#these actions are not unbidden and they are not done without knowledge of consequence

[muzzlemouths]

🔮 Crystal Ball- What kind of future does your OC want to have? What would they do to make it real?

About dftr sun and moon vuv

The future they want is the past they once had. 

Their life had been simple, but they wouldn’t have given it up for anything. Creating and exchanging crafts with each other, playing in the river, stopping (and starting) food fights in the dining hall, walking through nature to study every branch, every funny shaped rock, every bird that soared overhead. Singing songs in the morning. Telling ghost stories at night. Skits and campfires and making memories. Teaching the kids everything they could, and learning from them, too. 

It was by no means perfect, no life ever is, but it was all they had — and they loved every minute. They would have been happy to stay like this for the rest of their lives.

What would they do to make it real?

Anything.

They would hide themselves away for a decade, watching from afar as life continued on without them. They would pay dearly for a crime they did not commit. They would let themselves fall into ruin. They would speak with the animals if only to ease the loneliness for just a few minutes. They would dirty their hands. They would become the monsters that their campfire stories foretold. They would risk everything to make the hurt stop, to quiet the grief that has haunted them for years.

They would kill for it.

[lymazhu]

Rating: PG (cw: anxiety, mild implied homophobia, slight self-injury during a panic attack)

Pairing: Jon/Martin

Set before the end of 160

I went for something a little different that I think still follows the prompt of treating/distracting from injury by focusing on psychological damage rather than physical. 

(edit: AO3 link https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119015 )

“I suppose we can’t really put it off any longer, can we?” Martin’s voice was cheerful, but Jon could hear the strained undertone as the man searched through the empty cupboards. Unbidden, the knowledge came to him that even before being trapped in his flat for two weeks Martin had always feared the sight of bare pantry shelves. He didn’t want to know that Martin used to plan meals around what he found on deep discount at the grocer’s, so of course the Eye told him. 

“Well, i-it’s a nice day for a walk, at least,” Jon replied, hoping that if the two of them started a proper conversation he would forget the things he’d just learned. It never worked that way, but when had he ever stopped doing something just because it had never succeeded before? Martin’s laughter startled him out of his thoughts. 

“Jon, we haven’t seen the sun in days!” There was a mix of fondness and mild exasperation on his partner’s face, replacing whatever expression had been there before Martin had turned to face him. 

“All the more reason to get some fresh air,” Jon couldn’t help the slight sullenness that tainted his reply, but by now Martin would know that he was just trying to cover his embarrassment so he didn’t force himself to try harder to clarify. His partner’s soft chuckle had the same effect it always did; the still-unfamiliar sensation of something warm and pleasant in his chest rather than the icy grip of fear or pain.

“Right. You’re up for it?” Before Jon could reply, a thought came unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

He’s afraid of being alone for too long, and he isn’t wrong to be. 

“I’ll be fine.” It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a lie. Jon knew that Martin would match his pace, find some reason for them to stop for a moment if he needed to sit down, help the time pass faster with light conversation. And in return, neither of them would have to be afraid of the consequences of Martin being alone with no way to contact him. 

For a lot of the travel time, Jon led the way, but as they drew closer to the village he stopped to wrap his scarf around not only his neck but also the lower part of his face. He’d chosen to put his hair up for the trip in case it was windy, so the wool would have to do for covering many of the small, round scars dotting his chin and cheeks. Martin took the chance to fuss over him a little, adjusting the scarf in what he claimed was a more aesthetic way, then took Jon’s hand. 

He does that to hide your burns. So nobody will have to look at them.

Even without having the knowledge whispered to him in the back of his mind, Jon had been well-aware of why Martin favored holding his bad hand when they were out in public. What the Eye had left out, seeking to prey on his insecurities, was why. And perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered what Martin told him before everything they’d been through; he would have pushed aside the kind words as a pacifying lie. Now, though...now Jon knew that his partner was well aware of how much he hated that particular scar and that the weight of a larger, softer hand in his own helped to ground him. 

It wasn’t a surprise that as they walked down the main road of the village, the sound of whispers and, in some cases, stage whispers followed them. It might have been a bit disappointing, a tad stressful, but it wasn’t a shock. After all, they were strangers first and foremost. Even before someone had the chance to register that they were two men walking hand-in-hand, they’d notice that they were unfamiliar faces and make snap judgments based on that. 

Martin greeted everyone they passed, and Jon knew that none of them would notice the subtle tells that the man was giving off. Even if they’d looked, Martin had far too much practice hiding his true feelings for just anyone to recognize that anything was wrong. Truthfully, Jon wasn’t confident about whether he would have known if it weren’t for how long he’d spent studying Martin since they returned from the Lonely. He had never been the best at reading faces or social cues, but by now he was at least well-studied in Martin’s tells. “The Eye has helpfully informed me that sheep have caused more deaths here than human action has,” was what he wound up breaking the silence with. It worked, in that it made Martin stop short with a sound Jon wasn’t sure how to categorize as he covered his mouth with the back of his free hand. Suddenly, Martin’s hand felt a little more solid in his own. 

“Jon.” The name came out a little more high-pitched than Martin intended, going off of the slight blush that followed soon after. 

“Yes, Martin?” His crooked smile might have been hidden behind a wall of dark green wool, but it was apparent enough from the tone of his voice. It was deeply comforting to know that at least when it came to talking with Martin, he would be understood. 

“You-” Martin shook his head, gently squeezing Jon’s fingers. “You are unbelievable, you know that?” Jon made a small sound of agreement, doing his best to squeeze back as they resumed walking. 

There wasn’t terribly much to see in the little grocery, and the amount of time it would take them to get home eliminated even some of the store did have in stock from consideration. They were quietly debating the merits of shelf-stable milk when Jon felt a small tug on the hem of his jumper. Heart racing, he whirled, adrenaline already dumping into his system before he had the chance to register that his assailant was a small child who stared up at him with wide eyes. 

“What’re you doing here, ma’am? An’ who’s he? My ma knows everyone and she was saying to Miss Mason that she’s never seen y-whoa, what’s wrong with your hand?” As soon as Jon realized that the burns were visible, he tucked his hand in the sleeve of the jumper and moved it behind him. He’d been debating loosening the scarf while they were inside, as it had begun to get uncomfortably warm. Thank god he hadn’t done so. 

“Hello, little miss. I’m Martin, and this is Jon. He,” and Martin stressed the pronoun a little, “is my boyfriend and we’re visiting here for a little while. Does your mum know you’ve wandered off?” 

“You’re English!” She sounded like she was torn between being awed and horrified at the revelation, and Jon tried to focus on how charming that was even as instinct still screamed at him to run. Children’s attention spans could be measured in seconds, he told himself. She didn’t actually register the way the burns enveloping his hand formed a shape, she just saw something unusual and blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. Jon cleared his throat, contemplating whether he trusted his voice before thinking better of it. 

“Becca! What have I told you about talking to strangers?” A woman who looked to be in her early thirties pulled the child back, kneeling to tap her on the nose with a smile before looking up at them. 

“I’m sorry, you two. Are you...on vacation together?” The moment that she noticed the steadying hand Martin had on Jon’s forearm was audible. Just a slight hesitation, and the slightest shift in tone, but Jon was all too familiar with it. He registered somewhere in the back of his mind that his jaw ached, and unclenched his teeth.

“Yes, we’ve always wanted to see the Highlands in person.” Martin’s voice was polite, but left little room for further conversation. “We’ll let you get back to your shopping.” 

“We’ll have to talk more another time, when you come down just to visit.” The woman motioned at her basket, as though its contents were the only reason she had no interest in dallying longer, and her daughter gave them both an overdramatic wave goodbye before she ran off behind her. 

Jon’s hands scrabbled at the scarf. Suddenly it felt far too tight around his neck, and the feeling of scratchy fabric against his face was too close to that of rough dirt. Once he could breathe again, he realized how much he’d been struggling for air. He hadn’t noticed Martin moving, hiding him from view as best he could without making contact. He was grateful that Martin knew better than to touch him at times like this. Jon met his eyes and mouthed thank you in between deep, shaky breaths. He did his best to stay silent even as his mind screamed at him to gasp for whatever air he could manage to pull in. 

“You’re all right, Jon…” Martin told him softly, continuing with reassurances as Jon fought to calm himself. They’d found out together what worked for each of them through more...incidents than Jon wanted to think about. He forced the self-loathing down, tried to ignore the Eye telling him what a spectacle he was making of himself the first time he’d dared to try to blend in after getting to the safehouse. A quiet clap brought him back to reality, and he was once again hearing his partner’s voice. 

“Jon, you’re digging your nails in. Flex your fingers for me, okay?” Martin imitated the gesture for him, and Jon looked down at his own hands, at the crescent-shaped indents he’d left between two of the scars left by Jude’s fingers. “Ah.” It was all he could manage to say, but he followed the instruction. His eyes flicked to Martin’s face, automatically searching for some manner of disgust or disdain. He couldn’t find any, though; just sincere concern. However, something was different. Taking another steadying breath, it occurred to him what it was. Once he’d pulled off the scarf, Martin must have taken it and wrapped it around his own shoulders to get it out of the way. 

“Do you want to get some fresh air while I finish up in here?” 

“N-no, I think I’d rather stay by your side. If that’s alright.” Jon still didn’t feel ready for direct touch, which ruled out hand-holding, but he carefully linked their arms. He knew perfectly well how he would feel once the adrenaline faded entirely. Having support would help soon enough, both physically and not, and he bit his lip against a surge of emotion at the knowledge that for once, he could count on having it. 

[ebbforeman]

The Court of Fen’Harel

(Just a little something that I started working on to pass the time until DA4. Bioware is seriously killing me with the lack of updates...I’ve had to start new play-throughs to satisfy my needs!!) 

Full Story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574054

The Court of Fen'Harel

Chp. 1 King of Old & New

It was decided long ago that the place where he would settle would be that of the Elven Ruins from the time of Elvhenan. He would restore what was old in addition to adding some new. It was necessary, he deemed, while molding and shaping all that it would become. He had grown accustomed to certain comforts during his travels and adventures, things he never truly cared for or dwelled on prior to his time among the humans, children of the stone, and the qunari. At first, when he stood on the overgrown path, feeling the breath of wind mix with the will of magic and observing the subtle changes of nature; he realized ironically that he would miss the world he vowed to destroy in order to restore what was lost.

He realized within those brief, calm moments, before he summoned the divine power of the ancient magics to break down the very fabric of the veil, that he in truth would reshape some aspects out of necessity and not selfishness.

The foundation of the world shook and he watched, as promised, as all that had risen in place of the old burned in the chaos. With the flick of his wrist he destroyed the shrine, unbothered by the crumbling of the wolven status or the cracks that webbed along the painted frescos, and in its stead erected a castle to call home. His desire to create a haven for the Elvhen people manifested itself in the shape of the stone fortress nestled in the rocky cliffs just beyond the long bridge.

It wasn't difficult, or at least no more so than reconnecting the eluvians had been. The magic flowed through him like air in his lungs, swiftly, easily, and naturally. His agents across Thedas, under his instruction, knew how to protect themselves. He'd sent scouts long before the veil began to pull against reality. They fanned out across the land with a message and small bundle for each of the elven faction leaders on where to go and how to survive. They gathered like lost sheep in the grey mists of the crossroads, the only place shielded from the uncontrollable madness that raged just beyond the protection of mirrors.

He watched as wild and willful spirits eagerly took to their new home. Much like the elves, they pressed together to learn of the world they once seemed no more than a dream or a reflection of their own reality. New and old magic blended beautifully. He often found himself speechless and surprised by the glimpses of forgotten dreams and dreamers lost to time.

One piece, one small piece of that world he refused to surrender. For a time he foolishly convinced himself that he could. Naive and childish notions of longing and need fueled him, and after a time that need grew and proved stronger than anything he'd ever felt. Go to her, he had commanded Briala, You are a familiar face and will bring a welcomed comfort that I will not be able to give at this time. While Felassan paid with his life for his error and failure, Briala had been more willing to obey. He allowed her to live, knowing or perhaps hoping that doing prove to be useful later. The truth had revealed itself like a glimmering gift. Her role would be to serve, not as a slave, but as a handmaiden. Briala's skills as a spy and assassin in addition to her history with the human empress made her the logical, if not perfect choice for this task.

"What makes you think she will come willingly." She asked, as she stood under the stone arch of what would become his throne room. "Last we met, she and I did not part on the greatest of terms."

He cared little for her doubts and only desired compliance. "She will come. She has a strong heart, and is determined and thoughtful. She will be unable to accept death and she deserves more than the world she was born into." he waved his hand across an eluvian and the glassy surface rippled as if water. "Go by way of Vir Tanadahl. The foliage and trees will shield you and hide your intent, be swift for we are running out of time. You will find her near Skyhold and at the edge of the Frostbacks."

He thought of that day often. It plagued his dreams more so than any of his misgivings and deeds throughout the years. He rose from his bed, moving silently so not to disturb the sleeping form beside him, and crossed the room to the open balcony window. The moon had long since risen casting a bright, pure white glow along the marble railing and tiles that decorated the balcony. He peered beyond the towers and walls of stone to the crystal spires that floated in the distance. He had missed them and it wasn't until now that he knew how much. The marvelous craftsmanship of his people, the wonder and beauty of the infinite potential of the imagination - it was all breathtaking. Imbued with ancient magicks, that were long thought lost and forgotten, he found whispering at the edge of the broken veil searching for an amenable host to pass the knowledge on to. And even now, such knowledge still lingered flittering aimlessly in the world. He alone was up for the task of collecting them all - that and ensuring it was utilized correctly.

He sighed, utterly frustrated. There was still much to be done. This new, old world was still incomplete. The Tevinter Imperium refused to collapse and somehow, either by the use of blood magic or stolen elven artifacts, survived the shattering of the veil. It was a surprising and unforeseen act that would be rectified in due time. He allowed the waterfall below the balcony to cleanse his mind. It was a peaceful sound and absolute peace was something the world was in short supply of - that too would change before his time was done.

The night air swirled around him causing goosebumps to break out across his skin. He stood there, face the dark, naked and his mind restless. "There is so much to be done," he mused, his tone flat. He felt smaller somehow as all of his plan came rushing to him unbidden and all at once. It made him feel oddly vulnerable, something he was not accustomed to. He peered over his shoulder and watched the rise and fall of the sleeping figure's chest and smiled - well, almost not accustomed to.

He turned back, focusing on his duty once more. While he was no god, he was indeed prideful and hotheaded, maybe even cocky in his belief that alone could purge the world of injustice and evil. He shook his head, no, no, that was merely doubt. He was certain of his purpose. Actions and consequences. Cause and Effect. These were the black and white dichotomies of life.

"Solas?" a voice from within the bedchamber called, thick with sleep. "Is something wrong?"

She was up and moving before he could reach her and he cursed himself for being so selfish and causing her undo worry. She shuffled awkwardly toward him, her silver white curling hair spilling across her shoulders like liquid starlight.

"Vhenan," he breathed, wrapping his arms around her. "I am sorry, did I wake you? I did not mean to. You should be resting and enjoying your sleep."

She hummed thoughtfully and inhaled his scent. "Vir sumeil, I could sense something was wrong through our bond."

He smiled down at her, kissed her head and nodded. "Yes, of course. Forgive me, I continue to underestimate your sensitivity to such things."

Her sleeping silks clung to the curves of her body, the fabric so thin and transparent it looked to be flesh. He could feel her full and heavy breast pressed against his chest and the swell of her budding belly touching his own stomach. "You are beautiful."

She laughed softly, the sound so lovely and feminine it seized his heart. "Really? I feel rather like a druffalo, minus the rather intimidating horns."

"Ma vhenan, I could hardly agree with that sentiment, given you are carrying our child within you."

He remembered their time together before, when he led her to the cove near Crestwood and offered to reveal the truth of the vallaslin to her. She had balked at the idea of marking herself as a slave, as he knew he would, but what he was unprepared for was the visceral pain it caused her to know how fragmented her knowledge of her history was. He wanted to tell her then, the truth of his intentions, and lose himself in his love for her, but….

"Yes, our child. Abelas believes I am carrying a girl, though why he would wish that on me…" Her ears flattened slightly at the idea. "I wouldn't know where to begin with a girl."

This time he laughed and brought his lips down to meet her's. Guileless emerald green blinked back at him, dazed and hungry. There was lust hidden within her weary eyes and he felt his manhood swelling and grow stiff the more his hands roamed her body.

"You will be a wonderful mother, Ashalle. Should we have a daughter, I believe she could find nor possess no better mother than you."

"I never knew my own mother, or father. I'm not sure I really know how to care for a child."

"You will take to it naturally, as you do with most things."

She scoffed. "You have more assurance than I do."

"Come, vhenan." he said, offering her his hand. "Let us go back to bed."

She had become his distraction, his weakness. He soon learned after that orchestrated meeting in this very place five years ago, that he would betray himself for her. To be with her. To see her. To smell her scent and feel her warmth. He resolved himself to save her, for a life without her in existence would be hollow and dull in comparison.

And so, Briala brought Ashalle to him. Regrettably a fight had ensued and the now ex-inquisitor refused to be drawn back into any game involving the Dread Wolf. The resistance was inevitable, it was, after all, who she was and what she represented. A hero who rose to stand against evil, a shining light to fight the darkness from swallowing the world whole. Sleep magic was required, something that even Briala, who possessed no innate magical gifts, was able to perform without harming Ashalle.

The slumber was not unlike the one he experienced after banishing the Evanuris into the beyond. It was careful, well practiced and formulated magic, that would retain all that she was but make her more….amenable to his intentions. She woke, confused and frantic and he would never forget the shrill sound of terror when she realized her left arm was fully restored.

Ashalle kissed his neck and pressed herself against the hard mold of his body. She was rather good at distracting him. She ran a hot tongue down his neck and whispered sweet words of love to him as her hand reached for his length.

"You should be sleeping." he moaned, struggling to fight against his own lust.

This was not the first time. He once swore he would never lie with her under false pretenses; however, back then his tenacity, his sheer strength of will and character seemed stronger. The barriers he created as he walled off his heart and the distance he placed between them assisted with alleviating his emotional entanglement to her, if only for a while. Soon, he could no longer bear the thought of being separated from her or her dying by his hands.

"I will sleep after, my love."

He could not keep himself from reaching down between her thighs and exploring the wet folds that lay at the center of them. He pulled his face down to a round supple breast, took the peaked nipple in his mouth and sucked at it. His manhood throbbed with longing, an ache that begged to be satisfied whenever he laid eyes on her.

Ashalle's mouth was sweeter than the deepest dream, than any dream he ever experienced both in and out of the Fade. He plunged himself inside of her, ravenous for her flesh and the sweetness of her. A moan escaped her swollen lips as glittering strands of hair fell in front of her eyes.

"Oh vhenan…"

She was everything that was beautiful in the world. Though the Evanuris hindered his perfect dream, of a life with his love and their child, here and now, in this moment nothing could pull him from her.

Ashalle was honey and sweet cakes, she was the finest wine and warmed spiced rum, she was the very air that filled his lungs and the food that nourished his body. Small shuddering gasps of pleasure echoed throughout the bedchamber and mingled with the stillness of the night.

They both reached their climax, the world exploded before their eyes in swirling shades of color and light. He ran nimble fingers across the tender taut skin of her belly, feeling the warmth and surge of life and magic within, as she lay quietly in his arms. A soft kick, a subtle movement, reached out toward. His child, a kindred spirit filled with old and new magic.

An heir. A queen. And he, now a king. He would rule this world, correcting the actions of those who came before to ensure a brighter, better future than the one the Evanuris sought to create. His child would be born never knowing fear, hardship, or pain. The corrections, so easy and precise, like the blossoming fruit of a tree, would take more time. Dissent within his court needed to be eliminated otherwise the transition could be hindered further. He was nothing if not efficient. It could be done.

Sleep, he thought, for the dawn comes soon and only you are prepared to greet it.