#﹙ ♡ ﹚ filed under : threads !

[stellarcharms]

tag drop . . ♡

[descrtmoons]

Ela sabia muito bem que estar ocupada não era necessariamente uma desculpa para ter sumido da vida de Christine como havia feito. Não só da dela, aliás, tinha negligenciado a maior parte de seus relacionamentos quando Agrabah começou a entrar em crise. Aquela grande bagunça era, ao menos, uma oportunidade para se reaproximar das pessoas que amava, se elas ainda quisessem a sua companhia. Relaxou um pouco quando percebeu que Rajah realmente não tinha feito nada demais e se sentou na extremidade do banco que não havia sido ocupada por ele, cabisbaixa, ainda com receio de olhá-la nos olhos. Deu uma risadinha baixa com a voz que ela usou para falar com ele, bem ciente de que soava muito pior quando era carinhosa com o tigre. “Ele sempre é. Mas às vezes não tem muita noção da própria força” explicou, automaticamente fazendo carinho nele também. Por mais que ele tivesse lhe assustado por um breve momento ali, estava grata por sua presença, porque do contrário estaria se sentindo muito mais nervosa e angustiada. Soltou um longo suspiro com a pergunta, se obrigando pela primeira vez a encontrar o seu olhar. “Christine.” O nome dela soava estranho depois de ter passado tanto tempo sem pronunciá-lo, ela sequer se lembrava quando tinha sido a última vez que visitara Maldonia, e escrevê-lo em cartas não era exatamente a mesma coisa. “Estressada. Mas quando não, não é?” tentou sorrir para quebrar o gelo, mas rapidamente se arrependeu de ter tentado apelar para o humor. “E você? Como está?” perguntou, o pedido de desculpas entalado na garganta, já que, no momento, sequer se sentia no direito de fazê-lo.

Ainda estava distraída, encarando os vitrais de forma contemplativa quando percebeu uma sombra se aproximando rapidamente por sua visão periférica, só percebendo que era o tigre que conhecia quando ele estava em cima dela. "Deus! Rajah, o que está fazendo aqui?" De primeiro momento tinha se assustado, mas quando sentiu as lambidas em seu rosto não conseguiu evitar uma risada - a primeira daquele dia. Gatos não gostavam muito dela, mas gatos grandes aparentemente lhe adoravam. Porém, quando ouviu a voz de sua dona, o riso que tinha aparecido em seu rosto foi sumindo aos poucos. Estava fazendo carinho no tigre, que tinha meio deitado em cima dela e meio deitado no pouco espaço que existia no banco, quando ela se aproximou. "Está tudo bem. Ele continua muito comportado. Só estava animado." Subiu a mão para fazer carinho entre as orelhas dele. "Muito bom menino." Disse para ele em uma voz mais fofinha, a mesma que usava com seus passarinhos. Suspirando, voltou o olhar para a amiga - ainda poderia considera-la algo do tipo? -, a analisando antes de dizer algo. O timing daquele encontro não tinha sido dos melhores, já que Christine não só estava como aparentava cansaço. "Jasmine. Como tem passado?"

[hederasgarden]

Under the Influence - Part 1

Summary: While investigating a suspicious pharmaceutical company, you and Clark find yourselves exposed to a drug that forces you to grapple with its unforeseen consequences. Pairing: Clark Kent x F!Reader  Word Count: 3.9K Warning: 18+ only, explicit sexual content. Dubious consent (reader and Clark are exposed to sex pollen), unprotected PIV, size kink, biting, angst and other untagged themes.  A/N: Thank you @ryebecca @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for holding my hand through this and Becca for beta’ing!

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ Henry Cavill Characters Masterlist

It’s late, and the glittering skyline of Metropolis stretches out beyond the windows of the Daily Planet. The usual hum of activity in the bullpen is absent tonight – it’s just you, Clark, and an intimidating stack of boxes that seem to multiply with every passing minute. You may have indulged in a daydream or two about Clark just like this, but none of them ever involved so much paperwork.

You stifle a yawn, reaching for your coffee, only to nearly choke when you realize it’s gone cold. Grimacing, you set the offending mug aside and try to wash away the stale taste with water. The sound catches Clark’s attention and pulls him from his work. He offers you a wiry smile that you return, struck once again by just how handsome he looks. He makes it all too easy to have a crush on him, even though you know it wouldn’t go anywhere.

“I’ll put on a fresh pot,” he offers, stretching as he stands. 

Despite shedding his suit jacket earlier, and the way his tie is slightly askew, he still manages to look annoyingly chipper despite the late hour. You lean back to pass him your mug, your stiff muscles protesting. They ache from hours of sitting and sorting. 

“Back in a jiffy,” he promises, disappearing down the hall. 

By now, the two of you have been hunched over documents for nearly ten hours. Half of them are so technical they might as well be gibberish, but you’ve found a few leads in the financial papers. Unfortunately, your current stack of documents is so heavily redacted that they’re practically useless. You groan in frustration, resting your forehead on your arms until Clark returns, bringing the rich, intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee with him. 

You accept the mug with a smile but quickly set it on the table when the warmth that seeps through the ceramic nearly burns your fingers. Not for the first time, you wonder how Clark managed to get the ancient coffee machine to percolate so quickly. For everyone else, it typically spewed out lukewarm sludge.

“Bet you're regretting volunteering for this assignment now,” Clark says. 

“Not for a moment,” you reply. “You’re still sharing that byline with me, right?” You question, squinting up at him.

“I always keep my promises,” he says with such earnestness that you’re reminded once again why Perry liked to call him a Boy Scout.

“I’ll hold you to it because this story’s turned into a beast.”

Clark sighs, resting his hands on his hips as he surveys the cluttered table strewn with file boxes and paper.  “It really has,” he agrees. 

When Perry called for a volunteer from the pool of junior editors to help with an expose on Salvation Pharmaceuticals, you jumped at the opportunity and not just because Clark was the writer assigned to the story. Most of your days were spent copyediting stories and arguing about AP style. You were just itching for some hands-on research experience, although neither of you expected the thread Clark pulled to unravel so quickly or so thoroughly. 

What started as an investigation into government kickbacks and dubious congressional dealings rapidly evolved into something far more unsettling. Salvation Pharmaceuticals’ R&D department was embroiled in deeply questionable research, from a gas capable of erasing memories to a potent drug they called a truth serum. All of their drugs had horrible side effects, particularly the latter which worked by lowering inhibitions but also triggered something they called sexual psychosis.

Clark’s freedom of information request resulted in your current predicament. Based on the sheer number of boxes they sent it was clear the company hoped to overwhelm you with an avalanche of data and make it difficult to find what you needed. Unfortunately for them, Clark Kent was one of the most determined reporters you’d ever met. If anyone was going to get to the bottom of the story it was him. 

“Well…once more unto the breach,” you quote, holding up a fresh box of files.

As you lift the lid, Clark offers you a small smile, his cheeks dimpling. For a moment, you’re too distracted by him to notice the cloud of yellow dust rising from the box. It quickly expands, swirling into a thick mist that engulfs you both. Immediately, your lungs begin to burn, and you gasp for air. You push your chair back and struggle to stand as your vision blurs. 

A strong arm around your middle hauls you back, dragging your feet on the carpet. Clark pulls you to the edge of the room, and you lean into him, desperately trying to clear your lungs. Behind you, he grunts, his fingers twitching and spasming against your hip. It takes several moments for the air to clear, but when it does, you watch in horror as the yellow dust seems to melt into your skin.

“What was that?” You ask, voice hoarse.

Clark is silent and looks grim when you turn to face him. “I think that was the truth serum. The reports described it as yellow dust.”

You stare at him, bewildered. “Why would the dust be in there?”

“I don’t know. But I can guess.”

You rub your chest and take a hesitant step back. “I don’t feel any different. Do you?”

“No.” He presses his lips together, a muscle in his jaw twitching with tension. “Do you feel anything?”

You exhale slowly, taking stock of your body. “Maybe?” Your response is more of a question than a definitive answer. You feel oddly warm, but it could just be the adrenaline from the situation. 

“You’re sweating,” he observes, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. The warmth of his touch makes you shudder and you can’t help but notice how good he smells. “Your body temperature is elevated.”

“Huh?” You look up at him, momentarily lost in his gaze. “You’re hot, too,” you blurt out, mortified when the words leave your mouth.

“I feel fine,” Clark replies, either misunderstanding what you meant or choosing not to acknowledge the slip.

You step away from him, feeling your body buzz with embarrassment. Sweat dots your brow, and you’re halfway out of your thin cardigan before you even realize it. As you pace the room, you realize Clark might be right — the powder could be affecting you. You try to shake off the disorienting feeling that lingers, while Clark tracks your progress with sharp blue eyes.

“Should we call someone? Isn’t there a protocol for dealing with mysterious powders?” It’s difficult to think straight when your body feels like a furnace. “Clark?” You question.

His nostrils flare but otherwise, he doesn’t respond until you say his name again. “Yeah. There’s uh, an anthrax protocol. Perry’s got it in his office.”

Time seems to progress in strange lurches and lulls as you wait for Clark to return. You’re not sure how long he’s gone, each minute dragging as the heat within intensifies and your thoughts become increasingly muddled. There’s a growing pressure in your stomach too, something that radiates down. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s persistently irritating — a prickling feeling that needs to be soothed.

“I made the call,” Clark announces, reappearing. “They said it’ll be 30 minutes until they get here with everything they need. We just have to sit tight.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. If it really was the truth serum, and you’re starting to believe Clark might be right, there’s no telling what might come out of your mouth. Even now, as you pace back and forth, you feel a pressure under your tongue, as though the words are lurking just beneath the surface, eager to spring out. The last thing you want to do is reveal your stupid little crush on him.

“God, it’s hot,” you muttered, staring at the window. You press your palms to the glass. It’s cool to the touch and you lay your forehead against it, almost moaning in relief. You wish you could strip off your dress and melt into the floor. 

“Here.” Clark’s voice is closer than you expect.

You flinch at the feel of his hand on your lower back but let him turn you around to face him. He presses a glass of cool water to your lips, and you grasp his thick wrist as he urges you to drink it all, your gaze never leaving his. The moment you finish your mouth feels dry and your throat itches. 

“You have the bluest eyes,” you whisper. “You shouldn’t hide them behind your glasses.” You reach for them, but Clark stops you with a gentle hand on yours. Embarrassment rushes under your skin, and you draw back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“It’s the drug.”

“Why aren’t you affected?” You question. “You seem fine.”

“My biology is different from yours,” he says almost absently only to freeze a second later. He presses his lips together and clenches his jaw. For the first time since you met him, Clark looks genuinely unsettled. “The reports said it affected women quicker,” he adds before stepping back.

Your hand falls limply to your side as you watch him. Clark tugs at his already loosened tie, stretching his neck with an audible crack. A dark red flush creeps up his cheeks, making the skin around his eyes glow faintly. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a harsh breath through his nose.

“Maybe I should wait in the other room,” he grits out.

“Yeah,” you agree.

Clark barely takes a step towards the door before a sharp, unexpected wave of searing pain rips through your stomach, sending you crashing to your knees. The impact jolts your entire body, but that discomfort is overshadowed by a deep gnawing ache between your legs. You pitch forward onto all fours, struggling as your cunt flutters around nothing. 

“Oh,” you whimper, terrified as your mind recalls the adverse event report for the truth serum with perfect clarity. 

Following an increase in basal body temperature, patients exposed to the drug exhibit symptoms of full-blown sexual psychosis. This condition necessitates achieving climax to alleviate symptoms. Patients who are unable to reach climax experience a marked increase in heart rate and blood pressure, which in some cases progresses to cardiac arrest.

Every muscle in your body tenses, as a fierce, relentless pressure builds. Then, like the tide, it recedes, leaving you curled into a ball on the floor. Through half-closed eyes, you meet Clark’s gaze. He kneels in front of you and his expression mirrors your anguish.

“Clark….”

“I know,” he says quietly. His hands hover at your shoulder for a moment before he finally helps turn you on your back.

None of this feels real; it’s like a twisted wish gone wrong.

“Help me, please,” you cry, the words escaping in broken sobs. You’re too hysterical to feel ashamed about what you’re asking him to do. Details from the report keep replaying in your mind, fueling your terror. You don’t want to die.

Clark looms over you, a sheen of sweat on his brow. You stare up at him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pain in your core pulses and builds. The ache in the body is all-consuming, overriding everything else. Worse is the feeling of emptiness that you know he could fill. 

“Please.” Your voice fizzles out as a strong wave of pain slams into you. It leaves you reeling and disoriented. You claw at his arms, fingernails digging into his skin. 

“I’m going to help you.” He says, his gaze lingering on you as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “If-if you want me to,” he adds, and a hysterical laugh bubbles up inside you. Of course you do, you’ve dreamed of him since the day you met him in the breakroom. You just never imagined this. 

When another cramp leaves you panting and desperate you grit out a pained, “Yes.”

His large hand encircles your calf, gently but firmly pulling your legs apart so he can kneel between them. The cool air makes you groan and you try to curl in on yourself again, but Clark pins you to the floor easily. With shaky hands, he drags your dress up to expose your simple black underwear. The sight seems to transfix him and you watch his chest rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths that mimic your own. 

“I have to ah, I have to…” He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he shakes his head his glasses fall down his nose. “I need to get you ready.”

“I don’t care,” you sob. “Fuck me, please.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the part that's still you, is horrified by your words. You’ve never spoken to anyone like that, let alone a colleague or the man you have a crush on. But you know with a terrifying certainty that if he doesn’t fuck you, you’ll both die. 

“It’s okay,” he soothes, the calm tenor of his voice betrayed by the way his hand trembles against your thigh. He tears off your underwear with an ease that would give you pause if you were in your right mind.

Shame is a thing of the past as you spread your legs even further, allowing his hungry gaze to drink its fill. He parts your folds and draws two fingers through the wetness gathered there, starting with light, teasing strokes that quickly build to more. When his thumb finds your bundle of nerves, he rubs slow, soothing circles until the pain in your stomach eases a fraction. 

“You’re doing good,” he encourages, sounding breathless. “Doing so good for me, honey.”

You moan his name and he shifts closer, bent forward to watch himself work. Soon one kind of pressure recedes and another begins. You gasp, throwing your head back as Clark continues his slow assault, building in its intensity. When your legs thrash his other hand settles on your hip, holding you still as he works a thick finger inside. Your cunt clenches in response to the intrusion. Above you, he groans and his thumb moves faster. 

“More, oh god I need more,” you beg, keening when Clark pushes a second finger inside. 

The stretch of them both burns but that’s eclipsed by the pleasure you feel. You rock forward, trying to take more of him but he doesn’t let you, controlling the pace. You can hear yourself babbling, nonsensical words streaming from your mouth as he draws you closer and closer to your orgasm until, all at once, it overwhelms you completely. Your orgasm is almost painful and your hands curl into fists, your body contorting in response. The room blurs around you, and every fiber of your being is consumed by the relief you feel. 

When it passes you’re left trembling on the floor, avoiding Clark’s gaze. He hovers over you, his arousal hard to miss with the way it tents the front of his gray slacks.

“Clark.” You touch his chest, inhaling when his dark blue eyes snap up to meet yours. “Do you…” 

You can’t even force yourself to say it now that you’re back in your right mind. Clark shakes his head, withdrawing his fingers. You wince, and he looks pained. 

“We should —” he starts, but whatever he is about to say is abruptly cut off as he grunts and hunches forward, a visible shudder running through him. 

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his face. When your fingers brush over the curve of his cheek he moans and surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. He forces his tongue inside and the heat of him is almost unbearable. You push at his shoulder, but he doesn’t relent. His hands travel up and down your sides and you feel that familiar pressure return to your core. It builds slowly, like the spark of an ember that will soon flare into a blazing fire. 

You shift under Clark, drawing your legs up as he swallows down your needy whine. By the time he pulls away, you’re feeling dizzy and gasping for breath.

“We need to,” you begin, squeezing your eyes shut as your body trembles.

“I know,” Clark replies.

He fumbles with his pants and you look up at the ceiling as he pulls himself free. It feels like a violation to look, but without your permission, you find your gaze drifting down. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, just as big and thick as the rest of him. It’s red and weeping. Your cunt aches, and you toss your head side to side, trying to dispel the pain. 

Clark plants a hand near your head while he lines himself up between your thighs. He pushes inside slowly. It hurts, god, it hurts, but you need more of him, and you need it now. Wrapping his tie around your hand, you pull hard, urging him closer. He snaps his hip forward with enough force to jar your bones, and you wail in response. For one blissful moment, everything is quiet. Your buzzing mind and aching body are finally filled in a way they’ve been craving.

“Fuck.” The curse falls from Clark’s lips and brings you back to the moment. “You feel so good. You feel…” he trails off, his words bleed into one long, low moan that has you clenching around him. 

Above you, his handsome face contorts, his lips pressed tightly together. Tension lines the muscles of his jaw and his dark brows furrow in an expression that teeters between ecstasy and pain. Pleasure skitters along your nerves as he drives into you over and over again to reach some unknown place hidden deep inside. Your second orgasm rises to the surface just as swiftly as your first and Clark is relentless as he fucks you through it. 

There isn’t even time to catch your breath before his hands encircle your hips and he leans back, drawing you with him. The backs of your thighs drag over the fabric of his slack as he moves your body to meet his thrusts. As one orgasm fades you feel another spring to life, hastened by the feel of his calloused thumb on your clit. The need inside you burns even brighter, and a litany of desperate pleas spills from your lips. 

“You feel,” he pants, “just like I imagined.”

When you gasp his name he curls his body over yours, the new angle allowing him to move even deeper. You hold onto his biceps and listen to the desperate little noises that escape his chest with each thrust. His lips find the soft skin of your throat as his fingers dig into the neckline of your dress. He pulls hard and buttons scatter, giving him access to your shoulder. Teeth scrap over tender flesh and your back arches as another orgasm blooms in your stomach.

Waves of pleasure ebb through your body and your fingers tangle in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Clark doesn’t falter even when you fall still beneath him. Your muscles ache, and your body feels tense and exhausted, but that frenzied need that’s driven you since the dust melted into your system slakes away until you’re left feeling everything. Guilt and horror fill your body like sand, weighing you down. 

Clark groans and you realize he’s still in the throes of the drug's effects. The ceaseless rhythm of his hips has turned painful and your insides feel raw. You push at his shoulder but he doesn’t even seem to notice, hitching your leg over his waist to push himself deeper. 

He shudders, gasping, “like that, just like that.” Then his teeth sink into your neck and he finally stills. 

Tears leak from the corner of your eyes as your breath comes in short little sobs, your heart fluttering in your chest. After a few moments, Clark stiffens and you know he’s come back to himself. He shifts, slipping out of you with a quiet exhale. You can’t stifle your whimper of pain and his gaze jumps to you. For a moment you stare at each other and the silence is deafening. Then he passes a trembling hand over his lips and rocks back, moving to his feet in a fluid motion. He turns from you to tuck himself away and runs a hand through his curls. 

You sit up slowly, drawing your knees to your chest while you hold the fabric of your dress together in an attempt to give yourself some dignity. It’s almost laughable after what just happened. Clark says your name and you stare at his outstretched hand. After a moment of hesitation, you take it and he pulls you to your feet. When he drops his jacket over your shoulders you feel a swell of gratitude. You let him guide you to a chair, wincing when you sit. Everything feels raw and tender. 

He clears his throat. “The response team is downstairs.”

“Okay,” you say numbly. 

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

You want to tell him it’s okay, that it’s not his fault, but the words catch in your throat. All you get out is his name. Nothing about this is okay. How could it be? 

You wait together, Clark standing half a step ahead of you while you stare at his broad shoulders, lost in thought. He’s the one to greet the men and women in hazmat suits. You don’t catch everything he says, but his eyes drift back to you as he speaks. Before long, you’re separated, and the last image you hold onto is his hair tousled from your fingers and his wrinkled, untucked shirt.

From there, everything becomes a blur; moments merge into a disjointed sequence — being herded into a decontamination shower, the uncomfortable scratch of paper scrubs against your sensitive skin, a distressing medical exam, and then the questions. Endless questions bring back the haze of disjointed memories you’re struggling to process.

By the time you’re allowed to leave, the first rays of light filter through the windows of the bullpen. You watch the soft golden glow and listen to the faint chirping of birds. The city is waking up, bustling to life as it always does, but you feel disconnected from it all until you step into the elevator and turn to find Clark standing there.

He halts the doors from closing, his sad, mournful eyes meeting yours. A powerful wave of emotion rises in your throat as the weight of his guilt and your embarrassment settles inside you like a stone. There’s so much you want to say, so much that needs to be said, but it’s overshadowed by a deep ache in your chest. You feel so lost and unsure, terrified about what lies ahead that tears spill from your eyes, hot and unchecked. 

Clark exhales softly and steps back, but just before the doors close, he whispers your name. In that moment, everything else fades away — it’s just you, him, and all the unspoken words that linger between you.

Then, he’s gone and you’re left utterly alone. 

♡

I do not have a tag list, please follow @hg-library and turn on notifications.

[felassan]

I received a few asks around a similar topic, so I'm popping them together here. ( ´ ▽ ` ) DA:TV spoilers under cut.

[the Felassan Files]

hello! ◕‿◕ thank you for the lovely and fun ask messages!!

lavendervoids asked: "i’ve been dying to know what ur reaction was to seeing felassan in the game was???? the moment i saw him i was yelling and hollering and my first thought was ��omg what does tumblr user felassan think of this” LMAO and thank you for all the documenting you’ve been doing up until and past the release of the game, i ended up blocking every dragon age tag a couple months back to avoid any sort of spoilers but i still came to your blog everyday cause i knew you wouldn’t spoil me haha"

hhhh ( ´ ▽ ` ) tysm for thinking of me at that time!! and for the nice comment about this blog and visiting it. I'm really glad to know that my approach to spoiler tagging etc has been okay for you.

littlerune asked: "i don't even know you but you and dragon age felassan are so intrinsically linked in my brain that when he appeared in veilguard all i thought was "ohhhh i wonder how tumblr user felassan feels about this"

hhhh :D 🥺 thankyou so much for thinking of me!! ♡ some say that his ghost operates this tumblr blog, or that he lives still

songofamazon asked: "I'm still on my first play of the game, but whenever I got to the memories in the Crossroads, I thought to myself, "I hope Tumblr Felassan is having a great time. Did you?"

I had a great time playing the game and when playing the Crossroads memories sections, I loved them a lot, they were very cool and a highlight of the game. thankyou sm and for thinking of me, and I hope that you did too!!

phantabula-interactive asked: "im so glad you're enjoying the game!! I had to ask; how did you feel about seeing Felassan in game?? I was so excited to see the notes from him, I wasn't expecting a boss fight MUCH LESS. FULL CAMEO!!! They made him a lot prettier than I was expecting too (/pos)"

thankyou!! I hope that you've been enjoying it too!

so: I was sooo excited and shook to see Felassan in the game!!! I was like

(I yelped/hooted out loud like a clown) and then

and then it was suddenly like too much (pos) and my soul left my body and i astral projected into space/paradise/the Astral Plane/the Void or something etc

and then it took me some time to process or gather my thoughts about it.

obviously I was super hoping that we would see him in the game. I was sure that there would at least be some references to him in codexes/notes etc or allusions made in passing dialogue like Cole and Solas' lines about him in Trespasser. then when the marketing mentioned that we would see flashbacks from Solas' past in the Crossroads, I was like aaa omg, wouldn't that be the perfect time to actually show Felassan??, as a Fade memory or flashback or spirit echo or something. so then I was hoping like 🕯️🕯️🕯️ and yea. but even so, still when I saw him in game for the first time it was still a huge shocked Pikachu moment for me.

I was already feeling psyched from the first Felassan codex/note that I found, then I couldn't believe (pos) just how many codexes/notes scattered around written by him that there was?? I was already feeling spoiled (not spoiled by spoilers but like spoiled from eating good) from that (a bunch of codexes/notes might not seem like a lot but when your fav is a side character that has only appeared in one [1] tie-in novel..) and then he goes and actually APPEARS, AAAA. I feel like I ate so good. with the Betrayal fight and the rune at the end as well, it felt like he was threaded throughout the game and was really haunting the narrative. some assorted thoughts:

first of all everything about his DA:TV appearances/DA:TV references continues to underscore that he is the greatest of all time

it also continues to underscore the pain of his death/story and of his friendship with Solas

may I please go and start a new life living in Solas' memories of Felassan on repeat. i simply do not care that my body would waste away in the waking world from lack of sustenance

in the endgame I was trying to concentrate and punch Elgar'nan in the face and save the world but I like couldn't see straight through the tears after having been given Felassan's Magical Boyfriend Super Rune (morrigan pls.. what a way to twist the KNIFE at an extremely critical moment for thedas hhhh..)

expansion pack where we relive Solas' memories of him and Felassan dating (he didn't deserve Felassan tho fr. but then, does anyone..?)

I know that Felassan would treat Lavellan sooooo right. so well. so respectfully. felassan would pull their chair out for them at restaurants and open car doors and whatever

Betrayal of Felassan refers to Solas' betrayal of Felassan, not Felassan's betrayal of Solas

also i love how they made him DEVASTATINGLY handsome?? in the game (they didnt need to go that hard), but also how, at the same time - even before the TME Deluxe edition illustrations, we all just inherently knew deep in our bones that he was, you could simply just tell from his energy and vibes and dialogue even in only the written word. cool rolls off this guy in waves, and always has done

did his model have smoky winged eye makeup? love that. love that for him

I liked his sense of style. the hair his model has happened to be one of the ones I was debating using for my Rook. it's one of my fav ones from the CC

I appreciated the attention they paid to detail when making his model. Mythal vallaslin, violet/purple eyes, an undercut - as he was previously described or shown in TME, dev social media comments and the TME deluxe illustrations

I liked the actor they chose for him, his voice was cool

I felt like his codexes and notes that he wrote captured his voice and his character. you can see the depth of his loyalty and devotion to his friend, his concerns, and he retains his 'voice' in terms of some snark, wit etc

it's fun thinking about whether Felassan originally manifested from the Fade (and if so, what was he a spirit of) or whether he was born the usual way of other elves. (it could be either one)

Betrayal of Felassan as a manifested embodied regret and its lines like "his back, turned".. very raw. that fight was hard enough mechanically for me as it was, then the lines were like being hamstrung LOL. how could they??? (pos/lh)

I always thought that, a long time ago, Solas was essentially the player character in a different game, the main character of another story. the leader of his own group of companions and friends on their own quest (to stop the Evanuris), and that Felassan was one of those companions. Alistair to his Hero of Ferelden if you will. in DA:TV we learn that not only was he one of his companions, he was basically the second-in-command of his rebellion, a General, his closest friend aside from Mythal and his right-hand man.

he was so cool back in his heyday

pain. paaaaain. but like in a good way (I unironically love to be hurt by stories pls continue 💀...)

there are a few further posts containing more bits of my reaction and thoughts scattered through my Felassan tag. ^^

There were also a few other asks about this in my inbox, but Tumblr appears to have eaten them?? :< so if you've asked me about Felassan and my reaction since launch but the message isn't in this post, thankyou sm and I'm very sorry. 😔 pls feel free to re-send it. :)

I do remember that one of the vanished messages asked me what the Slaughter of the Pillars boss regret refers to - the Pillars of the Earth are the Titans. ("Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!") That undead boss embodies another of Solas' greatest regrets, namely what he and Mythal did to the Titans during the war with them - sundering every Titan from their spirit, severing them from their dreams, which resulted in the Blight as the dreams were driven mad. it also in a sense broke the dwarves in two and caused the fall of the fate of the dwarven people. Beyond the mural-memory that pertains to this in DA:TV, there are depictions of this time in the ancient past in the DA:TV artbook: [one, two]. Annotations there describe Solas rendering the Titans tranquil and capturing their souls; dwarves as a consequence then losing their connection to magic and fleeing into the now-Tranquil earth; and the Evanuris then building Elvhenan using the power of the captured Titan souls.

[adamthebcast]

Sem saber o que achava pior entre permanecer naquela festa com uma camisa que se recusava a permanecer fechada ou entrar em outra trajando um tema completamente inadequado, Adam já tinha desistido de manter-se de bom humor, apenas torcendo para que tudo acabasse logo. Só se levantou de onde estava sentado quando o estômago vazio começou a reclamar, seguindo em direção a um dos garçons que serviam ostras de coloração questionável em bandejas. Estava prestes a experimentar uma quando ouviu a voz de Vivienne, imediatamente pausando o que estava fazendo. Ele definitivamente não era um homem que escolhia se arriscar por conta própria, tendo medo de tudo do jeito que tinha. “Não parecia muito bem em que sentido?” perguntou, franzindo o cenho, mas retornou prontamente a ostra à bandeja. “Não, eu agradeço pelo aviso, de verdade. Estava com tanta fome que ignorei a minha desconfiança com essas cores vibrantes... imagino que não sejam só ostras. Como está, Lady Tremaine?” acrescentou casualmente no final, tentando segurar a blusa fechada da forma mais discreta possível.

𝑶𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓

Festa 03: O luau encantado

Em teoria era pra ser uma festa que a deixaria ela de bom humor, afinal, os perdidos iriam embora e tudo voltaria a seu devido lugar. Mas já havia detestado aquela ideia de aleatorizar para qual festa iriam e ter de ficar com as malditas roupas que sequer puderam escolher e claro que ela acabaria na festa que ela mais detestaria... E talvez o que a deixasse mais odiosa com tudo era que não gostava de estar apenas com trajes de banho entre todo mundo, gostava menos ainda que o cabelo ruivo que ela sempre mantinha preso agora estava completamente solto e livre, sentia aquilo como um ultraje ao decoro de uma dama como ela. Contudo, ainda não havia achado uma maneira de sair daquele lugar e imaginava que não estava sendo a pessoa com a energia mais contagiante, já que boa parte das pessoas parecia evitar sequer chegar perto dela. Mesmo assim, achou que faria uma boa ação ao ver muse pegando uma das ostras ofertadas por um dos garçons. ❝Se eu fosse você, pensaria duas vezes antes de comer isso, dear... A última pessoa que eu vi comendo um desses não parecia muito bem depois.❞ E com isso, talvez ela apenas se passasse como uma velha chata que desejava estragar a diversão dos mais jovens, não que ela se importasse muito com esse título. ❝Mas se achar que estou apenas sendo chata vá em frente, não serei eu a lhe impedir de qualquer coisa.❞

[loveafairs-a]

…  𝐀 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑  ,  @atvrvxia  .

       𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂 . . . 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍  ,  the pair had been torn apart by the biggest factor of what they wouldn’t even call a relationship. he was her best friend’s ex, so how could she possibly be feeling this way about a man whom once loved her best friend ? how could she possibly want to be curled up in bed with the man who once did the same with vienna ? the raven haired girl had so many questions but never an answer. how could she possibly be having these . . . vulgar thoughts about someone whom she’s forbidden from ? she wasn’t sure, but here they were. standing on the porch of her home after being out in the rain together. her hair was wet, her clothes drenched as she clung to the sweater that was clad against her wet frame.  〞i don’t think we should be alone together . . . not anymore.  〟

[madwthlove]

𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 @volkwn 𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏

O Halloween parecia o período perfeito para caçar confusão, mas naquela noite Madison estava cansada e queria uma aventura assustadora, porém mais light. Claro que light para a Hatter significava apenas não infringir leis ou destruir propriedade privada, mas isso é apenas um detalhe. Chamou o companheiro fiel de noitadas e bagunça pelo iWish, ficando instantaneamente mais feliz com sua resposta positiva. Abriu seu sorriso característico ao ver Volkan, acenando e fazendo uma careta boba e engraçadinha enquanto ele se aproximava. "Oi Volkie-Talkie!" chamou pelo apelido que usava quando tentava ser irritante, o que não era raro "Seguinte... Tem uma casa de uma família muito rica que todo mundo já morreu. Tá fechada, mas eles tem um cemitério privado nos fundos, pode imaginar? Quero ir até lá! E não se preocupe porque estou abastecida." se remexeu de forma que as garrafas de vidro dentro de sua mochila fizessem barulho. "Beber num cemitério em Halloween Town, parece até que somos adolescentes." riu. "Se ficar entediante podemos entrar na casa... Será que conseguimos abrir a fechadura? Faz tempo que não invado nada, estou meio enferrujada." deu de ombros "Ah! Você trouxe o violão, né? Quero fazer duetos!" amava cantar, mas tinha vergonha e reservava esse lado para poucas pessoas.

[doloreslefou]

𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖞 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 @snowmzan 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕭𝖆𝖑𝖑

Aquela noite estava sendo um misto de emoções muito forte para Elisa. Ter o fantasma de sua mãe controlando as ações de seu corpo era estar próxima dela até mesmo de maneiras que a jovem não gostaria de conhecer. Aproveitou um breve momento em que conseguiu tomar controle do corpo, mesmo tendo Carmen lhe dizendo coisas dentro de sua cabeça, para ir atrás de alguém de confiança para se livrar da tal maldição da bruxa. Dolores era supersticiosa demais para não realizar o ritual, porém desconfiada o suficiente para só querer fazê-lo com alguma das poucas pessoas com quem se permitia ser um pouco vulnerável, por isso não queria deixar essa decisão nas mãos do fantasma que a habitava. Avistou Albus de longe e correu até ele, segurando suavemente em seu braço para que ele notasse sua presença. "Ei Boo, eu preciso de você." disse, propositalmente num tom ambíguo e brincado "Preciso de alguém para fazer esse maldito ritual da bruxa e... Você foi o escolhido, parabéns." explicou, constrangida de contar que a razão da escolha era ele ser alguém precioso para si.

[pegueinopulo]

flashback.

Uma expressão culpada tomou o seu rosto quando percebeu que tinha se assustado. Ela realmente deveria tomar mais cuidado ao abordar as pessoas... sua tia vivia dizendo que ela ia ser a causa do ataque cardíaco de alguém um dia. “Foi mal, eu fiquei tão empolgada que esqueci de falar oi que nem gente. Oi! Saskia, certo? Sou Darcy, não sei se lembra de mim.” se apresentou por precaução, já que nem todo mundo ali se dava ao trabalho de lembrar do nome das pessoas, acreditando no "tempo curto" que os governantes dali haviam estipulado para a sua volta. Tomou a liberdade de se sentar ao seu lado no banco, deixando um espaço razoável entre elas para não assustá-la mais do que já havia feito. Imaginou que a hesitação dela poderia ser por pura humildade ou insegurança, porque a técnica dela definitivamente era profissional, totalmente diferente do que qualquer um rabiscando em um caderno. “Que legal! Sobre o que vai ser a sua exposição? Se não se importa com a pergunta” tentou manter cautela nas palavras, mas não pôde evitar de murchar um pouquinho quando ela fechou o caderno. Queria poder ver mais. “Eu adoro! Adoro ver, no caso, porque sempre fui péssima fazendo. E eu já tentei bastante, acredite” acrescentou no tom mais sério que pôde, “Não sou o tipo de pessoa que acredita que o pessoal já nasce sabendo desenhar nem nada do tipo, mas requer uma paciência e precisão que eu não tenho. Tenho muita experiência com artistas, porém! Eu jogo RPG de mesa, sabe? Aí tô sempre comissionando arte dos meus personagens. Você já jogou? É bem legal.”

Antes de toda aquela confusão, Saskia tinha uma rotina muito bem definida: Era acordada por sua noiva para que tomassem café juntas, então se exercitava por cerca de duas horas antes de voltar para a casa que dividiam e começar a trabalhar em seus quadros pelo restante do dia. Inspiração nunca tinha sido realmente um problema, afinal, sempre encontrava algo nos detalhes diários de sua vida que merecesse ser posto em uma tela. Com sua ida para aquele... Mundo, aliada à grande mudança em sua vida pessoal tomada impulsivamente minutos antes de ser teletransportada, Saskia se viu muito mais perdida do que gostaria de admitir e isso, sim, passou a afetar sua expressão artística. Até tentou nos primeiros dias no reino, quando estavam presos no C.C.C, se distrair com suas tintas e um pincel na mão, porém sem sucesso. Agora que tinham um prazo para o retorno às suas vidas normais, a necessidade de registrar o que vivia para apresentar ao pai se tornou mais forte do que sua crise de identidade, o suficiente para que os desenhos começassem a fluir de si como sempre ocorreu antes. "Deus, que susto!" Exclamou ao ouvir uma voz tão próxima de si, abraçando o sketchbook por puro reflexo. Ao ver quem era, relaxou, abrindo um sorriso amigável. "Bem, sim... Fui eu." Agora, sua próxima pergunta provocou um franzir em seu cenho em confusão. Nunca havia realmente feito uma exposição profissional, então poderia se considerar uma? "É, algo assim... Eu acho." Riu um pouco sem graça, o que era um grande contraste com a Saskia que havia apresentado ali até o momento. "Ainda estou trabalhando na minha primeira exposição." Explicou, fechando o caderno apenas para que não acabasse estragando o desenho enquanto estivesse distraída com a conversa. "Você gosta de artes?"

[gaatadodeserto]

[sorayamequeimou]

[fiqueicomapvta]

[maddieamordoce]

[bibliotequila]

[doloreslefou]

Elisa queria desesperadamente responder à pergunta com sinceridade, porque sim, sentia a morte em toda parte naquele jardim. Não conseguia dizer ao cedo quando havia ocorrido, o que significava que aquelas estátuas não estavam totalmente mortas, mas também não podiam mais ser consideradas seres vivos. Claro, não era como se ela pudesse fazer alguma coisa, mas ao ouvir a dúvida da Malyeek seu instinto berrou dentro de si para que ela ao menos tentasse. Só havia um problema: o fantasma de sua mãe, que possuía seu corpo pela noite, não tinha acesso a suas habilidades mágicas. "Consigo sentir apenas um medo de todo esse sangue transmitir doenças." Carmen respondeu. Tendo vindo da realidade de onde vinha, da prostituição no Castigo, não era de se estranhar que sua preocupação fosse mais algo nessa linda. "Olha, eu tenho certeza de que sei alguma coisa, mas sou só um fantasma passeando por uma noite... Minha Lo deve saber algo, mas não consigo entender os poderes dela." resmungou "Só acho esse jardim cafona e medonho. E não sei como vocês legados conseguem ter poderes! Deve ser muita informação para a cabeça!"

Closed starter for @doloreslefou | Jardim de estátuas

« ♕ ☪ ⇀ A sensação era absolutamente perturbadora, mas ainda assim, seus pés a levaram até aquele local bizarro até que estivesse encarando - a uma distância segura - uma das estátuas do jardim. Já tinha percebido a Le Fou por lá, e sabia que podia ser indevido, mas não se controlou ao perguntar ❝―――――Você consegue sentir alguma coisa? ❞ Dolores conseguia sentir mortes próximas, será que sua magia reconhecia aquelas estátuas como próximas da morte? Sabia que não era a única a ter pensado que eram pessoas de verdade, tinha escutado murmurinhos. Servia bem a ela lembrar que aquele lugar era de monstros, e que aquilo ia muito além das travessuras de Halloween - existia uma escuridão ali que chamava a todos.

[loveafairs-a]

. . .  𝑨𝑫𝑹𝑰𝑨𝑵  &  𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑰𝑨  ,  @atvrvxia​.

         things were never meant to turn out this badly for adrian & sofia. in fact, he wished that things had gone the opposite way. but instead he hadn’t seen sofia in over a month & he didn’t blame her for not answering his calls, texts & even his writing columns that he had made pleading for her forgiveness. he was on the verge of giving up hope but something told him that he needed to hold on to his hope & give her time. he had later found himself at a club, a few beers in & feeling a buzz coming on. he turned his attention toward the bartender & waved for another drink. he was going to forget his name tonight & he didn’t have a care in the world. tune into an hour later & adrian is more than buzzed, dancing on the dance floor with a few buddies. but he stops dead in his tracks & sees HER. she looked breathtakingly beautiful, which only caused an unwanted reaction from his cock, feeling himself only getting turned on as his drunken inner monologue took over his every thought. he made his way off the dance floor, his eyes set on sofia. he bit down on his lip as he got closer, not knowing why his feet were even still moving in her direction. he had no plans of having a conversation with her, he just wanted to show her HOW much he missed her. so he did what he thought was a bold move, he walked up behind her, snaking an arm loosely around her slim frame, pressing his hard frame against her own --- hoping she would feel just how excited he was to see her.  〞i’ve missed you so much baby girl, come dance with me. 〟he slurred confidently.