#ve. inquisition.

[serbaird]

@thomasrainier. call.

ㅤ“ Tell me -- ” Gregor at least looked entertained in the face of defeat. He'd not had much silver bet on that last card game and liked the company well enough that he didn't so much mind losing it. Raising his brows at Thom, he had to ask: “ Did I just get swindled? ”

[emedeme]

The Inquisitor through the years ✨

[serbaird]

ㅤ“ I hope you understand that I would not gossip about the Prince even if there was anything to say. ” He had too much respect for him, for starters, but it was hardly in-keeping with his oath to disrespect Prince Balfour in such a way. “ Please do let me know if there are any other matters the Inquisition requires me for. I understand that Skyhold is quite... busy at the moment. Any duties you might have in Ferelden, I would be happy to aid you with. ”

"A good man! How disappointing. I was hoping for something worth gossiping about." Rosalind smiled in such a way that it was difficult to tell if she was being serious or not. "I suppose I can't complain of his aid, however. You've certainly made yourself useful enough." And the Inquisition would take all the help it could get, even as it continued to grow with each passing day.

[snowy-weather]

I never finished Dragon Age: Inquisition. I want to, but the relationship stuff stresses me out. XD I can't handle not being liked by everyone. I kept fighting with Solas even though I was trying to be nice. We would be having an ok conversation and then he'd just turn on me. D:

[highaver]

@miss-polly. call.

"It's quite the following you've built yourself, here." His tone was complimentary, even if days ago he had been discussing with Anora what a threat such a thing was. He smiled, and that too was handsome. "I appreciate your letting me come along."

[adelheidvonschicksal]

I beg of you, your the only person who wrote such a good zayne story 😍 it makes everything tingle, can we get a story of us sucking him off PLEASEEEEEE

⋆｡°✩ PWP Smut, Banter, Oral (M-receiving), no pronouns. Please let me know if I missed something, and I'll fix it.

Your nerves are on fire, each one a tiny beacon for arousal to run its rickety, lurching course through you. Overwhelmed, you bring your hands up and brace them against the headboard of the bed, clasping them into tight fists to calm the adrenaline rolling like waves through your veins.

It’s been too long since you felt this way, burdened with trembling limbs and stomach-knotting excitement, something that could only be accomplished when you have a certain surgeon between your gripping thighs. It’s been too long since you’ve seen Zayne, let alone have his hard, defined abs taut where you cradle his stomach.

He props his shoulders on dark blue satin pillows, his head in the perfect position for you to look at him. The unyielding gaze he holds does nothing to calm your heaving chest or aching nether regions as you take your time soaking and drinking him in.

Zayne has already changed so much since you last were with him. Your eyes are anchored to the widening of an already broad physique and the stretch and bulge of his biceps when he runs his hands down your back and over your ass to grip at the meat of your thighs. The golden glow of the nightstand lamp setting off against dark hazel eyes and battle-worn skin tempts you to squeeze his slowly fluctuating chest.

Before you can seal the deal on your spiraling dirty thoughts, Zayne catches your intentions, as if the position you were in didn’t already make it obvious. It’s a game that both amuses and frustrates you at the same time.

“It seems someone worked themselves up rather quickly.”

Lifting your sight from his chest, you meet a playfully mocking glint hidden behind a firm gaze. To keep your annoyance, or impatience rather, from showing, you set your attention on the intricate designs of the headboard.

“Just admiring the finish on the wood,” you excuse. “Lacquer?”

Zayne lifts a hand and pinches at your chin to force you to concentrate on him causing you to take your first shuttering breath that night. With piercing eyes, he searches for something in your face, so hauntingly that it makes you throb, and you silently hope he doesn’t feel your legs clamp harder at his waist or how much you're beginning to leak.

He doesn’t need it. As always, Zayne finds what he wants. His voice is inquisitive but the look in his eyes is teasing when he finally asks, “Are you sure that’s what it is? Your pupils are dilated, and I don’t think you’re one to really care about woodwork to that degree.”

You huff at his observation, always the smart-mouthed one. Could he blame you for being hot and bothered when you have an undeniably attractive man under you, especially when you haven't been able to touch him in weeks? It’s so hard with your schedules. Even now, it’s thanks to an unexpected sick day that your schedules managed to align. So, yeah, maybe you were more worked up than usual, but Zayne was a lot of things, stern, serious, reservedly kind, and very much aware of his commanding good looks and the effect it has on you.

Luckily, you’re not the only one who is having trouble maintaining a calm visage. His face holds a barely recognizable flush, his chest strains with too-deep breaths, and his large, scarred hands squeeze the back of your legs to an almost painful point before he swipes your tender skin with manicured thumbs.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the tepid atmosphere is growing too tense for both of you. Who admits to it first is anyone’s guess, but it’s not likely to be Zayne without some encouragement.

So, you prance your fingertips across his angular jaw before drawing a seductive line from the point of his chin through the center of his pectorals, a line you plan to use to start your reacquaintance with his body very soon. The sticky heat radiates from him and seeps into you, knotting the aching twists in your lower stomach even tighter.

“You’re one to talk,” you remark, displaying your own mischievous thoughts. Your hand finds a place to roost over his left side and sprawls open over his heartbeat, reading the steadily rising pace. “I can hear you breathing from here, and your skin is so hot and sweaty.”

For someone whom others wrongfully describe as cold, something about him is smoldering when he rakes his eyes over your body. It’s hungry, and you’re so ready to devour and be devoured, as he forces himself to meet your face again.

“It’s the fever.”

Holding in your laughter, you smack your lips at him. “Didn’t you say you were feeling better today? You didn’t lie to me, did you, Zayne?”

The man doesn’t respond, usually a sign that he was thinking but the only thing on his mind was your hand running orbits around his nipple, outlining the smooth round expanse circling it. You grope lightly at his chest, marveling how full it makes your hand, before cascading that touch lower and lower.

The girth of his cock twitches against your ass, and you think you almost got him as he begins to ripple under your exploration; alas, he manages to keep in his sighs until you start to comb through the delicate valley of shallow black hair that curls from his lower stomach and disappears under his sweatpants.

“I knew you would blow it out of proportion otherwise,” he plays off, releasing another low groan. “It didn’t seem to stop you from marching right over, however.”

“Oh?”

Pitifully pouting, you roll onto your side next to him, press your chest into his arm, and lean in to kiss under his ear.

“You don’t like me taking care of you?” you whine with a pathetic infliction and a whimper, all the while adding pressure as you begin to massage his groin over his briefs, close enough he can feel the sensitive flesh right above the base of his cock imprinting with your touch but not quite where he wants it or how he wants it. “That’s so mean.”

Playfully, you blow against his ear, and there’s the smallest shudder that makes your heart pound hard. There’s nothing like seeing him slowly give in, trying to act in control when his cock readily jumps and stiffens as if to reach your hand. The reaction encourages you to shuffle your hand under his briefs in a few ticklish swipes only to be met with disappointment when his voice catches, hiding a guttural sound you could only curse him for not letting you hear when you wrap your fingers around his cock.

It frustrates you how he won’t even give you an inch of nonresistance, but his cock pulses at your touch, and you smile to yourself at how he couldn’t hide the eager hard-on that you were quickly encouraging with only a few twists and pets.

“When you forced me to let you take care of me,” he begins, pausing only to hiss softly when your fist tightens, which causes the warm slick of precum to seep into his pants and a brief fluttering of his eyes before he recollects himself. “I assumed that meant you’d make a wreck of my kitchen like last time.”

Slowly, you slide your calf over the top of his knee.

“My soup made you better though.”

Zayne groans as you pull him free from his clothing, holding onto his cock as it springs from too-tight confines. Your thumb follows the thick pulsing vein running up the side of his cock before tracing his dripping slit. His head slides back against the pillow, tilting back as he quietly gulps, and his thick throat stretches with the swallow.

“At the cost of my best pot.”

“A win's a win,” you mumble against the crux of his neck, which turns into a sigh when his arm makes space to slide under you, wrap around your upper hip, and squeeze at your ass.

“Now, I see you only had one thing in mind when you came over, after all.”

“That’s not it,” you mewl, squirming when he pinches your cheek harder.

“Are you saying you didn’t come over to take advantage when you have me like this?” he asks.

“You make it sound so calculated!” You shake your head. “I just know this will fix you up in no time. Besides, I missed you.”

There’s a short and irritatingly self-satisfied chuckle from him that makes your chest vibrate with the makings of a moan as his deepening voice rumbles in your ears. “I’m in your capable hands then,” he finally relents, not that you expected any other outcome, and you make your move to flip on top of him again.

There’s a snap somewhere finally releasing any inhibitions when your lips meet. It’s passionate, filled with every desire that’s been burning in him since he’s seen you. Zayne can be gentle, but he can also be bruising. Sometimes he’s a mix of both like when his tongue glides on top of yours and his teeth graze against your bottom lip during the short moments you break for air before capturing each other’s taste again.

You moan into his mouth when he cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer, deepening the kiss to the point you're becoming dizzy. It takes some strength to break free from the passion of it all, but you want more of him, and you’re not willing to wait anymore. So, you pull away and allow your mouth to collide against his collar before he has time to capture you again. Zayne’s eyes glower, half-lidded as he watches every pucker of your lips and every kiss and bite on his body.

Zayne slides a palm up the small of your back, the other going to rub the crux of your thigh, dipping inward to stroke at the yielding flesh right at your center. You moan against him, doing your best not to start dry humping him like you’re in heat whenever his cock pulse against your lower belly, but the scent wafting from him was becoming too much. So, you quickly begin to make your way to the promised land, trailing kisses along the way.

“I missed you,” you puff out softly before wading your tongue across his nipple then under his chest and to his stomach. Releasing his cock, you slide your hands down his sides, making sure to keep them aligned with the movement of your kisses. “You don’t know how much.”

Zayne brushes his fingers along your hand, following down your arm before gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb gliding over your cheek in a tender return of your sentiment as his once proud demeanor in his eyes softens with the smallest of glances from you.

“Is it more than I’ve missed you?” he whispers, and when you nod, he smiles. “I don’t think that’s possible.” Seeing you like this, so beautiful, all his, is a luxury. “I never tire of seeing you.”

Feeling a rush of shyness overtake you, you muffle the small sigh of his name against his stomach. Butterflies filling your stomach, you slide further down and kneel, your knees digging into the end of the bed as you sit back on them, your ass in the air as you hover your face over his lap. He’s so big that you’re never entirely sure where to start. You could go for where he’s most sensitive or—

“You can always use your hands instead if you don't think you can fit it all in your mouth,” he instructs half-jokingly, causing you to grow flustered at your overthinking.

“This isn’t the first time, I know how—” You clamp your mouth shut when you remember the first time you tried, something you’re sure he wouldn’t let you forget. “Don’t,” you order before sliding your tongue over his tip to clean away the pre-cum.

Your tongue laps along his glans as you slowly take his head into your mouth. It’s only when you finally get to work, sliding your mouth halfway down then back up that he finally stops his teasing and lets you have your way with him.

There’s an audible sound of relaxation when you squeeze his base with your palm and purse your lips around him. There’s a certain pride that comes with knowing you’re the only one who can see him like this, with his shoulders lax, eyes closing in bliss, and jaw slightly slacked as he groans. It’s not an easy sight to imagine on someone as stern as Zayne but the look of arousal was also something that seemed like it was made for him, which only causes your legs to squirm with need when it evolves into a low grumble from his chest.

You push it a little further to turn it into a growl by relaxing your throat and allowing it to press against the back, pulling back up and slurping the sheen of saliva clean from him before lapping your tongue over the tip. When you repeat the process, his hips twitch and buck, causing you to whimper when you feel more liquid scalding down your throat.

With a quick reposition to sit up more and force you closer, he presses both hands to cup at your cheeks, lifting your head partway up as he lightly strokes your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. Briefly, you look at him, heart fluttering a bit at the flush dusting the bridge of his nose and the wetness of his parted lips.

“You’re so good,” he breathes out, a chilly flow emanating from him, “so good for me.”

Blinking away the water in your eyes, you moan around him, the vibrations rolling down his heated flesh as you suck your cheeks around him as he holds your face. One hand goes to the back of your head, and you bob once again with the encouragement of his hand pressing down on your head.

“Fuck,” he hisses out when you pop him out your mouth and brush your lips down the side of his shaft. You pepper it in kitten kisses before nipping lightly. You squeeze around his tip, making it your mission to keep your thumb grinding his slit and blushing head while you cup and suck his balls.

When you feel them strain and tense, not once but twice in your mouth you have enough warning to know he’s about to cum. It’s with one last stroke of his shaft and one last quick suck around his head that he paints your mouth white, the excess seeping from your mouth and flooding over his length.

You take your time cleaning your mess, like you promised. It’s with slow, deliberate movements as you allow him to ride out his much too quickly fading high, the last throbbing spilling the last drops of his finish on your lips. You release him with a pop and a sigh.

“How messy,” he quietly remarks, causing you to tense as his thumb ghosts over your lips. “You missed a spot,” he explains and slides the finger into your mouth for you to readily close around. He wipes it clean against your tongue before sealing your mouth with a kiss. He slides his finger free from your kiss, and you can feel the lingering wetness of your saliva against your face when he holds you in place to kiss you more passionately.

His strength starts to become too much when he grips your shoulders, pushes you towards the bed, and pins you on your back.

Breaking the kiss and pushing against his arms, you puff out, “Wait, I’m supposed to be in charge today.”

“Sorry to change your plans, but I don’t think I can hold back anymore,” he explains with a growing smile that makes shivers climb up your spine from the sheer hunger in it. “Allow me to show you how much I missed you as well.”

[ezukll]

☿ MERCURY SIGN OBSERVATIONS

♈︎ ARIES MERCURY

An Aries Mercury indicates a very direct and outspoken energy when it comes to communication. Your thoughts and ideas are not filtered; you likely say things as they are and are very comfortable with being direct and blunt. You may be assertive and confident in your communication, with a tendency to take charge and to take leadership in conversations. You may be very comfortable being the center of attention, and you may enjoy debating and arguing your points.

♉︎ TAURUS MERCURY

A Taurus Mercury indicates a stable and steady approach to communication. You are likely more reserved in your communication, and you may take the time to consider and analyze your thoughts and ideas. You may have a tendency to overthink or overanalyze your words and ideas, and you may have a more concrete, logical approach to communication. You may have strong opinions and a tendency to stick to them. You may be a more grounded, reliable communicator, and others may see you as someone who is very thoughtful and trustworthy.

♊︎ GEMINI MERCURY

A Gemini Mercury indicates a very curious and talkative approach to communication. You may have a tendency to have many ideas and many things to say, and you may express this through a very active and dynamic communication style. You may have a very sharp and analytical mind, and you may enjoy diving deep into topics and taking a playful or inquisitive approach. You may have a very intellectual and quick-witted approach to communicating, and you may also have a tendency to express yourself sarcastically and in puns.

♋︎ CANCER MERCURY

A Cancer Mercury indicates a very compassionate and intuitive approach to communication. Your thoughts and ideas are deeply connected to your deep feelings and emotions, and you may use your communication to nurture and support others. You may have a deep empathy for others' feelings and a tendency to want to help others. You may be drawn to expressing your thoughts and ideas through poetic, sentimental, and creative language. You may be very understanding of others' pain and frustrations, and you may feel comfortable offering support to others.

♌︎ LEO MERCURY

A Leo Mercury indicates an energetic and outspoken approach to communication. You likely have a strong need to express yourself and a tendency to do so in a confident and direct manner. You are likely a charismatic and engaging communicator, and you may love to be the center of attention. You may have a tendency to be very bold and aggressive in conversations, and you may not shy away from expressing your thoughts and ideas. You may be drawn to leadership roles in which your powerful communication skills can shine.

♍︎ VIRGO MERCURY

A Virgo Mercury indicates a very analytical and critical approach to communication. You likely have a strong desire for perfection and to be as precise as possible with your words. You may have a tendency to analyze everything before sharing your thoughts and ideas. You may take a methodical and logical approach to communication, which may lead to you taking a more detailed-oriented and technical approach. You may also have a tendency to overthink or overanalyze, which can create a lot of mental chatter and an overactive mind. It is important to exercise patience and self-discipline in communication.

♎︎ LIBRA MERCURY

A Libra Mercury indicates a very charming and balanced approach to communication. You likely have a strong ability to communicate in a friendly, diplomatic, and socially intelligent way. You enjoy engaging in conversation and may be very comfortable being the center of attention. You enjoy connecting with other people, and you likely have a tendency to keep things light and positive. You are likely to approach conversation in an intuitive, gentle, and diplomatic way that avoids confrontation or conflict. You may have a strong need for harmony and balance in your interactions and relationships.

♏︎ SCORPIO MERCURY

A Scorpio Mercury indicates a very sensitive and perceptive approach to communication. You likely have a deep understanding of the power of words and a tendency to read into the subtext or the hidden meanings. You may have a very introspective approach to communicating and a tendency to keep your thoughts and feelings to yourself. You may have a very keen sense of intuition and insight, and it is important to find the right balance between expressing yourself and holding back. You may have a lot of mental energy and a tendency to overthink or get stuck in your thoughts.

♐︎ SAGITTARIUS MERCURY

A Sagittarius Mercury indicates a playful and positive approach to communication. You likely have a very quick and witty mind and you may have a natural talent for humor. You may have a strong intuition for the right thing to say and the right time. You likely enjoy engaging in conversations and expressing yourself in a lighthearted and playful way. You may bring a bright and uplifting vibe to conversations and may be able to make people laugh or crack a joke to brighten any situation. You likely have a lot of mental energy and a tendency to talk a lot.

♑︎ CAPRICORN MERCURY

A Capricorn Mercury indicates a pragmatic and logical approach to communication. You likely have a very clear and ordered way of thinking and communicating. You may have a structured approach to your ideas and thoughts, and you may take a cautious and structured approach to expressing them. You may have a strong sense of responsibility and you may prefer to speak with precision and clarity. You may have a tendency to overthink or overanalyze, which can lead to perfectionism and a tendency to overthink small decisions.

♒︎ AQUARIUS MERCURY

An Aquarius Mercury indicates a unique and inventive approach to communication. You likely have a very creative and original way of thinking and you may have some very unique ideas and perspectives. Your thoughts and ideas are likely very innovative and outside the box. You may have a tendency to communicate very uniquely and in a way that is not typical. You may also have a tendency to get stuck in your head or to get lost in your thoughts. It can be important to make an effort to be more grounded and practical, and to communicate in a way that is effective and clear.

♓︎ PISCES MERCURY

A Pisces Mercury indicates a very intuitive and emotional approach to communication. Your thoughts and ideas are likely very imaginative and deep, and you may have a strong tendency to read between the lines and to perceive the deeper meaning or subconscious motivation. You may have trouble communicating in detail or in a logical manner and a tendency to overthink and overanalyze. You may have a strong intuition and empathy and feel strongly connected to your emotions and the emotions of others. You may have a strong need for freedom and independence and may value creativity and spontaneity.

[vivemonroi]

Can we talk about Hallelujah and how it represents Solavellan? We've long considered Hallelujah as the hymn for Solavellan, but I never fully realized how deeply it might reflect their love.

I combined lyrics from Leonard Cohen’s version and Rufus Wainwright’s rendition to get a "full picture."

Content spoilers!

I imagine that it’s Lavellan singing to Solas, sharing how she sees him and his story.

Now I′ve heard there was a secret chord That David played, and it pleased the Lord But you don't really care for music, do you? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth The minor falls, the major lifts The baffled king composing Hallelujah

The "baffled king" could represent Solas and his god-like status during the Evanuris era. Even with his power and knowledge, Solas could be seen as someone vulnerable, struggling with the burdens of his choices. This reflects his grandeur and his inner conflict, showing that despite his god-like status, he was still susceptible to doubt, regret, and even love.

Your faith was strong but you needed proof You saw her bathing on the roof Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you

Now that we know more about Solas and Mythal’s relationship, I think that the "her" mentioned is actually Mythal, and Solas was willing to do anything for her. This includes obtaining a physical body and standing by her side no matter what.

She tied you to a kitchen chair She broke your throne, and she cut your hair And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

But eventually, Mythal leaves Solas, who remains attached to her. She "broke his throne," meaning she pushed him to rebel; she made him cut his hair… and now the guy is bald. Clearly, this represents his betrayal.

The Hallelujah signifies the deepest, most sacred love — he still loved her, even then. But their relationship was ultimately toxic for both of them.

Maybe I've been here before I know this room, I've walked this floor I used to live alone before I knew you I've seen your flag on the marble arch Love is not a victory march It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Now Lavellan is singing about herself and her life before Solas. She was alone, especially after the Conclave and becoming the Herald of Andraste. The Dalish rejected her, and humans weren’t her people — much like Solas himself, upon awakening to a world that was no longer his.

With him, she discovers a love deeper than any she has known, she realizes that loving someone is not a "victory march." Her love for him is filled with pain and bittersweetness. It's hard to love him, yet she love him still.

There was a time you'd let me know What's real and going on below But now you never show it to me do you?

This is about the time they shared during the events of the Inquisition. He taught her about the Fade and the ancient gods, but after Trespasser, he vanished, concealing his true self beneath the mask of Fen’Harel.

And then there’s the line, “you’d let me know what’s real.” Remember what Solas said after they defeated Corypheus, just before he walked away forever?

“I want you to know that what we had was real.”

And remember when I moved in you? The holy dark was moving too And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Both could represent the time they shared or her attempts to reach him after Trespasser. The "holy dark"— maybe the Blight?

You say I took the name in vain I don′t even know the name But if I did, well, really, what's it to you?

She didn’t know his true title, the Dread Wolf, a part of his very nature and ancient past. Yet she wonders: if she had known, would it have changed anything?

Now there's a different versions for Lavellan who want to save Solas and Lavellan who want to stop him.

The redeemed and happy version.

There's a blaze of light in every word It doesn′t matter which you heard The holy or the broken Hallelujah

At first glance, it may seem like the holy love, the holy Hallelujah, represents his love for Mythal, and the broken one for Lavellan. But I think it's the opposite: Mythal is a god, yet their love is broken; Lavellan is mortal, but her love for him is divine. Both of them have the power to redeem him, in different ways — one through letting go, and the other through allowing him to be loved.

I did my best, it wasn′t much I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch I′ve told the truth, I didn't come to fool you

The words point directly to Solas, she tries to convince him, that their love can find a way to endure. She isn't like Mythal, she accepts him, his nature. But he's afraid, he's not allowing himself to move forward.

And even though it all went wrong I′ll stand before the Lord of Song With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Even in the end, Lavellan still holds onto her love for Solas, with nothing on her tongue but their sacred love.

She is his future.

Now to the grim and sad version

Maybe there's a God above And all I ever learned from love Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you

He deceives her, and all that love has taught her is sorrow. Mythal' and Solas' history confirms that.

She remains steadfast, standing in his path, even if it means his end, because her love and his history taught her "to shoot at someone who outdrew you."

And it′s not a cry you can hear at night It's not somebody who′s seen the light It's a cold and it′s a broken Hallelujah

In this version, their love is doomed to be cold and broken. There is no light. She has given up on him, yet the suffering remains, deep and unrelenting. Still, it is a Hallelujah.

He is all alone, facing his most terrible fear. Yet he believes he deserves it and it's the only thing that can redeem him.

Thank you for reading this! I know I’m being delusional, but it helps me sleep at night.

[hanlimz]

lol i wrote this at 2am bc i love jungwon sm and i needed to word vomit so i can focus on this stupid essay i have to write 💔 be gentle w this bc it’s not that good haha !! pls enjoy ❤️

the incessant ringing of your phone is a cacophony of sound pressed against your ear as you wait with bated breath. it’s been a week since jungwon was last able to call, a week since you were able to hear his voice; and, it’s been even longer since you’ve been able to touch him (in any capacity). your palms are itching for the opportunity to cup his face, and your lips are yearning to pepper gentle kisses over the apples of his rounded cheeks.

so, you picked up your phone and clicked on his silly contact photo. while you wait, you count the ceiling tiles. you see how long you can go without blinking. you lose track of time, and you eventually try to freestyle over the stock ringtone. just as you rhyme sublime with you’re mine, the noise stops and jungwon begins to laugh. why he always manages catches you at your worst—you will never know.

“i hope that rap was about me,” he snorts airily, amusement having stolen his breath away. you can almost see his pretty face through the phone; the way the corners of his lips quirk up, his dimple deepening, the gentle reshaping of his eyes as they wane into two, umber crescents. laughter is so transformative, and you’re glad you can see it (even if only in your mind). “oh, [y/n], also—i just posted some selcas on we—” the phone cuts out, and the momentary silence slices at your heart.

“won? you still there?” you ask, tentatively, “i promise the rap was about you. cross my heart, hope to die.”

jungwon’s pseudo-presence floods your chest once more as he chuckles. “that’s good to know, babe—but, no dying on my watch, ‘kay?”

“bold of you to say when you’ve left me here,” you scoff.

“to die?” he inquires, another bout of giggles hiding behind his words.

“to die,” you answer, dramatically. “to wither, to waste away with no boyfriend to sing me to sleep and kiss me when i’m sad.”

the line goes quiet for a few seconds, and it’s almost a comfortable silence. something lurks behind this pregnant pause, however, and you can’t help but feel stifled by the heavy weight building in your stomach. jungwon is overthinking—the feeling is palpable. he’s chewing on his bottom lip and you can almost taste his vanilla chapstick; the nail of his thumb is worn down to the quick in the same way he’s bitten at the inside of his cheek.

“jungwon, you know i’m just joking, right?” there’s a hint of regret lacing your voice, a tinge of melancholy, but it mixes with a resolute affirmation of your love for him. “i miss you, but i couldn’t be more proud of you. watching those clips of you on stage, seeing you enjoy yourself—it all makes me love you even more. you’re doing so well.”

“i know,” he sighs, sounding exceedingly dejected. “i just feel like i can’t give you what you need—like i can’t be who you deserve from this far away.”

your jaw goes slack upon hearing his confession. his words shock you to your core; strong-willed yet so fragile-hearted, why your lover is so critical of himself—you will never know. in your eyes, jungwon is nothing short of angelic; ethereal in a way only known by beings of the heavens, jungwon brightens every room he walks into and makes your day better by merely existing. he is a sanctuary of sorts—warm and inviting and gentle.

“are you insane?” the question tumbled from your mouth before your brain could formulate a better response.

he hums, inquisitively, “i don’t think so?”

“okay, not exactly how i wanted that to come out,” you concede, “but—seriously, won—you’re my everything. you never have to worry about me wanting more, because you’re already who i want. who i need. and, honestly, i don’t know what i did to deserve you.” you know he’s flushed on the other side of the phone, cupping a sweater paw over his face while trying not to giggle and swing his feet like a schoolgirl. “yang jungwon, i love you very much, and i’m always so, so thankful for you … so, tell your brain to stop beating you up, or i’ll kick its slimy, little ass.”

“thank you, [y/n]. i love you, too.” he laughs for a moment, then stops himself, “wait—did you just say my brain was little?!”

[nightowlwriting]

summary: (he never kisses her left hand, always her right, because she once told him that she’s nothing more than the anchor on her hand and the history of the fight with the archdemon so many years earlier.)

word count: 2.2k

warnings: subdrop, mentions of past child abuse, torture, and allusions to past almost-sexual assault (no assault occurred or is described in the fic)

note: i haven't written in a long time, so this is me easing myself into ktober24. also this takes place in MY canon for the dragon age series which heavily diverges from bioware's canon. eventually i'll get around to novelizing the warriorverse (my warrior playthroughs of the game) but with veilguard coming out in less than thirty days that will have to wait.

title credit: sufjan stevens

kinktober masterlist: here

amalia cousland: here

mobile masterlist - request - ao3

Cullen Rutherford is a strategist at heart and a man of his word. Born from a lineage of farmers, put through trials and tribulations that most men can only imagine - all to rise to the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. Not without struggle, of course, especially as he falls deeper into his Lyrium withdrawal. But those struggles, the demons that come for him at night, and the gnarled roots of addiction inside of him don’t stop him from being the man that Amalia always knew he would grow into.

She remembers being a child in Honnleath, before the blight and before Ves and before shedding the heavy Sulzbacher name for the equally heavy Cousland name. She remembers being friends with Rosalie first, one year her senior, and then Branson next. Branson was a few years younger than Amalia, but she got along with him fine. Mia came next and then, finally, Cullen Rutherford.

She remembers that he was three years older than her and golden. Golden hair, skin touched by the long hours with his father and farm hands in the fields, and fundamentally benevolent. She first saw him through a curtain of her then-black hair after Branson had tripped her as she trotted alongside Rosalie, smiling down at her. She was only six at the time, to Cullen’s nine, but she knew. She knew that he’d go on to do great things, knew that he’d escape Honnleath like she wished that she could, that he would find a great love like in the stories her mother used to tell.

The world seems so simple when you’re less than a decade old.

Now, though, nothing has really changed. Amalia is still friends with Rosalie and Branson, though only by the letters she sends and receives from the South Reach. Cullen is still all of those things he was as a child, except now he’s been tested by the Maker in tragedy, war, and now one of the Magisters who first entered the Golden City. Selfishly, she’s glad that it’s Cullen. She’s almost thankful to the Maker and Andraste for all of the shit they’ve mucked Cullen through - and the shit that they’ve mucked her through - because it brings the two of them to now, this exact moment in time.

The truth of what nearly happened at Fort Drakon ten years ago had come out at the war table, but Cullen hadn’t looked at her any differently. They’d had the night together at the Winter Palace, after Amalia’s disastrous decision to dule that Duchess in front of the entire court, and Cullen remained stalwartly at her side. And then, when she’d gone up to his office to try and escape her meddling family he’d asked her to go back with him.

To Ferelden. To the Redcliffe arling.

To Honnleath.

She had been hesitant. Matthias surely wasn’t still there, but Amalia also didn’t want to risk seeing her father again, no matter the circumstances. She also didn’t want to see where so many of her happiest childhood memories took place - always at the Rutherford farm or sitting underneath the shade that Shale provided and never inside of her home - after the blight and after ten years of abandonment. But Cullen smiled so sweetly at her, took her right hand and pressed a kiss to her scarred knuckles, and said please.

(He never kisses her left hand, always her right, because she once told him that she’s nothing more than the Anchor on her hand and the history of the fight with the archdemon so many years earlier.)

Cullen had taken her to the lake, had given her his coin, and then taken her back to Honnleath where the bulk of the force they’d traveled with had finished the job they set out to do. Amalia doesn’t mind that they’ve gone through the small home, and dungeon beneath it, that had been her childhood abode. Doesn’t mind that they’ve taken her grandfather’s writings and research and loaded them in heavy boxes on the back of the bronto-drawn carts. She’s not a mage, just mage-blooded enough to pull off rituals as seen by the time she spent with Morrigan’s grimoire and the survival of her Grey Warden siblings. Amalia, at heart, is a warrior. If her grandfather’s works will help the Inquisition mages, then they shall be taken back to Skyhold.

It helps that Wilhelm Sulzbacher was a bastard of a man to everyone in his life, including his elven wife and golem. Amalia has nothing left for him, or her father, Matthias. It helps that he was also a bastard of a man to his elven wife, and elfblooded daughter. It’s almost cathartic to see the Inquisition soldiers - Amalia’s soldiers - carting everything up out of the dank basement she was so terrified of.

Cullen had let her watch for a few moments, standing in the spot that Shale used to stand in, before he took her back to the Rutherford house. It had been cleaned, probably at his request, and then…

Well, and then Cullen made good on his promise.

When she’d been nervous at the Winter Palace, he hadn’t pushed her into sex. They’d shared pleasure, yes, but not sex. Amalia hadn’t wanted their first time to be because of a duel and she agreed with Cullen’s sentiment: neither wanted their first time laying together to be in Orlais. They’re Ferelden at heart, and no amount of satin bedding or hearty foods could convince them otherwise. He’d promised her as he brought her off on his fingers that she’d know nothing but pleasure from him. He’d take her back across the border into Ferelden, he’d find a place comfortable for both of them, and if she wished it they would lay together.

Of course, being in the throes of an orgasm made Amalia agree to anything he was saying. Cullen Rutherford is a strategist at heart and a man of his word. As soon as the missive had crossed his desk about needing Wilhelm’s research, he knew that it was of the upmost importance that Wilhelm’s granddaughter, Amalia, be there when it was retrieved.

The fact that he had his childhood bedroom prepared, cleaned, and fitted with more expensive sheets before their arrival is none of anyone’s concern.

Except Amalia’s, but she’s not very concerned about that. She’s more focused on the way his skin feels against hers, hot and slick, and the way that pleasure still lays heavy in her limbs. Cullen has her pulled as closely as possible to him, legs tangled, as his hands roam up and down her bare back. He has been right when he’d told her that she needn’t worry with him. When Cullen had tried to press into her body for the first time and Amalia had flinched - barely noticeable but she knows that he notices everything about her - they’d prepared more.

(Prepared, of course, meaning that he’d put his mouth on her again until she peaked once more.)

There was never a moment in which Amalia Cousland felt like Cullen Rutherford was just fucking her to own her or taking what he wanted without considering what she wanted. His body over hers, so broad and muscular and golden, hadn’t felt like those moments before Alistair had kicked the door to the machine room down. Cullen’s hands handn’t felt like brands upon her skin - well, they had, but the good kind of brands. The kind of brands Amalia can see herself becoming addicted to. The way Cullen held her as he pressed into her hadn’t made her panic with claustrophobia or cry out in terror.

Amalia isn’t even sure she can call what they did fucking. That seems too… Primal of a word for what they shared. Love-making, maybe. It had felt like love, and she knows that she loves Cullen but can he love her? If he doesn’t, could he? Her past weighs heavy on her shoulders, and she can’t even escape it. Everyone knows the story of the girl who took the final strike on the archdemon at Denerim, of the Grey Warden who refused to let her die, of the Ashes that brought the girl back to life. The scar on the left side of her jaw, from just below her mouth to underneath her ear, is proof that she did die at the hands of the archdemon, that when Ves used the Ashes of Andraste leftover from healing the Arl of Redcliffe that they not only brought Amalia back to life but darned her face back together and left a mottled line of proof.

And now she’s the Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste. She half believes it herself, because why else would the Ashes have worked? Why else would the Joining not have taken?

Why else would Ves and Alistair, both set on keeping her away from the Conclave and the fact that their Calling was shouting at them to be there, sent her with Bethany and Carver to see if they could find the other Wardens?

Why else would she have been the only survivor? Another moment of death and loss, and Amalia is still standing.

Before she knows it, she’s crying. She doesn’t want to worry Cullen, he already carries so much on his shoulders, but she can’t stop. Before long the heady, heavenly feeling of being in his arms, of knowing him and his body, twists and sours into panic and sorrow.

“Amalia?” Cullen asks, pulling only slightly away from her. Just enough to see her face, really, and she wonders what she looks like. Hair and eyes leeched of color because of her brush with death, scarred face, Anchor… She can’t possibly be the woman he thought he’d be in bed with. The woman that he thought he’d end up betrothed to. “Amalia, darling, what’s wrong?” His voice shakes and he cups her face with one hand, tilting her head up until she’s looking at him.

And, well, she can’t let him think he’s done something wrong.

“I am,” She finally warbles, shaking her head as best she can when she’s laying on her side tangled up in him, “I’m wrong. I should have died in Denerim, and I should have died during the Joining, and I should have died at the Conclave. How can you stand to look at me, Cullen?” Her voice breaks as she begins to cry in earnest, tears blurring his face as he looks at her.

“Oh, darling,” He whispers, bringing her close enough that his lips can press against her forehead, and then her nose, and finally on the jagged scar that reminds her of what she was willing to give up to protect Ves and Alistair. “I don’t care what should have happened,” Cullen finally says, pressing himself as close as possible, “I only care what has happened. Everything leading up to this moment, with you in my arms, is all that matters.”

“But we’ll never be free of it,” Amalia allows herself to sink into him, to press her nose against the side of his neck and drown in oakflower, eldermoss, and the faint scent of leather. “We’ll never be free from people knowing who I am, what I’ve done. I don’t care if it’s all good, if they think that I’m the Herald of Andraste. I just want a normal life. I want you to have a normal life, and I can’t give you that.”

Cullen shifts and for a brief second, Amalia is afraid that she’s chased him away. He only sets her down on the mattress and disentangles himself so that he can prop himself up over top of her. His hand cups her neck, large enough that his thumb can press and lightly rub back and forth over her scar. He smiles down at her, his own scar pulling slightly as he does so.

“You needn’t worry about me,” Cullen kisses her briefly, “Especially not about whether or not I want normal. I don’t care about normal, Amalia. Maker’s breath, the only thing I care about having is you. That’s all that matters to me.” She hiccups, tears still trailing over the sides of her face as she looks up at Cullen, and tries to believe him.

“But would you be happy with me?” Amalia asks, voice pitifully quiet. “If we were to stay together past the Inquisition, I mean.”

“If?” He asks instead of answering, “If? Amalia, I am in love with you. I would lay down my life for you. I don’t know what will happen past the Inquisition, I don’t know what will happen in ten years or twenty, but I know that I want you by my side.” He looks so serious, golden, that Amalia’s breath is taken away. “I want to be by your side.” He says, softer than he spoke before.

“You love me?” She asks, reaching for his face, “You love me?”

Cullen smiles crookedly, and it’s like the sun. It almost fully chases away the storm clouds that had settled in her chest. They’ll never truly be gone, not with what she’s seen and what she’s been through, but in Cullen’s arms and his bed, they don’t seem so scary. They don’t seem so all-consuming like they had been only moments before.

“Of course I love you,” Cullen says, “I can’t imagine a world in which I don’t love you.”

Amalia beams, then, even though her smile only reaches half of her mouth. It doesn’t bother her like it normally does because Cullen is kissing her, surging against her, pressing her into the soft cushion of the mattress underneath her. She lets him take her again, or maybe she shares herself with him again, and for a moment the world doesn’t seem so scary.

[serbaird]

@gracesmuggled asked: ❝ do you wish to hear my opinion on the matter? ❞

ㅤGregor turned his face from the sun at the sound of Helena's voice. Such a fine day felt rare enough in Skyhold, and Gregor was not about to waste it even in the midst of a conversation. His smile was fair. It said yes, I have all the time in the world to hear your thoughts on matters such as these. It never hurt to hear what others had to say.

ㅤ“ By all means, ” he said, bowing his head. “ What do you make of the friends the Inquisitor has brought back from the Winter Palace? ”

[ohohohigoh]

I´ ve started playing dragon age inquisition recently!

I may make a mistake of her clothing…😿sorry

I am fascinated by Josephine！She is very cute

[finniestoncrane]

congrats on 2k finnie!!! you deserve it sm!! it's Nick Anon (can you guess who i'm going to ask for? teehee) and can i have a front row ticket to a sci-fi, with some sweet popcorn, a fruit cup and some pickles? thank you!!! 💜

yippee yippee!! nick anon!! you are back to enable my nick love once more!! thank you, i am so excited!! 💚🩷 cw: semi-public sex, risky sex in that... there's zombies around, humiliation, degradation, sex against a wall HELL YEAH 🔞minors dni🔞 send a request • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie2k (to follow or to block)

It felt safe enough, at least for a moment, to let your guards down. You could focus your attention on Nick as he kissed you deeply, passionately, crashing into the barren shelves of the small, empty store. He only stopped when he had you up against the counter, watching you lean back on it, grinning up at him with a sneaky grin as you grabbed the lapels of his white suit jacket. But before you could pull him into another kiss, he stopped you, a raised eyebrow as he questioned you in a teasing tone.

"Risky... what if the others catch up with us? What if there's something spooky lurking upstairs?"

"Well, in that case, we don't have long to argue about it. Besides, there's nothing upstairs, it would have heard us by now."

"And the others? When they're done scavenging and come looking for us?"

"I don't really care what they see, they can look away if they want to."

You tugged on him again, desperate to feel his lips against yours but stopped once again, his forehead against you as he spoke.

"Oh yeah? You a little bit of an exhibitionist?"

His words were low, slow, and layered with a flirtatious and inquisitive energy that you couldn't help but lean into.

"Hm, wouldn't you like to know what I was into before all this."

"I really, really would."

Finally, he allowed himself to be drawn into you, a quick kiss to your lips before he began peppering them along your jaw line and down your neck, interspersed with his musings.

"I bet you were filthy... desperate... Pretending to be shy like you did with me... but I knew you were just ready for anything."

Nick tugged at your shirt, pulling it up slightly, running his surprisingly soft palms along your torso, scooping them around your back as he continued.

"A nasty, dirty little slut... Embarrassing really that I;ve had to stoop as low as you these days."

You could feel the cruel smile in his words, the satisfaction he found in teasing you, in degrading you, a power move he didn't have to make.

"Never happy unless you were getting fucked, huh?"

He pulled at your pants, working them down your legs enough that you were exposed before he turned you around, letting you find your balance on the counter before he unzipped his pants and positioned his cock at your entrance.

"Just a needy, greedy little whore."

"That's what I'm like now, Nicky. You have no idea what you missed out on before."

The tip of his cock slipped inside of you, and he let out a groan of pleasure that slid into a dismayed groan.

"Oh come on, sweetheart! You can't tell me that. You're going to ruin me."

"Let's have you ruin me first, then we'll see what I can do with whatever time we have left. I can let you in on some secrets."

[winniethewife]

Cat Nap (Vessel x III)

Tags: Animal Hybrid AU, Implied Poly!vessels Cat!Vessel, Wolf!III, Inspired by @l3earfat-st ‘s art (As a gift for being cool). 

A/N: Okay so this is my first finished, longer than 100 words fic for Sleep Token and I'm all sorts of nervous about posting this but I'm gonna do it anyway. If you want to hear me shout into the void about this band (And others) Please follow me over at @lyricallymelodic

Disclaimer: All fan fic written by me for this fandom is based on a fictional depiction of the personas of the band members, no real people were perceived in the making of this fiction.  

Words: 597

It wasn’t unusual for Vessel to have spent the whole day in his room, He was a typical Feline, taking long naps during the day and only coming out to spend time with the gang in the evening. What was unusual was not at least hearing from him in some way or another for a few days, which lead the others to worry. III wandered up the stairs and down the hallway to Vessel’s attic hidey hole of a room, his ears bent back in worry, his tail gently tucked between his legs, as he approached the door he knocked softly before opening the door, taking a look around in the dimly lit room.

“Ves? It’s me.” He called out cautiously making his way inside. A quick glance around and he could tell that Vessel had recently cleaned up the room, the usual amount of clutter was tidied away, and there was the cat in question, curled up in a nest of blankets on his bed, not entirely asleep, one eye open peering at III as he entered the room.

“Wha…III…’m nappin’.” Vessel muttered with a huff before rolling over, attempting to seem uninterested, but clearly still paying attention as his ears twist back on his head to catch whatever he said next.

“Napping? For three days? Yeah likely story.” III mumbled as he approached the bed, sitting down on the edge of the bed, careful not to sit on any of Vessel or the various and sundry objects he had collected. Vessel looked over his shoulder a look of confusion on his face.

“Three days?” That doesn’t sound right.” Vessel spoke more clearly now, his ears stood up atop his head. III tilted his head and looked at Vessel more inquisitively now.

“You mean you didn’t know? None of us have seen you for three days Ves. I thought Ivy was gonna claw me apart if I didn’t find out was going on and II has been pouting, he doesn’t wanna admit he’s worried but…” III was going to continue but the look in Vessels eyes made him pause. He looked scared. He hadn’t seen Vessel that scared since the day they met.

“I thought…I just took a little nap…but, three days.” Vessel whispered, his eyes wide. III reached for Vessel, taking his chin in his hand, holding his face gently.

“Shh, hey it’s alright, deep breath.” III spoke softly, his eyes filled with a mix of worry and love. “You’re saying, you’ve been sleeping this whole time? That’s not a usual cat nap love.” He ran his thumb over Vessel’s cheek affectionately. Vessel nuzzled into III’s touch.

“I don’t know what happened…and that scares me.” Vessels voice wavers, he felt extremely vulnerable in this moment, something he would never share with anyone outside of his inner circle, But even in this moment he didn’t like how weak it made him feel. III knew this, knew him well enough to know that admitting that he was afraid meant more than just the words. III navigated the carefully built nest of blankets and comfort objects to gently wrap himself around Vessel, tucking his tail around his waist and placing his chin on top of Vessel’s head, as he held his lover close to his chest.

“We’re going to figure it out, together.” III said with a gentle squeeze. Vessel cuddled into III’s embrace, the warmth and familiar comfort causing the feline to begin to purr. Maybe this didn’t lead to immediate answers, but this was what he needed right then. Love, affection…and maybe a little cat nap. 

~

Masterlist

Taglist: @silvernight-m

[highaver]

@heartsdefine / mei.

ㅤ"I must admit, when I heard talk of the Inquisitor, I... did not think that it would be you in such a role." It seems to be their way, however. Both of them. The world is threatened and they throw themselves into the thick of it, whether they mean to or otherwise. He certainly chose his own path here - for Anora's sake, for Ferelden's - but he can only wonder if Mei-Lin was finally granted a say in her own destiny.

[sremblingdesperatly]

Quite Angels? Part 2

802 words

Note: There STILL will be no lemons.

CW: Kidnapping, encagement, confinement, violence (kinda), bodily damage to mc, power imbalance, unsettling atmosphere, general ominousness, infantilization/objectification, angels and eldritch beings, magic, confusion, religious themes (I am none religious but it I have religious trauma so a lot of my work features religon) and strained semi-friendliness

Oganesson watched as I rubbed the area on my arm “Is that not… causing, more damage to it?” they asked inquisitively. 

“...yes but, it hurts.” 

“You know you’re only making it, worse?” They raised an eyebrow at me, seemingly confused by my nonsensical actions.

I look to the side sheepishly “I-I mean it does but…” Oh shit Seraphim are going to be piiiissed when they see this...

“But why?...” They sound almost defeated at my refusal to think as I itch and rub my wound, applying more pressure to the already weak, ruptured, and disintegrated spot.

This discussion wont help me escape. I attempted to reroute the conversation “Well when the angels come to get me, they’ll see that you damaged me, they will take that as an excuse to-”

“What makes you so sure they won’t cut their losses? How do you know how they’ll even get here??? Do they even know how to get here? Or where you are?“ They seem to have calmed down from their outburst earlier but still are a little bitter, annoyed by my continuous reminder of the potential of their being consequences of their actions. 

“You did make one point. Where am I? And why is it so c-cold here...” 

They chuckled as their tone dipped down, their face portraying their smugness from how little I know about what’s happening. “We are on the 6th plane…. Did you not know??!? And about the cold… hmmm….. I… don’t think I can change that. It’s just, normal for here.” 

“W-What?!??” I paused in shock to reassemble my thoughts. “How is that even p-possible!” Damn I was really hoping they would fix the temperature. I'm practically shaking.

“Depends what impossibilities you're referring to?” They tilted their head trying to be playful? I think? But they accentuated the motion to the point of being…well uncanny, even to my eyes���  For the sake of politeness I’m… just going to ignore it.

“I um well, I know they will come for me. I’m a one-off, I'm too unique for them to discard.”

They seemed a bit surprised by my words but quickly continued “I’ve heard of the Godix’s past experiments with angels before… you do look a bit strange for an angel, specifically your, hmm… how do I put this…” They put a finger on their chin and looked down at me and smirked then pointed straight at the middle of my face. “hollowness. ”

Ok I’ve had enough of this nonsense. “You must not be very aware of how you come off are y-”

“I am ve-”

“No you’re not! You must be a very dumb or very lonely creature to keep me for this extent of time! EVEN daring to injure my divinely, perfectly designed architecture.” They recrossed their arms and looked at me wide-eyed with anger? Restraint? or frustration? Maybe confusion, or overload, either way I continued, determined to get them to understand. “Seraphim are probably addressing my guardian about my disappearance-”

“You have a guardian?!” They lost whatever emotion they were holding, trying to portray?? Or whatever their weird ass was doing.

“Y-Yes? Did you not fight them, see them, or at least knock them out?”

“N-No?!??” They seemed very confused, and now so am I.

“W-wait SO WHERE THE FUCK WAS EPHEL????”

“Huh, so you can swear.”

“Shut up.” 

They relaxed and laughed a little bit, they gave a seemingly genuine smile and their movements seemed less calculated than before. ”Such a spirited little thing… Tell me what is your name?”

Well that's kinda more than a little suspicious. “Uh huh… if I tell you will you let me go?” They seem to ponder on the thought for a second then they say “I will release you back to the 3rd plane where I found you. IF you promise to meet with me again.”

That’s REALLY suspicious, but I don’t really have any other choice… I sighed “Fine.”

They point at the lock and flick their hand to the side and the cage opens. I don’t know how that works but I’m too cold and tired off them, and too close to freedom to care. I step out of the cage and walk by them as they do a little mock bow/curtsy, I assumed the gesture was not genuine from the shit-eating grin plastered all over their face. I walked with them to the door that I saw them enter here earlier with. They proceeded to do some strange magic and then opened the door.

“Don’t forget your promise, little one~.”

I look tiredly back at them, I might as well tell them my name. “I am called Zeraphil by the way.” 

I walk through the door into the pure light and find myself in grass. 

I had forgotten how warm it was out here.

“YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

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