... but his jaw still ached with how long it's been pinched, and the saddle-bags full of his lieutenant's cloak, meagre camping gear, and other such supplies lying on the ground at the war-horse's hooves, were a grim reminder of the way his skin rippled with the regret that he wilfully pushed down. the way the lingering pain made his fingers tremble despite the sternness in the manner of which he saddles the horse. like if he had simply put the intent behind his actions, they would suddenly feel like the right thing to do.... like he had told himself it had been, whenever that doubt crept up the column of his strong throat. do we refuse to accept the solution because it doesn't suit us? he doesn't want me, loghain says to himself. he's made that abundantly clear.

no. normally loghain wouldn't simply leave. he wouldn't shy away, and be cowardly. and while he should indeed have words for maric, and perhaps did, at one time -- he can't see why that would matter, now. not to mention that if he had gone to talk with maric, loghain knew - that somehow, those big, sad eyes would have convinced him against all sense and rationality, to stay. why when he hears those angry steps that are immediately identified as maric's, even despite the differed gait due to injury, loghain hisses inwardly.. chin lowering with a visible grimace only to the ground, as his teeth wound so harshly that his lip jumped. growling, under his breath.

loghain would have given everything to be maric's. he'd bled, already. laid his life at his feet, before he'd even pressed his lips like a promise of eternal loyalty, against his. he would have died for him. should have, died for him. and he too, would rend his heart from within his ribcage and lay it at maric's feet. and in terms of loghain and his cursedly internal emotional state, stunted and twisted by decades of haunting, he arguably already has. but maric did not want it. maric had shoved it back inside his open chest, and expected it to still beat as it once had.

he couldn't do this. he couldn't face him... hardly able to give a half turn to look at him contritely, noting his rushed appearance and flushed face of raw anger. turning away too-soon to realize it was hollow as loghain felt. but why? loghain asked himself. you've made your choice. if you wanted me, you never would have entertained her. katriel. it hurts to so much as think her name, and he realizes he hadn't until now. but maric's internal 'please don't leave' is met with an internal 'then prove me wrong'.

he focuses on tying the saddle, buckling it while he feels the bile rise up the length of his esophagus. loghain wincing in pure discomfort and undeserved guilt at the way maric's choked, desperate laugh hits his ears. his entire face hurts with the way he scowls, upper lip trembling now in the ache, but he cannot stop himself. exasperatingly finishing the saddling of his war-horse with a harsh tug, and still hesitating the act of finally turning to face this head-on. coward. you're a coward. "yes, i'm leaving." he states, harsh. finally spinning on maric with a flare of anger in his widened, iced eyes. loghain is still all ground teeth and trembling face, and he almost looks terrifying. "and i should have done it a long time ago." the words feel like daggers suddenly turned and jabbed into his own windpipe. feeling empty of intent, despite the emotion hissed into them like snake venom. seething with all the pain he held onto like a knot tied tight in his chest, finally let loose. "i said i would bring you back to your army, and i did. but now, it's time for me to go." he continues. he has to bring himself back to how he'd felt, before. like they'd never progressed past that point of their relationship where maric was another problem, and loghain was his reluctant protector. his chest was heaving, and he shook his head. uttering the most honest thing he's said since maric had arrived. painful to even have to look at him directly in the eye, as he does. "you don't need me, anymore." you've made that abundantly clear.

❝ KATRIEL — ❞ ALTHOUGH AROUSED BY KATRIEL'S MOUTH, by Katriel's moaning at anxious hands by hips, it isn't lust with which Maric says the woman's name. Katriel is beautiful, with blonde hair a halo, with a dress sleeve, a pristine white cotton, slipping off of a pale shoulder where blonde hair curls. Katriel is beautiful. But Maric's heart, painfully aching, belongs to another. ❝ — I CAN'T. ❞ Maric's heart belongs to another. He would break into his chest cavity and rib cage to rend his heart from his body for Loghain, a bleeding proclamation of love and devotion, but is that what Loghain wants? Would Loghain want Maric's bleeding heart, or would Loghain be horrified? It is horrifying, isn't it?

It's with horror, too, and a face flushed with embarrassment and mortification that Katriel says, now sitting at the edge of Maric's bed, ❝ I am so sorry, my lord. Maker forgive me if I was forcible! ❞

And Maric smiles, an aching pain of sympathy in the heart. ❝ You weren't forcible, Katriel, please. I find myself attracted to you, to be perfectly honest. ❞ And perfectly honest, Maric is. How would he not be attracted to Katriel? And for Katriel to be attracted to him — it's a satisfaction he would be remiss to part with, as selfish as it. My affections lie with another, dies in Maric's throat, then, but it isn't as though Katriel must be privy to who Maric's affections lie with, or that Maric's affections lie with another at all. ❝ But I would absolutely be taking advantage of you and your position. I know you said I wouldn't be, but I believe I would. ❞ Maric's smiling wryly. ❝ I'm also in no shape to, well, attend to a woman, you know. ❞ Katriel's smiling, now, too. ❝ Plus, I would like to learn more about who you are! You're a lovely person, Katriel. Could you, perhaps, tell me about yourself tonight instead? And I'll tell you all about who I am! ❞

Katriel's smile is softer, surprised, too, although twisting and twitching with what seems to be — sadness. ❝ Yes, I would like that ... ❞

[ ... ]

Maric and Katriel converse for an hour before Maric begins to be lulled by the soft, sing song of Katriel's voice. ❝ You could be a bard with your voice, Katriel, ❞ Maric says tiredly, not noticing how Katriel blanches at that, how Katriel's soft, sing song voice trembles with, Thank you, my lord. She shushes him, then, and says to him that he should sleep, so he sleeps, and he sleeps soundly. And it's roughly an hour before sunrise that he rouses for the second time to the chattering of soldiers — the same soldiers from the night before, he realizes, recognizing their voices. There's a harsher ache in his side, now, where the night before's dull ache was. He lies there, then, and listens, lulled, again, by their laughter.

I was saying — Oh, is that Loghain again? Maric's piqued by that, eyes open, ears pricked. Where do you reckon the lad's off to?

It's the woman, now, saying, with an armored, clinking, shrug that Maric can hear, Where? I don't know. He could be scouting, although I don't know why he would be.

He's hauling an awful lot to be scouting.

You think he's leaving, then?

Aye, I do. A damned shame, if it's true. The lad's talented.

Stitches and bandages straining, Maric's standing in a hurry and pulling on a pair of pants — and a shirt, too, for modesty — before pushes through the tent, to the surprise of the bystanders. Prince Maric? Are you all right? But Maric doesn't stop. But Maric can't stop, not with thoughts a hundred miles an hour a minute. Loghain is leaving. Loghain is leaving. Why? They hadn't had words since before the assault against the city, but they were on the same page, weren't they? Is Loghain having second thoughts? But Loghain wouldn't simply leave. Loghain, not a man to shy away and be cowardly, would confront Maric. Loghain would have words for Maric! Loghain should have words for Maric. But Loghain is leaving without saying a word, and Maric's heart is seized painfully by panic and horror.

Loading a horse's saddlebags — one of the larger warhorses with a dark coat — in the stables is Loghain, and rending in half is Maric's aching heart. It's the truth, then, that Loghain would have left without so much as a word to Maric, had Maric not hobbled to the stables in time. Why? If Loghain is angry with him, why wouldn't he say so? If Loghain hates him, why wouldn't he say so? Why wouldn't he say something? Anything at all would suffice! But Loghain is silent, staring at Maric with an unidentifiable look, and so is Maric, breathing hard and staring back at Loghain with a look surely identifiable as the anger and the sadness of betrayal.

Maric would break into his chest cavity and rib cage to rend his heart from his body for Loghain, a bleeding proclamation of love and devotion, but that isn't what Loghain wants. Loghain doesn't want him. To leave with such cowardice and without saying a word, Loghain didn't want him at all — not then, and certainly not now. And as much as he pretends that he's angry, teeth bared and breathing hard through his nose, all that's there, truly, is a nauseating pain and pricking tears. Please don't leave. Please don't leave. Please don't leave.

Maric remembers the night before, remembers Katriel, remembers the soldiers there. Had they heard? Had they told Loghain? Why would they tell Loghain? And Maric hadn't — Maric hadn't slept with Katriel, nor did he want to. And where was Loghain? He'd been waiting for him. Why wasn't he there? Did he not want to be there? Maric assumes that Loghain didn't want to be there, and Loghain's actions now surely indicate that. ( Did Loghain hear? No. Surely not. Surely not. ) Maker, he's sick, head spinning, side aching and stitches surely torn.

❝ You're leaving. ❞ Maric says, breathing in a sharp breath. Please don't leave. Please don't leave. Please don't leave. ❝ Why? I don't — ❞ He laughs pitifully, hands trembling, and wincing in pain and at the sensation of sweat and blood trickling down his surely pale side. ❝ I don't understand. You're not due to ride anywhere, and you're packing too much for that, anyway. ❞

Please don't leave.

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AS SAID BY ALISTAIR THEIRIN - PARTY BANTER *  updated version - assorted banter from dragon age: origins

they say you can get anything here. i once got pick-pocketed.

i don't know if i should take you seriously... but you scare me sometimes.

i locked myself in a cage once when i was a child. for an entire day. ahh... good times.

why do they call it a brothel? there's no broth. or is there?

couldn't you crawl into a bush somewhere and die? that would be great, thanks.

leave me alone.

i know where babies come from!

what would you do if someone told you that they loved you?

food shouldn't be frilly and pretentious like that.

we take our ingredients, throw them into the largest pot we can find, and cook them for as long as possible until everything is a uniform grey color. as soon as it looks completely bland and unappetizing, that's when i know it's done.

we're not going to be mobbed, right? that's not something they do here? mob people?

do you get the feeling things are just getting worse as we go up?

now that's just unnecessary.

i don't think we're alone. i really don't think we're alone.

is it just me, or did i do really badly back there?

excuse me while i begin projectile vomiting.

maybe she was ugly. maybe she had buck teeth. how would we know?

what is that smell? fish? and something else. oh... more fish.

uh-oh. i'm terrible at puzzles.

let's try not to get lost here. places like this can get you turned around.

i think there's something ahead. something big.

i don't even want to imagine where that leads.

you could be an utter moron, for all we know.

it used to get so quiet that i would start screaming until someone came running. i would tell them that i was just checking. you never know, right?

there's a certain allure to danger, isn't there?

i will never get over how quietly you are able to move.

i heard you often seduce your targets.

don't you wish you could have stayed there? to help more people, i mean?

i've never been very good at that. the steeling myself part. i find it better sometimes to just be a little weak. i'm all right with that, really.

i just wanted some advice.

what should i do if... if i think a woman is special...

i am not lost.

do i have a choice?

you find that curious, do you?

that's directed at me, i take it?

have you really been thinking about that all this time?

so let's talk about your mother for a moment.

why do you always go on about how stupid i am? i'm not stupid, am i?

it hurts my manly feelings, you know. all one of them.

you're not even listening to me.

you're joking, right? a five year old could answer that question.

so what's the deal with you and him, anyway? dare i ask?

that... is a ridiculous question.

i figure you'd be the sort who knows all about deception.

it's moments like this when i truly appreciate the difference between you and me.

you're... you're drunk, aren't you?

how do you manage to be constantly drunk? are we even carrying that much alcohol with us?

i guess a romance between you and i is completely out of the question.

you know a lot of big words.

you wouldn't understand.

don't you ever talk? you know, make polite conversation just to put people at ease?

i spy with my little eye... something that begins with... "G"

are you talking to me?

are we under attack?

i don't have to prove anything to you.

we're not exactly traveling in the lap of luxury here.

can you mend it? when we get back to camp?

i might catch a cold.

that's... one way of looking at it.

i have a hard time believing that.

it's not an outlandish question.

you know, of all the mages i've met you have to be the first one i can honestly say i've really liked.

why are you smiling like that?

i wasn't looking at... you know her... hind-quarters... i gazed. glanced... in that direction, maybe, but i wasn't staring... or really seeing anything even.

i hate you. you're a bad person.

i'm not an idiot. well, not most of the time.

you didn't answer my question.

if you aren't telling me, there must be a reason.

do you mind if i ask you a personal question?

have you... had many women in your time?

how do you... woo them? is there a technique?

i like my hair the way it is, thank you.

we aren't talking about this, are we? did i hit my head?

is that a smirk? are you smirking at me?

well aren't you just chock full of useless trivia today.

i suppose you don't care.

so when this is over, what do you intend to do with yourself?

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I had the pleasure of painting Loghain and the Battle of the River Dane for @dragonageannual calendar 2025: LEGACIES!

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I’m not reblogging all those, but just know y’all are all wanted and appreciated in this house okay?

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thanks to extended conversation with @berthindeath I can’t stop thinking about a universe where loghain just kept and raised alistair himself 🙃

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'i do my duty now as i always have. with all my heart'.

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HER FINGERS HAD PARTED THE BARRIERS OF her tent with a weighty sort of dread, at what sort of state she might have found him within. such worry translating perfectly to concerned, sad eyes... for the surroundings of their camp are thick with the grief of his energy, no matter how much he may wish to hide it. for despite all of his supposed complaining, and the pain carried much like the shield at his back, alistair had been so much of what had kept her upright amidst the darkness that threatens at all times to consume them. the constriction of her heavy plated armour having been almost too much, alongside it. felt like an additional weight on the walk from denerim, which she was glad to now be rid of.

even inside of her mind, in the confines of her once boundless dreams, demons crawl, with snarling faces she can feel like parasites wriggling beneath the skin in her waking hours. but he had taught her how to smile, again. reminding her in the midst of all this, that they are still allowed that touch of youth they are still very much within. even when she felt her innocence was lost. for each smile, and giggle evoked from her, amidst moments which allow all else to be forgotten? it means everything. the beginnings of love sprouting from infatuation bidding her heart to soar. reminding her that there is still so much of life to experience, yet. and a diamond requires a certain amount of pressure to bring it fully to life.

even if, this particular moment was particularly difficult. alistair's personal life, since redcliffe, seemingly intent on emerging, only to confront him uncomfortably at every turn. perhaps with the exception of bann teagan. however, while he worries of a perceived weakness -- she can confidently say that since she had met him, she's looked to him as naught but a strong, and chivalrous man.

fingers fretfully playing with one another, she slowly approaches the fire and sits down beside her anchor. the pang of remembrance mirroring that which had struck her inside of his sister's home. however, instead of allowing her heart to sink into her gut once again, she instead reaches out. perhaps a bit too quickly, though he doesn't seem to notice. too busy contemplating the kindling she brushes from his fingers, as her small smile, accompanied by wide eyes, are contrasted by licking flames at the sides of her oceanic gaze. though the way her thicker brows are both raised and brought inwards, offer an air of apology as well. lips arching a bit wider at the squeeze she then matches.

it feels as though he had just laid eyes upon her, though she couldn't hold his gaze for long. corners of those eyes scrunching gently, with her chin lowering. mouth pressed to try and curb her smile from growing uncontrollably. "perhaps..." she answers, biting her lip softly. peering up at him through long lashes.

though she swears she forgets how to breathe, when he relocates their hands. held in her throat, like a deer in headlights, as they fall upon his breast -- and her eyes glitter.... simply staring at him, for a long moment. wanting to be able to pay attention to the faintest hint of his beating heart.

when she speaks again, it's distant and soft. so painfully, endearingly soft. "would that make it worse . . . or better?" it mirrors one of the first things she'd ever said to him. 'i don't suppose you happen to be another mage?' he had asked. 'would that make your day worse?' she had answered. memory vaguely playing through her mind, as her breath hitches in her throat. still feeling the warmth of his kiss, when his cheek overlapped it.

she pushes herself closer to him. wrapping her free arm around his waist and resting her own head atop his.. "it will be alright, alistair." she smiles softly. sadly, now that his eyes were off of her. pressing a lingering kiss to his crown.. "you have a place in this world, i promise you.." she almost doesn't want to bring it up, lest she ruin this moment. lest he clam up, or she speaks the wrong words. but she continues, for it needs to be said.. "and it isn't with her.."

FLUTTER: sender catches receiver's hand in a quiet moment (helena uwu)

Amber  hues  gaze  into  the  flame  of  their  camp  fire,  his  expression  miserably  obvious  as  he  seems  to  be  absently  throwing  dry  grass  into  it,  watching  them  erupt  into  embers  before  disappearing  entirely  into  the  inferno.

All  he  had  wanted  when  they'd  entered  the  city  was  to  find  her.  To  find  that  connection  to  family  he'd  so  desperately  longed  for.  Family  he'd  been  deprived  of  for  the  entirety  of  his  upbringing,  shuffled  off  from  one  place  to  the  next  until  the  wardens.  And  now—what  is  he  left  with  but  disappointment?

He  senses  Helena's  presence,  thinking  to  perk  himself  up  a  bit  so  that  he  might  not  be  a  dreary,  depressing  cloud  over  her  when  their  situation  was  already  dire  enough.  The  perception  of  weakness  has  always  been  a  heavy,  self  inflicted  burden.  One  that  has  only  doubled  in  size  since  the  loss  at  Ostagar.  And  she  being  all  he  has  left.

As  she  sits  down  beside  him,  no  words  are  spoken  at  first.  Alistair  feels  the  sudden  need  to  fill  the  silence,  to  keep  her  from  thinking  anything  was  wrong.

He  goes  to  throw  the  remaining  blades  of  grass  in  his  hand  but  he  feels  delicate  fingers  pause  his  movements.  He  looks  down,  watching  as  Helena  brushes  the  grass  from  his  fingers  before  fitting  hers  between  them,  interlocking  their  hands  in  a  gentle  but  firm  grip.  There's  air  trapped  in  his  lungs  as  he  stares  at  their  joined  hands,  unable  to  stop  himself  from  giving  her  hand  a  squeeze.  But  when  he  loosens  his  grip  it  also  expels  the  held  breath,  almost  like  a  humorless,  airy  chuckle  as  he  finally  looks  upon  her.

"  Is  this  part  of  your  magic?  Making  me  feel  better?  "  He  asks  finally,  honeyed  hues  lifting  to  find  hers  as  he  he  draws  their  joined  hands  closer  to  him.  Rests  them  upon  his  tunic  draped  chest,  so  that  she  might  feel  the  way  his  heart  beats  faster  for  her.  Then,  he  brings  the  back  of  her  hand  to  his  lips,  pressing  a  kiss  into  the  gentle  soft  skin.  The  affection  lingers  until  he  turns  his  head  toward  her  and  rests  his  cheek  against  it.

In  this  moment  he  considers;  perhaps  she  is  what  he's  been  looking  for  all  along.

[muutos]

EMILIA CLARKE as DAENERYS TARGARYEN in GAME OF THRONES ↳ 5.01 - "The Wars to Come"

[muutos]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐎 👀.

okay so i got like, three books delivered this week, and in anticipation i reread another book that i had, and lads, let me tell ye, it was like quicksand. so now i have a list, some from my head, many from my wonderful friends’ heads, of prompts that basically made us all very soft or very “pleasantly scandalized rich lady from the sixties who just found out a juicy bit of goss about the new neighbor”. i hope ye like them! (DO NOT ADD TO THE LIST. I WILL MAKE A PART TWO. AND THREE. AND FOUR. MANY MANY PARTS. EVENTUALLY. )

[ HAIR ]:          sender slowly reaches out to catch a loose strand of the receiver’s hair and tuck it gently and securely back behind their ear, letting their touch linger afterwards. (if the receiver has short hair, then the sender reaches out and gently runs their fingers through their hair to smooth it back.)

[ CLOSE ]:          while standing remarkably close to one another, the sender is unable to stop themselves from running their gaze across the receiver’s body, lingering for a moment on their lips, before returning to initiate prolonged, intense eye contact.

[ CHIN ]:          as they stand close to one another, the sender hooks a finger and tenderly lifts the receiver’s chin, tilting it up so that they can look at one another, and running a thumb across their skin lightly.

[ THUMB ]:          while cupping the receiver’s cheek in their hand, the sender slowly glides their thumb across their cheekbone in a tender, sweeping caress.

[ WOUND ]:          upon noticing a recent injury on the receiver’s person, the sender carefully moves closer, running a thumb (or hand) across the wound in a gentle, troubled manner.

[ INHALE ]:          while standing in very close quarters to the receiver, the sender shakily inhales with desire/anticipation as they realize how intimately close they are to one another.

[ DANCE ]:          when alone together (e.g. the bedroom, the kitchen, literally anywhere once they’re alone) the sender takes the receiver’s hand, and pulls them into a graceful yet intimate dance as a spontaneous act.

[ BARE ]:          as they get undressed, the sender gently places a soft, tender kiss against the receiver’s bare shoulder.

[ SCAR ]:          noticing a scar on the receiver’s skin, the sender tentatively stops them from covering it up, and rests a gentle, soft kiss over it.

[ FOREHEAD ]:          placing a hand on the back of the receiver’s neck, the sender guides them close and rests their foreheads together.

[ PALM ]:          taking the receiver’s hand, the sender brings it to their mouth, and places a tender kiss against the receiver’s palm.

[ LINGER ]:          taking the receiver’s hand, the sender lifts it to their lips, and gently kisses their knuckles, lingering for a moment before withdrawing.

[ BEHIND ]:         upon entering the same room as the receiver, the sender steps behind them, and winds their arms around the receiver’s waist, drawing them close against them.

[ WAIT ]:          realizing the receiver is about to leave the room, the sender hastily reaches out and catches their wrist, preventing them from continuing their departure.

[ ARM ]:          after holding their hand, the sender releases the receiver, but slowly glides their hand up the full length of their arm, lingering on the upper arm, then the shoulder, then resting their touch against the side of their neck.

[ HOLD ]:          while close to the receiver, the sender wordlessly takes a hold of their hand, for no other purpose than to be holding it.

[ PLAY ]:          while sitting together, the sender absently lifts the receiver’s hand, idly running their fingertips across the lines of their palms, mapping out every inch of their hand with slow, lazy touches.

[ GUIDE ]:          in the process of guiding the receiver through a crowded place, the sender’s hand protectively grazes against the small of their back

[ TOUCH ]:          while touching the receiver’s waist, the sender’s hand briefly dips beneath the hem of their shirt, skimming briefly across the bare skin of their waist.

[ CUP ]:           bringing both hands up to cup the receiver’s face, the sender draws them in closer to them in order to get a better look at their face.

[ TUG ]:          the sender tugs the receiver close against them by resting a hand against the small of their back, pulling them flush against their body.

[ HUSH ]:          while standing close to one another and hiding from pursuers, the sender reaches up and places a finger against the receiver’s lips to prevent them from speaking and revealing their location.

[ WRAP ]: when sitting astride a horse/motorcycle/etc. together, the sender reaches back, takes the receiver’s wrists, and gently pulls their arms around the sender’s waist in an embrace designed to keep the receiver safe, despite feeling remarkably intimate.