#c: isabela
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I'm missing my little sister a little too much. How are things with you, darling? What have I missed? Please tell me everything! @isabelafame
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bils: HAPPY TURTLES ALL THE WAY DOWN DAY. 🐢🐢🐢 bils: I have to put the baby down for a nap but then I'm snuggling up and watching and I'm so excited. bils: So damn proud of you, lady. @isabelafame
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Oye linda, te extraño!! Where are you? What have you been up to? People keep stealing you away from me and I don't like that at all. But I guess I have to share you now, bummer. / @isabelafame
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It will be. This next month or so is going to be so busy. Oh, there will be. How are you doing anyway?
true, it might be a while before you get the chance to dive into anything new. but that's okay. when you finally get some free time, you'll have a treasure trove of shows and movies to choose from. and in the meantime, you'll just be building up the anticipation.
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Isabela and Clayton inspired by the art of J.C Leyendecker
#original art#original character#j c leyendecker#oc art#oc#my ocs#Clayton#Isabela#drawing#drawings#characterdesign#draw#digital drawing#character#sketch#sketchbook#drawn#my draws#tumblr draw
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My little Isabel...you are on fire lately and I am just so goddamn proud of you. We have to properly celebrate soon. @iscbelamerced
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Word on the street is that you're secretly a Titans fan. It's in imaginary street that I made up in my head, but just go with it. @iscbelamerced
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I don't want to be part of something where they don't make it comfortable for others. If they don't want to change that, I won't be part of it. Not everyone would do that.
that's a wise approach. it's important to feel comfortable and confident in every aspect of a project, both on and off the screen. communicating your concerns and seeking changes shows your commitment to maintaining a positive and professional environment. it’s great that you prioritize your well-being and integrity in your decision-making.
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Lock and Key
(Arianwen Tabris/Zevran | 2,298 Words | Hurt/Comfort | CW: Blood, brief references to torture and broken bones)
The torture, Zevran thought cynically, truly left something to be desired.
Rather, he seemed to recall—when he’d been a young Crow, there’d been racks, burning oil, things hammered between one’s toes…But this? Breaking his fingers? Slapping him around?
It lacked forethought.
It lacked…panache.
“I do not mean to complain,” Zevran told his torturer, spitting out a mouthful of blood, “But have you done this before?”
“What?” the hooded figure snarled, only their mouth and jaw visible beyond the hood and fabric they were swathed in.
“Mmm,” Zevran said, peering up at them through one swollen eye, “It is only that you are…how shall I say it? Trying too hard, you understand? Most torturers—they adopt a certain style, a way of getting things done, and you seem—”
The figure reared back and kicked him in the chest. His lungs struggled to inflate for a moment, and when they did Zevran coughed convulsively.
“Like that,” he wheezed, while the torturer stomped over to a small table of metal implements, “There is no sense of precision. You might have just stopped my heart, friend, and then where would you be? Luckily for you, I am made of sterner stuff than that.”
“Do you ever stop talking?”
The voice came not from the figure to his left, but from above. It echoed against the far ceiling and the stone walls, spreading until it was almost impossible to tell where it had come from.
Zevran, beaten and breathless, stretched his bloodied mouth into a crooked smile.
“Ah,” he told the hooded figure, “I am terribly sorry for what is about to happen to you.”
The torturer, alarmed, snatched a blade from the table and hurled it into the darkness above the rafters. There was no sound; not the thud of the blade in flesh or wood, nor the sound of metal clattering to the ground. Half a second later, the blade whistled back down, thudding into the flesh of the cloaked figure’s arm.
“Your aim is lacking,” the voice from above said.
“I said precisely the same thing, mi vida,” Zevran said, at long last allowing his head to fall back against the wooden back of the chair he was tied to, “I am sorry to say it, but there is a certain lack of professionalism at play here.”
“You shut up,” she said, and Zevran smiled, “I mean it. The smile, too. Flames, I could kill you.”
“It would not take much doing at the moment,” he told her.
As they spoke, the torturer ripped the blade from their shoulder with a grunt of pain (a bad idea, that; anyone could have told them that it was wiser to leave the thing in place until a healer could take a look at it).
“Show yourself, coward,” the torturer snarled, taking several more blades from the table and staring up at the ceiling. They turned slowly, as if trying to spot the shape of their assailant against the darkness of the ceiling.
If he’d been in a more charitable mood, Zevran might have told them it was pointless.
Indeed, as he thought so, a low laugh came from above, and there was a clatter in the far corner, almost directly behind the torturer. The torturer spun, already throwing a blade toward the source of the noise. As soon as they turned, a cloaked figure dropped from the rafters soundlessly, thrust a dagger into the place where the torturer’s kidney ought to be, and vaulted back up into the ceiling again.
“You know,” she said above him, “I think it’s more cowardly to beat a bound man. But that’s just me.”
A ring of keys fell from the ceiling and into Zevran’s lap. Of course; that was why she hadn’t killed his tormentor outright. She meant for him to do it instead. Balance, retribution; in her way, his Arianwen was all about balance. If he’d had the energy, Zevran would have thanked her for the effort and explained why he wouldn’t be doing that. It was hard to turn a key, after all, when most of one’s fingers were broken.
He didn’t hear her move; he supposed the torturer didn’t, either, because Wen swung down, kicked the large human into the table, and vanished again before the fallen figure could get their bearings again.
Something soft touched his wrist, bound behind him, and Zevran felt a quiet, shuddering breath at his back. She was going to be very cross with him as soon as she took care of their present company; Zevran winced at the thought, then hissed between his teeth when the motion reopened the slice over his eyebrow.
This time, when Arianwen moved away from him, Zevran could hear her; that could only be on purpose. The torturer heard it too, and turned to face her as she cast off the deep blue cloak, variegated with grey and black around the hem. Arianwen stood before him revealed at last, her long braid hanging down her back, her armor blue and silver and gleaming in the light of the brazier. Zevran smiled; it was a fool’s smile, punch-drunk and high from his own relief, but…well. It was just so good to see her. It’d been too long. Too many days without feeling her at in his arms, too many days fighting himself to keep from returning to her side.
“I was going to let him have you,” she said, “Or, if he allowed it, I was going to take my time. Fortunately for you, you’ve made me very, very angry. This’ll be quick.”
The torturer didn’t answer; they bent their head and ran, aiming right for her. Wen didn’t move for a long time—almost too long—and stepped aside at the last moment, exerting precisely as much effort as she needed to get out of the way. It looked, Zevran thought, turning his head as best he could to watch, like she simply floated away from him, like a feather in the breeze. The torturer rammed their injured shoulder into a column and let out a strangled shout.
“Don’t worry,” Wen said to Zevran as she passed, “The building’s empty.”
“There were at least thirty—” he began, and interrupted himself with a cough.
“As I said,” the Warden answered, casually lifting an iron from the fire and striding past, “The building is empty. Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.”
There were sounds that followed her statement, but he could not see their source. He didn’t need to know what she was doing, and he had the sense that not every time he closed his eyes lasted as long as a blink. Likely, that was not a good sign
“Zevran. Look at me, you fool.”
His eye fluttered open—the other seemed stuck shut—and Wen bent before him, her face beatific in its joy. Blood dripped from her ears and clumped in her hair, but she’d wiped her face clean, if the smears along her jaw were any clue. Zevran tried to smile up at her and was mostly successful.
“I knew you would come.”
“You’re an idiot. I don’t know why I put up with you. That letter was—” she wound up the sentence with a sharp click of the teeth instead of any descriptors, but after a moment the blissful look crept back into her eyes.
“Take your health potion like a good boy, hm? And I’ll haul you back to the safe house.”
Zevran might have made a crack about her wording, but as soon as he opened his mouth she pressed the cold glass rim of a vial in between his teeth and tipped it upside-down. The liquid was bitter and cold. Though there was a faint aftertaste of elfroot it was most certainly not a health potion.
“Wen—?” he gasped, and the room faded to black.
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Arianwen had been angry very often in her life. She enjoyed it, actually. There was a clarity of purpose to rage that most of the rest of life really seemed to lack. It was like…like crossing rooftops on a wire. Rage gave one a single clear path, and if one had the means to follow it things usually turned out alright in the end.
But now—now her old friend turned on her, hounded her steps.
Killing so many had been good enough in the moment, of course, but Zevran had needed to be unconscious for what came next, and she hadn’t wanted to give him the chance to talk her out of it. Now, all she could do was wait; there was nobody left to kill, and Zevran was not awake to argue with. As she paced the room, rage paced with her, shadowing her steps and clouding her concentration.
She crossed the room to open the window now, for the room was more or less empty of personality and furniture save an end table, a bed, and a chair. Zevran slept in the bed, his chest rising and falling easily. Few of his wounds would scar, not that he’d care about such things. He’d gained tattoos since she’d last seen him some…oh, had it been five months already? It felt like years.
This waiting.
Wen braced her hands on the windowsill, her fingers tapping out a staccato rhythm, and then she turned back to the bed.
Maker damn him, she loved the man. She’d kill a dozen times as many for him with pleasure, but seeing him hurt like this was—it was—
“Mi vida,” he murmured to her left, and Wen spun on her heel to look at him, “And here I had thought you were some sort of dream.”
She crossed to the side of the bed, her heart in her throat. She ought to say…she ought to tell him what an idiot he was. She ought to tell him off; she’d certainly thought of doing so enough times. But words escaped her now, and when he lifted his hand from the bed it was to wipe the moisture from her cheek.
“Ah,” he said, wincing when he lifted himself onto one elbow, “No, my Arianwen, no; do not cry for me. I cannot—”
“Why are you trying to get yourself killed?” she asked, and rage took her hand again, gave her the focus to keep talking.
“I am not—” he began, frowning, but she interrupted him.
“When will it be enough, Zev? Do you want to lead the Crows? Kill everyone who hurt you, who bought other kids like you? Do you want to be the King of Antiva? What? Because I can’t keep—can’t keep seeing you like this. If you need help, I will help; if you want me out of your life, then tell me to leave. But I can’t—”
She was crying again—so stupid. She hadn’t cried in years, and certainly never over him. He was staring at her with a sort of stunned horror that she might, if she’d had any sort of composure, have recognized better. It was the same face she was making, after all.
Don’t leave me, she wanted to tell him; as she wanted to tell him every time he disappeared onto a boat. But she’d been too proud to force him into a cage when he wanted the sky, so she’d always turned away instead.
“What do you think I should do?” he asked.
The hand wet with her tears fell away to the sheets of the bed.
For one dizzy, breathless moment, she wished he’d stayed asleep a little longer, given her more time to find the right words. But she…she….
“I want you to marry me,” she said, and it was already too late to take back. His mouth fell open, lips moving as if to speak, but nothing came out.
“Marry me,” she said again, grasping his hand in both of hers, “Tell me you want to live, and you want to live with me. Travel if you have to, but come home again. Live with me; be mine and let me be yours. I want a life, Zevran. I want a life for both of us.”
She searched his face, her heart racing harder than it had killing an entire house full of Crows on her way to her captured lover. Zevran stared at her, and slowly, slowly, a smile wrinkled the space on either side of his eyes.
“Yes.”
Wen blinked and squeezed his hand.
“Yes? You mean that? You’re not just—you aren’t going to take it back?”
“Maker’s pierced navel,” he said, struggling into a sitting position, “You do not believe me? And you were so persuasive, too.”
“No, I—” She clamped her mouth shut again and shook her head, “Yes, Zev?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes, of course, you beautiful murderess.”
She didn’t mean to lunge for him; would’ve thought better of it if she’d had the wherewithal. But all at once she was in his arms, her own wrapped tight around his neck, and both of them rocked back with the force of it.
“I love you,” she said into the salty skin of his neck, and kissed him there for good measure, “I love you. I love you.”
“I love you,” he murmured back, and inhaled sharply, “Ah—I should have known you would say something first.”
“I knew you wouldn’t want to force me,” she told him, but without any heat behind it. Her anger had faded away between one step and the next, gone in a breath and only a memory now.
“If you’d died,” she told him, eyes squeezed shut, breathing him in, “I would’ve killed you.”
His laugh was uneven, a little breathless, and likely that meant she’d need to let go of him soon. But when his words came, they were certain.
“Yes, I know,” Zevran said, “I love you for that, too.”
(For @14daysdalovers day 10: Captured)
#14dalovers#14dalovers2023#day 10 captured#zevran arainai#arianwen tabris#zevwarden#zevran x warden#zevran x tabris#dao#my writing#da fanfic#blood cw#torture cw#broken bone cw#zevwen#i hope this isn't too dark for the guidelines of the event i wasn't quite sure where the line was. sorry if so!#i have trouble writing wen *not* killing anyone it's like her go-to#the wedding is day 12 c:#this is like. very shortly after him meeting hawke in kirkwall. wen knows where he is bc isabela told her where he was headed next#posting early because i forgot about my ao3 story yesterday and i have like six things to do today#shivunin scrivening
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MY MIRABEL. You look absolutely gorgeous, lovely, please tell me you're having the best day ever. Actually, make it the best weekend ever. God, I love this place so much it hurts. @isabelafame
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You can say that again. As soon as the children have finished school for the summer, I think we will end up with plans. Oh, we always do.
a bit of peace and quiet definitely helps recharge the batteries. summer always has a way of filling up with plans, even if they come together last minute. sometimes the unplanned, spontaneous days turn out to be the best ones. whether it’s a little day trip or just some fun in the backyard, i’m sure you’ll make some great memories.
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were my eyes playing tricks on me or did i see you at the venice film festival? because i swore i did and i wanted to say hi! but you know how insane it was and i was being pulled in so many directions. but i am low key disappointed, that we didn't get a chance to talk! i've been meaning to fan girl a bit over you considering the last of us. @mercvd
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is abit drunk, taps Fenris's upper arm as she tilted her head. ' my...those are real muscles...nice.' / also from Isa skdjfhs
"Before I was lanky," Fenris commented, recalling one of their previous conversations. "Or have you changed your mind upon closer inspection?" Despite his deadpan tone, he looked amused at her antics.
#c: fenris#fairmuses#fairmuses: isabela#answered#me: i must sleep#also me: /i must write dragon age/
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everyone is entitled to their own opinions. however,,,,,,, sometimes i look at someone's tier ranking and want to kms
#cullen in s tier. vivienne in d tier. isabela and zevran in a tier (good) but BELOW wynne#vivienne is the only one they put in d tier btw. somehow oghren is in c tier.#above vivienne.?????????#haley.txt
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Doing legacy, night terrors, and dissent all right in a fucking row really is the anders nightmare train huh
#ive made this exact same post before but its really hitting me working on the fic#not once not twice but THREE FUCKING TIMES has anders lost control over himself in such a short span of time#nearly killing someone and (in my canon) seriously wounding cyrus (the guy hes been in love with for three years)#in the process#like....... the post alrik convo is all the more intense and serious when taken in that light#and then immediately following that up with him & cyrus hooking up (in the same scene in my fic)#like (a) yall probably need to take some time to p r o c e s s and cyrus baby boy PLS go talk to ur other friends#fenris and isabela will apologize for betraying you in the fade you do not need to latch on to anders like this#but (b).................... for anders it IS a strangely meaningful & healing way to renegotiate#his understanding of how much control he has over himself and his body#first by topping cyrus & using that control exclusively in the service of taking care of someone else#and their pleasure#and then afterwards making the conscious decision not to pursue his own pleasure further#by staying with cyrus#bc he thinks its the safer and more selfless option#snyway working on this fic has dredged up a LOT of feelings#i dunno if im ever going to have the confidence to share it bc of. yknow. the hooking up part#but its there and its meaningful and its good for both of them#just........ the romantic feelings it comes with are a bit more questionable/destructive in their singular devotion#cyrus hawke#cyrusXanders#**by NOT staying with cyrus
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Rewatching Torchwood and something about it is giving me DA2 vibes....now I kinda want a crossover between the two
#its the disaster bisexuals i think lol#jack and purple!hawke are alrwady peas in a pod#aveline and gwen would get along because well...c*ps#i feel like Bethany would love Tosh abd imprint on her like a baby duck#the combined combo of isabela and owen... terrifying#ianto would hate varric but i could see him getting along with fenris - same dry humor
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