#females who run

[tracychamberlainhigginbotham]

(via Monday Motivation: Half Marathon Moments)

[bixels]

vague-posting about this here cuz i don't feel comfortable yapping about my su takes on twitter, but after everything that's happened the most interesting thing about the su fandom to me is that so many are 100% there for applying the "everyone can change and deserves a second chance" message to everyone, even the diamonds. except for one ☝️ she doesn't count. cuz she's dead.

[jadewritesficshere]

Grey

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Synopsis: Steve gets a wake up call from yall's daughter

Contents: talks of aging, kids being kids, references to smut but nothing explicit

Steve groans as his consciousness comes to. Something is hitting his face. Someone. Repeatedly.

Steve squints his bleary eyes open as a hand smacks him in the jaw again. A small smile appears on his face even though his jaw stings from the impact. "Morning," Steve's voice is still thick with sleep as he turns to look into brown eyes barely peeking over the edge of the bed.

A quiet voice repeats back ,"Morning," to Steve before arms reach up over the edge of the bed to try and grasp something. Small hands grab the blanket and tug it off of him slightly as the child attempts to climb up. At two and half, Amelia Joy Harrington can barely see above the edge of her parents' bed, let alone get on it.

Steve hoists Amelia up and sits her on his stomach. Steve winces as Amelia scrambles, a stray foot hitting his thigh precariously close to his crotch. Arms are thrown around his neck in a hug as Amelia lays her head against her dad's chest.

Steve feels like his heart could burst out of his chest from the joy he is feeling. A hug from his baby? The best way to wake up in the morning. Who cares if his jaw is still stinging and probably red, his little girl loves him.

Steve sighs in contentment. Steve holds his daughter close until she starts to fidget and wiggle. Amelia sits up and throws her hands in the air. "Happy Birthday!" She whispers excitedly, except she has no concept of how quiet a whisper should actually be and says it in a much too loud voice.

"What?" Steve asks, hand hovering near Amelia's side in case she slips. Amelia's eyebrows furrow as she pouts at him, a look that is an exact copy of you. Her arms slowly lower as she stares at Steve. "Happy Birthday. You old." Amelia pouts at him.

Steve blinks at Amelia in confusion but nods his head. First off, rude, he isn't that old. Steve isn't sure where she gets her unfiltered, blunt commentary (it absolutely isn't him). Second, it absolutely isn't his birthday. Not even close.

"Why uh...why is it my birthday?" Steve asks, unsure if Amelia fully understands the concept. Not sure if he can explain the idea of a birthday to a two (and a half) year old. "Grey." Amelia declares giving Steve whiplash. Before Steve can speak, Amelia points at the comforter," Blue." Steve smiles," Yes, blue."

Amelia points to her shirt," Green." Steve nods. Amelia taps under Steve's eye, lashes brushing against her finger causing him to close it. Steve hopes she doesn't attempt to actually poke his eye.

"Brown." Amelia declares. "Thats right." Steve grins, his girl is so smart. Amelia points to his temple," Grey." "That's ri- what?! No!" Steve's mouth drops open as Amelia giggles. "Uncle Dustbin says grey is old. Birthday makes old. Happy Birthday!"

The creak of the loose floorboard in the hall notifies Steve of your approach. You peek into the doorway of the room, seeing your two favorite people. One looking aghast and the other giggling at her father's reaction.

"What's going on in here?" You ask, leaning against the doorway. "Grey. Birthday." Amelia announces, like it explains everything. And it does in her little mind.

You hum in response, looking at your husband who seems lost for words. Amelia slides off of Steve and off the bed, Steve guiding her so her feet land on the ground absent-mindedly. He would never let her fall or get hurt. Or you.

Amelia half walks half dances in your direction. A prance in her step, she stops in front of you and grabs your hands. "It's daddy's birthday," She says before headbutting your leg. You chuckle and pat her head as she dances out of the room, in her own little world.

"You lying to my kid again?" You ask once Amelia is gone. Steve sputters as he sits up," I did not- our kid- did not lie." "Uh-huh, sure," you say sarcastically. Steve rolls his eyes at you as he gets up out of bed.

Steve stretches as he rocks on his feet, back cracking, before strolling over to you. "Good morning," Steve mumbles, hand landing on your hip. You hum back as he leans in and kisses you. Soft. Slow. Sweet. Leaving you longing for more as he pulls back.

"Love you," Steve says, fingers running along the waistband of your pants. "I love you too," you want to melt into him. Curl up in his arms and stay in this moment. Let the love and adoration fill the air around you.

"Do I look old?" Steve is the first to break the silence. Your brow furrows in confusion," huh?" "Amelia she," Steve huffs out a laugh," said I have grey hair." You chuckle as you bring a hand up, fingers threading through his hair," You have some but its nice." "Its nice huh?" "Makes you look distinguished. Handsome." You bite your lip and look up at him.

Steve knows that look. Knows it well. It's the look you gave him the first time you moved past just making out. The same look you gave him on your first anniversary. The same look you wore on your wedding night. The same look you gave before Amelia was conceived.

Steve can't help the smirk that spreads across his face. If getting old gives him that look, well, he won't complain.

"What about me?" You ask, batting your lashes. "Beautiful," Steve kisses your cheek," Gorgeous," he kisses the corner of your lips. He continues to alternate between kissing all over your face and praising you.

"My love," Steve whispers before kissing you softly on the lips. You sigh into the kiss, one hand tangling in his hair, the other trying to pull him closer.

A loud crash from the living room has you two pulling back from the sweet moment you stole. "What was that?" You call down the hall. "Nothing!" Amelia yells back, making you sigh but smile. Steve can't help but grin too. His life was a little hectic dealing with a rambunctious child, but he wouldn't trade it for the world. And he thinks, if life is like this, he can manage getting old with you. He wouldn't want it any other way.

[irishmammonagenda]

"Mams...you okay?" You grin tiredly and teasingly ask your First Man, who is currently in the process of tearing up, his lips wobbling silently as he attempts to keep it in.

He looks up at you from where you lay exhausted in the hospital bed, attempting to blink back his tears. "Oh aye..." He replies shakily. "I-...I've never bin 'appier....Y-you should g-get some sleep...MC...get yer strength back..."

You grin stupidly at him, eyes closing sleepily as he watches you from the seat beside your bed, his attention drifts to you and his eyes water even more, the sheer lightness of the small weight in his arms making him dizzy as he leans further back into the armchair.

He looks down at the sleeping newborn in his arms. His baby girl. Her little yellow hat sitting perfectly on her little tiny head. He's sure she could fit on just on of his hands.

His bottom lip trembles, heart so full of love for the tiny thing in his arms it feels like it might burst. He holds her to his chest, bringing one finger up to gently caress her tiny tiny cheek. He sniffles, holding back happy sobs as he whispers gently. "Hiya little baby....I'm yer papa....I'm gonna take well great care of ye...I-I..I promise...Íosa Críost...yer tiny..."

Mammon looks over to your sleeping form in the hospital bed and slowly inches his chair even closer to you, so as not to jostle your daughter too much. He grabs his phone off of the nightstand and makes an order for your favourite food to be delivered for when you woke up. He chuckles softly as he texts the groupchat, telling them that you and the baby are okay.(albeit slowly seeing as he's only able to use one hand)

He asks for Lucifer to send over the cake he made with the horrible icing saying 'Congradulation COngratulations, MC, Your You're so amazing' so he could celebrate with you when you woke up from your much deserved nap. He turns off his phone and sets it back on the bedside table next to yours which is charging.

He could celebrate with you after, you could laugh at how he looked like a deer in headlights when the nurse asked him if he wanted to hold his baby for the first time. He could spoil you more than he ever has before (which isn't humanly possible considering how much he spoils you.)

But that could all wait for when you woke up, right now he was content just watching over his favouritest girls in the whole wide world, making sure you were both safe and sound.

But you should never trust a scheming scumbag, MC.

Oh no, fuckhead was already coming up with plans to spoil your daughter silly. That was his little princess, God dammit! She deserved the three worlds combined! And even then she deserved more! And don't get him started on you, you weren't going to even think about doing chores for at least 6 months. You just preformed a miracle. You get rest time. No buts.

In the softening light of the sun through the windows, Mammon holds your baby girl with so much gentleness, as if she'd crack at the smallest touch, his loving gaze flickers from you to her with so much tenderness, you would've thought he was an angel.

[hoarder-of-dragons]

reading Hilson fanfics: "ooh they're gay"

The actual show: "WOAH THEY'RE GAY"

[serbarris]

I'll Crawl Home to Her 

Dragon Age: the Veilguard, some spoilers for plot, spoilers for Emmrichs romance  Pairing: F!Rook (Mourn Watch) x Emmrich Volkarin  Rating: M   Summary: Eight significant times Emmrich Volkarin called Rook by her real name. 

Length: ~2500 words

Read on ao3 here! 

Emmrich Volkarin first called Calliope ‘Rook’ Ingellvar by her name before she went by Rook. 

“Miss Calliope,” Emmrich called over the heads of the handful of students leaving his classroom. At the sound of her name coming from her favourite professor, Calliope instantly flushed and motioned to some companions that they should go ahead without her. “A word if you don’t mind.”  

“Yes, Professor?”  She asked biting her lip. Professor Volkarin was her favourite, not just for his fantastic necromancy skills, or how eloquently he explained such fantastic concepts, but he was also very attractive. At age 35 his hair was greying at the temples, lending him to look even more distinguished than his carefully put-together clothing suggested.  

“I’ve heard from others about your certain... proclivity, to have some ‘adventures’ outside of the Necropolis,” Emmrich began, shifting her paper to the top of the pile, noticeable stains and grease marks littering the off-white sheets. A disapproving frown crossed his face. “I will ask that your future work be submitted with less detritus than the most recent assignment.”   

Calliope looked at her paper and a brighter red coloured her cheeks and chest, “Of course Professor, I’m so sorry. I swear I don’t usually do work outside of the library, but something happened with –.”  

Emmrich held up his hand to stop the ramble from leaving Calliope’s mouth. A soft smile graced his lips, “Not to worry, my dear, but your work is excellent and you should take pride in it. Now please, I have taken up so much of your time already, run along and join your friends.”

 

The second time Emmrich says her name it’s when they meet again, 15 years later. 

Rook had yet to admit to Bellara, or Myrna and Vorgoth, that she did indeed know Professor Emmrich Volkarin, and of his work. Luckily her time away from the Watchers had helped steel her emotions, calm her once easy-to-flush cheeks, and made lies flow smoothly, but she had been anxious all week in the lead-up to their Necropolis visit. Bellara even commented on her makeup that morning, making Rook flush and attempt to wipe some away with the back of her gloved hand.  

-  

“Rook! Lovely to meet a fellow Watcher,” Emmrich exclaimed as he gripped her hand, shaking it politely. “I must confess I apologise if I have you confused, but Myrna had mentioned a ‘Calliope’ to me?”    

Calliope’s face dropped from her measured welcoming smile to a startled expression. Letting go of Emmrich’s hand, she attempted to speak voice unsteady, cheeks flushed. “Uh, yes Professor, Calliope Ingellvar. My friends call me Rook. It uh, caught on in the year since I left the Necropolis.”  

“Ah, no worries, my friend. I shall follow suit.” Emmrich turned with a flourish, leading Bellara and Calliope to the Belfry. Calliope internally kicking herself over the interaction.  

The third time Emmrich said her name was after they shared tea in the Memorial Gardens. 

“Speaking of home, have we really never met around the Necropolis before? Even in passing?” Emmrich’s eyebrows raised as he asked the question. Rook’s eyes widened feeling like a halla in the lamplight. An uncomfortable feeling churned in her stomach as she debated how much of her past to reveal. Especially, how enamoured she was with Emmrich as a young adult.  

“Oh um, I don’t remember everything from my scholar days. I only took a few advanced classes. Got too... busy.” Rook’s mouth dried at the admission. It was a half truth, she remembered nearly every moment of her schooling, growing up with the senior Watchers as guardians, and more books for company than friends, she was in advanced classes at a younger age than many of the other Watchers her age. 

“You know, I’d heard we had a young Watcher getting into scrapes on the streets of Nevarra around then...” Emmrich mused, Rook could almost see the cogs whir in Emmrich’s brain as he searched his memories for a young Rook.  

“They weren’t scrapes! They were... extracurricular learning opportunities.”  

“Aha! That's it! Calliope, you were in my Advanced Fade Studies and Etheric Flows class!”  

Hearing her name from Emmrich’s mouth took her breath away. She had rather hoped he wouldn’t remember her from her scholar years. Calliope couldn’t deny the butterflies fluttering in her body as he remembered her, almost regressing to her 16 year old self, and she endeavoured to change the topic from herself as quickly as possible.  

“Yes, I... your class was most enlightening Emmrich, but I couldn’t help but hear you mention homesickness?”  

The Fourth time Emmrich says her name, it’s a revelation. 

Fighting on the beaches of Rivain always pissed Rook off. It was always too hot, and too sandy. She hated the sand in Rivain, it felt... so coarse compared to the finely milled sand that tracked through the Necropolis. Of course, the scenery of Rivain was stunning and the smell of the ocean air was refreshing, as long as the Antaam weren’t burning gaatlok in her general direction.   

Rook dove for the gaatlok-armed Antaam, pushing her body to flip and attack the hulking Qunari with her imbued daggers. Necromancy pulsing from her hands as she struck true. Pulling her weapons free she could hear Emmrich and Taash finish off the last of the Antaam soldiers who had ambushed them.   

“They just seem to be around every bloody corner here, don’t they?” she exclaimed, wiping her daggers on her bloodstained clothing.   

“Until we can get to the Dragon King,” Taash remarked. The team had tried to track down the Dragon King to no avail, however his poorly planned traps had to lead somewhere.   

“We’ll get to him soon enough Taash, then you can set him straight on Dragons having queens!” Rook stretched to pat Taash on their shoulder in consolidation. Suddenly a loud explosion pierced Rook’s ears, throwing her to the ground some distance away from where she stood. “Calliope!” Emmrich shouted over the ringing in her ears, she felt sand being kicked near her face as Emmrich’s familiar boots came into frame, and a distant squelching noise of an axe being buried into a body barely registered. “My darling are you alright?” Emmrich asked, sending his warming magic over her body to check for internal injuries.  

“I think I’m okay, can you help me up?” Emmrich slowly manoeuvred her to sit, taking stock further before helping Calliope to her feet. He gripped her waist tightly to keep her steady as she threatened to sway, waiting for Taash to make their way over. 

“Hey, Emmrich.”  

“Yes, Taash?” Emmrich was exasperated, whatever could Taash want at a time like this?  

“Why did you call Rook ‘Calliope’? She’s called Rook?”  

The Fifth and Sixth time Emmrich called her Calliope, she had a cold. 

Emmrich looked up from his desk to the sound of Manfred hissing and raising his tray, proud of his assortment of tea, soup and some bread. “Ah Manfred, have you prepared this for dear Rook?” A pleased hiss resonated through Manfred's skull, Emmrich straightened the papers on the desk and rose from his chair, peering through the windows above to where the sun was coming through the windows. “It is about time to give her another tonic. Thank you, Manfred, I can take this next door.”  

Emmrich gently knocked on Rooks’s door, hearing soft snores from behind, he quietly pushed open the door and rounded the middle of the room to the table closest to the sofa. The dim light from candles and the fade fish illuminating his path. Placing the tray down, he crouched down near Rook’s face, and gently rocked her, “Rook? My darling, it’s time to wake up.”  

A grumbling “Mmph” was the reply he received. “Calliope, I brought you some soup.” He drawled elongating her name, much like himself, he knew the food would rouse her from drowsiness. She was often second to the kitchen when food was served, her childhood in the Necropolis meant she often had to go without, and why she often picked up odd jobs around Nevarra City to purchase items that weren’t second or third hand.  

Calliope’s eyes slowly opened, blinking, she noticed even with her lying down and Emmrich crouching he towered over her. As she shuffled to extricate herself from the blanket and sit up there was a thud of a book dropping to the floor. On instinct Calliope reached for it, however Emmrich’s longer reach picked it up far swifter than her lethargic body could match.  The book read ‘The Obverse of Reality: Studies of the Fade in the Waking World.’ A soft gasp left Emmrich as he noticed the book as one of his very own works, Calliope’s copy was too well-thumbed and too battered to be from his own study in the Lighthouse. Calliope noticed his recognition of the title, her face becoming hotter despite the chill that cloaked her body after removing the blanket. “You never told me you have read any of my works, my dear.”   

A shyness crept over Calliope, her eyes darting away from Emmrich’s face as she replied, the congestion in her nose lending her voice a nasal tone, “Well, I was in this class, I had to get your book, it’s even a first edition!”  

“It must have been sixteen years since I published this –” Emrich mused,” I'm sure I’ve published much more recent findings on the Fade, especially since it started to thin.”  

“I like it, I can hear your voice as I read it.” Calliope started, her voice slowly getting quieter as she admitted, “It’s um – comforting, to read a book I know so well.” Emmrich rose from his crouch, placing a gentle kiss on Calliope’s forehead and moving to sit next to her on the sofa. His earthy scent relaxed Calliope instantly. “Well, how about I read some passages aloud as you eat my dear, I also brought another tonic, it should keep your symptoms at bay and allow you to rest.” Said Emmrich, motioning to the tray on the side table.  

Emmrich’s voice was gentle as he read, often musing on additions he would make to the text, or discussing Calliope’s scrawled annotations in the margins. Making note that she used tiny skull shapes to punctuate her ‘i’s’ and exclamation marks. After Calliope ate, she leaned back against the sofa, her head resting on Emmrich’s arm as he continued reading. Emmrich turned the page to the next chapter and Calliope stiffened as she saw the doodle on the page, Emmrich let out a deep chuckle, noting the words written in a loosely drawn doodle of an anatomical heart. Calliope swore she could almost feel every blood vessel in her face expanding, a beet-red flush falling over her face as she scrambled to close the book. Emmrich moved to hold the book far out of her reach, a devious glint in his eye as he drawled “Calliope Volkarin, eh?”   

The Seventh time Emmrich said her name it was to give a gift. 

“My dear, please sit still or else I shan’t be able to give this gift properly.” Emmrich teased. Of course, he’d give her the present no matter what. But after finally acquiring a fitting token of his affection, his love, he wanted to give it to Rook exactly as he imagined.   

Stepping behind her perched on his desk, he opened the soft bag that contained her gift, he peered around to ensure her eyes were tightly shut, letting out an exhale of satisfaction Emmrich moved Rook’s hair to the side, holding it tightly in his hands he twisted her hair up and out of the way, a wry smile on his lips as he pulled lightly on the bundle. Rook let out a gentle hiss as heat pooled in between her legs. “If you could please hold your hair?”   

Satisfied, Emmrich proceeded to undo the clasp of the necklace, threading it around Rook’s neck, his fingers ghosting over her skin as he did so. After it was joined, Emmrich’s fingers lightly traced the chain over her clavicle, placing tender kisses on the back of Rook’s neck. Rook felt the cool weight of the necklace on her sternum, reaching up to feel the pendant, gasping as she raised it into her view. Finely detailed skeletal hands grasped a large garnet, it was hard to tell upside down but it almost looked like the stone was vaguely heart-shaped. “Emmrich, this is far too much! I can’t imagine what it must have cost!” Emmrich paused his careful mapping of Rook’s neck with his lips and moved closer to her ear, his light stubble scratching lightly at Rook’s skin.  

“I saw this when we were back in Nevarra and I couldn’t resist picturing how it would look around your neck, Calliope.” Added to the ministrations on her neck, he knew the reaction she had to Emmrich saying her real name, how a delicious red painted her cheeks and chest, creating the perfect trail for Emmrich’s fingers to follow. Calliope’s squirms brought herself closer to Emmrich, her back hitting his chest as he gently grasped Calliope’s neck with one hand, his other tracing the long line of her tattoo down towards her soft lower stomach. His cool rings icy against her heat.  

“Emmrich” she gasped, breath hitching, reaching for the back of his neck, bringing him closer, and kissing him deeply. Soft moans emanated from the both of them, Calliope broke away inhaling trying to extricate herself from Emmrich’s grasp, but he tugged gently, coaxing her back to her original position. “Calliope, this is about you, my love.” 

The eighth time, wasn’t really the eighth time. By then Elgar’nan had been dead for nearly a year. Emmrich and Calliope had returned to the Necropolis, Emmrich to his shaping of young minds, Calliope to the library, her younger self’s sacred sanctuary. On occasion they would jointly lecture on what they discovered during their time fighting against the Evanuris, careful to still keep some secrets. Manfred was flourishing under the tutelage of the Mourn Watch, his curiosity leading to amusing stories over dinner.  

On this particular evening, Manfred had delivered a sealed note to Calliope, asking for her to arrive in the Memorial Gardens when the dinner bell tolls. 

The flowers in the Memorial Gardens seemed to burst with fragrance as Calliope entered. A bouquet of lilacs stood on the table where Calliope and Emmrich had their first real date when they first started to truly get to know each other. A wisp danced across her vision guiding her past the ledge where a small table was set, taking Calliope back to when they first visited the Memorial Gardens together for the mourning rites, eventually the wisp paused at the steps that led towards the grave covered in snaking Shroud’s Kiss. Calliope thanked the wisp and continued up the steps, and onto the pathway which was littered in a cacophony of flower petals, lilac and yellow beckoning towards the figure at their juncture. Emmrich closed the gap, eager to reach his beloved. “Thank you for coming my darling, I admit it is poor manners on my part for such short notice,” he said entwining his hands with Calliope’s. “Emmrich this is quite the surprise, what’s the occasion?” 

“Well my love, I -.” Emmrich started, clearing his throat. “Calliope Ingellvar, my dearest Rook. Would you be so mad as to agree to a lifetime with a besotted fool of a professor, and do me the honour of becoming Calliope Volkarin?” 

And that was probably the most significant time Emmrich said Calliope’s name. 

[realbeefman]

they should do a modern remake of house but set in the 1880’s to really allow house to let his freak flag fly. i want him championing bold and outrageous ideas like washing your hands between patients and maybe sometimes the women aren’t being hysterical

[whimsyvixen]

Been thinking about the blue dick lately 😮‍💨

[an-established-butt-dent]

“Solas?“

“Yes, Vhenan."

“What are you drawing?“

He still has his eyes on the piece of parchment in front of him, but slows down the repetetive movements of his hand tracing the shapes on paper, as if that might offer him more time to find his answer. "Oh, just some practice. It helps me sort my thoughts," he says with the casual air of somebody trying to evade a question.

“Can I see, then?“

He glances up briefly and notices she has stopped reading her book on the early history of Neromanian magic. She has one elbow propped up on the table and rests her chin on her hand. She is looking at him expectantly, her book clearly forgotten.

He pauses the scratchy movements of his pencil and says rather hesitantly.

"It's not finished."

She leans forward a bit more, trying to catch a glimpse at his paper. He subtly angles it away from her. She might have barely noticed, had she not noted his newfound secrecy regarding his recent drawings. She has become increasingly curious over the past few weeks, and his forced casual demeanor after her question only fills her with more anticipation.

It makes her think of the first time he showed her his artwork. …

The first time she had walked into the rotunda in Skyhold and found Solas high up on the scaffolding with a paint brush in his hands and a concentrated look on his face, she was surprised to learn of his motivation.

"History needs to be documented," he had said when she asked him what he was working on.

After climbing down the scaffolding and taking a step back to admire the process of his work, he continued, "Not by the words of diplomats, but through the eyes of those skilled in artistry. Words will be forgotten, but images? Those will hold significance across time."

She had been moved then. By the bold lines in the fresco and the fierce look in his eyes as he regarded her as he spoke. Like she was someone worthy of admiration. Like he truly saw her. It reminded her of his words before their first kiss.

'You change everything.' He had said.

She didn't really believe him then. She didn't want to be put on a pedestal, far removed from the world and the simple and nomadic lifestyle of her clan that she was accustomed to. She missed roaming mountains and hills, not fighting blighted Templars and navigating treacherous games of power with nobles. That life had seemed like such a long time ago, even though it had barely been a year.

But perhaps she didn't need to suffer though all of this alone. She had her friends. Dorian with his jokes. Varric with his stories. Cassandra with her quiet support and camaderie. Iron Bull helping her with her fighting stances and teaching her new drinking games with Cullen. Even Cole, though he was still figuring out what the word friend even meant. She would help him with that, she had decided then. Friends; they made the aching pull of homesickness more bearable.

But Solas.

Who was he to her? She could call him her friend the supposed. She had the feeling they were becoming closer and yet there was an undeniable distance. Always leaving space for interpretation and mystery while never backing away from any of her questions. So much knowledge he shared, and still she had the feeling she barely knew him at all. He had slowly and unknowingly developed a talent for surprising her with new insights and he did so later again that same evening.

The next hour passed quickly while they were still talking about art and the different depictions of elven lore. He had stared at her intently for a moment, considering her.

"I want to show you something." he had said.

She never passed up an opportunity to learn more so she had indulged him, following him to a plain-looking crate to the side of the room. He removed the protective wards with a wave of his hand. He then uncovered some, by the looks of it, handbound books. He observed them one by one carefully, with a nod of acceptance when he seemingly found what he was looking for and handed her one of the books.

As she opened the first few pages she discovered they were sketchbooks filled with rough outlines in preparation for the next installment of the mural.

Excitedly he pointed to notes in the margin and spoke of where he learned the techniques for collecting and grinding his own pigments. There was a red ocre in the Western Approach that he had recently discovered on one of their missions which was apparently incredibly well suited for his purpose. At her encouragement he had shown her more of of his other drawings too. First of symbolism and color studies, but then more personal ones: of the views of the mountains from Skyhold, running Halla, drying herbs and even of some of the members of the inquisition she recognized.

In turn she told him about how she used to carve wood, especially when winters were rough and her clan was stuck in the same place for long waiting out the biting cold and punishing snow. To keep her fingers from freezing and her mind from wandering to dark places, she had started to carve.

"I haven't had the time since, well you know, this whole mess." she waved the fingers of her marked hand which flashed a sliver of green. Solas had looked thoughtful after her comment, almost like there was a tinge of regret behind his eyes.

The conversation steered in a different direction afterwards, like the seriousness of their predicament weighted more heavily on their shoulders than before. The mysterious books disappeared back into the chest and not long after she had excused herself and called it a night. Somehow she couldn't shake the feeling she had overstepped.

A few days later she returned from a short scouting mission. She climbed the steps to her sleeping quarters, exhausted. She hardly noticed there was an odd-shaped package leaning against her bedroom door until she almost stumbled over it. Her tiredness trading itself for curiosity, she moved to pick it up.

There was no note attached but once she unwrapped the bundle she discovered a beautiful and distinctive elven carving knife and a solid piece of oak wood.

She couldn't help the warm feeling that spread though her body, feeling the comforting weight of the wood and the cool metal of the knife in her hands.

….

She shakes her head as she's brought back to the present. That same rotunda they have since spend so much of their time together. Researching, reading and talking. There had been barely an evening where she didn't end up in the rotunda with Solas. At least when she wasn't away from Skyhold, trying to save the world on missions throughout Thedas.

She looks at Solas from her spot at the table with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

It takes a lot of effort to hide her smile.

Whith an amused tilt to the corner of her lips she says, "You know, Dorian told me he found some sketchbooks laying around, depicting a rather familiar elf. Anything you would know about that?"

Is he… Is he blushing?

"Um, Well you see." he cleares his throat trying to school his expression. "Those were private… And hidden for a reason."

She can't contain a smile. Solas flustered, that's a rare sight.

"You've seen them?" he askes quietly. She notices he has started fumbling with the edges of the paper. She didn't believe his ears could turn a brighter shade of pink.

"Maybe," she says while averting her eyes to the ceiling. She glances back to him out of the corner of her eyes.

Solas looks at her like she has grown an extra pair of ears.

She leans back in her chair and stretches out her legs comfortably under the table. Knowing she has him she doesn't want to push more and decides to spare him some of her teasing. She turns to look at him and softens her expression.

"I rather liked them."

Knowing that is probably not enough to explain why she had looked at his private belongings without permission and seeing the dumbfounded expression on his face slowly making space for embarrassment she decides to tell the whole story.

"I know shouldn't have overstepped, but Dorian said he had something urgent to discuss and before I was even halfway up the stairs he assaulted me with flying books, shouting about discovering my secret admirer. Either I would have stumbled to death or caught them. And, well… Once I started looking I couldn't look away… " she trails off with a slight tinge of shame in her voice.

"You liked them?“

She lookes at him, surprised by the hopefulness in his voice.

A wave of understanding washes over her.

He hid the drawings from her, not because he didn't want her to see them but because he was afraid of her rejection. Even though they had spent the last few months becoming more and more tangled up with each other, stealing fleeting glances and sometimes passionate kisses, they still hadn't really taken a moment to talk about what there was between them.

When she saw the drawings he made of her she had finally understood his interest in her was genuine and went beyond anything resembling a casual dalliance - something she can now confess to have been rather afraid of, because she had developed deeper feelings for him from the moment he started sharing detailed stories dreamt in the fade and his perspective on magic intertwined with life. And then there had been that first kiss… Wel let's just say she's in way too deep to turn back now.

And for all the effort he put into keeping emotional distance between them, he had apparently failed from the moment he had started putting her likeless on paper. For she could see the passion and emotion in the lines, soft shadows and hidden meanings. It made them stand out from all the other drawings she had seen by his hand.

What he couldn't yet put into words, he had found a different way of showing.

"Yes I-" suddenly feeling unsure she pauses for a moment and crosses her arms looking for the right words. "The drawings, they reminded me of who I could be." She takes a deep breath finds her courage and continues. "Someone who people will tell stories about. Not stories about Divine intervention, but of an elven woman's fight for justice. For a kinder world. Somehow I never really managed to see myself that way when I look in the mirror. But those drawings… I guess it's easier to understand who I've become by seeing myself through your eyes. To see the change I'm part of, but most of all to remind myself of where I came from."

She had uncrossed her arms and angled her body towards him over the table. A determined expression rests on her face. He hadn't taken his eyes of her from the moment she started talking.

He looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, considering his reply.

"Very well" he says while some of the tension visibly drains away from his body. She raises her eyebrows in question. "Then it's only time you started showing me your carvings in return. Some good blocks of wood have gone missing. I overheard Blackwall complaining about recently." He shares the accusations with a bemused smile on his lips.

Now it was her turn to blush.

"I was planning on showing you, but first I wanted to practice… " she trailed off her sentence, knowing she doesn't actually have a valid excuse for hiding it from him. And it was not like she hadn't backed him into a corner first.

Feeling relieved he wasn't pulling away at her recent discovery she changes her mind with newfound courage and stands up abruptly while extending her hand in invitation. The purpose of their late night reading session forgotten.

"You're right. And I'm willing to offer you a tour of my recent carving exploits, but only if you can refrain from commenting over the woodchips carpeting the floor." He starts to move as if to get up but she makes him pause as she isn't done yet. "But in turn I will pose for your next drawing." Solas looks at her confused for a moment, as if considering her question.

She pauzes for a moment and adds without hesitation.

"Naked."

"What?"

"That's right."

From a balcony upstairs they could hear some muffled movement followed by a familiar voice echoing down "You know Solas, if you're looking for nude models you only need to ask!"

"Dorian!" they say in unison, horrified.

Solas quickly tucks the sketches under his arm and stands up to grasp her hand, surprising her by pulling her close so fast she has to steady herself with her other hand landing on his chest.

Only a breath away from her ear he says softly so only she can hear.

"It seems like you found yourself a deal, ma Vhenan."

She squeezes his hand in response and when she looks at him there isn't a hint of his previous embarrassment. Instead there is a look of hunger and challenge in his eyes. It's so easy then, to lean over and kiss him, her lips a promise and Dorian's earlier interuption temporarily forgotten. Before she can get lost in the soft press of his lips she pulls back and feels a delighted thrill in the way he slightly chases them as she takes a step back. With a teasing smile on her lips she tugs on his hand bringing him back to reality and encouraging him to follow. As they make their way quietly towards the door she throws a judgemental look over her shoulder towards where she imagines Dorian to be hiding.

She is just able to make out a muffled conversation on the first floor "… These lovesick fools seem to keep forgetting this is a public space, if they don't want an audience they should find a room!"

Not sure if she should be terribly embarrassed or slightly thankful for Dorians intervention she doesn't manage to hide her smile.

"Let's get out of here then." she says as they start to make their way through Skyhold.

He squeezes her hand.

"Gladly."

[moeblob]

Rey, who is in my very biased opinion, one of the funniest "girls" I have because she's just a guy, truly. Like Rey is just short for Reynold because he was recruited by a a goddess to help the hero she selected and the hero is conveniently Reynold's younger brother. So he agrees to help under the condition that the goddess gives him a female body for the other world. She's like "really odd flex but whatever" and gives him a female form and he's like "you know. I can't really blame anyone but myself for not specifying 'please don't turn me into a Lisa Frank personification'."

[sideblogdotjpeg]

wishful thinking but i hope the stepmother and the princesses team up to destroy the fabric of reality together in a plot that so quickly backfires/ends with backstabbing because their goals for self-destruction are inherently doomed in nature. the girlboss entropy principle.

[im-okay-mj]

I still haven’t gotten Karlach, I’m sorry 😭 I only just figured out how to get Halsin

[bumblingbabooshka]

Do you have a number in mind? [Patreon | Commissions]

[catherine-sketches]

I know he isn’t…

But Sunfyre looks so much like he could be Syrax baby.

A Syrax and Caraxes baby actually. Golden noodle boy, but not as noodly. More stout. Like mom.

[beardedmrbean]