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novaursa · 4 months ago

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Skyfall

- Summary: Baela and you chase after Cole and his men. You fall from the sky straight into Gwayne's arms. Literally.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is Rhaenyra's younger sister. The reader is also bonded with Silverwing. For more parts, and if you want to read this in chronological order check my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 2 997

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The woods blur past as you cling to Silverwing's saddle, the thrill of the chase coursing through your veins. Baela and Moondancer had led the initial pursuit, their swift movements through the sky like arrows seeking their target. But now, it’s you and Silverwing against the fading light, and the dense canopy below.

"Go on, Baela! I’ll take it from here!" you shout, your voice mingling with the rush of wind.

Baela gives you a quick, sharp nod before veering off, her focus shifting elsewhere. You and Silverwing dive, the leaves slapping at you like an annoyed housemaid.

"Alright, girl," you murmur to Silverwing, "let's show them what we’ve got."

Your dragon roars in agreement, her silvery scales glinting in the dying sunlight as you plummet into the forest. The branches are closer now, snapping past you, some grazing your armor, others too thick to avoid.

You laugh, the exhilaration of danger making your heart race. "Just a bit further!"

But Silverwing, despite her grace, is a creature of the sky, not the woods. A particularly thick branch catches you off guard, striking your side. You gasp, losing your grip. Silverwing tries to stabilize, but it’s too late.

"Y/N!" you hear someone shout, but the world spins as you tumble through the air, your body crashing through the foliage.

The ground rushes up to meet you, but instead of the hard earth, you find yourself landing against something softer and warmer. There’s a grunt, a thud, and then silence.

You blink, trying to regain your senses. Your eyes meet a pair of very familiar ones, wide with shock and framed by a mess of light auburn hair.

"Ser Gwayne?" you manage to say, your voice breathless. The realization hits you both at the same time – you’ve landed right in his arms, sending him off his horse. He’s on his back, staring up at you with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"Princess Y/N," he says, a slow grin spreading across his face despite the circumstances. "This is a rather unconventional way to reunite."

You quickly scramble off him, cheeks flushing. "I didn’t plan it this way, trust me."

Gwayne gets to his feet, offering you a hand. "I’d say you’re getting better at making dramatic entrances."

Before you can retort, the surrounding knights, led by Criston Cole, converge on you, their expressions a mix of shock and suspicion.

"Well, well," Criston says, eyeing you warily, "looks like we’ve caught ourselves a dragon princess."

You roll your eyes, dusting off your clothes. "Congratulations. Do I get a prize for being the most unexpected guest?"

Gwayne stifles a laugh, earning a sharp glance from Criston. "Secure her," Criston commands. "We can’t risk her getting away."

Gwayne steps closer, his eyes softening slightly. "I’ll take care of it."

You meet his gaze, something unspoken passing between you. He had been your suitor once, and now here you are, on opposite sides of a conflict neither of you had asked for.

"Try not to tie the ropes too tight, will you?" you quip, trying to lighten the mood. "I bruise easily."

He smirks, giving you a look that says he remembers more than he lets on. "I’ll do my best, Princess."

As the knights surround you, Silverwing roars above, finally breaking free from the canopy and circling protectively. The men look up nervously, but you know Silverwing won’t attack without your command.

"Easy, girl," you call up to her. "I’m fine."

Gwayne’s touch is gentle as he secures your hands, his fingers brushing against your skin longer than necessary. "We’ll keep you safe," he murmurs, so only you can hear. "I promise."

You nod, a mixture of gratitude and sadness filling your heart. "I know."

And so, surrounded by enemies and yet strangely comforted by an old friend, you find yourself a captive – but one who is far from defeated.

The knights form a loose circle around you as they lead you through the woods, heading in the direction of Duskendale. Silverwing continues to circle overhead, her shadow passing over the treetops, a constant reminder of the power you still wield, even as a captive.

"Call off your dragon, Princess," Criston Cole demands, his tone clipped with irritation. "We don’t need her burning the forest down around us."

You meet his gaze with a steady one of your own. "That’s not how it works, Ser Criston. Silverwing follows her own instincts. I can’t just call her off like a hunting hound."

Criston grunts, clearly dissatisfied with your answer, but he says nothing more, focusing on leading the group forward.

Gwayne stays close to your side, his presence a strange mix of comforting and disconcerting. You glance at him, catching the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Unfortunate, isn’t it?" he says after a moment, his voice low enough for only you to hear. "Your late father never approved of our match."

You give a dry laugh, shaking your head. "Probably for the better. I don’t fancy being locked up in a tower all my life."

Gwayne’s smile widens, genuine amusement in his eyes. "You think I’d lock you up in a tower? You clearly have no idea what kind of husband I would have been."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. "Oh? And what kind of husband would you have been, Ser Gwayne?"

"The kind who knows better than to try to change a dragon," he replies, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Besides, I value my life too much to cage something as fierce as you."

You chuckle softly, but the humor is short-lived as reality sinks in. "And yet, here we are. I’m chained, a captive to be killed or used as leverage against my sister."

Gwayne’s expression sobers, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and resolve. "I wish it were different, Y/N. But these are the times we live in."

You sigh, looking up at Silverwing still soaring above. "Do you ever wonder, Gwayne, what might have been? If things had gone differently?"

He nods slowly, his gaze distant for a moment. "Every day. But wishing for the past won’t change the present. We can only deal with what’s in front of us."

"And what’s in front of us is a forest full of angry knights and a war that doesn’t seem to have an end," you say, a touch of bitterness in your voice.

Gwayne gives a soft laugh, the sound almost comforting. "At least you still have your sense of humor. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you."

You glance at him, surprised by his honesty. "And here I thought you only admired my dragon."

He smirks, shaking his head. "Silverwing is impressive, yes. But she’s nothing compared to you."

The compliment catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. The knights continue to lead you through the forest, their voices a distant hum as you walk beside Gwayne, the man who once might have been your husband.

The journey to Duskendale stretches ahead, uncertain and fraught with danger. But for now, at least, you have an ally by your side, even if he is also your captor. And in these uncertain times, that might be the closest thing to hope you have.

The sky darkens as Criston Cole’s men set up camp, the forest growing quieter as the night settles in. You’re confined to a tent, albeit a comfortable one, considering your status as a prisoner. The air inside is warm, lit by a single lantern casting flickering shadows on the canvas walls.

You sit on a makeshift bed, your thoughts drifting between your current predicament and the distant roar of Silverwing, a constant reminder of your connection to the skies above. The flap of the tent rustles, and Gwayne steps inside, his expression unreadable.

"Comfortable?" he asks, his tone casual but his eyes searching.

You give him a wry smile. "As comfortable as one can be in captivity."

He chuckles softly, stepping closer. "Could be worse. Criston wanted to keep you in chains outside, but I insisted on more... humane accommodations."

You raise an eyebrow. "And why is that, Ser Gwayne? Still holding a soft spot for me?"

He sits down beside you, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. "Maybe I am. Or maybe I just know how to keep a dragon content without a fight."

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth lift in a reluctant smile. "Still think you can tame me?"

Gwayne’s gaze locks onto yours, intense and unwavering. "I never wanted to tame you, Y/N. I wanted to be beside you, as equals."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, the tension between you softens. You reach out, your fingers brushing against his. "And yet here we are, on opposite sides of a war."

"War or no war, some things don’t change," he murmurs, his hand wrapping around yours.

The air between you shifts, charged with unspoken words and lingering desires. Before you can second-guess yourself, you lean in, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss is urgent, fueled by the months of separation and the fear of an uncertain future.

Gwayne responds with equal fervor, his hands moving to release the binds on your wrists. As the ropes fall away, you bring your hands up to his chest, pulling him closer. His fingers fumble with the laces of your dragon riding attire, and you do the same with his armor, the urgency of your movements reflecting the intensity of your emotions.

"I missed this," he breathes against your lips, his hands sliding over your skin. "I missed you."

You shiver at his words, your own hands trembling as you help him undress. "I missed you too, Gwayne."

Clothing discarded, you pull him down onto the bed, your bodies pressed together in a desperate embrace. The warmth of his skin against yours is intoxicating, each touch sending sparks of desire through you.

Gwayne moves with practiced urgency, his hands guiding your hips as he enters you. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of relief and need that leaves you gasping. "Y/N," he groans, his forehead resting against yours. "I need you."

You wrap your legs around him, urging him deeper. "Then take me," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

Your movements become frantic, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The world outside the tent fades away, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other. Your breath mingles with his, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

As you reach your peak, Silverwing's roar echoes above, a wild and powerful sound that mirrors the intensity of your release. You cling to Gwayne, your nails digging into his back as you ride out the waves of pleasure together.

For a moment, time stands still, the only sound your ragged breathing and the distant rumble of your dragon. Gwayne collapses beside you, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close.

"I love you," he murmurs against your hair, his voice raw with emotion. "No matter what happens, remember that."

You press a kiss to his chest, your own heart aching with the weight of your situation. "I love you too, Gwayne."

In the quiet aftermath, you find solace in each other's arms, knowing that whatever the future holds, this moment is yours and yours alone.

The next day dawns gray and heavy with tension. Criston Cole is restless, urging his men to pack up and prepare for the march to Duskendale. You watch from the confines of your tent, the memory of the previous night with Gwayne still fresh in your mind, a bittersweet ache in your chest.

Silverwing circles above, her presence a constant reminder of your strength and the bond you share. Gwayne catches your eye from across the camp, and you see a flicker of resolve in his gaze. He looks up at Silverwing and then back at you, subtly nodding—a signal.

Your heart races as you understand his unspoken message. It’s now or never.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. As Criston and his men begin to move, you seize the moment. "Now," you whisper to yourself, breaking into a run.

Chaos erupts around you as Gwayne shouts, "Stop her!" But instead of joining the chase, he tackles Criston Cole to the ground, his body crashing into the other knight with surprising force.

Criston snarls, struggling under Gwayne's weight. "Hightower! What are you doing?"

"Giving her a fighting chance," Gwayne growls, pinning Criston down. "Get out of here, Y/N!"

The soldiers around you hesitate, torn between their orders and the unexpected fight unfolding between their leaders. Their momentary confusion is all the opportunity you need. You sprint towards the edge of the camp, your eyes fixed on Silverwing above.

"Come on, girl!" you shout, waving your arms. Silverwing roars in response, descending swiftly and landing with a thunderous impact.

You reach her just as the soldiers begin to recover from their shock. Hands grab at you, but you twist away, your foot finding purchase on Silverwing’s saddle. With practiced ease, you haul yourself up, securing the straps around your legs.

Silverwing launches into the air, her powerful wings beating the ground, sending dust and leaves swirling. Below, Gwayne glances up, meeting your eyes one last time. In that fleeting moment, a promise passes between you—a promise of love, loyalty, and hope for a future that might still be yours.

"Go!" Gwayne shouts, struggling to his feet as Criston shoves him off. "Fly, Y/N!"

You nod, your throat tight with emotion. "Thank you, Gwayne."

With a final roar, Silverwing rises above the treetops, carrying you away from the camp and towards freedom. The wind whips through your hair as you steer her towards Dragonstone, the ache in your chest both a reminder of your captivity and the bond that now holds you and Gwayne together, despite the distance and the war.

As you fly, you cast one last look back, seeing Gwayne standing tall amidst the chaos, his eyes following you until you disappear into the horizon. It’s a silent vow that this isn’t the end—that you will find each other again.

For now, you focus on the path ahead, the promise of Dragonstone and the fight for your family fueling your determination. Silverwing’s powerful wings carry you onwards, each beat a testament to your resilience and the unbreakable devotion that ties you to those you love.

As Silverwing's silhouette fades into the distance, Gwayne braces himself for the inevitable confrontation. Criston Cole stands, brushing off the dirt from his armor, his eyes blazing with fury. The camp buzzes with confusion and tension, soldiers whispering and exchanging uneasy glances.

Cole's voice cuts through the murmurs like a knife. "What in the seven hells were you thinking, Hightower?"

Gwayne straightens, meeting Criston's glare with unwavering resolve. "I did what I thought was right."

Criston's nostrils flare, and he steps closer, his voice low and dangerous. "You let a valuable prisoner escape. Rhaenyra’s sister, no less. Do you have any idea what this means for us?"

"I do," Gwayne replies calmly. "But I also know what it means to treat people with honor. She wasn’t some bargaining chip to be used at will."

Cole’s eyes narrow, and he steps forward, closing the distance between them until they are almost nose to nose. "Honor? This is war, Gwayne. Honor gets you killed."

"Maybe," Gwayne retorts, his voice steady. "But it also makes you worth remembering. Y/N is no ordinary prisoner. She’s a dragon rider, a princess. Treating her like a common captive would only fuel more hatred and violence."

Criston shakes his head, incredulous. "You’re a fool if you think she’ll spare us any mercy. The moment she’s back with Rhaenyra, she’ll come for our heads."

Gwayne squares his shoulders, refusing to back down. "Perhaps. But at least I can live with myself knowing I didn’t betray everything we once stood for. We were knights of honor once, Criston. Have you forgotten that?"

Criston’s face contorts with rage, and for a moment, Gwayne thinks he might draw his sword. Instead, Criston takes a deep breath, visibly struggling to control his temper. "You’ve jeopardized our mission, and for what? Sentiment?"

Gwayne holds his ground, his voice unwavering. "For what’s right. You may not understand now, but one day, you might."

Criston’s eyes flash with a mix of anger and something else—perhaps a flicker of respect and understanding. "This isn't over, Gwayne. Not by a long shot. You’ll answer for this."

"I already have," Gwayne says quietly. "And I’m prepared to face the consequences."

Criston turns away, signaling for the camp to resume its activities. "Get ready to move out!" he barks to the soldiers. "We’ve wasted enough time here."

As the camp stirs back into motion, Gwayne watches, his mind replaying the look in Y/N’s eyes as she flew to freedom. Despite the threat of retribution hanging over him, he feels a strange sense of peace. He has made his choice, and he would make it again a hundred times over.

One of the soldiers approaches, hesitant. "Ser Gwayne, what should we do now?"

Gwayne sighs, feeling the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders. "We follow orders," he says, his voice firm. "We march to Duskendale and prepare for what comes next."

As the camp prepares to move, Gwayne allows himself a moment of reflection. He finds strength in the memory of Y/N’s freedom and the promise they silently shared.

Whatever the future holds, he will face it with the knowledge that he did what was right—not just for himself, but for the woman he loves and the honor he still believes in.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #gwayne hightower #gwayne x reader #gwayne x you #gwayne x y/n #criston cole #silverwing #rhaenyra targaryen #house targaryen #house hightower

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lady-ashfade · 1 year ago

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A Sign

Yan!Rhaenrya Targaryen x WhiteHind!Child!Reader. (Hinted Yan!Criston Cole)

The reader has antlers in this! Idk if females don’t have them, they do in this.

Warnings: Yandere tendencies, possession, obsession, over protective.

Her chest fell as she glanced over the woods from above, the camp ground filled with her people had put a weight on her chest. This time she was far away and no one could tell her she wasn’t worthy of the throne with just a look. Everyone looked at her now just as someone to be thrown aside for her new male brother, Aegon. Rhaenrya could leave without another word and maybe things could be better.

Cristin stood at her side with admiration in his eyes at her beauty even with blood coving her skin and clothes. She was perfect, she was smart and caring but ruthlessly and strong willed. She had raised him from the bottom and gave him a title and somewhere he could belong, he was grateful to no ends.

Sounds of soft footsteps and branches breaking broke the silence and caught the attention of the princess and the knight. Heads turning quickly a around to face what they had heard, criston ready to draw his sword to protect. But their eyes saw no threat at the sight in front of them but a wonder to see. Maybe they both had gone mad to cause them seeing what the did.

A small girl with long hair dropping off her shoulders and down to her back, a dirty dress that was once white turned brown with spots. The sun behind her made it clear as day to see the antlers on her head, beautiful patterns with waves and twisted. Her doe eyes that looked soft and curious as she stared at the pair, they had the same expression filled with wonder and confusion.

Rhaenrya new this was a sign. She could recall the men saying there was a stag in the woods and they called it a blessing from the gods. Slowly the princess hopped off her horse to walked towards the girl she had seen, criston waiting so someone could keep a eye on her. Inching closer it surprises them that she had not run away but slowly walked closer. “Can you speak?” The princess asked in a soft voice.

The small eyes blinked and her head nodded to the question. The princess stopped a few inches away and waited for the girl’s permission to come closer. Bending down she looked at the child and smiled sweetly, slowly extended her hand out and reached for the girl. “My name is Rhaenrya, what’s yours little one?”

The girl was you, a girl only knowing the woods and nature as your home. You never seen a human up close before, the animals had always welcomed you. The harmful creatures thought of you as a friend. “Y/n.” Your small voice answered her and stepped closer. Rhaenrya felt herself fall in a deep hole of love and obsession, the urge to protect you and place you above everything.

“Would you like to come with me, y/n? My kingdom does need something like you.” You blinked up at her and felt the wind blow and the ringing in your ears stop. Just this morning you had been miles away but something was calling you. She was must be your purpose in this life.

Eyes wondered and watched as Rhaenrya walked through the camp drenched in blood and covered in dirt. The cold expression on her face sent shivers down the spines of everyone who looked. Her father, the king, had stoped what he was doing as well as the queen. The princess only looked at them and then stopped herself and looked back at the horse of her protector. Her gaze made everyone follow and the people gasped in shocked.

You stepping down from the horse with the help of Cristin and looking like a blessing from the gods themselves. Everyone stood up and watched you walked through them. You felt nervous at all the eyes on you and whispering, but Rhaenryas eyes were reassuring and calling you to her which kept you grounded as you walked. Taking her hand in yours she walked into the tent to get cleaned up and to spend time with you.

The first thing she did was get you food and clean you up first, she would be so gentle with you. “Do you know how special you are little one?” She asked as the rage whipped the dirt off your cheek. You only shook your head. “I will show you in time, you are mine by the gods laws. They sent you to me in the darkest hour.” She leaned down to kiss your head and then continued to wash you up.

“No one will ever keep us apart”

#rhaenrya targaryen #Criston Cole #Criston Cole x reader #yandere criston cole #yandere rhaenrya targaryen #yandere rhaenyra targaryen x reader #princess rhaenys targaryen #rhaenrya targaryen x reader #yandere house targaryen #yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #yandere house of the dragon x reader

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spork-supremacy · 25 days ago

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Feeling pretty bored so I think it'd be fun for asks to be sent in.

I don't know if there should be a type of theme here here I'm just a person who loves answering questions.

granted this is a very ninjago centric blog so...

#spork is a natrual born talker #therefore a natrual born person who likes answering question #I have a very specific blog theme tho so I'll just tag #ninjago #jay walker #ninjago jay #nya smith #zane julien #kai ninjago #cole ninjago #ask game #ninjago skybound #spork rambilng #I swear I am in more fandoms but it feels a little late to branch out

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draczrys · 4 months ago

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I know Criston Cole is not who you usually write for and I know he’s not a fan favorite but could you write a Drabble or one shot of Criston Cole x Reader? I love Fabian Frankel and just wish to read something with one of his characters. Much love! 💕

brb just added him to my muse list bc mr fabian is yum & early s1 criston is bearable. and this trope!! my fave medieval theme ever. like wdym i’m not supposed to love a boy w big brown eyes

COURTLY LOVE. ❨ criston cole x reader ❩

the standing of a riverland lord's youngest daughter was nothing of note to the realm. little to inherit, a pitiful dowry, barely a suitor at the door. so, the seven must have blessed you the day queen aemma requested your presence at court. the princess was of age now, and in need of ladies in waiting of noble birth.

suddenly, the world was a different place. thrown into the deep end of the red keep, you had all the dresses you wished for and every suitor at court vying for your hand in marriage. no longer just an unknown lady, but a lady of the crown. still, there wasn't a single lord or son that caught your eye. not since you saw him.

"... ser criston cole!"

your breath had caught in your throat as the young knight shed his helmet and blinked up to the royal box, respects paid to the king before he looks to you.

"i would like to ask for your lady's favour, if she would be so kind," he spoke, voice smooth, eyes never leaving your own. if it weren't for rhaenyra's elbow in your side, you're sure you would have stared all day.

"best of luck, ser," comes your wishes, leaning over the wooden rail to drop your favour over his joust. you had spent a whole day on it, the princess on her's too, weaving daisies and lavender into a pretty ring. "i hope that you win."

"as do i," criston muses, smirking. "if it means speaking with you again, my lady."

a blush burns at your cheeks, hurrying to sit back down. you ignore rhaenyra's teasing and watch the knight mount his horse, readying himself for the competition. he knocks down lord after lord, knight after knight, even defeating prince daemon. the heat in your chest has your heart beating quicker, head somewhat hazy as you watch on in delight.

the chaos of a tourney day sweeps you up from your daydreaming, ushered behind the princess to dress her for the feast. though she speaks to you as you braid her hair, it's barely audible past the heavy thoughts of the knight in your ears. eventually, when rhaenyra is summoned to her mother, you find the time to catch your breath in an empty hallway. leaning against the cold stone, your eyes squeeze shut to urge any romantic ideas from your mind.

"my good luck charm."

the sudden voice startles you, turning quickly to ready yourself in defence. but there, only a few steps away, is your knight. for a moment, you think he's talking about you. noting your furrowed brows and slightly cocked head, he raises the favour you had gifted into view.

"ah," you breathe out, a smile growing on your lips. "i'm glad it was of use."

criston mirrors your smile, steps closing the space between you, his armour clinking as it still rests on his bones. his arm reaches out, offering the flowered ring back to you. "it is custom the knight returns the favour to the lady, if they have survived."

glancing at the branches and petals your hands had tirelessly woven, then back to the warm eyes that watch you so carefully, that strange feeling creeps back into your chest. you shake your head.

"keep it," you urge, cheeks rounding. "perhaps it will bring you luck again."

cole's brows raise, interest obviously piqued at your suggestion. his smile turns crooked, eyes sparkling with a life you'd only seen outside of the walls of the keep.

"and will you be present, again? in case it is you, and not the favour, that has blessed me." his tongue is playful and teasing, but his eyes hold a sincerity you daren't question.

"i cannot promise my presence to be so virtuous." you giggle breathily, eyes darting to the ground for a moment to spare yourself the dizziness that comes from his gaze. "and i should--"

"a kiss then."

the blunt but hopeful proposition snaps your eyes back to him, unsure of whether to be more shocked, offended or delighted. criston smirks, obviously enjoying your surprise. "as a precaution, of course."

stomach jumping with nerves, heart dancing with excitement, you watch his eyes carefully in an attempt to gauge whether he was taunting you or not. but no, still only genuine.

shuffling forward, close enough now, you slowly stretch upwards onto your tiptoes. eyes locked, your lips journeying closer to his cheek - slightly stubbled, but littered with freckles. they barely brush his skin before he turns his head, quicker than you can notice, replacing his cheek with his lips.

the surprise that overtakes you is quickly subdued by the sweet taste of his kiss. his lips soft, just relishing in yours. not desperate or rough as you had seen with older lords and ladies, but delicate and kind. he only parts when he feels you swoon a little in his arms, smiling against the aftertaste of the kiss. breathless, you look at each other, caught up in the warmth between you.

"my lady," criston murmurs, stepping back from your space when he hears the distant patter of feet. bowing at the waist, his eyes still linger on your own. "until next time."

#⚔️ ﹐ writings.#ser criston #criston cole #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #criston cole imagine #criston cole drabble #hotd #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd x reader #fabien frankel #fabien frankel x reader

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perfectlyoongi · 5 months ago

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THE NUMBERS BETWEEN US

ㅤ↬┊synopsis ... you had a little habit that had been with you since you were little: you loved to count, everything. but when yoongi went to visit his future university and left you alone in the city, this little habit became more addictive.

ㅤ⚘.fandom ... bts. ㅤㅤಇ.ft. ... yoongi x gn!reader. ㅤ⚘.genre ... long-shot. ㅤㅤಇ.content ... fluff, pre-college!au, kinda ocd reader, shy best friends with feelings. ㅤㅤಇ.word count ... 4.2k. ㅤ⚘.cole's note ... dont ask how and why i thought of this, i dont have an answer for u lol i hope u like it tho ♡

You had a little fascination with numbers.

Since you were little, you felt involved in the tender and delicate lines of numbers, finding a little pleasure in counting everything that surrounded you, everything you did, everything you said.

Your life was a routine that revolved around infinite numbers. It was all you knew and it was all you needed. Every day you ate exactly four slices of apple and two cookies and drank a glass of milk; before leaving the house, you always gave your mother two kisses and, when you came home from school, you hugged your father for exactly three seconds. It was all a routine that had been created for a long time and that you couldn’t break.

Numbers have always been important to you, captivating you in the complexity of the vast numerical world since you were little, always leaving you enchanted by their magic.

However, as you grew up, you realized that a lifetime dedicated to numbers and routines was quite complicated – and painful.

Your first heartbreak was when you turned eleven: the typical hug and three seconds with your father had turned into a bitter touching of arms that couldn’t even reach the first second. It was a small disappointment, your first, but it was the only one you needed to start seeing the world in a different way. Maybe numbers aren’t that important after all.

So, even before you entered high school, you had already stopped counting how many steps you took to school, how many minutes you remained silent in class, how many ‘kids’ your teacher said. You believed that now, free from your habit, you could have a normal life, a life that would expand with your enrollment at the university.

However, in your first year of high school, you met Min Yoongi.

In a room full of students, the probability of you pairing up with the new student was a little low, but, perhaps due to your numerical history, the odds were in your favor and, in an English class, you and Min Yoongi met for the first time.

Yoongi’s cordiality invited you to get to know him better. Amid study sessions, a friendship between you began to slowly germinate; your English work was finished almost immediately, but that didn’t stop Yoongi from continuing to send you messages through texts – he always felt more comfortable behind a screen.

The complicity that was created between you and Yoongi was something unusual for you, something you didn’t know how to deal with. In a certain way, you felt that the seed planted by Yoongi in the middle of notebooks and books was taking root in your heart, branches of comfort and security drawing an extensive tree of friendship within you.

In the space of two months, you and Yoongi became inseparable.

But, no matter how much comfort Yoongi provided you, no matter how much warmth Yoongi fed your heart, Yoongi also brought with him a kind of anxiety, a nervousness that forced you to return to that annoying habit of counting – you couldn’t understand why.

And everything went back to numbers.

And everything went back to being a routine.

Every day it took you exactly eleven minutes and four seconds to get to school. Every day you always waited three minutes for Yoongi to appear and offer you two simple words that, in a way, brightened your day. Every day you spent five classes writing exactly thirty lines of notes using just a pen. Every day you had exactly an hour and a half for lunch, which was always shared with Yoongi. Every day, at the end of classes, you always waited five minutes for Yoongi to meet you at the school gate and walk the eleven minutes and four seconds with you to your house.

But, no matter how routine your life was, no matter how many days passed, your little habit brought by Yoongi began to irritate you: you felt like you had gone back in time and been that naive child – but it was stronger than you, you couldn’t help it.

Was there a way to break this habit?

The reality is that during the three years you shared with Yoongi in high school, your life had become a routine surrounded by numerical sequences that you repeated day after day after day after day aft–

No matter how much you thought, you couldn’t understand why Yoongi had such an impact on your life to the point that your heart raced exactly two seconds every time you were with him. This behavior of yours was strange to your heart and year after year it only got worse, reaching the point of confusing all the numbers in your mind.

You blamed Yoongi.

Your heart was unstable whenever Yoongi’s energy approached you. It was practically difficult for you to follow a logical thought because of Yoongi: so quickly your heart beat exactly sixty times a minute, and then it accelerated to a crazy ninety heartbeats.

All because Yoongi was, in reality, that person you always dreamed of.

And now, in the last year of high school, when universities were mentioned and futures were planned, everything seemed redundant, everything seemed meaningless.

“It doesn’t feel real.”

Yoongi’s words were embellished by an intense sunset, the vibrant colors in the sky guiding your path to your house.

“What doesn’t?”

“It’s our last year,” Yoongi had a sad smile on his lips, as if that thought alone carried with it all the negativity in the world. “High school.”

“Yea.”

You used the same smile as Yoongi and, after blinking your eyes twice, you tilted your head a little to watch the sky: among the vibrant colors of reds and oranges, you could make out small white clouds that were trying to create a shape, a story.

“It seems like it was yesterday that we met.”

Your words were covered with pure longing. As if carrying all the memories shared between you and Yoongi, your words caressing Yoongi’s lips, giving truth to that shy smile of his.

Two seconds passed and Yoongi’s smile expanded on its own.

Lost in his thoughts, Yoongi didn’t realize that he was now smiling widely, letting the warm air of the day kiss his lips, his brown eyes shining brightly.

“I’m grateful you’re in my life.”

Yoongi’s confession took exactly three seconds to settle in your heart and five seconds to be processed. Yoongi’s words repeated exactly three times inside your head and lit a single fire inside you.

He was grateful. Because you’re in his life. You.

“Your presence in my life,” every syllable uttered by Yoongi was bathed in longing, peppered with the memories of three long years filled with pure happiness and understanding, “made high school an experience worth living.”

Every word Yoongi released made small palpitations in your heart, your heartbeat becoming irregular when commanded by your best friend’s honesty.

“Having you with me brought me so many emotions, so many dreams, so many…”

“Dreams?”

You couldn’t control yourself. At that simple six-letter word your lips curved into a perfect smile full of curiosity and enthusiasm.

Yoongi told you everything.

There was an desirable complicity in your relationship.

It seemed natural, something that slept inside you and Yoongi and woke up only when the first words were exchanged. Yoongi swore it was timeless. Just two months of your friendship were enough for Yoongi to be sure that the complicity that existed between the two of you was too strong to be new. In other lives, Yoongi used to say, in other lives we shared memories and dreams. In other lives, you used to say, in other lives we had a lasting relationship. In other lives, however, in other lives you weren’t together. But Yoongi believed. You believed.

“What dreams?”

“None.” Yoongi took exactly two steps away from you and, after holding back a smile for exactly one second, he spoke again, his voice full of amusement. “No. It doesn’t matter.”

“Yoonie!” your best friend’s name sounded in laughter, your hands looking for Yoongi’s arm to hold him. “Tell me, what dreams?”

“None, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please!”

Your voice had dropped in timbre and, as you gently pronounced those six letters, Yoongi sighed.

Two blinks. A smile.

“I want to join the university basketball team.”

Yoongi’s secret was exposed. Painted with the fire of the sky, Yoongi’s secret flew gently into your ears, basking in your mind, racing your heart.

Ninety-two heartbeats.

Basketball. Yoongi dreamed of basketball. Yoongi dreamed. Basketball. Os course.

“And… I would like you… I would like you to come and watch me play.”

Ninety-seven heartbeats.

You. You were in Yoongi’s dream. Your presence. Your soul. You. In Yoongi’s dream.

You smiled.

“If you make the team, I promise I’ll watch your first game.”

“You don’t need to go. It’s just a dream.”

You could tell from Yoongi’s shy tone of voice that he was embarrassed by his confession, feeling exposed for having told a simple secret.

But it was Yoongi’s dream. It was Yoongi’s genuine and only dream. You. You. You.

“I promise.” your promise was joyful, sprinkled with the sundust that illuminated your conversation. “I want to cheer for you. I want to see you doing what you love most. I want to see my best friend happy.”

“But I’m already happy with you.”

One second. Ninety-four heartbeats.

Two seconds. One hundred heartbeats.

Three seconds. Happy with you. Yoongi was happy. With you. Yoongi was happy with you.

“I’m happy with you too.”

Two perfect smiles. Two genuine smiles. Two silent seconds.

You and Yoongi looked at each other, letting the intense shine in your eyes speak for you. You and Yoongi looked at each other, letting the soft breeze of the day caress your faces. You and Yoongi looked at each other, and the entire world had disappeared.

“My days feel incomplete without you.”

A confession from you.

Seventy-eight heartbeats.

“I can only be myself when I’m with you.”

A confession from Yoongi.

Ninety-one heartbeats.

“Yoongi?”

Your voice came out in a thread, shaky. It didn’t matter how many times you repeated your best friend’s name, the reality is that your heart beat exactly seventy-eight times a minute whenever you thought of that name, whenever you pronounced that name, whenever you waited for that name to respond to you.

Yoongi’s eyes focused on you, a small, shy smile appeared on your best friend’s lips, that curve expanding as if automatically – it was the effect you had on Yoongi.

He didn’t utter a word. Only Yoongi’s gaze spoke for him, shining with the happiness of that moment, showing you the contentment he felt in that moment.

For a instant, your heartbeat dropped to exactly forty-two heartbeats per minute.

“Do you think we will continue to be friends?”

Your question was carried by the breeze at the end of the day, your words spreading across the street as if wanting to drive away all the fear you carried with you.

“I hope so.”

Yoongi’s confession stuck on the sidewalk, his words settling on the street as if cementing all the hope they carried.

“But… you’re going to Seoul, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” Yoongi seemed unable to utter any statement, it was as if in that single monosyllable he hid something that he was afraid to show.

You continued to walk in silence, the sunset painting you a picture of anxious reds and shy oranges. An entire city graced your walk, where every car and every person played an urban melody that was already well known to you.

“I need to tell you something.”

Yoongi stopped walking and you stopped exactly two steps in front of him.

You were curious. When Yoongi said exactly those six words to you, the possibilities were endless: he could talk about the team of that sport he really likes, he could talk about a restaurant that just opened, he could talk about so many possibilities that the numbers started to jumble inside you.

Yoongi looked at you nervously.

Two blinks. A deep breath. A blink.

“I like you…” Yoongi sighed again and looked at the ground, searching the sidewalk for some of the courage that might have been lost there. Scratching the back of his neck, taking a deep breath once more, Yoongi looked at you again, still nervous, still without courage. “You know I…”

“Yoongi,” you let out a small laugh that hid itself in Yoongi’s ears, resonating over and over and over again. “Don’t be nervous. You know you can tell me everything.”

“Everything, yes.”

A blink. A deep breath. Two blinks.

“You know you’re my best friend,” Yoongi’s voice was low, hoarse, still nervous about the words he was choosing in detail. “You know that I… that I really like you, don’t you?”

Four words.

I really like you.

One word.

Really.

“Yea…”

Pathetic. What a pathetic word. What yea so pathetic. What was happening to you? Why did you let those four words affect you so much? No. One. One word.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you. I didn’t have the courage.”

Courage. Why did Yoongi need that one word?

Forty-five heartbeats.

“There is a program at the university. Where first-year students can receive extra credit and get used to the university. And I am in that program.”

“That’s it?” you laughed at your best friend’s speech. Why was Yoongi so nervous about saying those five words? “You didn’t need to be so nervous.”

“It’s this summer.”

Three words.

Three words that were carried by the wind to distant lands to surprise as many people as they could. Three words that were heard by you with amazement and nervousness. Three words that simply won’t leave your mind.

“It lasts three months.”

Three. Three. Three.

What could you do? What could you say? Was Yoongi waiting for an answer? For a reaction? Nothing crossed your mind other than the number three. Your whole world had collapsed, everything had disappeared, total darkness painted you inside leaving the number three floating, floating, floating, floa–

But you just smiled for exactly two seconds as the last rays of the day gently painted Yoongi’s figure and you waited exactly another two seconds to speak.

“I hope you have fun.”

Your smile was genuine, quite wide and captivating, the kind of smile that would make anyone else smile too. But Yoongi didn’t smile. Yoongi just stared at you, blinking exactly five times before turning his sigh into a small, shaky smile “Thank you.”

In a way, you thought those two words hid more than they showed. In a way, you thought those two words were a disguise for Yoongi’s true feelings.

But you couldn’t say anything. You couldn’t force Yoongi to talk. So you just continued walking with Yoongi by your side, silently casting prayers to the sun to keep Yoongi safe.

You knew Yoongi’s program would be long. What you didn’t know was that the program forced your best friend to disappear completely for three months.

No.

It wasn’t three months.

Ninety-two days, four hours, three minutes, ten seconds since your last hug.

Thirty seconds since his last smile.

Forty seconds since your last goodbye.

You were lying in bed counting precisely the seconds that were ringing loudly on the clock hanging on the wall.

You were trying to distract yourself by following the clock, naming the various seconds that passed. You were simply using that habit of yours to comfort yourself; you were looking for some relieve to protect you from the longing you felt for Yoongi.

Your body was completely relaxed on the mattress, trying to calm your mind a little.

But it was unnecessary. And you knew that. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t overcome the physical lack that Yoongi made you. Yes, you continued to talk almost daily, only when he could and had free time; but talking via texts couldn’t make up for the lack of Yoongi’s laughter, to make up for the lack of Yoongi’s jokes, to make up for the lack of Yoongi.

You sighed and got up from the bed exactly four seconds after letting your sigh of frustration wander into the emptiness of your room, of your heart.

You approached your desk and looked longingly at the last letter you had exchanged with Yoongi.

You let out a small wistful smile.

Yoongi knew how much you liked to count, especially the words, the minutes of waiting, the various spelling mistakes he made on purpose just to make you smile, to give you something more to count.

And that letter was, in fact, something very important to you – not because it was the last one you had received, but because those simple eight words had touched you in a way that you didn’t even know you missed. However, although Yoongi’s ‘we have to talk when I come home’ had moved you, the reality is that it wasn’t in the good way you were used to, but to the point of making your anxiety reach extreme peaks every time you saw that sheet of paper.

You read those words exactly five times before deciding to keep it in the blue box that Yoongi had offered you before leaving. After counting the thirteen letters that rested silently there, you closed the box and placed it on the shelf.

You sat on the bed again.

You counted the seconds on the clock again.

You thought about those eight words again.

What did Yoongi have to say? You thought of exactly eleven scenarios before you heard your cell phone ring and, before you saw who was calling you, your heart dropped to exactly fifty-three beats per minute.

But when you read the name, oh!, when you read Yoongi’s name shining on your small screen your heart accelerated to hundred and eleven heartbeats per minute and you needed to take four deep breaths before gained courage and answered the call.

“Hey.”

Yoongi sounded exactly as he always did: calm with a hint of joy trapped in the syllables. You immediately relaxed, as if that greeting was the magic word to control all your nerves.

“Just got home. Do you want… Do you want to meet me?”

Oh. Yeah. The eight words. Those words were still something you should worry about.

At the mention of that possible meeting, your body became rigid, your heart slowed down significantly and you simply forgot to breathe.

Yoongi needed to talk to you and you couldn’t decipher what he wanted.

During these long three months, nothing serious had happened to you – but what if something had happened to him? What if he found someone else to share his life with? What if he found someone else who made him feel the same way you once made him feel? What if he had found another best friend?

“Are you still there?”

“Yea, yea,” two yeses, one omission; you were hiding something, you were hiding what you really felt, you were hiding what really worried you. “So… let’s meet at the cafe in twenty?

“See ya.”

You hung up the call and stared at your phone screen for exactly one minute and two seconds.

Silence fell in your room, no thought running through your mind other than those eight words from Yoongi and his request. You couldn’t think of anything else, no matter how hard you tried – and it was slowly destroying you.

You sat in your room for five minutes and thirty-two seconds.

You didn’t want to meet Yoongi. You didn’t want to find out what he wanted to talk to you about so much. Your heart raced just at the thought of Yoongi saying that he found someone different, someone better.

You didn’t want to lose Yoongi, you couldn’t afford that luxury.

But he was here... Yoongi was here and these ninety-two days, four hours and fifty-three minutes were too much – and it was what moved you.

You got out of bed and got ready for that meeting you were dreading so much.

Walking to the agreed location was like a walk to purgatory. Your feet were slow, your mind was thinking fast. The day was hot, the end of August arriving proud in its majesty and warming every corner of the city, every building in the city, every person in the city – except you.

Wrapped up in your worrying thoughts, the sun of that day found itself unable to tear you away from that block of ice that you had created in your mind with those eight words from Yoongi.

You walked with your head down, hands moving frantically with your fingers looking for a distraction other than the numbers.

But it was needless.

After exactly three steps, you started counting the number of cars that passed you. The number of steps you took. The number of people who were on their cell phone. The time: ninety-two days, five hours, twenty-eight minutes and forty-nine seconds.

Ten more steps and you arrived at the cafe. You knew you had to wait for Yoongi, but you preferred to arrive early rather than spend endless minutes anxiously in your room. Still, you made those ten steps last, dragging them out and distracting yourself with everything you could.

One step, three more people on the cell phone.

Two steps, the memory of your first hello to Yoongi.

Three steps, a couple holding hands – the first that day.

Four steps, your first hug.

Five steps, three pigeons flying.

Six steps, that day he gave you his coat because you were cold.

Seven steps, another person on the cell phone.

Eight steps, when he said he really liked you.

Nine steps, a boy riding a bicycle.

Ten steps, Yoongi.

Ninety-two days, five hours, thirty minutes and two seconds was how long it took you to see Yoongi since your last goodbye.

Two seconds was the time you couldn’t breathe after seeing Yoongi’s relaxed figure.

Forty-five were your heartbeats per minute.

Two minutes was the time you and Yoongi needed to assimilate that reality.

You were together once again.

You ran exactly four steps until you found yourself in Yoongi’s strong arms who, thinking that the world could ruin that moment, didn’t let go of you. Yoongi just held you tightly against his body and you could smell his sweet perfume, the perfume that you missed so much.

That hug lasted exactly two minutes and forty-three seconds. Your breath stopped for two seconds. Your heart beat seventy-eight times a minute. For two minutes and forty-three seconds your mind was blank. Your only thought was to focus on the feeling of comfort you felt being in Yoongi’s arms once again after not seeing him for so long.

No.

It wasn’t ‘so long’.

You knew perfectly well how long it had been.

Ninety-two days, five hours, thirty minutes and two seconds contained a profound eternity of fear and longing.

It didn’t matter. Finally you were in Yoongi’s arms. Finally you were being welcomed by Yoongi’s tenderness. Finally you were being touched by Yoongi’s affection. Finally you were with Yoongi – that was all that mattered.

But, after two minutes and forty-three seconds, Yoongi broke the hug and looked at you, his brown eyes always shining, the smile that only you gave him beautifying his face.

You trembled because, looking at Yoongi now, you remembered why you had met at that moment, without giving Yoongi any time to rest.

Yoongi wanted to talk to you.

“So? What do you want to tell me?”

“I missed you so much,” was all Yoongi said to you, cutting off your question, your reasoning, leaving you looking at him in shock, completely confused by what he told you. “I missed you so, so much.”

You stood there staring at him. You repeated those five words to yourself in total disbelief, confused with what was happening, with what could happen after those words from Yoongi. “You… You missed me?”

“I know you like to count,” Yoongi smiled wistfully, blinking with each word, looking at you with tenderness and a lot of… love? “But I also know that you like being with me. I thought it was more… special… to tell you… in pers…. Nevermind. It’s stupid.”

Yoongi let out a weak laugh and you waited exactly four seconds before answering him, your voice coming out in a slurred, shaky, shy thread.

“No. It’s not stupid.”

Because it was true.

Those five words had a different impact when said in person and you never realized it. In ninety-two days, five hours, thirty minutes and two seconds. In thirty hours of calls exchanged with Yoongi. In thirteen letters written with Yoongi. In two thousand, one hundred and thirty-four messages with Yoongi. In three months you never realized that Yoongi never, not once, said those five simple words to you.

I missed you so much.

Yoongi smiled fondly, a light and shy shade of pink appearing on his cheeks when he, very unsure of the situation, slowly touched your hand for exactly two seconds.

And you smiled back, slowly opening your fingers and waiting a second for him to intertwine his fingers with yours.

ㅤㅤ♡ feedback is appreciated ♡

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what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom · 1 year ago

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o-KAY, I'm sorry, but I can't help myself-

WERWOLF BRANCH

#yes i'm in the trolls fandom now #DON'T look at me- blame my sister #how many times do i have to tell you guys- don't look at the background!!!??!#cole's art #Trolls #Trolls (2016)#Branch (trolls)#Poppy (trolls)#Werewolf Branch #yeah this is niche lmao #branch best character #branch #poppy #broppy #why does branch kinda look like derek hale? gah i hate pattern recognition >:(#[it's his beautiful blue eyes i know :'( ]#i'm sorry guys i just- i just can't stop myself from making my favorite characters werewolves 😭😭😭

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delicatebarness · 3 months ago

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wildflower ridge ranch | prologue

Summary: Sneaking out to meet with JB, a ranch hand who works for your family, you share a quiet moment under the stars while keeping the relationship a secret from your father and brothers.

Warning: There isn't necessarily anything triggering, but just to give you a heads-up: Age Gap (18/21) | Power Dynamics

Word Count: 1174

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: I know I said I'd update Winter's Widow but I went for a creative thinking walk, and this is all I've been able to think about since. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

The ranch had settled into the usual nighttime quiet, and the air was warm, still– one of those perfect summer nights. The barn doors had been closed, the horses tucked away, and the ranch hands had turned in for the night. Their snores probably fill the small, shared space. Yet, the bunkhouse lights flickered, indicating that not all were asleep.

You were also not ready to sleep. Sneaking out of the ‘Log Mansion’, you made your way down to an old oak tree just past the stables. A canopy of leaves rustled from the branches stretching high above in the soft breeze. It was a hidden corner of the ranch, your spot, where no one would come looking for you.

Well, except for him.

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes– commonly known as ‘JB’, your family’s best ranch hand and the man who somehow stole your heart. He was supposed to meet you here.

Working for your family, JB lived in the bunkhouse with the others, and he spent his days under the sun, toiling away as if he had everything to prove. He came from a few towns over, looking for work around six years ago, and he quickly became part of the ranch’s rhythm.

No one knew what you both made sure to keep a secret– that between his barn chores and the late-night campfires, you both found something else. Something more.

At the age of eighteen, you were still too young in your daddy’s eyes. And, JB, at twenty-one, was the last person he would approve of for you. He was just another ranch hand, hired to work the land for your daddy. And your brothers– Ari, Curtis, Cole, and Johnny would tear him apart if they ever were to find out.

Leaning against the tree, you gazed up at the stars and a nervous energy bubbled in your stomach. Every time you saw JB, it always felt like the first time again. You never knew if it was his quiet strength or the way his blue eyes saw right through you– but he was someone more than just the man who worked for your daddy.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the soft crunch of boots hit against the dirt. Turning just in time, you saw JB emerging from the shadows, the moonlight outlining his familiar silhouette. The old guitar that he kept stashed in the bunkhouse was being carried in one hand, and his smile was small, almost shy.

“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, darlin',” he said, coming to a stop in front of you, his frame towered over you. He leaned against the tree, never dropping your gaze.

Blushing, you looked down, kicking your boots in the dirt, trying to play it cool. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

“Oh, darling, you should know by now,” he grinned, his touch was warm and tender as his hand gently cupped your cheek. “I’ll always come when you call.”

You both settled on the ground, his long legs stretching out as he rested the guitar against a thick thigh, plucking a few lazy chords. By now, you were content being near him, even when the air between you was thick with unspoken words and emotions.

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes when he glanced at you. “You wanna hear a song?”

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you nodded. “Yes please, James, but only if you want to.”

Sensing how flustered you were, the smirk on JB’s face deepened. “Oh, I wanna. I’ve got somethin’ I’ve been practicin’ for you.”

The melody was familiar and slow as he strummed a few chords, and it only took another moment for your heart to skip when you recognized the opening notes. It was one of the new songs you had been playing on repeat, one that made you want to slow dance under the stars. Your chest tightened with emotion as you listened to JB play it.

His voice was low and rough as he started singing, but it still had the teasing edge he always had. JB wasn’t just singing a song, he was singing it to you, every word meant to wrap around you and pull up closer.

You had to bite your lip to stop from smiling too wide, his voice sending a shiver down your spine as he began to come to the end of the song.

“You like it?” he asked, though from the way his eyes glanced down to your lips, causing the smirk to reappear across his own, he already knew your answer.

Nodding, you met his gaze, now unable to hide your smile. “It was perfect, James.”

“Yeah? I thought you’d like that one,” he spoke, setting the guitar aside. His knee brushed against yours as he shifted closer. More serious now, his voice lowered as he added, “You know, darlin’, I didn’t just come out here to play you a song.”

Looking up at him, there was something in his at caused your heart to race, and your stomach to flip. “What else did you come for?”

There was a softness in his eyes, one that you had rarely seen before. He reached out, brushing that damned stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I’ve been waitin’ for the right moment, and I reckon,” he paused. “I reckon this is as good as it gets.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he leaned in. His plump lips brushed against yours softly, teasingly, and your heart fluttered in your chest, leaving you wanting more.

When he pulled back, his grin was still in place. “You okay, darlin’?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

You nodded. “Y-yeah, I’m okay,” you replied, a little dazed and breathless.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his thumb lightly against your cheek. “I’ve been dyin' to do that.”

He never gave you time to respond, pulling you in and placing another kiss against your lips. This time, he was a little firmer, deepening the kiss. It was everything to you, slow and sweet. Yet, there was a hint of heat and desperation. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you closer. Your heart continued to pound in your chest as you melted into him.

You were both gasping for air as you broke apart, and JB smiled down at you, tracing lazy circles over your skin.

“Guess that’ll be added to our collection of little secrets, huh?” he teased.

Nodding, you smiled and looked at him.

Your heart filled with the warmth of your first kiss as you sat under the stars, together, settling in a comfortable silence. This was a memory you would carry with you, forever, even if it had to remain a little secret.

---

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #cowboy!bucky x reader #cowboy au #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #ranchhand!bucky #bff!bucky #bucky barnes x rogers!reader

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 months ago

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The you have any headcanon about Perrine and The Croon?

Perrine has an affinity for skulls because of The Croon, and they’re mainly the reason why she likes to collect them

The Croon refers to her as “calf”

Perrine sometimes catches glimpses of a tall figure out of her window at night, standing among the distant trees, hidden by just enough shadow to make her wonder if she’s just seeing things

The Croon gifts her skulls, bones, and small dead animals

When people say The Croon is evil, she’s the first to jump to its defense

However, Perrine does have a healthy dose of fear for The Croon

She doesn’t know why this is

But there’s always a level of wariness she feels towards it

There was this one night…

It was cold. The wind was blowing. Branches brushing against the cottage were like clawing fingers on the walls, desperate to get inside.

Perrine woke up.

Or maybe she had never fallen asleep in the first place.

She couldn’t remember.

It didn’t matter.

She got up from her bed.

All around her, the moonlight bleeding in through her window pooled ghoulishly into the empty black eyes of her animal skulls.

It felt like they were all watching her.

At first, she had gotten up to get a glass of water. Her mouth was dry, and the space behind her eyes was uncomfortably warm. But at the same time, she was covered in goosebumps.

But then, she found herself drawn outside.

Grass crunched under bare feet.

She didn’t even flinch from the cold.

Like she was in some kind of trance, she found herself delving into the woods.

And then, she saw it.

The towering beast of feathers and bone. It stood among the trees, nearly obscured by darkness.

The Croon.

She was scared.

She wasn’t sure why she was scared. She based her whole image around this beast, after all. She wore the moose mask because of it.

And yet…she trembled.

And then, she spoke.

“What’s the point of you?”

She asked it without thinking. It was a question that had been brewing in her head for ages.

“I mean…you embody and represent chaos…”

The Croon tilted their head for a moment, as if considering the question. The quiet night air was tense.

“Chaos…is beautiful and destructive. It’s everywhere, and it’s all-consuming. It doesn’t need any apparent purpose. It merely is. It destroys and makes and changes…over and over again. That is what I represent. Change is necessary. Everything must die, and from the destruction, something new is born. After a wildfire, flowers will bloom from the ashes.”

“But people like the flowers. Not the fire.”

“Perhaps. But they need the fire. They need the chaos and the change. Even if it destroys them. There is no new life without death, and there is no death without chaos.”

“But, you still destroy things. Why can’t you have something new without destruction? Why change?”

“Destruction..is just part of the cycle. It’s a part of change. There is beauty in decay. Death and destruction can be…art. The changing of the seasons, the wilting of flowers, the withering fall leaves… Even the most positive change is destruction for something else. Destruction and chaos are required for rebirth, for evolution. Because of change, everything is different, and everything is unique. There are no two things that are exactly the same, down to the last detail.”

“My friend, Cole, lost their parents in a horrible way. Is that supposed to be beautiful? Or necessary?”

“…Perhaps not. Not all destruction is beautiful or necessary. But not all death is cruel or senseless either. After all…without death, would you appreciate life at all? When an animal dies, and it decomposes, the earth gains the nutrients it gives to grow new flowers and new grass. New life. Even a death as horrible and cruel as that can still give new life to the plants and earth around it. It is the same with humans. A death, even a cruel and horrible one, can lead to new life for the remaining family or loved ones…or to the end of a destructive, hurtful cycle.”

“Cole has suffered since their parents’ death. There was no hurtful cycle to break! It’s not fair!”

“Death isn’t fair.”

Its voice had dropped to a low, almost guttural growl that shook her to the bones. But its empty eye sockets still held an eerie sense of calm.

“Life…isn’t fair. People die. Families are torn apart, homes and villages are destroyed. It’s the nature of the world. It’s a necessary evil.”

“…I don’t want to be a necessary evil.”

#ask #it’s easier to make headcanons for the kids #because i STILL don’t know if the harkers are alive and active entities in the world #or if they’re figures from the past that have died #we also have No Idea how they act #but to me #and this is just speculation and headcanon and not canon at all #they seem like this silent watching figure with an air of eeriness about them #watch them end up being the friendliest lmao #i don’t think they’re evil or anything #chaos doesn’t automatically mean evil #but i do think they’re morally grey i guess? or just a neutral figure #neither bad nor good #just necessary #that’s my little spiel #also sorry for the lack of hcs! aside from that long Thing #again it’s hard to come up with stuff when i don’t know what’s canon #yaelokre #meadowlark #the lark #yaelokre headcanons #perrine #perrine yaelokre #the croon

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nadas-dirthalen · 29 days ago

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I Saw Solas's Origin in an Achievement Icon and It Opened My Eyes on 15 Years of Lore

— PART THREE: if you haven't read previous parts, do it now! —

[ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ]

Welcome, friends and travelers! I wanted to get some thoughts recorded before Veilguard's release so I could see if I am right about an absolute BOATLOAD of theories I have.

In short: I saw the achievement list when it was released. I have seen the backstory hints for Solas included in said list. AND MY MIND WAS BLOWN.

You have been warned: THIS COLLECTION OF THEORIES INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR EVERY DRAGON AGE GAME AND ALL PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL UP TO AND INCLUDING OCTOBER 18, 2024.

Come sit down with me. Make a nice cup of tea (and hide it from Solas). We've got a lot of unpacking to do.

(this photo isn't the spoiler, I just like it.)

Today's Discussion:

So far, we've covered a few things. We know Solas was "born" from (or manifested from) a branch of raw lyrium while he was still connected to a Titan. We know there were hints toward this from across all three previous games, plus a lot of external media. We know his "birth" was initiated/instigated by Mythal.

We also know that there are quite a lot of hints about memory and forgetting across what we've covered so far, from Cole's dialogue to old elvhen lullabies.

But from here, we must ask ourselves: What ARE the Forgotten Ones? And if Solas really IS Titan-born, what does that say about the rest of everything we know about the world of Thedas and its magic?

Why the Titans are the Forgotten Ones

Fen'Harel Walked Between Both Clans of Gods

The Abyss and the Fade

Lyrium: Titans' Blood, Emerald Waters of the Fade

What IS a Spirit, Then?

Solas's Magic: What Was He Born With?

Solas and Petrification

Solas and "Blood" Magic // The Red Lyrium Idol

What Did Solas Absorb at the End of DA:I?

Why the Titans are the Forgotten Ones

Okay. This, I admit, could have been its own post. There is a LOT to cover with just this topic. I was in the midst of outlining such a post when one of my favourite Dragon Age theorycrafters (girltriesgames) came out with this video, which summarizes every point I'd gave gone into at length. Go watch it, if you want the full deep-dive!

For now, I will summarize some of the video's points:

There were two clans of gods, according to Merrill. The first was the Evanuris, and the Forgotten Gods were the second.

Fen'Harel walked among both clans without fear, and both believed he was one of them.

The Forgotten Ones have been "sealed" in the Abyss, which we know is the deep underground from the Descent DLC and other sources such as the Anvil of the Void.

The Forgotten Ones are cited by Merrill and the World of Thedas books as being at war with the Evanuris, namely Mythal and Elgar'nan being at war with four Forgotten Ones; in the Trespasser DLC, it mentions that the Titans were at war with the Evanuris, and slain by Mythal and Elgar'nan.

The Hissing Wastes features codices from ancient dwarves who fled to the surface to escape a war that was ultimately... forgotten, featuring dragons being used as weapons that slaughtered their kin. Obviously an above-ground enemy!

There are countless mentions of the word "Forgotten" around the Titans and dwarves. The Titans have been forgotten. They do not exist in the Memories of Orzammar. The sleeping Titans have forgotten how to wake up.

Cole makes many mentions of forgotten songs in relation to the sleeping Titans and also to the dwarves. Curiously, he even ties these concepts to the Templars, who employ the same magic (according to Cole).

Fen'Harel Walked Between Both Clans of Gods

Once I knew that Solas is made from lyrium and that the Titans are the Forgotten Ones, everything clicked into place for me. The legends say that Fen'Harel walked between both "clans" of gods because each one believed him to be one of their own. That sentence made less sense to me before, because I wondered: how does an elf fool an entire other clan of gods into believing he belongs to them?

Understanding that the Titans are the Forgotten Ones, famously the clan of gods that the Evanuris (namely Mythal and Elgar'nan) warred with... well, it makes sense now, doesn't it? Solas was able to walk between both clans of gods because he DOES have roots in both. Solas is crafted FROM a Titan. Solas BECAME an Evanuris. The Titan would recognize him as one of its own; the Evanuris accept him as one of their own.

This is backed up even further by a piece of Solas's dialogue in The Threat Remains.

"I have journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past of ancient wars both famous and forgotten."

The Titans' existence was struck from Orzammar's Memories. Cole makes endless mentions of forgotten songs, old songs. Beings that are sleeping and don't remember how to wake up. Beings that have forgotten even themselves. Solas refers to dwarves as the severed arm of a once mighty hero.

"Wars both famous and forgotten," therefore, might refer to a war that was famous among the ancient elvhen, but forgotten by the rest of the world. One side takes pride in the mining of lyrium from slain titans. The other is doomed never to know what was lost.

But the question remains: When Solas created the Veil to imprison the Evanuris, what exactly happened to the Titans?

The Abyss and the Fade

To truly understand what happened to the Titans, we must first understand what, exactly, the Veil was making a divide between. We know much of what happened to the Fade: that Solas says it was once a state of nature like the wind, flowing through everything. That now it is mutable and unpredictable, with little in the way of permanence in anything. That it takes the shape of the thoughts and memories of those within it. That magic functions unpredictably within it.

But what about what that meant for the Titans? What happened to them with this split? And, more importantly, what was the Fade in relation to them?

Let's start with what we know about the Titans' domain. Frequently called the Abyss or the Void, the realm of the Titans is below the surface. Yet, in much elvhen literature found in Trespasser, their domain is referred to as the Earth.

I believe, based on the context of those codices, that the Earth and the Abyss are not the same. The Abyss refers to the caverns in the deep underground. The Earth, specifically, is the Titans who live within the Abyss. Earth, in the ancient elvhen, pre-Veil context, may refer to the Titans' bodies—lyrium—while "Pillars of the Earth" refers to the Titans as sentient beings. The Song to Elgar'nan talks about wanting victory over the Earth, capital 'E.'

Though the Chant of Light describes the Void as more a state of being, the ancient elvhen describe it as Andruil's old hunting grounds.

One day Andruil grew tired of hunting mortal men and beasts. She began stalking the Forgotten Ones, wicked things that thrive in the abyss. Yet even a god should not linger there, and each time she entered the Void, Andruil suffered longer and longer periods of madness after returning. Andruil put on armor made of the Void, and all forgot her true face. She made weapons of darkness, and plague ate her lands. She howled things meant to be forgotten, and the other gods became fearful Andruil would hunt them in turn.

The time of Andruil using the Void as her hunting grounds predates the Veil. Overall, we already know much of what this codex implies about the Void: that it is dark, underground, and that there is reason we know of that would send Andruil back with madness (the abundance of raw lyrium and the fact that the Evanuris are mages, plus Andruil's lyrium armor).

What I want to focus on is that the Forgotten Ones were thriving in the Abyss before the Veil went up. They were alive and, ostensibly, able to fight back. They had access to their will and to their consciousness.

That consciousness seems to have disappeared with the creation of the Veil. Let me rephrase.

The Titans lost access to their consciousness with the creation of the Veil. At the same time. And what did the Veil do? What is the SOLE thing it did?

Separated the Fade from the waking world.

A collection of facts, when taken together, lead me to my conclusion about the relationship between the Abyss, the Fade, and the Titans.

The Forgotten Ones (Titans) live in the Abyss

They were conscious and "thriving" before the Veil went up

Cole remarks that they have "forgotten" how to wake up in the time since

No one has memory of the Titans, not even the dwarves

Lyrium is the blood of the Titans

and lyrium grows in the Fade.

Lyrium: Titans' Blood, and the Emerald Waters of the Fade

I think a lot of us (me included) have been thinking about the Fade all wrong. I think a lot of people consider the Fade to be this Other Thing™ that was once a part of the world, and is now separate. Now, I believe differently. I think that the Fade and the Titans were once two pieces of one whole, and creating the Veil effectively sundered all Titans' consciousness from their bodies.

In short: I think the Fade is the Titans' missing consciousness.

That's why I think it is very important not just that Lyrium exists in the Fade, but that it grows there. It implies that the Fade is still alive, just like the Titans are still alive, but asleep.

When Solas says, "I seek... regeneration" in Vows & Vengeance, I think this is what he means: reconnecting these two sundered pieces.

We've always thought as the Fade as the realm of spirits. Those characters who contemplate the Veil being torn down immediately think about how many spirits and demons that might unleash upon Thedas.

But I must ask: If the Fade is the consciousness of sundered Titans, where did the first spirits come from, before the creation of the Veil? What relation could Titans have with spirits?

What IS a Spirit, Then?

I'm sure that I am not alone when I say that my original guess for Solas's origin story is that he was a spirit that took mortal, corporeal shape. We've all heard Cole say, "He did not want a body, but she asked him to come." We all know that the Dread Wolf's six eyes greatly resemble a Pride demon, and we have seen that Solas' Manifestation achievement icon features those same six eyes.

If you're like me, you might've seen that and wondered how exactly this is all related. How can Solas be a spirit of Wisdom turned to Pride if he came from a Titan?

I'm here to tell you: I think those are the same thing.

And the Chant of Light agrees with me.

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity. —Andraste 14:11

Many believe that the well of sorrows and the waters of the Fade must have elemental associations with, well... water. But I'd like to put forth a different interpretation.

Lyrium exists in liquid form, once refined. The Bastion of the Pure in the Descent DLC has a literal underground sea. We know that lyrium is the Titans' blood, growing both in the Abyss and the Fade. We also know that the Fade, domain of spirits, is likely the Titans' sundered consciousness.

The "well of all souls," then, is the same as the "emerald waters." Both of them refer not to water, not to oceans, but to lyrium.

I think every spirit on Thedas, not just the dwarves, came from the Titans originally.

To test the validity of my idea, I then asked myself: what do we know of spirits and their nature?

We know that spirits all boil down to one singular quality: Wisdom, Compassion, Purpose, Love, Justice, etc etc etc.

We know that those qualities can change back and forth from "virtuous" to "demonic" depending on the spirit's own feelings and reactions to the world. The trauma of crossing the Veil or being bound can force Wisdom to become Pride (Solas's personal quest) or Compassion to Rage (Down Among the Dead Men from Tevinter Nights).

Not all spirits are named for "virtues" or "sins." For instance, there are Hunger demons, and hunger is not a sin.

Spirits can be killed outright. When that happens, they may reform, but they are never quite the same when they coalesce again. There are also "ancient spirits" mentioned throughout the franchise, which tells me that not all spirits are the same age. They were not all created at the same time.

Many spirits are mere wisps, without one of those one-word qualities. They must gain power before they take such a shape.

To me, that sounds a lot like how thoughts work.

Our singular thoughts could also be boiled down to singular qualities, if framed in a certain way. For instance, my current craving for food is very much a Hunger thought. My constant joy in reading World of Thedas stems from Curiosity. Terrible traffic conditions inspire fleeting Rage, which changes when I remember my Compassion for other drivers who might be erratic because they're going through an emergency or something traumatic.

People don't remember every single thought they have. The ones that stick with us over time? They remain with us because they are powerful. Stronger memories stick around longer; the rest fade away or become shapeless until we try really hard to remember them again.

But when we do remember things we have forgotten? We never remember them exactly the same, do we? If I remember I thought I had as a child, I have to remember it with the context of my current 30-year-old self. I will never experience the thought exactly as my 5-year-old self did.

As long as I have access to my own consciousness, I will constantly produce new thoughts and memories.

Therefore?

Specifically, I think that all spirits on Thedas are the thoughts of Titans, once either held in lyrium or free to drift through the Fade before the Veil existed. Those spirits may then manifest into a corporeal shape, like Cole does, if they have enough power.

And Solas? Solas is one such thought-spirit, who used to be held in lyrium, who Mythal convinced (or coerced) to take shape.

Which explains a great deal about every type of magic we see him use.

Solas's Magic: What Was He Born With?

Oh, Solas, you beautiful enigma. For so long, we thought of you as an ordinary mage. Then, with the big Fen'Harel reveal and the way you began petrifying people in Trespasser, we thought you were something else.

Mages draw their power from the Fade. It looks like the dwarven magic we're seeing (from Harding, from Valta, from Sandal) draws its power from the Stone, in addition to manipulating it. So what gives? How is Solas able to pull from both schools of magic? Is he a mage? Is he kin with the dwarves?

Now, with all the knowledge we've gained through one singular achievement icon jpeg, I understand: you are both, and you are neither.

We must remember that all ancient elvhen are born in a pre-Veil era. With the knowledge we have, that means an era when the Titans were not sundered from their thoughts, and all magic in the world was one thing. If all spirits are the thoughts of Titans made manifest (either as living concepts or as corporeal beings) and the Fade is just one part of Titans' whole existence, then a world without the Veil is a world where we don't need to think of those magics as two separate things.

Rather, they are both magic, but opposing schools of the same magic. When we think of the four elements here in OUR world, we think of earth and air as opposites—but in a lot of media, magic users have access to both. Often, they are weak to each other, one cancelling out the other.

We see this laid out more clearly in this codex from the Vir Dirthara.

"The unchanging world is delicate: spells of power invite disaster and annihilation. The unchanging world is stubborn: the pull of the earth fiercely resists making fire run like water or stone rise like mist. The unchanging world rings with its own harmony. Listen with fearless hearts, and great works will unfold."

This codex is actively encouraging the magic users of ancient elvhen (AKA, all people from that time) to listen with fearless hearts to the "unchanging world" to exert will over the "pull of the earth." They're not saying to avoid the Titans, or to dominate them with an abundance of their own (Fade) magic. By tapping into the Titans' rhythm, even the magic of the Fade is embellished. Made stronger.

To be alive in that time is to be able to wield both magics interchangeably—but just like Aang in Avatar: the Last Airbender, the pull of the earth is a notoriously difficult thing for "air" (Fade) magic-users to grasp, and vice versa.

(A tiny aside: I believe these discoveries about spirits and magic teach us the distinction between elven and elvhen. The latter translates to "spirit-soul," loosely—the spirits that came out of the Titans. I believe elven refers to the corporeal descendants of those elvhen that sexually reproduced.)

Solas and Petrification

Many of us speculated for a long, long time that Solas's ability to petrify people—an ability associated with Sandal and Harding—was something he took from a dwarven or Titan-aligned source. People speculated that Urthemiel, the archdemon, must be somehow connected to the magic of the Stone.

I have a different theory: Solas has always had this capability, but the power he absorbed from Mythal is what has allowed him to once again perform the magic of the Stone from whence he came.

Maybe utilizing both magics to such a powerful degree (remember his Mind Blast from Trespasser?) requires that a mage be more powerful than most, carrying two "sects" of magic within them and using both in such a great and terrible capacity (like how the Avatar is more powerful than other benders, able to carry multiple elements because of bonding with the spirit of Raava, to continue with my previous example).

Solas and "Blood" Magic // The Red Lyrium Idol

I'll preface this by saying: no, I have no idea why Solas has changed his tune about blood magic in DA:tV. I hope to find out in five days!

I do want to suggest that, for Solas, blood magic might mean something different than it does for everyone else. Solas's blood, while he has taken a corporeal shape almost identical to any other elven person, may not be the same chemical make as the blood of mortals. That might explain why he has not experimented with it much during the time of Inquisition, and might explain why he does not want to use his own blood in DA:tV.

Instead, his blood might be closer to lyrium than we expected. And the red lyrium idol might be HIS idol.

Some of you might remember that way back in part 1, I noted that a hint for Solas's origin from previous games and external media is that, in Tevinter Nights, the Dread Wolf refers to the red lyrium idol as "my idol" before slaying the Mortalitasi trying to perform a blood magic ritual with it. It confused me, for a long time, why the Dread Wolf (the big wolf form, not necessarily one with Solas) would refer to the idol as "my idol" before actually retrieving it to keep. The explanation seems simple: it was his first.

This makes me wonder, given everything we know, if the idol first belonged to the Dread Wolf because it is made from the Dread Wolf's blood. Since the Dread Wolf is a piece of a Titan, that would make its blood likely at least related to lyrium, right?

Many have also speculated that Solas's ritual dagger, which gets passed on to Rook, is made from a purified/reforged red lyrium idol. Given the blood connection between Rook and Solas, it makes sense to me that if the dagger is indeed made from the blood of the Dread Wolf (and/or Solas), that is why Rook has access to its abilities.

What Did Solas Absorb at the End of DA:I?

I cannot for the life of me find a well-cropped image, but this post on Reddit talks about a designer note from the post-credits scene of DA:I between Solas and Flemeth. Namely that Solas does not take Mythal's soul when he absorbs power from her. Before he absorbs that power, Mythal passes her soul on to Morrigan.

While David Gaider had previously advised fans to not necessarily take this as canon, it seems to be proving true in Morrigan's design change, featuring Flemeth's crown.

That means there are two things Solas may have still absorbed from Mythal, since her soul was already "spoken for."

Raw power

The soul of Urthemiel, the archdragon slain in Origins. This is true in every world state with Kieran, but I would wager that Urthemiel's soul belongs with Mythal in every world state, since Flemeth said she had an "appointment to keep" in the prologue of DA2, which is why she did not travel with Hawke. My guess is she went to Denerim, poking at the remains of the slain archdemon until, 10 years later in Inquisition, she was in possession of Urthemiel's soul no matter what.

We know, however, that archdemons are sundered pieces of the Evanuris. We've been able to suspect this since Inquisition, where we see Corypheus's archdemon is in possession of a piece of his soul and is therefore the secret to his immortality.

I don't think either of this gave Solas access to any new spells. Rather, I think either one (or both!) might have granted him the power necessary to access spells he already knows from both Fade magic and Stone magic.

However, I'd like to touch on just one thing before this post concludes.

I believe that Urthemiel is June's archdemon. The Chant of Light references an Architect of Beauty, just as it references Corypheus, the Conductor of Silence. These are high priests of the so-called "Old Gods," which were revealed as archdemons when Dumat appeared during the First Blight. Corypheus was the high priest of Dumat, the old god of Silence.

I believe the word Architect being used as the title for the high priest of Urthemiel is indicative of the Evanuris that Urthemiel belongs to. There is one Evanuris known for craftsmanship: June, who we know nothing about.

The reason I mention this is that, if nothing else, June's abilities may have allowed Solas to "purify" and shape the red lyrium idol into his ritual dagger that we see in Veilguard.

In conclusion: I believe Solas has always had access to the Stone, but it would certainly be interesting to see if each Evanuris has their own suite of magical abilities, potentially due to the Titan from which some of them originated (more on THAT in a later post, stay tuned!).

If you read this far, THANK YOU, as always! The collective hype of everyone reading and sharing these is making me all the more excited for Veilguard.

Keep an eye out for the next instalment in this series: What the Chant of Light teaches us about Solas, Mythal, and the Evanuris at large.

#dragon age #veilguard spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #da4 spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard #da:tv #da4 #da:v #dragon age theory #dragon age meta #solas #dragon age solas

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