#Atonement found beneath the dip of her collarbones

[an-established-butt-dent]

Something about devotion

Solas x Lavellan

[safefromsin]

a kiss with tears. john kissing a tearful sara maybe ? oh boy !

FUCKED UP KISSING MEME / selectively accepting!

      Sara was not a woman of God. She was welcomed by the Father not because of her faith, but her need to belong, to find a home waiting in open arms. He saw something special in her - and she gave her soul to him. This was the chance for her to start anew, to carve her own path in the world and be among people who cared, who understood. But it was too perfect, too constructed into a paradise that couldn’t come without a catch. 

   Those who did not believe, who fought against the Father, were punished, and Sara was forced to see her friends suffer at the hands of the righteous in the Father’s flock. She tried to help Alex. She tried to set him free. And for her sins she suffered beneath John Seed’s blade. She wore PRIDE on her chest, the sin still red and raw as the flesh continued to heal. She was not a woman of God and yet she buckled beneath the weight of her sin.

    She was not a woman of God and yet she found herself in a church, head bowed in the pew.

    The church had long since been abandoned - the aged wood reeking of rot and decay while the floorboards were split and grass had sprouted between the cracks told of its age. Sara had found the church while wandering through the Henbane. Most days on her walks she was accompanied by other peggies, safety in numbers, but she had drifted from the group only to stumble upon the church’s door, stripped of paint and creaking as she opened it. She frequented the place, claimed it as her own little sanctuary as she traveled numbly through the Bliss. The isolation gave her time to think, to reflect on her place within the project.

    She had survived her atonement. She survived John’s wrath. But she did not come out it without wounds. The scar on her chest was a mere burn compared to the trauma the youngest brother forced on her. Even through the haze of the bliss, she suffered from nightmares of his face over hers, that wild laughter striking the air. Her chest still ached. It was hard to breathe at times. But she said nothing about it to Faith or the Father, keeping her fear, her disgust, her hatred of the youngest brother buried deep within. The feeling festered inside her. Grew ugly and toxic. No amount of bliss could mask it. So she suffered in silence, using moments where she was alone, as she was in the church, to cry, to scream, to break - where no one else could see.

                                                             But he found her.

    How? Sara didn’t want to know. She could only imagine the Baptist had eyes and ears across the entire county. Nothing was kept secret from him. Not even her sanctuary.

    Sara heard the floorboards creak and she glanced over her shoulder, tears staining her cheeks. John stood in the doorway, all smiles and eyes glinting - like that of a predator who’d found its first meat of the day.

    This wasn’t the first time they’d met since her atonement. He was always at the Father’s sermons and though Sara kept to Faith’s side or visiting among those who bore the same red-rimmed eyes as her, John always found a way to corner her, splitting her off from the rest of the group. He’d mock her with those piercing eyes of his - a brush of fingers to her hair, a hand hovering over her throat as a promise not a threat, a pull on the collar of her shirt to see her sin displayed raw on her skin. She wanted to cry out, to tell him to stop, but she knew better. She’d learned not to push him.

    He’d requested her presence at baptisms, too, forcing her to watch as those unwilling with dunked into the Henbane River, their lungs filling with the bliss-infected waters. Although Sara didn’t look at him, she’d felt his gaze on her, watching her for a reaction. Studying her. Testing her. Each time a sinner was forced beneath the dark water was a reminder of her own welcome to the project and the dread washing over her was damn near palpable.

    Now there were no crowds, no sermons, no baptisms - nothing but an abandoned church and the two souls who lingered within it. Sara didn’t dare to budge, even as John walked down the aisle between the rows of pews, humming a tune she didn’t recognize. The tension was visible in her shoulders, a straightening of her spine to follow. He was closer and she pressed the heel of her hand to her cheeks, aggressively wiping away any stray tears. The small act didn’t go unnoticed by John and a soft chuckle broke the silence.

                                  “Have you been confessing without me, sister?”

    His voice drove through her like a searing hot knife. She felt sick. Every cell in her body was screaming at her to leave, to shove past him and return to where her group had congregated for Faith’s upcoming sermon. But she was frozen where she sat in the pew, her own fear seeming to calcify her muscles. His hand was in her hair then, stroking gently through the blonde waves and it was that subtle, grazing touch that ignited her, forced her to her feet. Wild, hateful, fearful eyes found John and though she planned on moving out of the pew, pushing past him, he had her boxed in. This close to him she could feel the knife digging each letter into her chest, feel the heat of his breath in her ear as he spoke, cruel words dripping like venom from his lips.

   “I have to get back to Faith,” was all Sara could manage without bursting into tears. She made a move to slip by him, but his hands were on her shoulders, though the touch was firm, not forceful. Sara stiffened, looking back to him, breathing sharply to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

    “You’re trembling, dear…” But his tone was not filled with concern. No, only amusement lingered there and the upturned corners of his mouth solidified that. One of his hands drifted from her shoulder and brushed over her collarbone, his thumb gliding over the ‘R’ carved beneath her shirt. Sara shivered and as she blinked a few stray tears fell.

    That seemed to please him because in the next moment he was gripping her chin between forefinger and thumb, a smile worn vibrantly on his mouth, watching as what little strength she had was beginning to crumble.

                                                           “Stay still,” he said.

    She didn’t fight him, no matter how badly she wanted to. She was silent and complacent, even when he dipped his head closer, even when his mouth met hers, even when her mind spiralled out into overdrive, trying to process what exactly was happening, even when he didn’t lay a peck on her lips but a deep, lingering kiss. Tears were falling more freely now and a choked sob filled the space between their mouths. Fists curled at her side, but her discomfort only fuelled John and he held the kiss for a few moments longer before drawing back. 

    She couldn’t look at him. She wouldn’t. The shame, the disgust radiated from her, but still she said nothing, staying still as he had commanded, fearing an outburst from the Baptist if she dared to move. Her gaze was cast to the ground and he smirked, tilting his head to press a kiss to her cheek where her tears had fallen.

                                                              “—Good girl…”

@gcdsaved