#alitlantern

[nobodyexpectsthe]

「 LIGHT 」

「 LIGHT 」 : for sender to touch the receiver with a feather light pressure.

the inquisitor prides himself on his composure. the pinnacle of professionalism (these days at least) with nary a hair out place. the court can testify to his tenacity, how threats and flirtation barely net a blink.

there is, of course, nothing professional about what they've spent the last two hours doing. he tells himself it's safer for them both if he maintains his distance, but he maintains his distance with everyone these days.

the routine is getting to be familiar. some nights he lingers, but that's just to finish up whatever work they were doing before the distraction took hold. never does he stay longer than an hour, most of the time he's up and off to his own quarters before the sweat can even cool on their skin, determined not to overstep already blurring boundaries between cohort and lover.

but before he can move to slip out of these too-familiar sheets and dress, the ghosting of anders' fingers against his cheek stops him short. the gentle smile that meets his startled expression undoes him in a thousand little ways.

he cannot think of a stupider place to be. a more scandalous place to rest his weary head.

"you'd best not snore," pirith murmurs, long limbs reaching down to pull the mage flush against him. his eyes already shutting. "i have a meeting with the war table at dawn."

[rcgueprince]

‘ So if Andraste preached freedom and ended slavery, why do you lock up mages and keep them as slaves? ‘

THE QUESTION HAD troubled him for a few days now, both in its truth and in the implications of what was said. While his initial response was more to quiet the apostate than anything else, Sebastian had been truthful then. No one had ever challenged the existence of the Circles – at least, not to him.

It was a splinter under his skin, driving Sebastian mad enough that, by the third day, he was making the unfamiliar trek to Darktown.

The clinic itself was not difficult to find; lantern lights led the way, and, barring that, the growing number of huddled faces assured the laybrother he was on the right path. The stipend he received from the Chantry wasn’t much – a far cry from the resources of his life before – but perhaps, he muses absently, he could make a bid for the use of donations. Not a lot, but maybe just enough to get a hot meal for those down here in need, to show that the Chantry had not forgotten the faithful in need.

Sebastian hesitates at the door, a pit twisting in his gut. Shifting the weight of the small bundle in his arms—a peace offering of supplies that, he realizes now, would be far from impactful—a part of him reconsiders his plan. What would he accomplish here? Would Anders even entertain his assistance?

Maker guide me, that I may reach all your children.

He steps cautiously, shoulders tense, into the clinic.

“Anders? Could I take a moment of your time?” It was foolish, everything about what he was doing here was on the verge of plain stupidity, but he had to make an attempt to understand the apostate.

“Do you need any assistance today?”

➸ @alitlantern

[kirkw4ll-a]

@alitlantern liked for a starter!

"how do you want to be remembered? valiant yet sexy rebel against the status quo?"

[detectice]

@alitlantern liked for a dragon age 2 starter!

"oh! varric said i should speak to you." her eyes are bright and curious as they wash over the healer before they move back to a couple of men who were sitting in the corner of the tavern. " -- in a moment, though. hang on just a second." her eyes watched their lips, her expression neutral until after a moment her mouth turned downwards into a frown.

"damn. i thought they might have known who was behind a few of these assaults i've seen in lowtown. seems like that was a dead end." attention turned completely now to anders and she offered a small, APOLOGETIC smile. "something -- that i was hoping you might have a bit of information about? sorry. i'm sure you're here to RELAX. i could ask another time."

[fvrtvne]

ship song for @alitlantern. hey lover! by wabie. (explanation under cut.)

For I'll be satisfied Long as you are my bride Just give me true love and understanding True love and understanding For the rest of my days

there are few people isabela can be vulnerable with, and fewer who would understand why she's that way. anders is one of the few people isabela's shared journey's with, and one of the fewer people who can possibly understand where she's coming from. dissecting this song, it talks about 'true love and understanding' which is a pretty big part of romance with isabela. to her, no one without shared experience could possibly understand why she's as particular with emotions as she is. anders, similarly, has been through a lot, most of which isabela, true to the story of dragon-age has bore witness to, save for his tenure within the DLC of origins. still, and even regardless, these two could have one of the sweetest sorts of bittersweet romance wherein they help heal one another through their mutual understanding of each others complex trauma.

[relentlessgrief]

@alitlantern decided to ask:

"May I humbly request, not a bone, but a link from that fascinating chain, perhaps? The Seers in Rivain are very interested in the existence of such an enchantment."

"To help others like me, perhaps. Yes?"

The demon hovers over the man, tendrils within its ribcage curling curiously. Stuck in the body of a monster isn't ideal, but it's nice that there are those unafraid to come forward.

"I suppose I can." Connor rumbles, beginning to reach on his person with one set of hands to undo one of the chain links, while another larger hand from the secondary set of arms seeks to gently pull the man closer by the forearm.

"Give me a second. I'll give it to you."

[theharellan]

"I questioned the wisdom of my decision to join the Inquisition at first," Solas says, gaze sweeping towards the other apostate. He has a look of solitude about him- that is to say, disheveled, the appearance of a man who has not had to face the reproachful expression of strangers in quite some time.

It will not be long until Josephine, or one of her employ, comes bearing the necessary implements to address it. What will be offered as a gift will also be suggestion: soaps to scrub the wilds from his skin, a straight razor to shape his beard. A fact he knows from experience, although his suggestions came in the form of fresh clothes, his own patchwork attire drawing attention as an apostate.

"It is true the Inquisitor has proven herself sympathetic to the plight of mages, and that has offered safety where there might not have otherwise been any. But I was no one of consequence to these people, what hostility I encountered the result of centuries of prejudice and little else... the same cannot be said of you."

The eyes that haunt Anders's face appear as any other man's might- burdened by his past, but wholly his own. Were it not for the press of the Veil around him, Solas might overlook him entirely, but spirits of Justice are not the sort to exist quietly; second only to Command in their willingness to make themselves known.

"And so I wonder: are you of a single mind in this matter?"

@alitlantern liked for a starter

[bannsparkleberry]

@alitlantern

Keep your head down. You’re smart, Garret, talented, but you have to keep that to yourself. You have to blend in, no matter what. Understand?

The Chantry floorboards beneath his feet were smoothed over and wine stained. Woodsmoke emanated from the roughspun shirt his father wore, not the nice one he’d usually wear to services. A small cough escaped Carver behind him, and a sniffle from Mother. Every minute detail of his father’s final words to him was etched into his mind, and yet Garret himself was nothing more than a hazy, numb mist. No longer a part of it. He repeated it over and over again on the journey to the tower, and each time he became fainter and fainter within it.

And when it wasn’t that, it was poor Bethany. Eyes wide at the cut of mutton their mother had asked them to pick up, now flaming in her hand. It was as if the world slowed around him, the butcher’s back turned, but no doubt alerted to the small explosion his baby sister had set off. There would be no getting around this. No explanation, other than intervention from the Maker Himself. She would be discovered. Maybe all of them. Hauled off by the Templars and shipped to opposing corners of Thedas, never to meet again, Mother and Carver left to fend for themselves. At best she would live her life alone, under constant watch, and never to be heard from again. Only one thing was left in Garret’s power.

Lightning fast, Garret had wrested the charring meat from his sister, while grabbing her arm and pinning it to her side with his other hand. If it was just him, they’d be okay. He was bigger. Stronger. Quick on his feet with a lie, especially when compared to sweet little Bethany. They would be okay, he was certain. They had to be.

By the time the butcher turned to look at them, he had seen just a startled girl, and an older boy wielding a controlled flame that engulfed the steak he had just handed over. A mage. The Templars were called, and Garret wasn’t even permitted to return for his belongings. Carver had bolted home, a tear streaked Bethany trailing behind him. Mother, Father and Carver came to him later at the Chantry, Bethany was undoubtedly left home to pack. They couldn’t stay after this.

The Templars who brought him across the lake now were not the ones at the chantry back home. They had known him, had even been sympathetic. Mother had always been kind to them, in part because it was her nature, but in part so that they may be lenient in their suspicions. It was a part of their duties that they would inevitably have to hand off the children of their community to the Circles, but he could tell they did it with no great joy.

These Circle Templars were anything but. His family had made themselves scarce by the time they arrived, might have even packed up and moved on already. By that time, Garret was already locked inside himself. Calculating and fearing what was to come. He startled when the Sister laid a hand on his shoulder to tell him it was time to go. She had jumped about five feet in the air at the sight of a mage showing any sign of emotion, anything but composure. No doubt the incident in the butcher shop had spread through the town. By now, Garret was sure half the town believed he unleashed a fireball large enough to singe the butcher’s eyebrows off. Maybe burn down his shop.

Keep your head down.

But this meant she neglected to tell him the name of his new guardians. And when Garret tried to ask, the response was less than friendly, nearly outright hostile. “Why should you like to know, mage? Need it for one of your tricks you learned out here?” He had heard the Mother vouch for him when the Templars saw the size of him. Say how she had seen him at her services every week these past few years and watched him shoot up like a weed, that he was simply a boy coming into himself as a man. But it had clearly done little to dampen their suspicions about him.

You’re talented…keep that to yourself.

And at least some of those suspicions may have been right. Father wasn’t exactly free with his praise, but he called Garret’s progress in his studies ‘pretty good,’ which Garret figured translated to ‘better than I ever dreamed your inattentive ass would be.’ Time would only tell, but Garret wondered at what his peers might know as he climbed from the boat and up the damp stairs into the tower proper. How would he measure up? Surely they’d test his ability, but how was he to know what he should know? What he shouldn’t?

You have to blend in, no matter what.

Their group emerged into what appeared to be a great stone vestibule. His escorts spoke to a silver haired templar, while an even older, bordering on ancient bearded mage approached him. Garret ran through the spells he knew and the order he learned them. What was simple, what was complex enough to show he could control himself, what did he know that Bethany didn’t. The mage introduced himself and Garret barely heard, something with a V? And he was ushered into a side room.

This room was smaller, filled with shelves and beds, though none of them inhabited. Some sort of infirmary? Three more templars waited in here, and another mage, a woman this time. What could they possibly need with him here? He hadn’t complained of any illness or injuries on the road. She assured them this wouldn’t hurt too terribly and produced a small knife from a drawer. Garret’s blood ran cold. What good can come of strange women with knives and a room full of Templars? What was their plan? Did they think him a bloodmage? That surely, no mage who escapes the Circle’s grasp this long could have hidden without it? Why on the Maker’s green earth would they be testing this in this tiny infirmary? 

In a swift, practiced motion, the woman sliced Garret’s palm and pressed, spilling his blood over the side and into a small glass vial. Oh. Right. Phylacteries. They just wanted to make sure he wasn’t running off. Idiot.

Garret had stood dumbfounded and docile through the whole procedure, and the Templars were left satisfied. He was no maleficar, no real threat. Just a large, exhausted child. As they exited, the woman ran a thumb over his wound and closed it, as mundane as sealing a letter. Garret flexed and closed the hand, marvelling at the smooth join, something he had never managed, himself, and was ushered out of the room once again.

It was at this point he realized the decrepit mage with the V in his name hadn’t stopped talking this whole time. Excellent. Surely he had been giving all sorts of useful information that Garret was too caught up to absorb. He finally tuned in as they crossed into a vast room, filled wall to wall with bunks, and more kids his age than he’d ever come across in all his rural villages.

“That will be a problem for tomorrow, you’ve come far and I’m sure you are tired. Just put your keepsakes away, and change into the robe in this-” The elderly man pulled a long robe - though Garret would have called it more a short dress, as it hit just below his knees - from a cupboard “... Well. Someone will bring you down a robe to wear. We should have one in the upstairs quarters that should fit. Just, er, change into that one and meet us all for dinner, yes?”

Garret nodded a quiet thanks and turned to the open chest at the foot of the nearest bed. It felt almost like a joke, his meager possessions taking up only a small corner of the chest. He wondered at what else these could possibly be for. And with that he realized he had nothing left to do. Just wait for his new pretty pretty mage dress and gulp down whatever would constitute dinner in his new prison.

Understand?

Garret stared, frozen and unseeing at the lid of the chest. Understand what, Father? What was there to understand in a world the man refused to speak about, that Garret knew nothing about? What was he supposed to do?

[bolyde]

"I'm told-" Lucanis looks at the man ( @alitlantern ) seated in the corner that Neve had been nice enough to connect Lucanis with through the Shadow Dragons, "That you are something of an expert when it comes to sharing a body."

The blonde in front of him seems... unassuming. Lanky with a staff leaning nearby on the wall, Lucanis can feel his eyeball twitch as he approaches.

UGH. THE STINK. JUSTICE STINKS.

Spite usually only complained about the smell of the Blight in others. Was this a Grey Warden? Neve didn't give him much to go on for the contact, not even a name.

"What should I call you, sir? Or is this an anonymous consultation?"

[howetragic]

@alitlantern liked for a starter, and I heard u wanted an argument??

     “I wonder at the wisdom of the Warden-Commander’s decision,” Nathaniel says as he stands in the main hall of Vigil’s Keep - a Keep that was meant to be his one day. 

His arms are crossed as he eyes the mage - the apostate - who has helped himself to a mug of ale from the casks there along the wall. Oghren seems to be making himself at home as well, but that is a conversation for another time. 

     “You are a fugitive from the Circle. One they seem to want back quite sorely. Is it truly wise for you to be here amongst us? The Grey Wardens were not exiled from Ferelden so long ago. I wonder if the complication of your presence will reflect well on the Commander.”

[nobodyexpectsthe]

I was roasted for my taste in music and here’s my revenge @alitlantern

[rcgueprince]

@alitlantern, continued from here: ➸

Sebastian frowns slightly, opening his mouth to speak but shutting it just as quickly. Spending time with Anders has taught him more about grace than any of his studies as a boy back home in Starkhaven. Beating back the defensiveness that rears its ugly head, the laybrother takes a moment to gather his thoughts. It was less often now than in the earlier years of his time helping out in the clinic, but missteps still occurred; the realization of how starkly different their upbringings were humbling him yet again.

“I apologize,” He begins, and he means it, a gentleness in his tone more commonly reserved for patients than for their healer. “I suppose it never crossed my mind that something as harmless as dancing would have been considered improper in the Circle.”  

When Anders turns to face him, he can only hold his gaze for a moment before blue eyes shift to look anywhere else.

“My mother used to throw parties in the summer; they were quite popular in the Free Marches,” He begins. It was an odd feeling, the weight settling on his chest as he spoke. It had been a few years since his family was killed, but Sebastian could not remember the last time he spoke of them to…anyone.

“She would prepare for months and run the three of us through the steps. We had to know which dignitaries were which, the proper manners of address, and things of that nature. I found much of it too stuffy, but I had always loved the dancing.” He is quick to wave the memory off with a hand, but there is a moment when his eyes soften, and he seems elsewhere. “I was unable to attend as I got older because of-“ His warm brown skin deepens as he stumbles over the thought, “ah, well, there was an incident.”

A smile finds its way across Sebastian’s face and he motions for Anders to come over, “Anyways I have been told I’m not a terrible teacher. I could show you.”

[mournwatchingprofessor]

@alitlantern asked:

"Don't give me that look." - [meme]

"What look?"

The professor chuckled, as he walked closer to the other. He swore he could hear another voice near the other. A spirit? Perhaps. It was hard to make out. He just had to get a little closer...

[dinlathelan]

❛ do you mean to give me another one of your stoic nods? ❜

The healing process following the Inquisition’s recovery of the elf was a SLOW ONE, worsened by both the fact that Virgil refused the healer’s spells unless it was absolutely dire and the bullish manner in which he forced his body to move. The result was this: the elven rogue sitting statuesquely still, black eyes following the shemlen’s movements as he gathered the necessary supplies. Crimson blooms under the patched and mended threadbare shirt, staining from the center of his chest where the deepest wound was. He had snapped the stitches again, this time while scaling up one of the rooftops.

The pain is somewhere distant, no matter how hard he tried, Virgil hardly felt ANYTHING these days.

“Are you listening to me?” The healer, whose name had never quite settled in his mind, snapped him from his thoughts. Virgil's expression does not change, the stillness giving little away as to whether he had been paying attention.

He hadn't. He rarely did.

❛ do you mean to give me another one of your stoic nods? ❜

"Would it please you?" The rough monotone of his voice comes out overly blunt as he continues, " I could give you a curt one if you wanted a change of pace."

[magistheir]

@alitlantern | human glowstick

"Ah, then perhaps I should describe you as a blaze? Blossoming with light? Radiant? Your effulgence is a little too strong for a gleam or glimmer, I'll admit, but glaring might work." Which is just about matching to Anders' own expression right now! How quaint to see they match.

"Circle literature, in the North or South, say you're impossible. A mage possessed by a spirit should be twisted beyond all recognition into a form more suited for a demon's purpose—including their preferred level of incandescence." That Anders was not only human but still fully in charge of himself, for as long as he had been, was a real marvel. If they were back home, though… Dorian grimaced. He could think of more than a few peers back home that would love nothing more than to poke and prod Anders to try and see how such a possession could benefit themselves.

Dorian scoffed, waving his hand as if to push Anders' jab at him out of the way. "They do that sort of thing everywhere that isn't incredibly allergic to letting magic and spirits help. In Nevarra alone, hosts of spirits possess corpses to perform any number of tasks. Using a spirit's native luminosity to light one's way would be trivial. Hence why you should be able to do something with it."

His grin still flashed brilliant in the low light of the Fade-born flame. "Yes, but that's something anyone can do." A wave and snap of his own hand conjures a similar flame, to dance alongside Anders' ahead of them in the cave. "I was curious as to if you could do something more interesting with your phosphorescence. To show a mastery over your lambency unique to one possessed such as yourself. But I suppose there's always time to work on one's techniques."

[fvrtvne]

♡ _  ♡ 

send me    ‘  ♡ _  ♡ ‘    and my muse will admit one to three ( 1-3 )  features of your muse  ( physical or personality )   that they find incredibly attractive. 

( JOY ─── ) there's a faint laugh that anders has when he's truly amused. be it talking history, medical lingo, or about how soft his cat was, there's this unspeakable adoration that flashes isabela's gaze when he speaks. his voice, quiet, burdened by joy ... it's a pleasure she'd kill to see within him once more.

the iconic spark of joy, the flash of his winning smile. the way his nose crinkles when he laughs, and the melodic little chuckle he does so he doesn't burst into fits of laugher. those quiet bursts of joy ... though living among her favorite memories, she can't help but trace the rim of whatever cup she's holding and bask in the warmth of his glow.

( DEDICATION ─── ) ander's, in opposition to isabela, has a work ethic. while she wouldn't call it thriving, he persists in stress and anguish, finding small or explosive actions to take when faced head on with a problem. the way his gaze steels and his resolve hardens with or without justice is inspiring ; touching.

to see a man at work is to truly be blessed.

( HAIR ─── ) beyond his face ; there's a deep respect for whatever ritual anders oversees with his hair situation. his crisp and coiffed locks border on deep insatiability when she finds her fingers running through them. bits of adoration stick in her gaze when she's lucky as she is to lay beside and admire him.