#taylor’s a yapper 🗣️

[girlwithadragonheart]

NANA IM DEAD

So this killed me actually

That?

OUGHHH I’m so feral for that

Ofc we loooove the sensual stuff but it wouldn’t be what it is without the love and care and devotion behind it

Him talking about his house and the family? 🥺 stop

But like don’t I need them so desperately

He’s been in love with her for so long 😩 I’m crying

Literary Service

Summary: Life is a cruel mother but a great teacher. In Noxus, where life is but an afterthought, war raises its people with an iron fist. Whether they like it or not. So when one is courageous enough to escape, they learn to take all that life has to offer, even if it has to be by the skin of their teeth. What would happen if the scholarship that provided you with an escape made you encounter a man as great with his words as he is with hiding the festering wounds in his heart? And what if he was your teacher?

Warnings: sensual content, violence, spit play

Word Count: 9, 629

Masterlist: here

Chapter 7 - Nicotine destresser

You can't thank Silco enough for doing what he's done.

Thanks to his exposure therapy you've been able to take your friends in your arms, eyes wet with tears raining down on the plains of your cheeks as you confessed how much you loved each and every one of them, Alex, June and Eric.

They had teased you, but with the beaming smiles on their faces and the sheen in their eyes you knew that they simply tried to deflect so that they didn't cry.

You've also been able to walk in campus and in town without the all consuming fear of hurting someone eating away at you from the inside. Now able to spend more time outside, experiencing the greatness of a calm day at a park while you sat in the grass, getting your groceries became a task you quite liked other than the painful standing up.

Through Silco, you had bettered your life so much.

He had erased your loneliness, stoked the flames of your passion for the literary arts, shared his life with you as a close friend whether it was the good or the bad, and he had cured you of some parts of your violence. Your confidence slowly easing itself in your life as everything fell into place.

You never hesitated to remind him how much you cared about him in small ways before, but now all the admiration and care you held towards him grew tenfold.

As a friend yes. Because of course you valued your friendship above all else.

But your feelings grew steadily too. Terrifying you in the strength they gained over time.

Silco could have recommended a psychiatrist, a physical therapist. But he knew better than that, he knew that your healing could only begin with comfort.

And he knew himself to be your biggest source of it.

Which warmed your heart because it meant that he knew just how much he mattered to you.

Yet that also terrified you too because…

..did he know to which extent you cared about him?

The thought of it was, no, is dizzying because of how true it is due to his proclivity to observating all that surrounds him with a keen eye. After everything that happened you know that he wouldn't judge you, that if he knows he's keeping it to himself not to embarrass you because he knows just how unused to love you are that it'd be easy for you to fall for just anybody. He just so happened to be the first. First to treat you like you mattered after your benefactors, the one to teach you about the world you were suddenly dropped in and a man who felt so fundamentally similar to you that you couldn't help but lean on him due to his confidence and experience.

He would never mock you or berate you for your feelings if he knew, which you are almost entirely sure of. Even if he would never feel that way.

But after last time, that last thought seems…outdated? No, perhaps it simply seem like you don't know the truth. His stares have always been soft when turned to you, but the adoration permeating every atom in his being was simply too much for you to ignore. Because no matter how close a friendship is, you know that the stare he gave you then was way too close to the one you have been giving him for the past handful of months.

And you don't don't know whether to be happy or scared.

Happy to know that your affection is quite probably reciprocated. Scared of what could happen anyways. Would he ask to spend less time together to regroup himself and cut down his feelings? Would he ask you to leave his class? Would you two remain the same indefinitely? That seems like the most plausible answer, yet your fear of losing him made it the last option of them all.

And in the point one percent chance that he would consider you or maybe make a move, would you even deserve it? Did you even deserve that man? You deserved his friendship, that much you knew from your place in his life, and you knew he wouldn't just keep someone in his life without meaning it. But what about your place as a lover? Would you be deserving of such a thing in his eyes if what you saw in his eyes was true?

How would the relationship between you two change? Would it be drastic, would it be soft? Would he hold you like you have been hoping him to, just like last time? With abandon, with a devotion so strong you could allow yourself to describe it to be akin to the one a believer has towards their god. How would he kiss you? What would his lips feel like? What would he taste like? How would he feel? What would his skin feel like?

What would he sound like, whispering confessions to you, against your lips? Against your skin, kissing all over, kissing down, his eyes trained on you as his touch worshiped you like Piltovans worship progress. You knew that even if he didn't do that, you know you would. Even if just to hear gasps, heavy breaths and sighs, perhaps even groans. To see his face scrunch up, his eyes darken, his jaw clench. An expression akin to the one he gave you while revealing his name and past to you.

You've already gotten a taste of this through the fantasies plaguing you, forcing you to relieve yourself of the molten hot pressure burning in your loins at the simple thought of your friend, of Silco, desiring you that way. Each time making you wonder more and more what his mouth, what his fingers, what…..all of him would feel like.

Gods, all of this from just a passing look in his eyes while he showed how proud he was of you for overcoming your fears. How pathetic were you? How idealistic? The simple thought of Silco loving you feels nearly preposterous, but of him actually expressing it?

It's nearly as impossible as him sharing his expensive cigars with you. Preferring the cheaper cigarettes in your presence, enjoying the simplicity of your presence with simple indulgences, as if returning to a more peaceful life when around you.

"Hellooooooo? Runeterra to the nerd, nerd to Runeterra."

Your face is shaken up and down by familiar hands, a scarred face coming into view as your sight rids itself of its thoughtful blur, blood and fear covering it before you blink heavily and the image disappears.

"What? What's up?" You furrow your brows, looking at your two other friends while you come back down from your reverie.

"You've just been staring blankly at the wall for the past ten to twenty minutes. Are you sure you've been getting any rest?" June's sweet voice echoes, worried as she wraps an arm around you from your left, the library soon registered in your mind as the place you're currently in.

Right, we were working on a project.

"You've been less attentive and more tired lately. Wanna talk about it?"

"Eric's right, you've been kinda declining for a week here, we're not at the finals yet so we can't really say it's exam stress either." Alex explains, leaning back on his chair from where he was holding your face, looking concerned.

You have been tired, yes.

The anniversary of the day your peaceful life was burnt to the ground and dragged away by Noxus, the day that you would be shackled to a life of war bound to kill and to serve people that do, was quickly coming.

It's a time that brings you the same feeling each year, a growing sense of unrest, paranoia, difficulties to focus, nightmares growing more vicious and violent, making your already small amount of rest shorter, hunger leaving your body as it prepares for yet another tragedy. That alone in the days preceding the main part of it.

Each year for the same amount of days, exactly five, you grow more and more miserable until it ends. Each day that passes signifying a week you've spent walking from your destroyed village to the Immortal Bastion, Noxus' capital.

And this year is no exception.

You hadn't slept the night before, and now on Monday, on the first day of your trip down the path to hell, you can already feel the effects, sounds muffling to leave place for screams, eyes flashing to unbearable sights and nose smelling death once more.

"Yeah sorry, guys. I guess I caught like, a little cold or something. I just feel a bit sick is all, you don't gotta worry."

They exchange worried glances.

"I mean we're pretty much done with this, so if you want to go back home instead of heading to Mr. Marlowe's class we'll tell him you're sick." June reassures.

On one hand you've never missed any of Silco's classes, on the other hand the first day is mentally the most grueling. And you can feel it as you look at your friends, their faces, healthy and expressive, flash to visions of your childhood friends whose pale faces are now forever struck with agony. Visions of your parents, your cousins, your teachers, your neighbors, all burning and bloody.

Corpses pile up in the room as your mind slips away from reality.

You see it all again, the burning buildings, the bodies slashed and tossed aside or crushed under destroyed homes, children and parents running away only to get caught or killed. You smell the thick smoke made of wood fire and cooking flesh. You taste the metal of blood, and you feel it too, sticking to you like it's trying to taint your skin forever.

In your mind, you know it succeeded. And that Noxus made sure to tattoo the dark red shade into the very fabric of your soul, never to be cleansed.

You feel them, hands gripping at you, dragging you with them to hell. It hurts, their touch scalding, leaving boiling, blackened marks wherever they gripped your flesh. Your body shakes, not of its own volition, not of its own making even, but something else shakes you. The specters gripping you tighter, shaking you harder, faster, their cacophonic wails turning more human the more you tremble.

"Ah!"

You groan in surprise as your head snaps to one side, a sting overtaking the cheek that has been hit.

Hit?

You blink, finding your friends surrounding you, hands gripping you tight while Eric's right hand finishes to settle back to his side.

"Yeah we're not letting you go back to class after this. You're going home, ASAP. I don't wanna hear any complains."

"Alex."

"No, shush." The scarred man shoves the straw of your half drunk coffee in your mouth. "You're not staying in class."

"Little man's right, you're very clearly out of it and you need rest. Take as much time as you need but do take it."

"Pinkie promise we'll tell Mr. Marlowe so he doesn't worry." June interlocks her pinkie finger around yours and pulls your little group in a hug.

Something she's been more than happy to do as often as possible since about two weeks ago when you've graduated from your exposure therapy with Silco.

You sigh. "Thanks guys, I'm sorry to be such a hassle."

"Oh bullshit, ya ain't. You may have not told us what happened but we know your life was far from good. You're just trying to live a good life with the remains of the previous one still kicking you in the ass, we can't fault you for that. Only support you." Eric's tone is gentle when he addresses you, overflowing with care.

You melt into the embrace, eyes tearing up and arms wrapping tighter around your friends as you try to convey just how much you care for them before you all pull away, your hands taking your coffee from Alex's.

"Thanks guys. I'll be better soon I hope."

"Don't rush it, just rest." Your cheek is kissed by June who sends you away, your bag packed and gently placed on your shoulder while they accompany you to the intersection between the campus and the dorms.

"Take care, we'll send you the notes on whichever class you miss!"

You smile as much as you can in your state, waving them off before you turn away, slowly making your way back home, your body heavier and your pains more prominent through the power of exhaustion and reminiscence.

Your bag is thrown away, clothes discarded haphazardly before you throw your pajamas on and crawl in bed. Your back is screaming at you, foot mocking the tears running down your cheeks and dripping down your jaw as you stare at the ceiling to find more visions taunting you.

Your parents, holding you close before their heads roll in front of you, their bodies suddenly freezing and burning as you stare in their lifeless eyes, reflecting you like a morbid mirror as you see a Noxian soldier approach you from behind through them. But is there anything you can do? No, and you know it. You know that people capable of burning down villages this way, of killing people this way, would not hesitate to do terrible things to you should you try to escape.

Now you know you probably should have anyways, and that death would have been kinder than whatever you have been put through.

Death would have been kinder than feeling your body melt only to be reshaped into a weapon through years upon years of torturous training. Death would have been kinder than feeling your humanity escape you like sand from a broken hourglass. Death would have been kinder than all the blood you've been forced to spill. Death would have been kinder than the faces of all of those whom you've killed haunting you everyday for the rest of your life.

The same faces that look at you now from the darkness of your room as you blink the visions away, only the smell of burning flesh and the very distant choir of screams. And as they stare at you time feels both like it's flowing too fast and too slow, a strange limbo made to torture you further.

Sinner.

Murderer.

Monster.

You're unworthy of all you have now.

You're unworthy of death.

All you deserve is to suffer.

The figures chant.

And you do. You feel the pain of your shackled ankles as your feet burn, walking miles upon miles a day, your soles bleeding and raw. Your eyes burning as your sobs yield no more tears. Lungs whistling with each baited breath.

Your eyes widen as you notice the figures getting closer and closer. Their disfigured bodies growing more terrifying the shorter the distance separating them from you is.

Ring, Ring.

Ring, Ring.

You blink and the figures are gone, your chest heaving painfully, back and leg shooting white hot pain through your trembling body.

In the dark your hand searches for the source of the noise, also making your bed sheet softly vibrate. And when your hand grasps your phone you don't check who calls before unlocking, a cough racking through you while you try to settle down to answer the call, body still tense in fear and from the sudden interruption in your waking nightmare.

"Who is it?"

"It's me."

Your body immediately relaxes with a soft sigh.

"Hey Silco. Sorry I couldn't come to class today."

"It's okay, your friends told me you're sick. Do you need anything?" His tone is gentle, soft and worried yet from behind his you can hear giggles and young voices albeit muffled.

"I- I just need time. I don't think much can do me good right now but thanks anyways, I'll be better soon."

"Darling." His voice is low, inquisitive, as if he's scolding you for lying.

As perceptive as always.

"I just need time, it's true. Really."

"Are you okay, then?"

You put your phone on speaker and lay back down, head sinking in the sweaty pillow.

"I mean, I will be yeah."

He sighs on the other side of the line and you know just what expression he arbors. One hand holding him up through a few fingers placed on his temple, head slightly tilted, one brow arched up, his lips softly pulling downwards and his eyes representing heaven and hell themselves trained on you with soft concern and gentle exasperation.

"That's not what I asked, darling. Are you okay now?"

Your breath catches itself in your throat and you nearly choke on it, your eyes glossing over and tears gathering at your lashes, sniffles escaping you as you try to stop sobs from escaping you. It's always painful when someone asks you this question, because no one deserves to be given your burdens. No matter who they are. Especially him.

Your demons are your own to fight, no matter how much people try to help, because you are not worth the hassle. You are not worth much in honesty.

Maybe even nothing at all.

"I'm coming over."

"What?" Your answer is immediate, your thoughts flushed down by a bucket of ice cold water. "No no, I promise I'm fine. You just woke me up, stay home. I promise I'm fine."

He deserves to stay home with his family.

He hums pensively, but when he doesn't seem to be able to find what he seeks in his thoughts you hear his hand thump back down on the table.

"Alright. Don't rush yourself, stay home if you need to, for as long as you need to. We can postpone Friday's meeting if you are not up for it that day, you know it's no problem."

Too kind. Too patient. Too gentle. Too good to you. Too-

"Thank you, but I wouldn't miss our meetings for anything in the world."

He chuckles, warm and low, and you taste tobacco and brandy permeating your mouth at the sound alone.

"The sentiment is shared."

And through a tensed and terror stricken face, you manage to smile. Silco's reassurance always enough to calm some of the maelstrom wreaking havoc within you.

"Night, Silco."

"Goodnight, darling. Take care, yes?"

"I'll try."

"For me then."

You let out a shaky chuckle.

"I'd always do it for you."

And you close the call, realizing all too soon what you said, hoping to all that exists that he didn't catch it.

Before you turn your phone off for the night you send a quick message to your group chat with Eric, June and Alex, apologizing for today but that you'd also miss the rest of the week due to being too sick. They, of course, told you not to worry and that they'd have your notes ready every day.

And with that you just sink into your bed. Drifting in and out of sleep for the next three days you toss and turn, cold sweat staining your sheets more and more in a deformed humanoid shape. Taunting you with its form creeping in your shadow, like it eats away at you the more you remain within its limits. The cadavers of all of those whom you've killed observing you from the shadows, the feeling of burning hands marking your skin in your sleep along with the feeling of heaviness on your chest, or the way cold overtakes you and your throat chokes up whenever awake.

You are followed, like a prey surrounded by predators. Nightmares eating at your sanity through exhaustion and visions so real that the waking world feels like a fantasy; the day merging with the world of dreams taunting you. Your demons devour you as you are reminded each day of the five weeks you've spent dragging your body away from the ruins of your village sixteen years ago.

You see everything like in a messed up cinema screening compiling your greatest hits, bodies littering battlefields as you deliver death as a harbinger. The screen burning itself in your retinas to appear even when your eyes are open.

Thirst and hunger escape you and exhaustion takes its toll leaving you but a shell of yourself by Friday.

That day you turn in your bed, cracking your eyes open as you curl to your side, your phone shows you the hour.

And it's way too fucking close to your meeting with Silco.

Your lungs rush to inhale air as you crawl out of bed and barely miss falling face first in panic. Your floor is a mess with Monday's clothes strewn about, so you pick them up to throw them in the hamper, nearly snapping the wardrobe's door out of its hinges as you pick out your clothes and make your way to the bathroom. Only to stare in disgust at your appearance.

Greasy hair, puffy red eyes, purple eye bags, dry lips and skin glowing in a pale sickly way at the sheen of sweat covering it. A scoff slips past your lips as you begin the shower, setting it to the hottest you can and covering the mirror with a towel to hide the terrifying sight of your form away. While entering the shower you focus on scrubbing away, all the blood covering you in flashes that come in and out of your sight, all the sweat making you sticky with discomfort, to wash away the feeling of hands gripping you. Your hair is next, thoroughly cleaned as you pull out handfuls of it with each passage of your hands, stress killing your hair follicles.

There is no way you can look alright for Silco, not in this situation. And you wouldn't want to even if you could, you just need to be in his embrace.

Just need him.

Your mind clear enough of the nightmarish haze you realize the one thing you crave is his presence, his reassurance. You don't know if words will escape you, but the more articles of clothing you put on, the more you advance towards the building housing his office, the more you want to throw yourself in his arms and sob. The exhaustion of the four previous days finally taking their toll on you, and while the first day is always the more mentally taxing, the last day is the one harboring the most physical exhaustion effectively making it as bad as the beginning.

You struggle to make your way to your sanctuary, to this place of comfort that opens its arms for you every week. Your back cracks and your leg feels like it's twisting, days of not moving and staying in uncomfortable positions without your braces finally taking what is due and leaving your body in more pain than you have been for months.

So when you knock and the familiar voice answers you, you slam the door open and close as fast as you can, nearly crawling your way to Silco who looks at you in shock and concern before rising to his feet and taking you in his arms.

"What happened to you?" He mutters, slowly guiding you to the couch while sobs begin to escape you once more.

"I'm sorry Sil- I'm so sorry." Hiccups and chokes stop your words from being said louder than broken whispers.

"For what? What's going on, darling?"

"I lied." Your eyes, wet and stormy find his like magnets, like a lost soul finding its way back home. "I'm not okay, I'm not fine. I'm sorry, Silco."

He shushes you, sitting next to you before turning you around so his arms surround you and your head fits in the crook of his shoulder.

"I know you did. But it's okay, I know how hard it is to ask for help. What matters is that you trust me enough to come to me. Do you want my help?"

You nod, his black shirt soaked with your tears yet his behavior as unbothered as always while he caresses your back comfortingly.

"I don't know what you could do, every year it's always the same. I don't think it'll ever pass."

"Do you wish to tell me what it is?" His cheek rests on top of your head as you feel the rumble of his voice traveling from his chest to his throat.

"The anniversary of the day- the one I- The day my life changed. It's been like this every year for the past sixteen years." You chuckle in self deprecation, scolding yourself from being so pathetic, for being unable to pick yourself up by the bootstraps.

"Oh darling." His voice dips and his arms tighten. "You can always come to me, you know that? It's what friends are for."

Friends.

You can usually stomach the word when it comes to him, although bitter on your tongue you remind yourself that it is all you are and quite probably all you'll ever be.

Though today it seems to be taunting you.

"Just wanna forget." You mumble in his neck and he nods in understanding.

"What would you want me to do, then?" His voice is soft, sincere and you can imagine his expression as he utters these words.

"I just- I need to relax, my pain flared up and nothing helps at the moment because I'm so tense. I need to be held, I need to be loved, I just don't want to feel like this anymore Silco. It's already hard enough on the daily, right now it's just impossible to do this on my own anymore."

His arms leave you and your head tilts up so you can look at him in question, lips trembling and body shaking as sudden thoughts of him leaving you rush through your foggy mind.

"I'm not going to leave, darling. I'm just going to my desk, I'll be back very quickly. Do you think you can hold out for me?" You let go and he cradles your face for a second before walking to his desk, opening a drawer and pulling two objects from it, picking up the ashtray on his way back.

As he approaches you notice just what it is.

His cigar.

He notices your confusion and chuckles softly as he sets the ashtray on the coffee table, quickly snipping the tip of the cigar.

"I always smoke cigarettes when around you because that's all I need, I feel relaxed, I feel safe. The nicotine is just a habit and since you share it, I prefer simple cigarettes when I'm by your side. But when you're not here and I have to grade hundreds upon hundreds of copies and review so many projects and papers, cigars are what I go for. They're stronger, last longer."

The thick stick of tobacco is held between his fingers, the smell strong even when unlit.

"And you want to share it with me?" He nods.

"Aren't they expensive? I shouldn't-" He raises his hand, thin and veiny yet strong and calloused.

"Nonsense, you deserve as much. Plus, I already share my brandy with you, I think it's just right to share this too, darling." Gods, the small smile pulling at his lips his hand currently brushing through your hair, the gentleness of his tone and the nickname he reserved solely for you.

This man will be the death of me.

But your heart melts when you notice just how much your mood has improved already from being in his care. Held and loved in the way only he seems to be able to do. And for all of that you have half a mind to grab him by the collar and kiss him, your hands twitching upwards to Silco's collar as your fragile state allows you to be more true to yourself, for your thoughts to be express without much of a filter. To your greatest fear.

"How do we do this?" You begin, hoping that Silco's eyes will stop eyeing you in such a way, a knowing way that makes your stomach drop at the implication.

"Cigars aren't meant to be smoked like cigarettes." He begins, lighting the cigar with a flick of his fingers while holding a beautifully carved vintage lighter, placing it back in his pocket after the flame licked the butt of the tobacco stick. "They're meant to be savored, you hold the smoke in your mouth, not your lungs. The smoke is too strong and dense to be inhaled."

He demonstrates, licking his lips before placing them around the cigar. His cheeks puffing before he pulls the stick away, holding the smoke for a second before tilting his head up and blowing rings of smoke. Each of them perfect, practiced, before returning his gaze to you.

He wipes the last of your tears before holding your chin up with one of his hands, his thumb resting on your lower lip and caressing it slowly as his eyes trail all over your face, settling on what he is currently rubbing back and forth. The soft pink flesh suddenly shining with spit as you lick your lips, tasting the salt of your tears that his thumb wiped away.

"Don't take too big of a mouthful, I wouldn't want you to choke." His eyes darken before his thumb pulls your mouth open and the cigar is placed there.

You take a small mouthful of smoke, careful to hold it in your mouth. Your eyes roll back at the sudden taste of tobacco and black chocolate, but also at the feeling of your lips touching the damp spot Silco's have left behind. When the cigar is pulled away from you, you place your head on his shoulder, eyes making their way to his before you release your breath, heavier than it should be even from the smoke.

You notice just how tense he is, your exhausted mind too strained to realize when your hand cradles his cheek, caressing his skin before trailing to his lips, your thumb catching onto them like his is on yours.

"Did I do well, Silco?"

The hand at your chin grips a bit harder, as if to pull Silco back down to Runeterra.

"Gods. You always do." Your breath rattles your lungs at the confirmation, breathy and strained, your tongue darting out to moisten your dry lips, also lathering Silco's thumb in your saliva. The man taking a sharp intake of breath, willing himself to remain strong as he places the cigar in the ashtray.

But it seems that whatever resolve he has crumbles at the sight of you so undone in his arms, in his space, so trusting of him to do the right thing for you when you can't think for yourself, when you don't want to think for yourself.

His hand leaves your chin before he brings it to his own mouth, a blush overtaking your features when he kisses it, a sigh making its way out of his lungs as he softly trembles. A hunger mixing with the softness in his eyes, the look of devotion making the rise and fall of your chest heavier. A familiar heat boiling within your loins, the flames licking at your core while your hands grip Silco's collar.

He drinks in the sight of you by his side, clinging to him, with your face flushed, eyes glazed over and lips wet with spit and a groan escapes him.

Grasping your chin as if it were the most delicate china he gazes into your eyes, the tumultuous teal and raging orange burning you and drowning you in their saltwater and embers. The crows feet decorating the outer sides of his eyes softening like silk linen draped over a soft bed, his eyebrows creasing just enough to show his concern as his thumb caresses your jaw.

"Do you wish to taste again?"

Your body trembles at the low rumbling of his voice, at his touch, at the stifling yet entrancing closeness. His breath, lavishing your skin with tobacco and coffee scents while his cologne takes over the rest of your senses as you pant. Your senses of taste, smell, touch, sight, and hearing permeated and full of him and only him. You worry your lip between your teeth.

The realization of your feelings for the man in front of you was jarring, it flipped your world upside down as if you walked off the edge of the Runeterra, but the most terrifying thing of all was how no matter if you thought you couldn't fall any further, you did.

And this closeness, this question, feel like more than you could handle but also like it wasn't nearly enough. Like you feed off of his attention and affection, the ever growing feelings burning like an inferno as his care stokes the flames. As you lose yourself in thoughts of him, his jaw clenches, his eyes plead, his touch grips you just a bit harder to bring you back down to Earth, to him.

"Silco."

His touch weakens as he trembles, your panting voice and glazed eyes melting his fear and replacing it by something different. Hotter, more stifling, as he takes deeper breaths to hide the fact that the composure he prides himself with was cracking, flowing away like sand between his fingers.

You could see it in his eyes, the more you waited, the easier they were to read even if he wasn't. And you would be a fool to refuse to breathe him in as much as you'd be a fool to do exactly just that.

So you close your eyes, take a deep breath and pull yourself up and over him in a movement that straddles you to his lap and placates your soft chest to his. And once your eyes open again you don't suppress the shivers raking through you, and neither does he.

"Indulge yourself."

And he does, the hand cradling your hip leaving it to pick the burning cigar from the ashtray as he goes to breathe it in, disposing it back afterwards. His face approaches yours as your face is gently held between both of his warm, rough hands and your eyes can't help but trail from the fire and ice of his gaze to his mouth. And as your tongue wets your lips in apprehension he does the same, cutting the last of the distance as he tilts your head up and to the side. Then he pours the delicate smoke from his lungs to yours, your hands reaching at his nape and marred cheek to hold onto him. Desperate for more, of him, of this, of the moment you share. You know you shouldn't, all of this is wrong. He is your friend, the only one to see past your facade, past everything that you were.

But do friends desire each other as much as you desire him?

In this moment, in the moment this question rang through you again, you knew. That you didn't care anymore.

He grips you tighter and your thighs squeeze his, a whimper escaping you while you inhale. The smoke thin enough that you can let it trickle in your lungs, let the nicotine flow through your veins and melt away the tension in your body, you don't even realize that from hovering over Silco's lap, you are now sitting with your full weight.

The feeling spurring your friend to let the cigar hang from his lip to cradle your hip with his hand. You hold the tobacco stick up, prompting Silco to take another mouthful of smoke before you take the cigar away, the digits holding it draping over the back of the couch as you bring your face closer to his and tilt your face.

"Can I have more? Please Silco, I need it." It's low, needy, desperate, barely hidden behind the last of your sadness, but you know he's seen it.

The way in which you need him.

With abandon. With all you have.

And with darkened eyes, the fingers grasping your chin slide behind your head, gripping your hair, making you lean backwards while he blows some more smoke in your awaiting mouth. A groan escaping you at the feeling of your hair being pulled, at the hot tobacco fog blown in your mouth.

"What do you need? What are you begging for?" He sounds breathless, rough, half fearful and half about to throw away the last of his resolve.

He's making sure that you want what he wants.

What he wants.

He's making sure that you want what he wants.

The realization crashes down on you.

The one that he wants the same as you. That he has been holding back as much as you have.

The look in his eyes, devoted and adoring, the tremble in his body, the restraint in his voice..

Those little things you picked up on over time. And all of them were clear signs you only ignored because of your own deprecating views of yourself. Of questions of deserving and earning.

But not of the simplest thing of them all: wanting, giving without asking anything in return.

No matter if it had been your dynamic from the beginning.

Do you deserve him? No. Have you earned him? You can't say, but one thing's for sure.

You want, no, need him.

And fuck whatever else and whoever else, because you will not keep yourself from the one thing making you happy anymore.

"You." You pant, gaze locking on his which is as troubled as yours, filled with a storm of unbridled passion and yearning. The last thing keeping it from lashing out at the world being your explicit consent, the answer that you crave him as much as he craves you.

"I need you Silco."

You don't have the time to blink or breathe before his lips are on yours, urgent, impatient yes but above all, loving. As if he is worshiping you, and with the reverent yet fervent passion in which his touch travels from your hips to your waist, then back up your ribs, clavicle and shoulder; you'd say he is.

Gone are the visions of war and horrors beyond comprehension, gone are the smells of burnt flesh and gunpowder, gone are the tastes of blood and bile.

All that's left is him.

His taste of tobacco, brandy and dark chocolate. His smell of old books, cigars and that amber, sandalwood and cardamom cologne he loves to wear. His sight, his hair disheveled under your hands, salt and pepper strands falling from their usual slick back to frame his sculpted face. His black shirt, open just enough to see the dip at the bottom of his elegant neck.

A gulp of air escapes you when he separates from you, heavy and hot, baited and gone as soon as it came when you drag Silco back to you. A grunt escapes him in shock before he melts back into you, bringing you even closer as your breasts press against his chest. His tongue licks at your lips and your mouth instinctively and obediently opens, leaving you no time to think before your two tongues intertwine in a passionate dance.

You absorb everything he gives you, taking each touch, each taste, each smell and engraving them to your memory. You feel spit dribbling from the corner of your mouth at the messy kisses, but you don't care, your mouth sliding against his sensually, teeth nipping, tongues crossing, is all you focus on.

Your core is molten, needy with a growing flame that he stokes with every movement of his tongue against yours. With everything he ever does for you and to you.

"Do you know how long I've wanted this, darling?" He pants, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours while he pants.

You don't trust your voice, shaking your head from side to side before Silco licks away at the trail of saliva by your lips only to peck them at the end.

"Ever since you offered me Nightwood for Snowdown."

That was five months ago. Silco has liked you since before you even realized you did too.

"When you spent all your time caring for me after I fell, I couldn't help but look back to how good you had been to me and realize I had already fallen for you."

You whisper back, hands grasping him like a lifeline in fear. Of what you don't know. Falling further is the most plausible answer, especially as your eyes leave your lap to find his, cool teal and burning orange lavishing you in what you now know to be love. He stares intensely, mapping your every features while he breathes shakily as his hands try to take in as much of you as possible, as if to keep you from flying away. As if you are the most precious thing in the world.

"I was just afraid you'd dismiss me because you were the first person that stayed for me."

His head shakes from side to side and the hand in your hair massages your scalp gently.

"It would be foolish of me to dismiss you when you might be the first person I ever felt so strongly for."

His lips come down on yours again, heavy and scalding, like a hammer clashing against hot metal. He tugs at your hair, a moan escaping your throat at the ministration and your hips rolling down against his.

"Fuck."

He huffs and the sound of him cursing bring another roll of your hips. Everything about him spurring you further into the lustful haze overtaking you, and by the way his hand at your hip flexes as it brings you down on him again, you know it's very much the same for him. His hand tugs at your hair, a groan leaving you while he forces your head away from his, kissing down your jaw, licking and nipping as he maps his way around the column of your neck. Chipping away at you like a master would to sculpt marble.

"Sing for me, darling. Indulge me once more."

He helps you grind on him, his hand guiding you expertly as you feel him grow harder beneath you, dreams slipping to reality once more but instead of nightmarish visions you realize that your fantasies are coming to fruition. Your clit feels swollen against his straining erection, every touch making white hot pleasure erupt from it to every nerve in your body. And as Silco tugs your hair, nearly growling in your ear as he marks you, you know it's the same for him. Soft moans and whines escape you at the ministrations, everything too much and not enough at the same time and rendering you effectively useless as you tremble and melt in pleasure in Silco's arms.

"Good girl. That's it, lose yourself, take all the pleasure you want."

Tears fill your eyes at his words and you drag his lips back on yours

"Silco please." You pant, biting and licking at him desperately, your tongue using his mouth as it wishes, your hips setting a punishing pace as the bliss takes you over. "Please sir. Need you. Need you so bad, please."

He growls at the title, his hands gripping you tighter as you bounce on him and his huffs and groans grow more frequent, louder.

"Fuck. You like calling me that don't you, pretty thing?"

You nod, whining as the pressure in your lower stomach grows.

"I need a verbal answer, darling."

Your eyes roll back as he grinds up into you at the same pace you've set.

"Yes sir. Love calling you sir so much when I-" A moan cuts you off and Silco tugs at your hair once more.

"When what, pet?"

You pant, whining dejectedly as his strong hand holds you in place, cutting your movements.

"When I touch myself while thinking about you. Please don't stop, please sir, I need it. I need you. I'll be good, just please don't stop."

He trusts up harder, his noises growing a bit louder, his touch more frantic. More hairs coming down from his updo, silver and ink black reflecting in the golden, late afternoon light. He tilts your head up some more, thumb parting your lips and hooking behind your teeth as you keep your mouth open obediently, your tongue lolling out.

"Look at you. So perfect for me. So willing, so pretty. And all mine, aren't you darling?"

"All yours." You manage to mutter against the thumb pressing down on your tongue, the digit caressing the wet muscle with great interest before you close your mouth around it. Suckling and licking at the thumb with your eyes trained of Silco's, the man grunting as he pressed more of his erection against your slit, fabric rubbing on fabric and bringing forth toe curling pleasure.

"Do you want to taste more of me?"

You whine, nodding as your hips continue their pattern on his, your core dripping with desire, hot, tangible, insatiable while Silco hooks his thumb above your teeth again. Effectively opening your mouth with one downward movement before pulling the digit away, licking the remnants of your spit on it and groaning at the taste, eyes rolling back.

"Then keep your mouth open, darling." He nearly sings the words, a siren tempting you to the fall like pride called for Icarus in the sky only to let him burn as he fell.

You obey, mouth open wide as Silco takes another inhale of the cigar, placing it on the ashtray afterwards. Your flutter in elation as you feel smoke fill your mouth, but you keep them on Silco's who have darkened. A somber idea brewing behind them as a smirk stretches his lips, cutting through his face like a cook's knife would.

Then you feel it, the trickle of saliva from his mouth to yours, the strong taste of tobacco concentrated in the spit as it slowly slides on your tongue and down your throat. Your body's reactions escape you, a whimper making its way through you before you shiver. Eyes rolling back and hands gripping Silco tighter, his body and presence your lifeline while you experience ecstasy.

It seems like an eternity before he stops but when he does you keep your mouth open for a little while longer, showing how full and glistening with him it is, to keep on feeling it this way. But the groan he lets out while you close your lips, your throat bobbing as you swallow, is worth any impatience he might have had. When you open your mouth back up, you nearly fall backwards from the look in his eyes at your empty mouth, the proof that you indeed could swallow all that he gives you like a good girl.

Animalistic and predatory. As if he's going to eat, no, devour you.

Your face falls in the crook of his neck to avoid the intense stare, licking and kissing at the lithe yet strong muscle there before biting, sucking, leaving your mark in Silco's flesh while your hips stutter, clit grinding and pulsing against Silco's strained pants.

"That's a good fucking girl. But that's what you always were for me, how can I be so fucking surprised. I want you to cum on me like the sweet little darling I know you are, can you do that for me?"

"Yes, yes sir. Please, please let me cum, please."

His hand leaves your hair to join its twin on your hips, dragging you back and forth on his lap as he rolls upwards to meet your warmth. More tears wet his neck, yet those are from the overwhelming pleasure you feel, taking over every cell in your body and making them throb with need.

"Then go on, let go for me, pet."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you for letting me cum. Thank you, thank you, thank you-"

You bite his neck, muffling the loudness of the moan leaving your lips as he utters those words, your body responding by obeying his order like it's what it was made for. You shake as he rocks you through your orgasm, dragging it out so you can feel all the pleasure of it. It's gentle, like the waves licking at the shore, ebbing and flowing, yet it's not cool. No, what you feel is pure warmth, comfortable heat burning through you and leaving nothing but fertile land. Ready to let life grow and thrive. It's soft, yet violent, the way he rips the pleasure away from you like it's nothing, like he knows your body and how to strum every single one of its strings to create a beautiful symphony.

"That's it, let it pass. Good girl"

His voice reassures as your whines come to a slow, devolving to pathetic and meek little mewls when your orgasm has passed through you and all that remains is overstimulating pleasure. One that you'd have half a mind to pursue if it isn't for the fact that the exhaustion from the past few days is finally showing it's ugly head and making you melt into Silco's lap like wax licked by the fire eating away at the candle's wick.

But you are not tired like you were, no, contentment, bliss and love soothed the biting pain of grief into something manageable and soft. Something nearly bittersweet, painful yet incapable of physically hurting you anymore. A mere bad dream.

No words are exchanged as Silco lays you two down on the couch, pulling one of your legs over his hip and resting your face in his chest. His hands caress you, kisses delivered on the crown of your head helping you settle further into the embrace.

"You did so well for me, darling. You always do." You nod, you would always do your best for him after all.

"Did you- Did you cum too?" Your voice comes out, meek and muffled by his chest.

"No darling." He chuckles. "This was about you. My pleasure came from you taking yours, so don't worry about me. I enjoyed this as much as you."

His chest rumbles as his velvety tone caresses your ears, the vibrations rattling through your soul in the most delicious of ways.

Your eyes grow wet once more at the care he shows. Your mind mushy and incapable of letting you filter or block anything unwanted.

You had cried thrice for him that day.

Once out of pain.

Once out of pleasure.

And once out of love.

All for him, only for him, always for him.

And now that you know that he feels the same, now that you are in his arms as more than a friend, you can't help but want to know more. More about him, about what his home life is like, what his children are like.

So without fear, you ask.

"Silco?" He hums, letting you know he's listening. "What's it like for you at home?"

He thinks for a moment, his cheek laying on the top of your head.

"It's animated." He begins. "You know that I don't live alone. Home is never truly clean, there's always somewhat of a mess, but one that makes the place feel lived in. Always at least one cup in the sink, shoes at the entrance, a notebook and art supplies, toys, or a sock or two laying on the ground."

You smile, imagining what his home is like and his head leaves yours, leaning back on a cushion as he takes a deep breath in.

"I'm rather old style when it comes to decoration and to behavior. My home before them was always empty, it felt nearly clinical and sterile at times I won't lie. So, adapting to this took some time, but I wouldn't go back for anything in the world. I rather like the mess."

His voice is fond as he talks more and more, your ears wide open as he discloses this part of his life to you.

"What are your children like?"

He tenses from what you believe to be surprise before he holds you tighter. Loving warmth and weight wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

"They're amazing. None of them are mine by blood, but they really do see me as their father, and although it was hard at first I believe it's the thing I am the proudest of. Before even the liberation of Zaun, because what is Zaun if not its children? Those just so happened to become mine and I couldn't be more proud."

You hear the smile in his voice and kiss his chest to show you're listening and to spur him on.

"Violet and Powder are sisters, they were Felicia's daughters. Violet is the leader, the spitfire. She's strong and strong willed, always willing to help others. Powder is creative, a truly intelligent and inquisitive girl with a talent for puzzles and mechanical games. Claggor and Mylo were adopted by Vander first, and to keep them from going back into the foster system I decided to take them in as well. Claggor is more muted, he's logical and thoughtful, a gentle giant that holds nothing but love and admiration for those around him. Mylo is another spitfire, butts heads a lot with Violet for it although he mainly does it for her attention. He's very admirative of his siblings and seeks their attention, so he strives to be the best in all he does, but most of all to be reliable."

You lift your head, staring up at Silco. He's smiling at you, hands caressing you mindlessly as his eyes observe you with a peace you've never truly observed in him. As if the reveals of the day and the current conversation were fulfilling him more than anything else ever had.

"You sound like a great father. Many children would beg for someone as loving as you as their guardian."

"I try my best, darling."

"I know. And you're great at it, being a father is hard and being a single father is harder. For all it's worth, you're amazing."

His eyes grow wet, the teal and orange suddenly glossy, the light catching on them and seemingly transforming the irises into stained glass. He cradles your face with one hand and brings your head up, catching your lips with his.

"When it comes from you, it always means the world for me."

You chuckle, pecking him once more, enjoying the feel of his lips against yours before pulling away.

"And what is Sevika up to?"

His smile grows larger at the question, as if pleasingly surprised by the fact you remember her but also knowing you would have.

"She is a mechanic. She swings by often to take care of the children, or they stay with her at the shop. It's adorable to see them help around with tools and such."

He pulls a hand away from you, picking his phone from his pocket to show his phone's background. Silco with the four children you recognize from his Snowdown picture and a woman standing behind him.

In it Silco is sitting on a chair not unlike the one at his office desk, smiling softly while a girl with blue hair sits on his lap.

"This is Powder." He point out to the girl.

He points to another, her sister Violet from what you remember, who leans her hips against her sister's back, giving the younger one bunny ears with her fingers.

"I take it that's Violet then." He nods at your words, his smile growing warmer.

"Indeed, darling. This is Mylo." He shows a thin boy with wild hair, smiling with his arm around a taller boy's neck.

"And this is Claggor?"

"You've got it right, pet." Silco kisses your cheek as you look to the strong looking boy, the height and couple of extra pounds making him look like a beast next to his siblings. But his soft, gentle, rounded face make up for his size and show him to be far from threatening.

The last person on the picture is a woman with short dark brown hair, deeper tanned skin, scars littering her face and uncovered arm. Her most prominent feature being the metallic prosthesis replacing her left arm.

"So that's Sevika. She looks cool."

Silco chuckles.

"She is. She's strong, loyal, intelligent, a great friend. I see her as my sister even if she isn't my sister in arms anymore. I thank the world everyday that I have her, parenting would be much harder without her by my side. She'd like you a lot, and you'd like her too. That is a guarantee."

In his arms you shift, delivering another kiss on his lips that he takes in stride, his own molding around yours. Your mouth traveling all over his face to deliver pecks before you settle back down, Silco's arms wrapping tighter around you after he tucks his phone back in the safety of his pocket.

"I'd like your entire family, Silco. They're the people you love, and if they're anything like you, they are one of a kind in the best of ways."

You mutter, Morpheus trickling sand in your eyes as your body grows earlier.

"I'm glad you think that way sweet girl, but go and rest now. You had a long week and you deserve to rest."

"Thank you…for everything." Your voice is meek, heavy with slumber soon to come.

"I'd do this and so much more for you, darling." Is what you hear before sleep overtakes you.

The pain of reminiscence that destroyed your psyche and body fades away to leave nothing but adoring bliss as his arms protect you, hiding you from the world.

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[girlwithadragonheart]

Raw. Next question.

[girlwithadragonheart]

“I thought I’d never see you again…”

“Just don’t leave…”

“Never.”

“You need to sleep sometimes.”

“With you here, like this, I’d rather stay awake.”

“However shall we pass the time?”

“Would you talk to me? Your voice is a comfort.”

“I’ll tell you the tale of a charming rogue who stole the heart of a hapless hero.”

“Not even Gods can keep me from you.”

“They cannot even try.”

[girlwithadragonheart]

Thinking about Halsin again.

Thinking about looking at him with desperation and despair and him knowing that you just need someone to take the load off of you for one second just so you can breathe.

Thinking about him seeing that look on your face and just sweeping you up in his arms, wrapped up and safe. One thick arm around your shoulders, the other around your waist, hand gripping your hip.

You bury your face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder as he’s bent down to your height. Taking a deep breath of that earthy calming scent with hints of lavender (that he only started keeping for your stress levels).

Anyone else would let go after thirty seconds but not Halsin, no, he just holds onto you. He just wraps you up in the safety blanket that is his arms and keeps you there as long as you’re holding onto him. And you don’t let go either. Your hands bunch up in his tunic, and he presses soft lips to your hair.

You stay like that until your heart rate slows and your breathing evens out. Only then do you carefully let go of him.

He gently sets you steadily on your feet, standing back up to full height. His large palm cups your cheek delicately. Those mossy green eyes gaze at you with all the warmth in Faerûn.

Carefully, he leans down again, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Be steady, my heart. Know that you are not alone in this. None of us are.”

[girlwithadragonheart]

The look he gives you with his head tipped back OAUGHHH folded like a lawn chair

Also say hi to my Rook, Kalais Mercar

[girlwithadragonheart]

No one from House Dellamorte kneels

[girlwithadragonheart]

Thinking about Halsin and a depressed reader. Someone who knows they aren't alright, and is frustrated with themselves for not being able to communicate that. Someone who, when asked what's wrong? will answer, nothing, I'm okay, or I don't know because that's the only way they can properly communicate that something is, in fact, wrong.

Someone who starts to feel guilty because they can't ease their companions' minds because that would effectively be lying to them and telling them they're okay when they obviously aren't isn't alright. But they also can't just come out and say what the issue is because there is no issue, they just don't feel good.

Halsin sees the gradual change. The way you stop coming out around the others. The way your sentences get shorter and shorter, and you smile less and less. The few times you do, it doesn't quite reach your eyes. You have moments of joy, of course, but it quickly dissipates, leaving you with that emptiness that won't leave you alone.

Halsin would like to say he knows how to help that because he's lived it, but the truth is he doesn't. He spent a century feeling how you feel and the only way it lifted was to solve the root of the problem---the Shadow Curse. But how do you kill the weed if you can't find its roots?

He doesn't know, and watching you sleep more and more, becoming less inclined to solve anything that's a threat to you, it just kills him inside.

He finds himself approaching your tent one night when you skip dinner. He finds you near-asleep, rolled away from him with an arm supporting your head. Halsin kneels down beside you, resting one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hips, gently squeezing you awake.

You roll toward him slowly, and he looks down at your bleary eyes. "I'm worried about you."

You huff, sitting up and throwing the blankets aside. "Everyone is. I don't know what you want me to say."

"Can you at least talk to me about it?" Halsin asks gently.

Gods, but you want to. "I don't know how. I don't know what's wrong with me," your eyes tear up.

Halsin's brow furrows. The last thing he intended was to make you cry, but perhaps letting something out would do you some good. "Come here," he says in a gentle, commanding tone.

Following directions is all you know how to do right now, so you crawl over to him, settling yourself against his chest. He shifts his weight as though you aren't even there until he settles, wrapping his thick arms around you. He's soft. Comforting.

Gradually, your tears start to fall. Everything comes out as though a dam has burst and you can't reel it in if you try. Halsin pets your hair gently, smoothing it down, his other hand wrapped protectively around your waist where you straddle him.

The hand in your hair moves to your back, rubbing and massaging his fingertips into your taught muscles. "It's okay to not be okay," he says quietly. "All you have to tell me is 'I'm not okay' and I'm right here, alright, little dove?"

You nod blearily, sniffling against his shoulder.

"We'll get through this together. One step at a time, even if I have to hold your hand the whole way through."

-----------

This got so much longer than I thought it would oops, I'm having a night.

@halsinsgate Daddy Issues, rise!

[girlwithadragonheart]

Me @ zevlor

my bravest knighttt... come hither ..... mmmwah !! ok you are dismissed

[girlwithadragonheart]

I’m starting to see a pattern…

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chat guess what I finally finished…

(Drum roll please)

Oh my GOD

[girlwithadragonheart]

Craving the peace Halsin’s presence would bring me right now. I need a quiet moment in the forest to sit on a patch of moss and curl up in his warm embrace.

I would probably cry and let everything out and he would just pet your hair while allowing you this moment of solace.

Give me that pocket of warmth away from the stress of the world. Give me that little bit of peace with Halsin where I can forget what I’m worried about. Or let me talk to him about it and find comfort in him. I just…

I just need it and there’s an ache in my chest where that comfort is supposed to be.

And I think he might be the only one who could fill it.

[girlwithadragonheart]

@madschiavelique

me @ my mutuals

[girlwithadragonheart]

I need to yap desperately about one single gripe I have with this game. MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD read at your own discretion

The first half is me ranting about how much certain things mean to me and how impacted I was, and the actual gripe comes closer to the end.

I'll preface this by saying this post is about Varric's death and my rage and despair regarding it, but more so about my Rook's.

I've seen people who said they picked up on the hints about whatnot, who knew before the Fade Prison. I was not one of those people. I was so relieved when I saw him after the Prologue that I didn't think twice, because I knew that it would destroy me the second shit started going wrong.

I was already not having a good time when I started the game simply because Varric was getting older. I don't handle aging well or death, and his design showing his age, and the comments he would make about "getting too old for this" just made my heart break.

And then shit got worse. I sobbed disgustingly when that knife went into Varric's chest.

After Rook woke up from talking to Solas and she heard Varric, I was so gods damned relieved. And my Rook was better taken care of by Varric in that year she spent with him than she was in the rest of her entire life.

I cried from the end of Ghilan'nain's fight until the romance scene and on and off after that. I got so used to visiting Varric just to be comforted by his presence. Inquisition was the biggest part of my life for a year and a half when I was just a kid.

I did really bad middle school age writing for it but regardless of the quality, those characters were built up in my head becoming even more than they were in the game. Varric was my biggest support character through everything I was going through at the time.

I don't talk about it much, but I didn't have a great childhood, and I know a lot of people didn't, but I coped with it through writing and video games. Varric was the one supporting me through the abuse I suffered and writing was the way I processed how bad things really were.

When Rook was in the prison she said "What am I going to find here?" And Varric said "I think you already know, kid." I DIDN'T until he said that. The second he said that my entire chest tightened and I just said "No" out loud as I watched Rook find his body.

Now for my real complaint!!!

Rook never gets the chance to grieve Varric. They go from talking to him every day to finding out he's dead and it was all a lie. I have personally never been more fucking pissed at Solas than I am now. But Rook comes back and they have that kind of "closing off" scene with Varric's empty bed (which was so hard to go through btw). And then they fuck their pookie LIKE I CANNOT BE THE ONLY ONE UPSET ABT THAT

FYM I gotta find out my dad is dead and then Rook is up for boning like there's no fucking way unless it's to cope. And at least pertaining to the Lucanis romance, Rook is processing everything that happened and they can say "So much has happened, I just don't know how to feel."

And rather than getting to process that in some kind of way, the devs said nah this scene serves one singular purpose, and Lucanis says "I do" and then dicks them down.

Personally, I felt very dismissed despite being overjoyed about finally having the romance scene, I couldn't even enjoy it with everything that happened prior.

Rook deserved the chance to completely break down after everything they went through. Tbh i don't know how they kept it together. Varric said "don't get all misty eyed" and i thought to myself that's way too delicate a term for what's happening here, I was fully ugly crying.

Fuck your "I had a good run" I still need you bitch.

All this to say I'm very upset, and I'm running my second playthrough and every time I look at, hear, or talk to Varric I tear up again. Wtf Bioware.

Rook should've gotten the chance to actually talk about what Solas did to them, especially in the sense that he made them believe Varric was still there. Or at least get to properly grieve the person who was their closest friend for a long time.

I have very strong feelings about this obviously

[girlwithadragonheart]

Do you have any headcanons for caregiver Halsin? 🥺

I'm not ignoring you sweet anon! I was asleep <3

I don't have any hc's specifically for caregiver Halsin, but I do have some that go with that !!

~ Braiding your hair! I imagine considering elven traditions, he got very good at the intricacies of braiding hair, and if you ask him to, he'll do yours in any way you want. I think it would be calming for him as well to be able to take care of you in that way.

~ He always makes sure you've eaten before you fall asleep! More often than not, you're so exhausted you end up passing out before having a proper meal. Halsin sits you in his lap, practically spoon feeding you just to make sure you eat. "Can't have our fearsome leader starving, now can we, love?"

~ He helps you wash when you're too tired to do it yourself. His poor cub is barely able to sit up straight, let alone scrub the dirt from your skin and hair. He's remarkably gentle for someone so large and his palms though callused are soft for you. He makes sure to use all the scents you prefer and does your proper hair routine. (He took care to learn it just to take care of you better)

~ Can't sleep? Don't worry, Halsin is already making tea for you. Lavender and licorice, since licorice root is helpful to make your body settle. He'll bring the steaming mug to your lips, running his fingers through your hair as he coaxes you to drink it. "It'll help, my heart, hush now."

~ Daddy? Daddy. Need I say more? I will. He doesn't have a super strong reaction to it the first time. I mean, he's not surprised in the least, and it kind of slips out of you one day while you're super tired and out of it, so he shrugs it off, not wanting to embarrass you. But in the event that it happens again whilst you're more aware, he might even tease you about it cause he's a rascal like that. He'll just raise an eyebrow and smirk. "Daddy, hm? Not the first time I've been called that, but it certainly is nice coming from you."

~ He's a caretaker even in bear form! Especially during the night. Some days you just need that extra fluff that comes from cuddling up with him in wildshape <3

I hope this lived up to your expectations anon! This was fun to really think about. I've had those things floating around in the back of my mind for awhile, but putting them to paper makes it more real<3

[girlwithadragonheart]

“Mierda. This place makes my eyeballs itch.”

BABE. HONEY. WHAT 💀

[girlwithadragonheart]

YOU’RE A GOOD WRITER!!!!

I just reada really good fic but halfway through I realized "oh shit this is really familiar.... didn't I write something like this once?" And as I kept reading I kept predicting what happened next and the further I went the more convinced I was that they'd ripped off my story-

like, copied the ENTIRE plot and re-written it, just better than I had? The characters were more fleshed-out than mine were, and the POV was more interesting, and the pace made more sense- but it was MY STORY?

So close to the end I was like "holy shit.. do I message them? Ask if my story inspired theirs? Should I be angry? Flattered?" Cause their tags and description didn't mention me AT ALL, which, sure, it's fanfiction to begin with, but if you're using my work than at least credit me as inspo, right? Just to be courteous?

But I get to the end of the final chapter, and it's not finished, and I'm kind of disappointed cause I never finished my story and I was really immersed in their version now and had been looking forwards to seeing how they tied up my loose ends- so I scroll to the bottom to leave a comment, and.

It's MY URL.

IT WAS MY STORY THE WHOLE TIME.

THE ONE *I WROTE*.

In *2013*.

And FORGOT ABOUT

BECAUSE I WAS SO INSECURE ABOUT MY SLOPPY, SHALLOW, AMETEUR WRITING

And I'm just sitting here now staring into space thinking about every shitty story I've ever written now like

IT WAS ALL GOOD?

IT WAS GOOD THIS WHOLE DAMN TIME??

I'M A GOOD WRITER?????