#&: █ ❛ *verse: to end a blight. ◢

[usagimen]

Things I think of a lot when it comes to Sayuri (Dragon Age version)

Running to the Inquisitor && taking her jacket off to secure their warmth after the events of Haven. She follows Cullen through the snow only to shield the Inquisitor from the elements, visibly distraught.

Her introduction in DAI is during a party where she shows off parlor tricks with a champagne glass, using a dagger to cut the cork && glass. It’s unbelievably decadent, fancy, all the while toasting to the Inquisitions pursuits.

Prefers masc clothing when roaming Skyhold, loose tunics tucked haphazardly into breeches, leather gloves, her hair is always loosely braided or in romantic waves. She is never seen without her mask but has a thousand for functionality && occasion. It is considered taboo for her to be without a face, even if one was to remove her mask, they would find a thick layer of cosmetics underneath to shield her natural state.

Speaking of such a thing, it happens during the events of Haven where she quickly shields her face but one can see the gruesome scar where later on she will reveal there is nothing in this life to fear. Not the Blight, not the Empire, Mages, Tevintor, except her - she is a ruthless hunter && spiteful when all she loves is threatened.

Her color scheme is pastel pink, ivory, and gold in this verse. In Trespasser she is seen in a beautiful white dress giving alms to the children of Val Royaux during the holidays.

Her faith is an incredible backbone to her story, Sayuri knows the collections of the Chant of Light. One can hear her often praying during the times she is allowed to relax, though she is faithful && revered as Andraste’s Dove, she often makes crude jokes in such manners. If the Inquisitor is Dalish, she does not hold the belief that the Maker has sent them as their herald, instead, the Inquisitor is the brightness that wards the dark && perhaps, this is something greater. Her love is devotion, even in the platonic sense, she comes to believe that her zealous faith blinds her to the truth that stands before her - this group of misfits, political outcast, they quickly become home && she upholds them in her heart deeply.

Loves horseback riding, if one choose to venture with her out, she will speak of her family on the outskirts && their humble origins. 

Veilguard introduces her once more where she recounts story of such days, she will confess to Rook, perhaps other than the innocence of helping her father create beautiful dresses for nobility; it was when she was the happiest. Though, as a diplomat of Orlais, she will uphold to help Rook regardless. Her tongue has dulled over time, granting her a sense of wisdom, gentleness && introspective nature. Though one thing is important to recognize; she doesn’t wear a full mask, only half.

[dreadbornesaint-moved]

Beryl’s Phone Design 

The design of Beryl’s phone itself is probably quite plain, opting for darker colors rather than lighter ones, usually black. As for her phone case, it’s a fairly simple design, a semi-transparent green color with a simple floral pattern. 

As for the condition of the device itself, it tends to be quite pristine as she values her possessions and it extends to her phone as well. She’s also not clumsy or apt to drop it, though with the circumstances she finds herself in, it does tend to sustain a bit of wear. It’s not unusual for there to be scratches on her screen protector or cracks on her case. Of course, she tries to be careful, but she’s not particularly concerned about her phone while in the heat of battle, resulting in aforementioned damage. 

She also has a small little charm of a white dragon which serves as an homage to her homeland and to the connection her family has with the dragons of the Northlands.

[stardustedstories]

@missallanea asked:

It's no mystery who the gift on Alador's workbench was left by. If the abomination-purple wrapping didn't give it away, then surely the carefully written tag simply stating 'to dad' should. Inside, a metal coffee mug ( less risk of breaking in the workshop! ) waits, filled with wrapped caramels.

At the bottom of the box, hidden beneath the crinkle paper to protect the mug, was a note: Happy Father's Day from your favorite kid ( kidding! ) Text me when you're ready for lunch, and we can go somewhere. My treat! - Amity

These days, when Alador got lost in his work, he could usually count on one of the kids or one of their various friends to poke their head into the workshop, to make sure he'd at least had something to eat (he usually hadn't). He still spent a lot of time working, but it was usually because he wanted to, and because he was trying to, with some help from some of the coven heads, figure out a way to remove the coven sigils, so that the residents of the Boiling Isles would be able to access all of their magic once more.

Today, he'd been working on more of a personal project when he noticed something unusual sitting on his workbench. And for a moment, he was trying to figure out when he'd put it down before he realized that, no, it was a gift. The tag on the wrapping, coupled with the wrapping itself showed that it was from Amity, something that immediately brought a smile to Alador's face.

He took a moment to carefully unwrap the gift, absolutely thrilled by both the prospect of a mug that wouldn't shatter while he was working, plus his favourite sweet to snack on when he got lost in what he was doing.

Alador quickly looks for another note or card, finding the one that had been tucked in beneath the protective crinkle paper. He read over it a couple of times, soft smile on his face, before he quickly checked his watch.

Somewhere along the line, it had gone from 10:00 A.M. to 2:00 P.M. in practically the blink of an eye. Alador honestly hadn't realized he'd been working so long….., which meant it was definitely past time for lunch.

Pulling out his scroll, he sends off a quick text to his daughter.

[sent. Mittens] Lost track of time. Still up for lunch?

[sent. Mittens] I love the mug. And the caramels are going right at the top of my snack drawer.

[sent. Mittens] (picture of a tiny abomination guarding the snack drawer in question, caramels just peeking out from beyond it)

[recitedemise]

He watches her profile the wine.

As usual, her face stern yet youthful affords him no tells.

And maker, she's so dutiful, isn't she?, slaughtering in her armor with her burden like the mountains hounding at her heels? It's strange to believe her dainty, at once a noble primed for courtrooms and ornamented parlors. Here, she'd always struck him hard, blood slotted at her gums where she can lick that copper. Her youth would feel distant like some whisper from an era long lost to the centuries. Quietly, he should wonder if she loathes it, the hemorrhage at her nailbeds and her wretched, looming dying quaking in her veins. What if she prefered the gossip of the nobles? The silks?

She doesn't. To be honest, he rather imagines there is no life she misses.

But Gale hasn't the heart for such misery, he finds, such unrepentant grief only to be worsened with liquor. Instead, he considers something else as they enjoy the dry cellar's rustic atmopshere. There's no life she's missing, not when the one she adores is playing before her. She was just nineteen and beleagured by the world. Now, she isn't, and he'd bear her, too.

"Oh, considering the meddling of those higher powers that be—" nobles, the Chantry, all that endless and tiring politicking, he implies "—I'd wager there'd be demons about us no matter the cirumstance." Of course, robed fools bit less than a yowling darkspawn drooling blood and spit, but a moment to lambast the spoiled in their churches? When he breathes, it tumbles, and held there suspended, he'd appear perhaps...boyish.

He's greying. Expression warm, those lines about his eyes echo nights spent reading.

"Not that I'm delighted to share my time amidst a blight, don't misunderstand me, but it speaks to the persistence of the human spirit that he'd somehow want again despite all this despair." His use of 'his' is pointed, loosened and slipped from the shores of his mouth. Oh. He's ought to pour them some wine again, and in the cellar, the thick, indulgently slosh rings the quiet like treetops. "Never had I ever thought I'd risk it again. In hindsight, I'm noticing a bit of necromancer in you as well."

never have i ever regretted those choices that led here. and can she say the same? yes. yes, she can.

the wine is sour on her tongue, but that's nothing new. nothing that bothers her, anyway, she who is used to the road and its meager offerings. there was a life, before all this, spent in a castle. beatrize was never caged but she was sheltered. her parents' protection meant she saw little of life outside highever, but it was not enough to shield her from the cruel, lashing tongues of those with little regard for her. she did not begrudge them their estimations, only wished they would look away and let her be.

instead, she was thrust into the centerfold; ill-equipped, inexperienced, grieving. resentment curdled in her and ate at her; she was nineteen and burdened by the weight of the blight. had she been any weaker, had duty not been impressed upon her as of utmost importance, under that load, she would have crumbled.

but she did not, and now she's here. playing a game in a darkened room, with a storm approaching from the west, accompanied by someone she deeply cares about. "really?" beatrize asks, raising a dark brow. "even if the world is currently teeming with demons?" there is a wound in the sky tinged green and her quest for the cure is derailed by enemies at every turn. but gale is with her. she is not alone. right now, that is more than enough.

"never have i ever thought i would travel thedas with a necromancer." a very talented one, who, somehow, is capable of keeping beatrize on her toes and giving her endless comfort. despite the volatile hole in the sky, the warden doesn't believe the world is truly ending, but if it is... she doesn't mind spending the last of it here. "your help is invaluable, gale. and your company —" she smiles, sad and earnest. "well, i've come to appreciate it very much."

[lsunstreakerl]

Hey! So uh 💀 for the prompt I was wondering of we could get that o!fmf one shot you’ve mentioned if you’re down?

hi anon! you and another anon that asked for "o!ver2 first heat" are getting smushed together into a two-parter! (because "first heat" and "first real heat with each other" are two different things in this verse, and I wanted to showcase both.) part one, max POV, 3.3k. mature. (part two)

pairings: rico verhoeven/max verstappen

relevant heads up: omegaverse, dubious consent due to nature of heat/ruts, fucky politics and power imbalances, unreliable narrator, there's not technically any explicit content here but there will be in part two!

"...What?"

Max's voice is smaller than he means for it to be, scent spiking with fear despite his best efforts. He's done everything for their people, never once faltered, he doesn't understand—

Jos sighs, narrowing his eyes. His tone is deceptively gentle, closer to a croon than Max has heard in years.

"It's the only option, Max. The King is giving us resources we never could've gotten ourselves— it will save everyone. You have to understand that this is all I could offer in return."

He says it like he's discussing an item, not Max. Like this won't change his life in ways he'll never get back, like he isn't sending Max off to join whatever omega harem King Verhoeven has. Max won't be the only one, he can be sure of that— he'll just be the worst.

"I—"

Jos cuts him off again, leaving no room for argument.

"Will still have the opportunity to do a mating run, if you'd like. The King has promised to respect the terms of the agreement even if he can't catch you."

Max grabs onto the thought like a lifeline, desperately clawing at it, cradling it like it can protect him.

If he's good enough, it can.

Jos is frowning.

"It would be... a blight, on the names of all involved, if he wasn't able to succeed."

Max hears the hidden message clearly, baring his fangs and hissing loudly, louder than he's ever dared in his father's direction before.

"I am not throwing the results of my run."

Jos' lips press together into a thin line, but he nods, sighing heavily.

"I should've expected that. This would be much easier if you'd been an alpha, you know."

Everything would've been easier that way. Max is well aware. That doesn't mean he's going to roll belly up for King Verhoeven, just to end up some kind of concubine, only around to carry pups. He'd rather be dead.

------

Max twitches, curling his nails into his palms. His heart feels like a glimmerfly, rapid beats too fast to follow, buzzing in his ears. Mick is at the edge of the forest with him, scent rich with concern as he checks over Max's leathers one more time.

It's not technically cheating to wear them. The rules are to follow cultural standard for which region the participants are from, and as far as Max is concerned, the leathers are so ingrained into northern life that it would be weirder not to wear them.

Max doesn't say anything, but his scent is giving him away, thready with anxiety, and Mick can't even scent him about it— can't do anything that might throw the results of the run.

"It's just— it's like any other alpha, Max. You're stronger than everyone we have at home, so... This is no different."

Max can't even find it within him to purr reassuringly. His nerves are a tight knot in the back of his throat, preheat buzzing at the edge of his senses. He's participated in a few communal mating runs before, mostly for fun, but also because he'd been confident no one could catch him.

Now, it seems like everyone feels differently. They're not in Max's favor anymore, instead trying to reassure him that it won't be so bad, being up at the castle. He's never heard anything about King Verhoeven's omega harem, but it must be real— and he's not going to be a good fit. Mick is the only one acting like Max might still manage to pull this off.

He can smell his father's scent sharpen, biting back a whine as he realizes it must mean the royal delegate is here. He never wanted—

It doesn't matter what he wants.

Mick rumbles lowly at him, sympathetic, before leaning in, toeing the line of how close he can get to Max without being reprimanded.

"I'll visit, Max. We'll figure something out, whatever we have to do— fake your death or something. You just have to make it through this."

Max finally manages a thin purr, forcing a small smile on his face for Mick before turning to look at the delegate. His own group is small, only a few of them spared for ceremonial purposes, and it seems like King Verhoeven's delegate is thin as well.

He freezes when he spots the King. The alpha is huge, with a broad chest and powerful legs, and Max feels the first coil of fear that he's about to get caught, teeth ripping into his neck, taking away his freedom, forcing him to submit—

Mick rumbles again, and Max realizes his scent has gone off, thick with nerves and fear. It's not the impression he wants to give.

He forces the feelings down, lifting his chin as the delegate gets closer. He can smell a few alphas, the sweet scent of an omega or two, and they're all smoothed over in the way that implies a beta within the group, helping keep things easy. There's the spiced scent of the beginnings of a rut that can only be coming from the King.

As much as he doesn't want to be in this situation at all, Max can already feel himself responding to it, scent sweeting slightly in the presence of what should be, by all means, the ideal alpha.

But he's not, and Max needs his brain to work harder than the rest of him, because he can't get caught. He just has to make it until the sun sets, make a mad dash through the woods, and bolt back into the safety of his own group.

He can ride out his heat afterwards in peace, by himself.

Jos has stepped forward to greet the King, and Max is frozen in place as the massive alpha makes his way over. He knows how this part works— he'll be scent marked so that the chasing alpha knows his scent, and then he'll get one hour of a head start to run.

His blood is rushing in his ears as King Verhoeven steps closer to him, directly in his space, and then there's a nose in his neck, pressed against his scent gland—

Max wants to whine, wants to bite, wants to run away, wants to drop to his knees. There's too many conflicting emotions inside of him, and the King's rut scent is muddling his brain.

He's still frozen as the King steps back, pupils blown wide as he looks down at Max.

"It is my honor to chase you today, Maximilian."

Max swallows, salivia thick in his mouth. He doesn't believe him for a second— but he's not going to make it easy either. He doesn't trust his voice, choosing instead to nod slightly, hoping somehow that he isn't broadcasting his nerves.

The rut scent is heavy in his nose, fuzzing out the rest of his brain. Jos is speaking, saying something to rest of the delegate, and Max thinks that maybe Mick is moving next to him, but his rational thinking is falling away, faster then he wanted, faster then he can afford.

Both groups must be able to tell that he's dipping past preheat now, losing his senses one by one, because he hears Jos' voice piercing through the fuzz in his brain, heavy with alpha command.

"Max, go."

He's moving before the words really sink in, darting into the woods. He knows how to do this, even if he's not as aware as he'd like to be, even if he's never slipped this far this fast before.

There's branches whipping against his face as he pushes into a sprint, focusing on getting as much distance as possible. Traps can come after, if he's still coherent enough to make some, but right now he needs—

The river.

His leathers are mostly watertight, a fact he's deeply grateful for as he wades in, counting on the rushing water to help disguise his scent. There's river grass at the bottom, and he's tugging at it, fingers weaving with years of practice. He could make rope in his sleep.

He gets a few long lines finished, looping them around his shoulder for later. If he's able to stake out a good spot, he can set traps, something to make noise that will alert him to run.

He goes downstream with the river for a bit before deciding it's hopefully bought him some time, stepping out on the other side of the riverbank. There's not really any good spots immediately available, but he works in a zigzag pattern, occasionally doubling back over his own scent. It would confuse the average rut addled alpha, but Max isn't convinced King Verhoeven is the average alpha.

He can feel the beginnings of a cramp in his gut, and the river had thankfully cooled him down enough to clear his head some, but he's been out of it long enough that his heat is creeping back in, skin clammy with sweat under his leathers.

Part of him is relying on the hope that King Verhoeven's other omegas haven't been this difficult, and maybe he'll give up, content to let Max go now that he hasn't immediately rolled onto his back and spread his legs.

He's not counting on it entirely though.

Finally, he gets to a rockier area of the woods, carefully picking the most likely spots for a lumbering alpha to try and barge through before securing them with noise traps. He scales the small rock face ahead of him, plastering himself low to the ground at the top to try and look across the rest of the forest.

The sun has started to dip in the sky— he's well over his head start now, and King Verhoeven is in the woods. He can see faint curls of smoke in the distance from the campfires by the delegates, but it's hard to see anything within the woods past the dense foliage.

He scoots backwards, planning his potential escape routes on the other side of the cliff face, when a pang of heat slices through him.

He drops his forehead to the ground, whimpering softly. He's been steadily ignoring the feeling of slick against his thighs, but it's impossible now. He shifts, legs rubbing together as another cramp rolls through him.

There's no opportunity to really get off— not the kind he needs, fingers shoved inside of him— but he can dull the edge a bit, rocking his hips into the palm of his hand. It'll leave a scent mark, slick and arousal and heat soaked omega, but Max had spotted a startlingly close loop of the river nearby.

He feels heat fuzzy and frozen in time, just Max trying to satisfy an urge he knows he can't take care of— and it takes longer than he'd wanted. He whines as he crests gently, barely enough to feel satisfying at all, but enough that he can start his descent of the rock face.

The sun has dipped further than he thought, and he's annoyed at the time he's lost up on the rocks. He freezes when he hears a clatter from the other side of the rock face.

The noise trap.

There's no way Verhoeven has gotten here this quickly, no alpha has ever caught up to Max this fast before— but Max doesn't know how much time he'd lost on the rocks, and King Verhoeven is no ordinary alpha.

He slips quietly back into the underbrush, making his way to the river. It will take a moment to get to the top of the rocks, and if he's really lucky Verhoeven will get distracted at his scent spot.

Max almost cries with relief when he gets back into the water. It brings with it a semi-sharp clarity, tugging away the sticky threads of heat at his brain as he pushes downstream. He's made it a few hours already, he just needs to manage until the sun is setting, and then he can get back to safety— and their people will be safe as well.

The King had promised to honor the agreement even if he didn't catch Max, and Max refuses to end up a concubine in the palace, whelping pups for an alpha he rarely sees.

He's fairly confident that's how that works, anyways.

He makes good time in the river, weaving river grass together as he goes. He'd wasted his other ropes on the noise traps, and he's not entirely sure what he'll do with these ones, but it makes him feel better to have it.

He has to break back into the forest eventually. He's been tracking the sun, watching it dip lower, and he's been fighting through the steadily increasing waves of cramps. Once he leaves the river, he has no doubt that his heat will hit in full force.

Even now, in the water, he feels lightheaded, slightly disoriented. He knows he's started his journey to double back to the delegate camps, but he's not sure how far they are, and he's fairly confident he's at his best opportunity now.

If he wants the shortest, most coherent run back to the camps, he'll have to wait here until the sun dips further. The thought makes him nervous, and he's paranoid enough already, constantly twisting his head, trying to—

He can smell rut. It's faint, but it's on the wind, which means Verhoeven is getting closer. Max can't afford to wait any longer, and he can't go back to camp, and—

He makes a break for it, darting out of the river and into the trees. He follow the riverbank as closely as possible, branches and leaves cutting into his face as he runs. He's going to want to get back in the riverbank eventually, and he doesn't want to gain too much ground, but he needs distance.

His head is starting to fog, thighs uncomfortably wet inside his leathers, balance starting to fail him. He's deeper into his heat than he'd thought, pressing his palm over his stomach to try and soothe the deep ache. It hurts, and he's empty, and there's an alpha that wants him.

Max needs to get back to the river. He can feel the walls closing in on him, rational thoughts flying out the window, and he could swear he smells—

Dirt. Alpha. Hurtneedmoreneedmoreknot—

Max hits the ground hard, wincing preemptively before the knock to his head, but it never comes. A palm cradles the back of his skull, absorbing the impact as they roll, and he immediately starts to struggle, because King Verhoeven is here.

There's a low rumble in his ear, large legs straddling his own, and despite Max's best attempts to buck him off, the alpha is heavy. He settles his weight solidly on top of Max, nose tucking tight to Max's scent gland as he holds his wrists tightly in front of him with one hand, the other still holding his head.

The first brush of his nose against Max's scent gland makes him whine, fighting every instinct telling him to tip his head back and take it.

His heat is burning him up from the inside, hot and boiling as the alpha pins him with his weight. Max is waiting for the bite, for the immediate claim, but there's no scrape of teeth— just the press of his nose, and then a moment later—

Max moans when he licks across his neck, hips bucking up underneath him. The rut scent curling into his brain demands submission, and his own heat makes him desperate, but Max isn't finished yet.

The sky is getting dark above them. If he can make one last mad dash for the camps...

He can feel Verhoeven's heavy cock against his hip, and Max wonders briefly if he'll end up beheaded for this anyways, before he swings his knee up with a vicious snarl, darkly satisfied at the wounded noise the King makes. He puts all of his strength into shoving the alpha off of him, breaking into a panicked sprint.

There's no strategy, no traps, just Max and his desperate need to get out, to get to safety, to get—

The second tackle isn't any gentler than the first. Again, somehow Max doesn't hit his head, but Verhoeven isn't taking any chances, grappling him facedown into dirt. There's a tug at his arm, and Max doesn't realize for a moment what the alpha is doing, until he feels slick river grass wrapping firmly across his wrists, tugging them tight.

He snarls, deep in his chest as he tries to buck out of his grasp anyways. Using Max's own rope against him—

There's a heavy hand in his hair, shoving his head back down as he feels a knee pin him across his back.

The river grass gets looped around his ankles as well, tugged tight. An alpha in their rut shouldn't even remember how to tie rope, but Max finds his bonds have no give at all.

He tugs despite this until there's a low growl directly in his ear, dangerous.

It makes Max freeze. Verhoeven makes a pleased noise before burying his nose in his neck again, taking a deep inhale. Max flinches when he feels heavy hands at his waist, thick fingers locating the different buckles.

He whines, a desperate attempt to make the alpha take pity on him, but all it gets him is a low rumble next to his ear, and a tongue flicking across his scent gland, large hips pressed flush to his ass.

He yanks at the ropes again, dull panic clashing with the arousal of his heat. He's never taken a knot before, he doesn't want to get bit, he's scared—

Verhoeven gets most of his leather successfully unstrapped, pressing his chest along Max's back before crooning softly.

His chest is vibrating with a low rumble, nosing into Max's neck gently, and he only realizes a moment later that the alpha is trying to soothe him. He hates that it's working, muscles starting to relax under his weight, head tipping to the side to expose more of his neck.

There's a large hand stroking down his side, like Max is a spooked horse and not a panicking omega, but the pheromones are getting to him.

His hands and feet are bound, and the sky is dark. He's missed his chance to get back to the camps in time— he's lost. Even if the King doesn't knot him here on the forest floor, by all rules, he's won the chase. Max belongs to him now.

Tears burn hot at his eyes as he dips his head to the dirt, all the fight leaving his body at once.

It's over.

A cramp rolls through him and he whines, but even that sounds defeated, and he's limp underneath Verhoeven, who makes a concerned noise before carefully flipping Max onto his back.

Like this, he can see the chase has also taken its toll on the alpha, cuts across his face, clothing partially ripped and wet. Verhoeven leans in, pressing the side of their faces together as he rumbles.

His fingers are skating lower as he peels away the leathers, Max's slick heat scent filling the air around him. He whimpers, thighs falling open despite himself, because it hurts.

He's lost anyways— what does it matter if the King takes what he wants?

Verhoeven makes another low noise, teeth scraping across Max's scent gland. He thinks momentarily of how many other omegas the alpha must have back at the palace, how many other times he's tackled and knotted someone in the woods. For a brief moment, it fills him with rage. This is the rest of his life now, by no fault of his own, and if King Verhoeven thinks he can just get away with treating Max like any other omega—

He snarls, low in his throat, chest rattling with the force of it. The alpha rears back in surprise, and it's all the opening Max needs to lunge forward, to get his teeth wrapped around his scent gland.

He catches a flash of stunned hazel eyes.

Max bites.

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

Do you know what I do morbidly somewhat wish we’d gotten as an ending option? An Inquisitor, specifically a romanced Lavellan, who has to kill Solas. Because in quintessential DAV fashion, it doesn’t let you actually kill him. But someone in the dev department had a neurological explosion and came up with the little twist.

Solas keeps going. After “Ir abelas, Vhenan.” After “I forgive you!” Lavellan decides in a split instant that the person to stop him will be her because it was always supposed to be her, and she hurls herself at him. She catches the backward stab that Varric took on her prosthetic, twists and stabs Solas in the stomach.

And for a terrible moment, she’s holding him up as the realization that he’s just been killed creeps over him. But instead of demanding why, or anger, as he slips down to the ground and she goes with him, Solas whispers a bloody and tearful thank you. He touches her face as she holds him and sobs. He is so, so tired. He couldn’t stop himself. But she did. Now at the end, he lets himself luxuriate in the shelter of her arms and the sweetness of her voice. Waiting contentedly for death to take him.

But then here comes the twist. Because the Veil must survive in the canon DAV-verse. Morrigan arrives and she snatches the Fang from Rook who just has been standing there dumbfounded the whole time. She slashes Solas’ hand with it and then shakes Lavellan by the shoulder. She explains that the Veil can both sustain Solas and exist on his life force. If she will get him into the Fade, Solas doesn’t have to die and the Veil will stand… and Lavellan can go with him.

Solas and Lavellan look at one another.

It takes Lavellan, Rook and Morrigan to help Solas get up. And though he leans heavily on Lavellan, he already looks better. He tells them he cannot kill the blight but he can soothe it. It will just take a little time for him to heal first.

He looks down at Lavellan again. She looks both destroyed and alight with fierce hope. She grips onto him tightly and kisses his slashed hand even as Solas kisses her forehead. Rook and Morrigan help the couple to the rift, they step inside… and the Veil heals.

The epilogue gives us a morning without a sun. Huge chunks of land with trees and ever-pouring waterfalls. Lavellan steps out of a simple, but homey cottage, and then Solas limps out behind her, leaning on a staff. They embrace and stare out at the fantastic vista of the Fade. Their Fade. And then they turn into a fresco.

[mythalism]

the ambiguity of solas's ending actually really does piss me off so bad. like i dont know why they think they were cooking by being vague about where exactly he ends up and whether or not he is trapped or able to leave, especially if your own player character ends up there with him, whether thats rook or lavellan. the imagery in the epilogue slides and implication in the "atoning for the blight" ending is clear but only if you're well versed in lore that veilguard does not really explore, and thats only for the atonement endings where he leaves to heal the blight willingly. where does he end up in the other endings? where did the rift behind him lead to? is it just the fade? do all the rifts lead to the black city even if he doesnt intentionally leave to go heal the blight??? if so why??? the rift opened naturally, solas didnt open it. is it just luck that it leads to exactly where we need hin to be?????? does rook even know where it leads???? do they even think before shoving him into it?????? does it even matter if he has the fucking dagger anyway????? if so whats the point of any of it??????????? WHAT THE FUCK???????

if that was just the game's refusal to employ it's own vocabulary that would be one thing, because its a larger issue in the game overall. the black city/golden city is not mentioned to my knowledge, though perhaps it is in codex entries, and so to use that terminology in the end would be confusing to the incompetent and stupid "new players" the game was written for who apparently cannot be trusted to absorb worldbuilding information on their own. but the fact that several people have asked for clarification from the devs and we have gotten more ambiguous, unsatisfying answers or straight up refusals to elaborate is so ridiculous to me. why? spoilers? for the game you are never actually going to get to make? even if it was a spoiler who fucking cares? an ending that leaves you unsatisfied because you are CONFUSED is not a well-written one. when i first finished i genuinely felt PANICKED because it was over and i didnt understand how it ended. i felt so desperate to know where exactly they were. the way the ending feels completely different if they are in the black city versus the regret prison is HUGE. those are two completely different endings. whether or not he has agency and is able to leave makes a HUGE difference in the overall messaging of his character. it makes a HUGE impact on lavellan's willingness to join him. i guarantee that like half of the people who hate the solavellan ending and were really upset by it would have felt far better about it if it was just explained where the fuck they were. like what is the point. how does it serve the narrative for the audience to leave the epilogue unsure of what just happened? and the worst part is that, while i am a full 99.9% sure that they are in the black city rather than regret jail, because thats where the blight is and thats the visual imagery used in the epilogue slides, that 0.1% uncertainty exists not because i just dont know the lore well enough or didnt understand the ending, but because i no longer have faith in bioware to stick to their own writing.

i know that it only makes sense for solas to be in the black city if his goal is healing the blight, but what if epler decides he wants solas to be in the regret prison instead being psychologically tortured because he thinks hes annoying and deserves it? what if some other dev who has a bone to pick with bald guys gets hired and pushes for it really hard in meetings for 5 years? will what they established for the ending actually matter, then? or will they do a complete 180 from what was set up and retcon the ending? and i get it- they have always done this on some level. corypheus returning after da2 to be inquisition's antagonist, for example, though i'd counter that argument with there being clear foreshadowing that he body hopped so that seed was indeed planted. or killing flemeth with morrigan in origins only to find out in da2 that she gave her soul to hawke just in time to survive. but these things have an internal consistency with the world-building that i have lost faith in the writers to continue. corypheus survives because he uses blight body hopping, an established ability that we already knew archdemons had, then elaborated on when he returns in inquisition. flemeth is an ancient unknowable legendary swamp witch who is suggested to be playing 4d mind chess with the characters even before you know about her own body-snatching, so finding out she was able to cheat death like that isn't unfounded or far fetched. but veilguard so gleefully tramples over its own world's rules and established stories, whether its stupid small mechanical gripes like rook wading through "blight pools" and exploding "blight cysts" all over themselves with no explanation meanwhile we know that felix alexius died of blight from just coming into contact with hurlock blood when attacked, and that ferelden mabari biting darkspawn was a death sentence for them unless they could be cured with a rare herb. or larger things, like.... idk. solas's characterization, motivations, and massive network of agents and supporters. or slavery existing in tevinter. or the existence of the titan's heart orbs that each evanuris has? or um. RED LYRIUM. and so much more.

i think thats why the vagueness of this game bothers me in a way it did not previously. granted, i do not think inquisition is NEARLY as vague with its lore reveals and character epilogues. its actually very straight forward and explains everything sufficiently. theres more of an argument for da2 being very vague. but previously, i would have trusted that it would be taken care of in a way that made sense, or at least was internally consistent with the world. i have completely lost that faith. instead, after playing the rest of veilguard and seeing how little respect the game has for it's own world and story and characters, the ambiguity of solas's ending is nothing but anxiety-inducing and unsatisfying. i cant even clearly analyze his character arc if i dont truly know the implications of the ending. and on top of that, what reason do i have to believe the writers will respect their own writing going forward?

[vigilskept]

Saw your tags on the last few posts and hard agree! Between the ever present Fen'harel foreshadowing AND Sandal's prophecy AND Mythal's reckoning? It always seemed like the Veil coming down was that proper big bang finish that would rewrite all the rules in a satisfying and interesting way. One of my issues with Veilgaurd is I feel like it took the series' opportunity for a destinct ending away. Personally, I believe good stories end. I don't want 30 DA games in a MCU verse. And now, to have the series end they have to come up with a stopping point that makes more sense than the Veil. Or revisit the Veil. And what would be the point in that when they wasted all the foreshadowing?

yes, exactly!! i felt like i was going insane on my soapbox there, thank you!! it really feels like they ran up against the natural end point for the franchise and just decided to do a little shimmy around it. i just don't see what exactly that achieves except to set up a new, bigger bad which we have no real stake in.

was i curious about the executors prior to veilguard? yes! but i expected them to appear in this game since they clearly had an interest in solas' plans!! not for them to have 3 completely missable interactions followed by the worst idea of a post credit scene i've ever seen. whatever curiosity i had about what they were up to & how the kossith relate to what's across the sea is pretty much gone at this point.

a "shadowy cabal" who's secretly responsible for all of the evil enacted in this world by people in power is not a plot i care to see play out in bioware's hands. it's a stupid, elders of zion ass direction to take things and was not worth trashing over a decade of build up.

there is nowhere they could take that plot thread (already relying on the worst possible trope...) that would give dragon age a more satisfying conclusion than dropping the veil.

it would've resolved or set up a potential resolution for all of the major conflicts that have been established up to now!! (mages under the chantry, tevene class structure/slavery, oppression of elves, the blights, the waking titans, etc. etc. i could go on!)

and with the way veilguard ends... it looks to me like they wanted to somehow get the implied resolutions that would come out of dropping the veil without committing to it. that's why no matter what you do, dorian or mae will become archon and singlehandedly restructure tevinter society. the load bearing piece of "mageocracy can't function if everyone's a mage now" is gone, so we have to have a poorly executed sideplot to resolve this plot thread for us instead...

i'm sure people will feel differently, but i personally would've found it more satisfying if the veil fell and the franchise wrapped up there. for good or ill, it changes everything and we can all have the time of our lives speculating about the Implications thereafter.

if they really wanted to(/needed to promise EA they could) make more games in this setting — they could've gone backwards! there's lots of stories you could tell throughout thedas in the gap between the fifth blight and solas' ritual! there's lots of stories you could tell about the centuries between andraste's rebellion and the fifth blight! there's so much happening in the background here that they've hinted at through codices that if they really wanted more content in this setting, there is so much room to expand on those.

could they set up world shattering events like "tearing down the veil" again? no. but i think that was a very obvious one and done situation, and i don't think anyone came into this franchise expecting their dragon age games to have stakes that apocalyptic until trespasser! i think there absolutely would've absolutely been an audience for a game about the assassination of queen madrigal or the fog warriors' resistance on seheron if they hadn't fumbled this....

[alexeatstables]

ERM, THE LINES ARE BLURRING

THE LINES ARE BLURRING!!

This is not good!

We can't have the line of gender envy and attraction be blurred, that only confuses everyone. ALEX, PLEASE, NO!

Ahem...

Sorry to inform you, the lines have most definitely been blurred from the very start. NOW WITNESS (the might of the seas) MY INSANITY!

Shadow Milk Cookie from Cookie Run Kingdom

Buddy from Cinderella Boy.

Literally part of the main reason I made this post.

Harumi Kurose from Our Walk Home

FIVE FROM THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY

(HELP, I JUST REALIZED HOW RANDOM THIS LIST IS NOW, HAHAHAHAH *cue awkward uncontrollable laughing*)

Bronze (storybook form) from Cinderella Boy (again, lol)

Vincent from Dead Plate.

Do not judge me.

Or do, free speech or whatever, lol.

Everyone in this car, from left to right, Ronald, David, and Exer. All from Jackson's Diary.

Jackson and Diary Jackson, also from Jackson's Diary (no, really? Jackson from Jackson's Diary???)

Yes, those are two separate entries in my opinion.

Hunter from The Owl House.

Tom Holland as Spider-Man, specifically.

Then I could list Spider-Man (any type really, especially ones with Spider-Verse movie designs) and Tom Holland as their own listings.

Peach Blossom Cookie from Cookie Run Kingdom (random shift but ok).

Edric Blight from The Owl House

And I think this is too long now, so I'm ending here. Thanks for listening to a mad man's transmasc yap session! I like men, being a man, and goodbye!

[in-the-drowning-deep]

OC Layers Meme

tagged by @themildmahariel, thank you lovely!

tagging @maagisterpavus, @themagistersbirthright and @mildlyupsetzebra

LAYER ONE: THE OUTSIDE

Name: Lucien Oscar Trevelyan

Eye Color: Dark brown, almost black

Hair Style/Color: Mid-length black hair in DAI; by Veilguard, it's past his shoulders. If he’s alone, he’ll tie it up in a rough ponytail. If Bull or Dorian are there, they’ll braid it for him. He used to braid it himself, but it’s nigh-impossible these days, even with his prosthetic arm.

Height: 5’11/180cm, putting him just under Dorian’s height. Will Dorian ever let him hear the end of this? Probably not.

Clothing Style: Smart and well-fitted, with everything cinched in a little around the waist. Lots of dark colours and wool until he moves to Tevinter, at which point he shifts to paler linens and the odd bit of silk.

Best Physical Feature: Cheekbones, jaw, and (after taking out 12 dragons) his facial scars.

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Fears: Letting people down. He’s always had a very strong sense of duty, but after becoming the Herald of Andraste (and especially after In Hushed Whispers, which gave him the distinct sense that without him specifically doing everything right, the world would end) it really started to take over.

Guilty Pleasure: Having been raised as a good southern Chantry boy, he still feels a little guilty about how much he enjoys sex. Bull clocks this instantly and exploits it to give him a bit of a sacrilege kink - Lucien’s spent a lot of Chantry services since their relationship began with a freshly-caned arse or a plug inside him.

Biggest Pet Peeve: When people are confidently wrong about something, especially when it’s a topic he’s well versed in (particularly dragons or herbalism). He develops a somewhat unexpected friendship with Taash post-Veilguard, swapping stories of dragon fights and sharing their annoyance over how many bestiaries get dragons wrong.

They may or may not drag Davrin in, especially when he starts working on that bestiary in earnest; future pub quiz nerds geek out over the fact that the Herald of Andraste and two of the heroes of the Last Blight collaborated on a book.

Ambition for the Future: Spending time with Bull and Dorian, raising their daughter Dora well, and helping Dorian rebuild/remake Tevinter.

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

First Thoughts Waking Up: He almost immediately starts running through his to-do list for the day, though if there’s nothing that needs his attention right away, he’ll usually do it while snuggling up with his husbands for a bit longer.

What They Think About the Most: His husbands and his daughter. He just - growing up as a noble, he was always told he’d marry for a political alliance. Then as a Circle mage, he was forbidden to have any kind of family. And now he has one! That he chose! And he loves them so much!

What They Think About Before Bed: It used to be whatever he needed to do the next day, or stressing out about whether he ought to stay up later and finish XYZ task. But with Bull and eventually Dorian, it’s mostly just how good it feels to be curled up with them (esp after sex).

What They Think Their Best Quality Is: His self-discipline and ability to lead with compassion.

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: Single, he wants all of his attention focused on his lover/s.

To be Loved or Respected: Loved. He’s had a lot of people respect him without knowing or understanding him; love’s another matter.

Beauty or Brains: Brains, though Bull’s height and the way he looks swinging an axe did make Lucien’s own brain short-circuit a bit at their first meeting. Ditto Dorian and the way he took out those demons at the Redcliffe Chantry.

Dogs or Cats: Cats.

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: Yes. He knows how to play the Game, he was raised in it, and once he starts studying it in earnest with Josie and Leliana, he's extremely good at it. He's trying to be more honest with his lovers (especially when it comes to how he's actually feeling) but it's slow going.

Believe in Yourself: He... believes in the idea of himself as Andraste's Chosen, and someone who Bull and Dorian have inexplicably decided is worth loving. Does that count?

Believe in Love: Yes, wholeheartedly. If not for love, there'd be no point to anything.

Want Someone: Bull and Dorian - now he has both! (Though Dorian held out for almost a decade... he really wasn't kidding about playing hard to get.)

LAYER SIX: HAVE YOU EVER?

Been on Stage: No (unless you count the performances at the closing of the Winter Palace ball).

Done Drugs: No.

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: Less to fit in socially and more to fit a role. If the Circles had never fallen, he’d have been quite content with a life of relative solitude studying herbalism in the Ostwick tower. Then the annulment happened and he found himself in charge of a group of the surviving children and Tranquil from the Circle, and then the Conclave catapulted him to the head of a continent-wide organisation. He had to learn very quickly how to be more outgoing and social to try and hold everyone together.

LAYER SEVEN: WHAT’S THEIR…

Favourite colours: Deep blue, like a wine-dark sea.

Favourite animal: Horses.

Favourite book: Just one? Naturalis historia is up there, but there’s also Stories of the Wild South by Lady Answell, and Professor Volkarin’s Collected Lectures on the Fade (Lucien gets why Dorian had a crush on the man, though that doesn’t stop him from teasing him about it).

Favourite game: Chess. He and Cullen have a standing weekly gaming session through DAI, and he and Dorian are often found enjoying a game in the evenings too.

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

DOB: 12th of Pluitanis/Guardian month, 9:16.

How Old Will You Be: Going by his family history, he’ll probably reach his 80s - his paternal grandfather died at 88.

Age You Lost Your Virginity: 17

Does Age Matter: Bull’s twenty years older than him, so no, not really.

LAYER NINE: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: learning

I feel: content

I hide: my weaknesses

I miss: my friends

I wish: I had noticed what was wrong sooner

[dreadbornesaint-moved]

The Plagues Daughter: The Legacy of the Plagues Daughter

This headcanon is specific to the Juj.utsu Ka.isen verse. 

The tale of the Plagues Daughter is largely forgotten. It is a cursed spirit that would qualify as a Special Grade curse due to the potential for damage. The legacy, though largely forgotten, is no less tragic. She is a cursed spirit created by humans and the very human resentment for the collective suffering of the coalescence of grudges that inform her existence. Her tale is known in full only by the Euclase family due to their involvement with her story and the sealing, resulting in the cursed spirit’s tie to the Euclase bloodline.

In the present day, whisperings of the Plagues Daughter have resulted in a group of people wishing to revive the cursed spirit, believing it to be a divine deity instead. There is little one might find with regards to the Plagues Daughter. One might unearth obscure records in the remnants of a remote and forgotten place, a mention of strange illnesses and unfathomable happenings, folktales passed on and distorted through time; all fragments of a greater truth.

The Euclase have borne this burden for generation and are stalwart in their duty to keep the curse itself restrained and the legacy itself a secret. Secrets, after all, can also serve as a sort of shield. And the Euclase are nothing, if not a shield between the Plagues Daughter and the world.

[lowrezbonuslevel]

9.🪞 aaaand... 16!📺 For whoever you want... or Tarantillda, idk!!!

9 was already answered here, so let's answer 16 ("If the anime got a reboot or if there was another Kirby TV show, do you have any ideas for episodes that your OC could appear in? What would the plot be and what role would your OC play?"):

I decided to try to slot Tarantillda (and Zed, for fun) into the anime, since coming up with an entirely new Kirby show canon seemed too big an undertaking lol.

I think, if the anime were continued, it would have been cool to see a Star Warriors resurgence with new heroes, and I think it would make sense for Tarantillda and Zed to end up joining said resistance. But they would have to be introduced properly, first, so check under the cut for some episode run-downs if you're interested! :)

For Tillda's introductory episode ("Flower Power"):

A young woman from another planet arrives in Dreamland seeking her brother, who apparently went missing some time ago. She looks through the whole town and doesn't find him—but, just when she's about to leave Pop Star, trouble appears: it's Flowery Woods, a tree-like demon beast! It begins to take over Dreamland and chokes out the sunlight so that Cappy Town is covered in darkness. Tillda, knowing some plant magic and hopeful that her brother might appear alongside Flowery Woods, sticks around to help.

After the fight, she explains that Dedede isn't the only monarch that has been lured by NME to the side of evil—her homeland, Floralia (which probably works better as another planet entirely in the anime-verse), was turned to a miserable place after their tyrannical queen swore loyalty to Nightmare. Tillda meant to grab her little brother and escape the place, but he was lured away and turned into a demon beast himself, leading Tillda to search planets for signs of Nightmare-sponsored trouble and, hopefully, bring her brother back to the light.

The episode ends with Kirby and friends waving her off, promising they'll keep an eye out for Taranza. (She and Tiff would probably take a shine to each other over the course of the episode, since they both play the role of sharp elder sister to an adventurous little brother in a world full of danger!)

For Zed's introductory episode ("Over the Rainbow"):

Kirby, Tiff, and Tuff are playing in town when they see an unfamiliar feline face pass by. Though the newcomer isn't very talkative, he seems friendly enough—especially to Kirby, who is excited to meet a new friend. Tiff and Tuff, on the other hand, are mildly suspicious, but agree that they should learn more before they interfere—especially after catching a glimpse of a strange, black, blob-like creature with one eye displayed on Zed's portable computer.

Later that day, a blight of Dark Matter (which no one in Dreamland is particularly familiar with) descends upon the townspeople. With the exception of Tiff and Tuff, everyone around Kirby starts turning angry and violent, including Lady Like and Sir Ebrum; when the three protagonists encounter several strange, one-eyed creatures, they remember Zed from earlier in the day and assume he is a demon beast summoned by Dedede to bring the blight upon the town.

Zed is discovered huddled away writing notes about the monster. Tiff and Tuff threaten to attack, but Meta Knight quickly swoops in with exposition. Soon everyone calms down and listens to what Zed has to say—that the darkness over Dreamland can be expelled if the leader of the occupying Dark Matter army, the Swordsman, is defeated.

In reply, Meta Knight mentions that the Star Warriors previously defeated Dark Matter Swordsman using the Rainbow Sword, which has since gone missing; Zed then reveals themself to be in possession of this legendary weapon and offers it to Meta Knight, thinking that this must be the hero that can defeat the Dark Matter Clan yet again—but Meta Knight, who already has Galaxia, insists Kirby take it so that the two can join forces to stop this very powerful threat.

Hence DMS is defeated by Kirby and Meta Knight, leaving its army to flee and Dreamland safe and peaceful once more (much to Dedede and Escargoon's relief—the Dark Matter ended up possessing them, too).

Zed exits without much of a goodbye, let alone an explanation of who they are, where they came from, or why they helped fight against the Dark Matter Clan. Meta Knight is left to ponder aloud that, like Fofa, maybe there are other demon beasts that turned to the good side, for one reason or another.

Afterward...

I suppose Zed and Tillda could meet off-screen and become besties (as they ought to be, in every universe 😌). I don't think they'd be the founders of the New Star Warriors, though, especially considering Tillda has no idea who the "Star Warriors" were. Maybe Knuckle Joe and Sirica would come up with the idea and invite Tillda and Zed to join them?

[luvp-music]

D/N/A [English Translyrics]

Original song by Azari References by Thai1210 and Rr3eell

»»————-　♡　————-««

If stacking pebbles that are doomed to fall, still climb up to the sky Then my heart exposed into the sun lets the moon rise So will I be found and alright? Would I be sound and alright? I’ll be snow white, sweet-like, floating light

Stuck playing freeze tag with the shadows*, til there’s nothing else to do Finding staircases to help me find my justice too So can I be found and alright? Please say I’m sound and alright? I’ll be kept clean**, serene, obscure me

Alice, looking through, what do you see? Is the person I’ve become someone who’s free?

With a shattered mind, you wander with no eyes Dreaming of this life, yet you’re tainted by the lies So this D/N/A can’t be spoke of, they said Cause a beating heart can’t be left until the end, bleeding red (bleeding red)

Although I’ve tried, sleepless the children who’ve been asked of too much Trapped inside of this cell where they crave for human touch Are you looking for this love? I’m still looking for this love? Words I want to say trapped in my lungs

With a fastened mind, you wander with no light Dreaming of the fight, yet you’re tainted by the blight So this D/N/A can’t be spoke of, they said Cause a beating heart can’t be left until it’s dead, bleeding red (bleeding red)

The silhouette, the mirror’s edge, reversed, and gray, this D/N/A My proof of life, it’s warm inside, there’s no decay, my D/N/A The silhouette, the mirror’s edge, reversed, and gray, this D/N/A My proof of life, it’s warm inside, there’s no decay, my D/N/A

»»————-　♡　————-««

* In the original lyrics, Azari references a children’s game called kagefumi, where it’s basically tag but instead of touching another person to be ‘it’, they touch their shadow. I chose freeze tag mainly for the word length of the verse, but could also refer to Kanade in Kana5 feeling stuck with a feeling of guilt for not saving Mafuyu with her song. ** Fragility means being very careful, keeping things clean and safe.

[weaveandwood]

The Snake and The Crow: Devotion

Pairing: The Viper x Female Rook (Bianca, an Antivan Crow mage) Words: 6.4K Rating: NSFW

Summary:

Ashur and Bianca are reunited at last on a rainy night on a Minrathous rooftop.

AN: This is it, the end of my little story! I can't explain how much it means to me if you've made it this far. I've loved writing Ashur and Bianca's story, and to know that people have loved reading it has been so special. I didn't expect when I started writing a smutty one-shot about my Rook and The Viper hooking up in secret that it would turn into this epic tale of longing, grief, and love. So once again, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

Read on AO3! Previous Chapter

A day passed, a week, a month, he could not tell.  From the moment he saw the explosion of lightning and fire in the sky, all Ashur knew was pain. He drifted in and out, only a vague perception of his surroundings. A room, small and windowless with candles providing the only light. He heard visitors, voices he recognized during brief bouts of consciousness—Tarquin, Dorian, Mae, members of the clergy who were trusted and sympathetic to their cause. His innermost circle. He was empty, hollowed out, a shell of himself filled only with the pain of flesh knitting back together where once there was only blight. 

They should have let him die. 

The fevers were the worst part. His body worked overtime to heal itself, his magic combining with the magic of others overheating him as it reconnected destroyed pathways within him. He was on fire at all times with little relief. He repeated verses of the Chant to himself during the worst of it. He clung to the Canticle of Trials, a deep kinship with the verses forged in the fire of his recovery as his thoughts latched on to what was important to him in an effort to keep him tethered to this side of the Veil. 

In the long hours of the night when hope has abandoned me, I shall see the stars and know your Light remains.  

Lucidity came and went. The days were long, and the nights were unbearable. Someone was always with him, talking to him, talking at him, bringing news of the cleanup or simply reading to him. He was grateful for the noise. After so many long months with the blight’s song in his head, he couldn’t bear the silence. 

Slowly, he became more and more present. The spells and healing potions took hold and he was almost whole once more. He tried to sit up in the bed and winced with pain, his once strong muscles fatigued and weak from disuse. 

“You’re awake,” a familiar voice said.

“Tarquin. How long?” he whispered, his voice weaker than he would have liked. It felt like an eternity had gone by since the threat was over. 

“A month, Ash,” Tarquin said, leaning forward. “A month of me being worried sick you were going to—” he cut himself off. Ashur knew what he was thinking. He should have died. 

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, I’m afraid,” he joked, wincing again as he shifted in his bed. “Minrathous?”

“A fucking mess. We’re trying to clean up the blight and clean out the last remaining Venatori, most of the magisterium traded their lives for Elgar’nan’s false promise of power, and our friend Dorian has been made the new Archon. So at least there’s one bit of good news.” 

“I’ve missed so much.” Too much, he’d missed too much. “How did the Chantry excuse my absence?” 

“They didn’t.” A double, then. Of course the Chantry would never admit the Divine was blighted and fighting for his life. It would make him seem weak. It would make them seem weak. Vulnerable, in a time when the Divine was necessary to help Minrathous and the Imperium itself heal. Can’t have that, he thought as he looked around the room, his eyes landing on the table beside him and seeing her letter. It was still folded neatly like it had been when he put it in his tunic pocket, the closest place to his skin that day. 

I had already started falling in love with you. The line burned through his memory, the words a song he never wanted to forget.

“What about…” he looked at Tarquin, seeing the templar’s brow already lowered at him. 

“Maker’s balls Ashur, you’ve been awake for ten minutes and you’re already thinking about her?” He didn’t want to tell Tarquin that in between screams of pain and hallucinations, he dreamed of her and it was the only time he knew peace during this last month. So he just shrugged. 

“I’ve been a little busy here. Last I heard, Rook was still helping in Minrathous but I haven’t seen her. I’ll have someone check. Not because I somehow suddenly approve, but you called out her name more than a few times during the worst of it.” His voice softened as he looked at Ashur. “I guess I didn’t realize she was so important to you.”  

Important was an understatement. She was the reason his heart still beat in his chest, the reason breath was still in his lungs. She was everything.

“Thank you, Tarquin. For…for all of it. You have walked beside me down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others have forsaken me.” 

“Oh don’t go getting all Divine on me, you would do the same thing for me. Or at least you better. Get some rest, you still have a long way to go.” He patted Ashur on the shoulder before leaving the room. 

After that, everything was a blur. He was finally able to sit without wincing. He could stand—first using the bed and Tarquin as support, then on his own. Every report he got about Bianca still showing up in Minrathous every day encouraged him, giving him an intense focus toward his recovery. He would see her again. He walked—slow, tentative steps near his bed at first, then around his small room, then down the hall of the safe house he was sheltered in. His magic was weak, still recovering from months of constant use fighting the blight and then fixing him. He never tried to push it, to reach farther than it was willing to go, but he couldn’t stop laughing once he was able to make snowflakes fly around the room right into Tarquin’s face. He was coming back to life.

A month passed in the blink of an eye and Ashur was, for all intents and purposes, back to normal. He was given a clean bill of health that afternoon from a healer, their magic flowing through his body and prodding every last corner for any sign of blight remaining. The invasion was worth it—there was no blight to be found. He was free. Everything was good, finally. 

At least it was, until he saw the look on Tarquin’s face when he walked into the safehouse that night.  

“Ash, I’m sorry. Someone overheard Bianca saying this was her last day in Minrathous.” 

He didn’t even realize he had left until he was running on the street, rain pouring down in sheets and making him wish he had at least grabbed a coat and his hat in his haste to get to her. He felt naked without his masks, but he was not The Viper or the Divine tonight. He was simply Ashur, and he knew exactly where Bianca would be. He only hoped it wouldn’t be too late. So he ran, testing the limits of his healing as he made his way through the streets and into Dock Town until he came to the base of the ladder they had climbed together all those months ago. He stared up at the roof, memories of pain, grief, and sadness flooding him. This time would be different. 

He started his ascent, hoping beyond all reason that he was right and that she would be there still. 

I have faced armies with you as my shield, and though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except your absence.

His breath caught in his throat when he stepped onto the roof. There she was, standing near the edge where they had so many heartbreaking conversations. Even from behind, in the dark, soaked with rain and looking up at the moon, he would recognize her in a heartbeat even if he didn’t feel his sparks surging forward, urging him to be near her. So, he took a step forward. Then another. He saw her still, her hand clenched by her side, like she wanted to turn around but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. 

“Bianca,” he said, his voice stronger than it was a month ago, though not nearly as commanding as it was before. It didn’t matter. He was using it now only for her and she wouldn’t care. She turned around, gasping as she saw him for the first time, and fell to her knees sobbing. 

He ran, closing the distance between them and crouched in front of her. He desperately wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her tightly against him, to tell her everything he wanted to but never did. He didn’t know what was causing his hesitation—was it the dark circles under her eyes? The tears that streamed down her face matching the ones that now fell down his? The fact that he had caused her so much pain? The guilt alone was eating him from the inside, a new blight taking form within his soul. 

You have grieved as I have. We are alike in sorrow. 

She reached out her hand and touched his face. He leaned into it as he always did, then pressed his lips against each knuckle. The strings they both so desperately tried to break were back in full force, wrapping around each of them, binding them together in this new world. Maker , how he missed her touch. He missed her so much over these last months that he didn’t know how to communicate it. How do you even start to tell someone that the only thing that made him fight the blight some days was the memory of her voice? That the only thing that got him through the trials of being healed was the thought of feeling her hands touch his skin once more? He was at a loss, overwhelmed with feeling. 

“How?” she said between her sobs like she didn’t believe he was there in front of her. He almost didn’t believe it himself. But he was here, he was alive, and he wasn’t wasting any more time. 

He leaned forward, closing the distance between them to kiss her. She gasped, surprised at first, but her lips parted easily as he pressed against their boundary. He missed her lips, he missed her taste, he missed her . Their tongues slid together, falling back into their well-practiced rhythm as if no time had passed at all since that night before the dragon attacked Minrathous. He felt her hands grasping at his shirt, pulling him closer to her. He groaned into her mouth as she pressed against him, the feeling of her body against his awakening feelings he hadn’t felt in so long - ones he thought he would never feel again, yet was glad beyond measure that he did. The sparks and frost in his body stirred, coursing through him and coalescing wherever they were closest. 

He wanted her. Every part of him wanted her—body, spirit, mind. Heart. 

He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers. Rain fell in steady sheets, soaking them as they cried and laughed and smiled, unsure if what was happening was real or some trick. 

“I can’t believe you’re here…your letter…” Bianca said. His stomach dropped. He hadn’t even realized he lost it from his heavy coat during that final fight, but it explained so much. She had thought he died. A slight panic went through him as he remembered what else he wrote in his near-death state. She knew all of his secrets, things no one outside his innermost circle knew. She knew he was the Divine, she knew he was in love with her, she knew it all. He had laid himself bare in that letter, and still she kissed him back. 

“There’s so much I want to say, that I need to…” he said before kissing her once more, cool rainwater streaming down their faces. Thunder sounded in the near distance, a hint of worse weather on its way. “Maybe out of the storm though.” His lips moved to her neck, kissing lightly as he reacquainted himself with the taste of her skin. He felt a slight shock from her sparks as his lips touched her body for the first time in months. He wondered if her magic surged within her the same way his did. If her sparks were there, just beneath the surface of her skin, ready to eagerly flow to wherever he touched. The soft sigh she let out sent another wave of desire through him. 

“Lighthouse,” she breathed as his mouth hit that one spot she loved. “It’s just me there—everyone else has moved on.” 

“Lead the way,” he said. 

They ran the short distance through the streets of Dock Town to the Shadows hideout, a place he hadn’t been since meeting her right after the dragon attack. While it was empty now, he took in the slow progress they’d made on the cleanup. The eluvian room was still untouched, a reminder of the wreckage and chaos caused by both the dragon and the Venatori raids. The mirror somehow remained firmly in its place after all this time, resolute and unmoved by both dragons and would-be gods. He’d be lying if he denied that a small thrill went through him as they stood in front of the eluvian, the soft white glow shimmering across the surface as Bianca stood in front of it. 

“What does it feel like, when you go through?” he asked.

“You know, it’s hard to explain. It feels like a gentle tug of the magic in my body, like scratching an itch. Weird at first, but now I hardly notice it.” She reached over and grabbed his hand, her thumb running along the edge as their fingers entwined. “You’ll be fine.” 

He smiled over at her before they stepped through. “Of course I will, I’m with you.” 

By the time she shut the door to her room in the Lighthouse, he was coiled so tightly with feelings that had been bottled up and buried these last long months. Desire, lust, love—all of them were begging to be let out, and he couldn’t stop himself from pressing her against the nearest wall as he kissed her once more, his hands on her waist. Her hands wrapped around him, pulling him closer until there was no space between them, just her body against his. 

He never thought he’d feel it again. 

“Ashur…wait,” she whispered between kisses. He pulled away. Did she not want this? Did she not want him?

“Is something wrong?” 

“No, no, it’s just…I thought you were dead. You were so close to being lost to the blight the day we fought Elgar’nan. How are you here? How are you fine?” Her hand rested on his cheek once more, still fighting the feeling that this wasn’t real. He leaned into it, closing his eyes for a moment as he remembered the torment of those first few weeks. 

“A lot of pain, a lot of magic, and a lot of unwavering support. I should be dead. At the beginning I wished they would have let me die. As painful as being blighted was, healing from it was somehow worse. But now I’m standing here with you, and I find I would get blighted and healed a hundred thousand times over if it meant kissing you just one more time. I don’t want anything else in this world.” He watched her eyes dart back and forth between his as they glossed over with unshed tears. “I meant what I said in my letter, Bianca. Nothing has changed since then except my mind is even clearer and more resolute. I love you. I loved you before being blighted, I loved you after, I love you now. I will always love you.” 

“I love you, too,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion as those tears she was trying so hard to blink away started to fall easily down her face. “There hasn’t been anyone else. I just…I couldn’t give up on you. Even after I was given your letter, I still looked for you. I don’t know if that makes me irrationally stubborn or maybe just stupid,” she laughed. “It’s always been you.” 

He brushed a tear away with his thumb, fighting his own. She had seen him at his lowest, she knew all his secrets, and yet she loved him anyway. “You have seen me when no other would recognize my face. You composed the cadence of my heart,” he said softly. 

His mouth was back on hers in an instant, kissing her with a need he didn’t realize he still had the capacity for. He threaded his fingers through her still damp hair, pressing his hips against hers when a groan escaped her lips that sent the sparks in his body flying throughout him. His fingers went to the buttons on her shirt and fumbled with them as he cursed their existence—he much preferred her robe with its simple fastening that was much easier to remove. 

“Problems?” she whispered, though he could hear the teasing tone in her voice. 

“Out of practice,” he smiled. It wasn’t a lie, he had favored wearing simple clothing during his recovery, and hadn’t done a lot of fine movements with his hands. He could cast simple spells but some things were out of his grasp for now—more intricate spells, writing missives in his elegant script, and apparently tiny, frustrating buttons. “I have a few things to work on, still, it seems.” 

“Well, we will just need to keep trying and trying then. For now, let me,” she said with a soft smile but without any pity in her voice. He thought he could have fallen in love with her all over again for that.  

He watched her fingers, nimble and graceful, slowly undo each button to reveal more of her skin. He followed her hands with his, tracing over the dips and divots of her scars, between her breasts, down the smooth skin of her stomach. He slowly slid the shirt off her shoulders, letting it pool behind her on the floor. She quickly undid the laces of her pants, pushing them and her undergarments off her hips and stepping out of them. 

“Maker , you’re beautiful,” he said, his fingertips reverently tracing the contours of her body—the curve of her hips, the underside of her breasts, the peak of her breasts, her collarbone, the column of her throat. He was intimately familiar with every inch of her body, but it was as if he was seeing it for the first time. 

He pressed her against the wall, one hand in her hair, the other on her breast, feeling her nipple get harder under his palm. The way her body reacted to him drove him wild with need. He wanted to turn her around and take her quickly against this wall before laying her over the arm of the sofa to take her once more, just like he’d done so many times before. But this wasn’t before, this was after. An after where they were alone, they were out of immediate danger, and they had each other. He kissed her once more, deeply, slowly, both of their tongues moving in the same languid pace as they seemed to finally realize that they both had what they longed for since the beginning—time.

He slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of her, his lips tracing the path his fingers had completed mere moments ago. He took a hard nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue before sucking on it, biting it gently. She let out a soft sigh as he kissed her stomach, decorated with new scars since the last time he saw her like this. He wondered if anyone had to force her to take a potion, and if she remembered how it felt when his magic coursed through her veins, knitting her injuries together. He pressed a kiss into each one, vowing that these would be the last ones she received, one way or another. He kissed her hip bones, then her upper thighs, his hands running over the curve of her hips and around, feeling the firmness of her backside. He could touch her all night and be completely satisfied. 

“Ashur…” she whispered. “Touch me, please…I need…” 

He didn’t need to be asked twice. His fingers found her center, parting her and finding her swollen clit. He rubbed it in gentle circles as he rested his head against her hip bone, kissing the crease of her thigh. He lifted her leg, placing it over his shoulder as he had done time and time again—he needed to taste her, needed to feel her hands on his head and her hips rocking against his face. He slid his fingers down to her entrance and let out a soft moan at how wet she was for him already. One finger entered, moving slowly in and out before smoothly adding a second, a soft gasp escaping her lips. He lapped at her greedily, quick flicks followed by slow drags of his flattened tongue, his mouth and hand working in tandem to bring her closer and closer to the edge. Each time she said “ More, more…” he sped up. She had her hands on his head, using it as leverage as she moved her hips in time with his hand. Her breathing picked up, and as he looked up, he could see her arched against the wall, her head thrown back and looking at the ceiling. She was close and he wanted to feel her come. He curled them gently, rubbing the spot he knew after all this time would drive her crazy and it was like she unraveled before him, gasps and moans reaching his ears as  he felt her pulse and flutter around his fingers. It was a shame no one else was here to listen to him bring her pleasure, he thought briefly. 

He looked up at her again as he pulled his fingers out and placed them in his mouth, licking her slick desire off of them. She was panting as she came down from those blissful heights, and laughed softly. 

“I missed that.”

“I’m just getting started,” he said, standing up and kissing her, letting her taste herself on his lips. She pressed into him, and he knew she could feel how hard he was for her in his simple clothing without all the layers of cloth and leather and belts. She reached down and rubbed him through his pants, her mouth blazing a path along his jawline to his ear. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” she whispered before nibbling on his earlobe and kissing down his neck, paying extra care to where it joined his shoulders. He let out a soft groan, his sparks flying to where her lips touched and her teeth scraped. He hoped, selfishly, that she would leave a mark, one he could look at over the next few days and remember this night. Her hands snaked under the hem of his still-damp shirt and the sensation of her fingertips on his newly healed skin caused him to gasp. She stilled. 

“What is it? Did I hurt you?” she asked, pulling away from him. He could see the worry in her eyes, and he was desperate to alleviate her fears. 

“Not at all,” he said, pulling off his shirt, then pushing down his trousers and undergarments with a smile. “See? Perfectly fine. No one has touched my skin outside of healing since the last time we were together. Another thing I’m out of practice with, I’m afraid.” He watched her eyes rake over his body.

“Your scars are gone,” she said softly, tracing the spot on his chest where they used to be. “Because of the healing?”

“Most of my body was covered in blight, in some shape or form. I’ll spare you the details, but when I said healing from the blight was worse than being blighted…” he took a deep breath, closing his eyes against the memory of him screaming in pain, the raw agony of flesh made anew forever imprinted with perfect clarity in his mind, unsure he would ever forget. “I was basically an open wound. The healers worked a miracle on me.” 

“Well, I look forward to learning everything new.” She took his hand and led him the short distance to the sofa, pushing him back until his knees hit the edge, causing him to sit. “Starting now.” 

He looked up at her from his seated position and knew with every fiber of his being that living was the right choice, that being healed was worth it. Backlit from the aquarium in her room, she was nothing less than perfection. He would spend his days worshipping her, of making sure she knew how committed he was to her and only her. She climbed onto his lap, her legs straddling him and kissed him, the taste of her plush lips against his the sweetest communion. Her hand wrapping around him as she slowly lowered herself onto him brought his thoughts away from holy devotion and back to mortal pleasure. He grasped at her hips, feeling her give around him as he entered her inch by blessed inch, the warmth from her core threatening to set him ablaze once he found himself fully seated inside her. 

“Bianca,” he whispered as he pressed his lips against her shoulder, muffling his moan with her skin. 

“Well, this feels just as good as before,” she laughed softly. She started to rock against him, her laughter quickly giving way to soft gasps as their bodies adjusted, fitting each other perfectly. She moved in a slow rhythm as if she was savoring the moment, lifting almost off and sheathing him again with each movement of her hips. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He needed to feel her skin against his, to know that this was real, even as desire and pleasure coursed through him alongside his swirling magic. If he thought he was coming back to life before, he was fully alive now. She was the missing piece and he would never let her go again. 

He watched her, eyes closed, and head thrown back to the ceiling as she continued her slow ride. He traced a line down her spine, feeling the edges of her wings before his hands settled on her hips, leverage against his as he met her rhythm. The sounds she made were a miracle on par with his healing—something he never thought he would hear again, something he never wanted to be without. 

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” she responded. 

He was overcome with how easily and quickly her response came. In one smooth movement, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, moving her off his lap and onto her back, her head resting on the small pillow he assumed she used to sleep. She smiled up at him as he settled between her parted legs, grasping himself at the base and sinking back into her easily. She arched her back against the sofa, moaning as he lowered himself over her to kiss her. He thrust into her slowly, deeply, just how he remembered she liked it. Her arms wrapped around him, fingers digging into the smooth skin of his back. He wrapped his arms around hers in kind, the two of them clinging to each other like everything would disappear the moment they parted. He had to fight the urge to take her quickly, a habit he was happy to break. Each slow roll of his hips was met with an answering rock of hers. 

Slow, aching thrusts soon quickened, her soft requests for “More, Ashur, more… ” against the shell of his ear driving his desire higher and higher. Each time her nails scratched his back, he was sent closer and closer to the edge of that precipice he had almost forgotten about these last long months. How glad he was to be finding it once more with her. 

Tension settled low within him, a blaze that threatened to melt the frost within him as he pressed deeper, needing to be as close to her as possible, deliberate and driving strokes he knew would bring her to her peak. Their bodies were slick with sweat, and he dropped his head to her shoulder as he continued his rhythm, in and out, in and out, until her moans were echoing off the walls of her room and her body tensed up beneath him. He raised himself on his arms, needing to watch her as she came, her face flushed and eyes closed while nails dug into his back and she shattered around him. The sound of his name falling from her lips as she pulsed and fluttered around him sent him careening toward his release, a desperation to fill her taking him over as he thrust into her quickly, roughly, before crying out and spilling inside her. 

“Did you miss that, too?” he teased, panting, before kissing her softly. 

“Very much,” she said after kissing him back.

He sat back on the sofa, grabbing her hand and pulling her up onto his lap, so she was facing him. He couldn’t be parted from her just yet. Both of them held tightly to each other as they came down from the highest of heights. Their bodies relaxed, molding against the other, like this was how they were meant to be. Maybe they were. Ashur looked at Bianca as she looked around the room—she was still flushed, breathing a little heavier than normal, and her curls were everywhere, but he would never think she was anything less than the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He tucked a curl behind her ear, letting the point show for once. 

“I was planning on saying goodbye to the Lighthouse tonight, I guess that’s as good of a send off as any,” she smiled, looking at the trinkets she had accumulated over these last months. All memories—some good, some painful, but all a part of her journey. 

“So what’s next?” he asked, a small shock of nerves running through him. What if she didn’t want him in her future? 

“I was planning to go back to Treviso, for a bit at least, but now…I’m not so sure,” she smiled, running a fingertip down his chest. “I think Minrathous could use more help, don’t you think?” 

“There is still much work to do,” he nodded solemnly. “Tarquin has kept me in the loop on the progress and what still needs to be done. You would be a great help to the city and its people, as you have been since the dragon attack and before.” His mind started turning, making lists of everything that needed to be done. 

“Any….particular people?” she smiled softly. 

“There are several safehouses that need to be repaired. If we can get those back in livable order I think—” He was silenced by a finger on his lips.

“Ashur. I meant you,” she laughing and rolling her eyes at him. “I want to stay for you, with you, that is…if you want me to. With you being The Divine and The Viper…I wasn't sure.” 

He laughed loudly and freely, the first time in so long he felt all his troubles disappear. “What a ridiculous thing to ask, of course I do.” He placed a hand to her cheek. She leaned into it, her eyes closed. “We will figure it out. I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see the Light is here,” he whispered. 

“I guess I should get used to hearing the Chant, shouldn’t I?” she teased, pressing a kiss into his palm. “Comes with the territory?”

“This one, maybe. During my recovery, whenever I recited this one I thought of you. You are the Light, Bianca, and as long as you are in my life, I can do anything. It will be challenging being with me, being who we are, but I will always fight for you, and I am done keeping this in the shadows. I want to love you freely, openly, and damn anyone who tries to get between us. You’ve been fighting for me for so long when I was ready to give up, even if I didn’t know it. It’s my turn to fight for you. For us.” 

A tear fell down her cheek, and she started laughing before kissing him fiercely, her arms wrapped around him.

“We will fight together.” 

MINRATHOUS, ONE YEAR LATER

The sunlight streamed in through the small window of her even smaller apartment much earlier than she wanted, but Bianca couldn’t bring herself to care as she rolled onto her side and looked at the face of the man sleeping beside her, bathed in the pink glow of the early morning. She smiled to herself as she traced the shell of his curved ear down to the sharp angle of his jaw to his perfect lips. She remembered the way he looked up at her the night before, their bodies illuminated in moonlight as she rode him slowly. She was tempted to wake him up and demand a repeat, but he looked so peaceful and relaxed she couldn’t bear to disturb him. 

She yawned. Coffee—they needed coffee. She sat up, stretching and scanning the room for her robe, seeing it discarded unceremoniously in the hallway the night before. He came over most nights, her apartment chosen for its convenient location between both the Divine Manor and the hideout, but every time they met felt like it was both the first time and the last time. She supposed that when you went through what they did, every moment counted. And they did. She started to get up, only to feel a hand on her wrist, pulling her back to his side. 

“You didn’t think you would be able to just leave me without a good morning, did you?” he asked. His voice was gravelly and somehow even deeper when he first woke up and Bianca found it incredibly sexy. Even more so that she was the one who got to hear it. 

“I was just going to make us some coffee,” she laughed as he took her hand in his, threading his fingers through hers. His other arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her tightly against him. 

“Coffee can wait. This is more important,” he smiled. 

“You’re right, this feels too good. I may never leave this bed.” She hummed, his finger tracing lazy circles on her shoulder. She could stay here like this forever and be completely satisfied. As long as she was with him. 

“I love you,” he said after several quiet moments. 

“I love you, too,” she said, placing a kiss on his chest. 

“I want to spend the rest of my days with you.” His voice was serious, a rarity when they were together. It made her sit up and look at him, meeting his eyes—those brilliant teal eyes that could see right through her. She was certain he could see her heart fluttering in her chest like it was a butterfly trying to escape. 

“I think we’re making a pretty good run of it so far,” she said slowly, trying to conceal the way her breathing was picking up, the way she felt her magic sparking within her. 

“Marry me.”

“What?” she said, her heart now pounding in her chest, a single butterfly replaced with a swarm. She was convinced she heard him incorrectly. Her thoughts were much the same—so many questions flying around, all at once. 

“Will you marry me?” he asked, interrupting her chaotic thoughts. He said it with such a vulnerability, rarely shown, that it quieted the buzzing inside her and drew her from her mind back to him—the man she loved, laying in her bed, who just asked her to be his wife.  

His wife. 

“Marry the Divine? And what would that make me?” she smiled, teasing him as she always did. 

“That would make you my Divine, but you already knew that,” he said, smiling as he pulled her on top of him. “Will you?”

“The Divine marrying an elf would be quite the scandal. The magisters will have a field day with this, you know that right?”

“The Divine is marrying the Savior of Minrathous, defeater of gods, ender of blight.”

“And an assassin, don’t forget that,” she said. She had heard Tarquin’s concerns after he caught them coming back through the eluvian together that night a year ago. They stuck with her to this day. 

“An ex-assassin. And very personal bodyguard, if need be.” 

“Ok fine, so the magisters are taken care of but what of your parents? I bet they’ve had someone perfect picked out for you since you were a child. I know how it is with you altus mages…” She had honestly been surprised he hadn’t been married off already when they met.

“Made irrelevant once everyone saw that lightning and fire blast. They’re still talking about it, I think.” He looked up at her, smiling as he tucked a curl behind her ear. “You’re amazing, incredible, powerful… you’re perfect.”

“Alright alright, enough of that,” she laughed. 

“I could go on, you know. All day, if I must,” he said before pulling her down to kiss her. “Bianca, these are valid concerns to have, but all that matters is you and me. Everything else will fall into place. Besides, I’m the Divine, the Maker’s voice on earth, and after everything we've been through? The Maker wills this. I know it, I can feel it. Now, quit avoiding my question. Will you?”

The smile that lit up her face outshone the sun streaming in from the window. 

“Yes! Yes!” she laughed, tears falling down her face. “I will marry you.” 

The sun was high in the sky and the city was in full swing by the time the two left their bed that day, the sounds of celebration and pleasure echoing off the walls all morning. They would take on their roles as The Viper and his Crow the rest of the day, but for now, they were simply Ashur and Bianca. No secrets, no masks, just each other.  

And there was nothing else they’d rather be.

[deathblightprince]

That answer wasn't good enough for Godwyn. His features fell into a scowl, ready to lecture Miquella as if he was still a child. Adult or not, Godwyn is going to be the responsible big brother who keeps his siblings in check.

"A necessary part of the greater plan? Brother, hast thou not learned from the past? What do you think that witch would have said if you asked her why she had me murdered and carved?" His glare was like an icy dagger, his voice sharper than a blade. He refused to call Ranni by her name, no less acknowledge her as kin. She's was dead to him, and nothing more than a heartless, ruthless witch.

"What dost thou believe mother shall say when she justifies slaying thousands, and causing the genocide several races? 'It was a necessary part of the greater plan'?" He crossed his arms. He gave Radahn a wary look before looking back at Miquella. Just now his eyes were adjusting his brothers blinding light.

"What is this Greater plan that thoust had to hath both our brothers slain for?"

Godwyn was wary of Miquella and his new form. He was warned ahead of time about his enchantment streak, and how he essentially abandoned almost everything he once was for this form. At this point, he wasn't so sure how much of Miquella he was seeing left.

"Brother, what has been done is permanent. There is nothing that can reverse this curse upon myself, as it was woven into my soul upon rebirth." Not that he really wanted to go back to being the Golden Prince. Sure, he wouldn't have chronic back pain anymore, but he would lose his purpose in this new life if he threw it all away.

"What hast thou done to our brothers, Miquella? Why must Mohg's body be desecrated and Radahn's soul be refused the rest he deserves?"

[antivan-sprig]

A Fourth Song in the Night

Okie dokie! I ended up cheating and giving Jerran two songs. Originally I was just going to use the first one but I just couldn’t do that to Jerran, especially after the last time. Anyways I’ll leave it up to you to decide exactly when Jerran shows up and what exactly he hears.

The second song is very much the vibes that Jerran inspires (in my opinion) and arguably it could also be a song about Eleanor depending on when this is in the timeline (once again I’ll leave that up to you). Only included the first verse for brevity since it was getting long :)

@teamtakagi : Jerran had avoided that section of hallway for weeks, yet for some reason he found himself restless that evening. As Liselath's voice gently wafted out through the crack in the door, he found himself slowly sinking down on the floor to listen.

Liselath sat on her bed with bass guitar in hand, humming slowly as she thought back on the recent pyre readings she’d done. While she considered most to be a good introduction to the other members of the Veilguard, a few stood out to her as less successful; and of those few, one was disastrous. She’d underestimated the strength of the blight which ran through a warden’s blood, and worse, she’d overestimated her ability to control what came through the fire.

She cringed thinking back on that night with Jerran. She knew she owed him a better apology, she’d been the one to ask him to join her after all; but apologies were not Lisel’s forte. The unrest that the event stirred up inside her found its way out through music, Lisel had been working on her Jerran inspired song for three days now and had mostly finished it. She’d hoped to create a piece which reflected his inner strength, gallantry, and the gentle sense of wonder he inspired. Instead, she found herself strumming a familiar song, a favorite of hers. It was a tune known well by the Dalish, a dark and melancholy tale of lost love. Although as she thought through the lyrics she was struck by how much they reminded her of Jerran and everything he’d gone through.

She sighed aloud, knowing that once her brain got preoccupied with something musical, the only way to get through it was to play it a few times. She took a breath, steadied herself and then began to strum the haunting melody.

I shall tell of a hunter whose life was undone

By the cruel hand of evil, at the setting of the sun

His arrow was loosed

and it flew through the dark

And his true love was slain

as the shaft found its mark

She'd her apron wrapped about her,

and he took her for a swan

And it's, oh, and alas it was she, Polly Von

He ran up beside her and found it was she

He turned away his head

for he could not bear to see

He lifted her up and found she was dead

A fountain of tears for his true love, he shed

She'd her apron wrapped about her,

and he took her for a swan

And it's, oh, and alas it was she, Polly Von

He bore her away to his home by the sea

Cryin', "Father, oh, father, I murdered poor Polly

I've killed my fair love in the flower of her life

And I always intended that she be my wife"

"But she'd her apron wrapped about her,

and I took her for a swan

And it's oh, and alas it was she, Polly Von"

He roamed near the place

where his true love was slain

He wept bitter tears, but his cries were all in vain

As he looked on the lake, a swan glided by

And the sun slowly sank in the gray of the sky

She'd her apron wrapped about her,

and he took her for a swan

And it's, oh, and alas it was she, Polly Von

Briefly she considered the idea of sharing the song with Jerran. From what she could understand from the twisted visions, there was a considerable amount of restless ambiguity surrounding Kyra’s fate. No outcome Lisel could imagine was very comforting, but if Jerran was anything like her he might get some closure in simply making up an ending for her. Yet the more she considered it, the more it felt like wishful thinking. She doubted most warden’s would think like her, and more so, a warden knew better than anyone the likely fate of a woman dragged off by darkspawn.

A shiver went down her spine as she recalled the memory.

“Better get back to it. At least then something good will have come out of all this.” Lisel said while fighting off a yawn. She began strumming again, this time being the song she’d intended for Jerran in the first place.

I walked ten thousand miles,

ten thousand miles to see you

And every gasp of breath

I grabbed at just to find you

I climbed up every hills to get, to you

I wondered ancient lands to hold, just you

And every single step of the way,

I pay-hey hey hey hey

Every single night and day

I searched for you

Through sandstorms and hazy dawns

I reached for you

With that, Lisel rose to her feet and sat her bass down by the dresser. She flashed a smile at herself as she passed the mirror, stopping to examine the toll the late night had on her face. It was only then that she noticed the slight crack in the door. She whirled around and took a few rushed steps towards the door, stopping an arms length away from it.

“Someone there?” She called out, worry apparent in her tone.