avahari-a-blog

[avahari-a-blog]

blog no longer active- muse added to @cvrnunnos

[avahari-a-blog]

blog no longer active- muse added to @cvrnunnos

[avahari-a-blog]

blog no longer active- muse added to @cvrnunnos

[avahari-a-blog]

blog no longer active- muse added to @cvrnunnos

[avahari-a-blog]

blog no longer active- muse added to @cvrnunnos

[avahari-a-blog]

blog no longer active- muse added to @cvrnunnos

[avahari-a-blog]

blog no longer active- muse added to @cvrnunnos

[avahari-a-blog]

blog no longer active- muse added to @cvrnunnos

[avahari-a-blog]

blog no longer active- muse added to @cvrnunnos

[avahari-a-blog]

blog no longer active- muse added to @cvrnunnos

[avahari-a-blog]

blog no longer active- muse added to @cvrnunnos

[avahari-a-blog]

katxh:

       He can practically smell the nerves on the kid, the way his body quivers before him like a bug might tremble in the shadow of a boot. But the massive Qunari shares nothing but a grin as his eyes sweep over him, crowding from his neck aching height to a crouch. Still a head or two taller than the elf but the reach was much easier as he took his wrist in a delicate grasp and guided it toward the base.      Most might assume the skin there rough, scaly like dragon hide or sharp like the edge of rock, but it is soft. Thanks to the routine of slathering horn balm and oil to keep them from itching. They’re thick and he slides his palm over them until they reach the nearly sharp point at the edges. 

     “See? Not so bad is it?”

No, it wasn’t so bad. In truth, Zadkiel didn’t know what he was expecting. Perhaps something rougher, because weren’t Qunari supposed to be monstrous? The Iron Bull seemed the opposite as he crouched down.

“Is that why they call you that?” Is the next thing he asks. He knew bulls had horns on either side of their heads (but so did Qunari) that seemed to stretch as long as they were big. How did Qunari walk through the door, with horns like that?

[avahari-a-blog]

katxh:

     He could feel the lick of morning sun against the planes of his back before he even peeked an eye open to see the golden rays themselves. There was a far more pleasant warmth to his side in the form of a young elf not unlike a cat curled into the only space left on the bed that was mattress and not The Iron Bull. He can feel the shift in the mattress when the younger man stretches to put down whatever he is playing with and a hand reaches to curl around a supple hip to keep him from toppling off and onto the floor. 

      “You mean kickin’ ass? Or doing you?”      There’s the grip of humor there that makes The Iron Bull’s chest rattle with laughter, pushing and rolling with a few creaks and groans before he manages to lay on his back. “The answer to both those questions is that I enjoy what I do very very much,” his eye flickers to him, a hand raising to press into his hair. “I don’t think there’s anythin’ else I’d be good at, what about you?”

A snort, either indignant or in good humor (or both). Bull’s laugh soothing ruffled feathers long before they had a chance to become unwound. So only a pout remains until his question is answered to satisfaction.

“Pottery,” Is the embarrassed answer, leaning into the hand pressed to his head. He hadn’t thought of what could have been ten years ago. “My neighbor, in Halamshiral, was a potter.” He explains. Zadkiel isn’t even certain he can remember his name. He remembers Nao, Erie, he doesn’t remember Hugo’s voice anymore. Nao was the softest of them, but... It didn’t matter much, anymore. “Before the Circle, he agreed to make me his apprentice. Said I had good hands for it. Not much good it did me, now.” Distantly he wishes he could have stayed; but then he wouldn’t have known the Iron Bull, now wouldn’t he?

[avahari-a-blog]

the Lady of Shalott (detail), John William Waterhouse

[avahari-a-blog]

defenseofsecrecy:

    “Ya think they’re payin’ ‘im t’do this?” He tilted his head, violet eyes skimming along the mural, dark mouth shaped into a thoughtful purse. “As far as I heard, ‘e’s doin’ it of ‘is own volition, ya ken? ‘E’s an artist.”

    Ginny hums in consideration, still standing in the middle of the rotunda. “There’s a bunch’a eyes ‘round the Breach an’–” He detaches from Zad, but only slightly, free hand tucking a loose lock of hair behind his slightly pointed ear. He peers up at the art for another moment before turning back to Zad. “They’re all ‘round a small buildin’ in the center of it all. It’s uh–the Black City, I’m pretty sure.”

    Ginny wraps his arm around Zad’s waist, leaning into the Warden’s side, as Ginny turns them away from the main portion of the rotunda. They could go down to the kitchens: Ginny’d made a few friends down there and he could ask instead of try to sneak any. No use risking getting any of the workers in trouble. If there was nothing, they could head over to the tavern at the very least. “Kinda creepy if ya ask me. Eyes everywhere.”

Zad makes a short noise of indifference. “Seems strange to just do something and expect nothing in return.” He says, frowning. A concept he wasn’t sure he fully understood. He couldn’t imagine how much paint would be used to paint the entirety of the routanda. But it really didn’t matter to him, anyway. Zad couldn’t reach out and touch it and make out the shapes, only the minute shift in brush strokes. A single brush stroke meant nothing when he would never be able to read in between the lines.

“Are eyes that unnerving?” He wonders aloud, turning what Ginny described for him over his head. He could feel eyes on him, sometimes, when someone watched him. Lots of people stared, that was just how it was sometimes.

He takes Ginny’s small cues without thought, the small ways he moved and talked. They finally leave, turning away and making their way from the routanda to outside. Zad was happy enough to be with his brother, so it didn’t particularly matter where the two went. 

“Have you heard from mamae recently?” Ginny probably hadn’t. Their mother traveled far more than even he, but Ginny lived so far away they only saw each other on rare occasions. But still...

[avahari-a-blog]

starshrouded:

    There was little left of the Templars. Astraeus left their mace where it had last landed: in the grisly mess of a Templar’s crushed chest, plate armor crumpled like discarded parchment. Their clawed fingers slowly flexed, curling and uncurling, cracking unevenly with the movement. Most of them was splattered with gore, the uppermost of their robes soaked to the point that blood dripped from tips of their nails. Lip curling slightly, they stepped on the lower half of another Templar’s corpse, ignoring the squelch beneath their foot as they strode forward towards the carriage.

    Slowly, they inhaled, infused with a rage suitable to a Berserker. Power surged from their core, magic pulsing around them, infusing them - but they could not do with ease to this final Templar what they’d done to the others. Benansalen was inside that carriage. Their boy, their son. Their child. He was a child. But what was a mage child to a Templar but a smaller weapon? What was an elvhen child to any human but something to be kicked aside? Reaching behind them, they used their magic to yank their staff from the last Templar corpse, catching it as it sailed into their hand.

    Astraeus grasped the hems of their robes and slowly, quietly, stepped up onto the carriage. The horses were stunned - nowhere for them to go any time soon. They could hear the Templar’s breathing beneath them. And the whimpering of their child. Staff in both hands, they raised the staff high, the elongated spear base glinting in the light - and breathed. One breath in, one breath out, another breath…and the Templar shifted and Astraeus forced the spear down through the carriage’s roof and down into the Templar’s unprotected head. The strangled gurgled was all they needed to hear as they shoved the staff down further, feeling the pull of the sagging Templar’s weight.

    And then left it there, jumping from the roof to the opposite door, shedding their uppermost layer with a ripping sound. One hand lit up with fire and they melted the lock off, yanking the door open. “Benansalen.” Hand extinguishing, they immediately wrapped their arms around their son, pulling him against their chest and pulling him from the carriage. “I am so sorry, my son. I am sorry I did not get here sooner; I am here now.”

Astra’s magic is familiar to him as the feel of their arms around him. He’d know the feel of it anywhere as it rips through the air in a tight arc. Powerful magic tears through the air outside the carriage, but he doesn’t make a single sound. Words caught in his throat since he’d been first pulled away, he hadn’t even been able to find the sleeve of the nice lady watching over him while his parents were away. 

Above them, the wood strains then suddenly buckles under the unnatural brute force. The Templar suddenly jerks, surprised gurgle passing through his throat. He suddenly slumps, falling but not taking the boy down with him. Frightened, he flees to the corner but makes not even a wail until the door is jerked open and he’s pulled into the embrace of his mother. Only then Benan falls into pieces, muffled sobs into their shoulder.

“They took me!” Stuttered through gasps for air, and suddenly he’s disoriented. Head spinning, sending what little grasp of his world upside down. He wouldn’t be certain he’d be able to remain on his feet if Astra hadn’t been holding him, but he holds onto their shoulders as if he was falling. Zad didn’t want to be near the carriage, sobbing uncontrollably in their arms.

[avahari-a-blog]

different ways to say ‘i love you’. 

‘i’ll make you something, yeah? your favorite dish, just for you.’

‘let’s get you back to bed.’

‘shh, it was just a nightmare.’

‘you like this, don’t you? i remember you saying that.’

‘i drew up a bath for you.’

‘you need rest.’

‘you ought to be asleep.’

‘i bought two.’

‘here. you can have the rest.’

‘i thought of you when i saw this.’

‘i like your smile.’

‘you have a cute laugh.’

‘stay there. i’m coming there to get you.’

‘it’s okay, i’m here, we’re okay.’

‘be careful.’

‘look both ways.’

‘you mean so much to me.’

‘i can’t lose you.’

‘i thought i might have lost you.’

‘how to you feel about the nickname, (insert nickname)?’

‘it looks good on you.’

‘i’ll make you soup.’

‘ah-ah-ah. you’re sick. you need to stay in bed.’

‘are you okay in there?’

‘that’s it, that’s it. get it all out. shh.’

‘it’s a remedy i knew. helps with your throat.’

‘it’s a lullaby. would you like me to sing it to you? would that help you fall asleep?’

‘i’m worried about you.’

‘what do you want to watch?’

‘where would you like to go for dinner?’

‘close your eyes and hold out your hands.’

‘we’ll figure it out.’

‘oh, it’s not big deal. you’re fine.’

‘i brought you some medicine for your cold.’

‘you’re important to me.’

‘this is your favorite song, right?’

‘you’re like a son/daughter to me.’

‘good luck!’

‘you’re like a mom/dad to me.’

‘don’t say that about yourself.’

‘want to come with?’

“wow! you look really nice.’

‘goodnight, (insert term of affection).’

‘it’s okay. i couldn’t sleep anyway.’

‘you can have half.’

‘come here. let me fix it.’

‘your tie is crooked.’

‘c’mere. shh, it’s okay.’

‘i’m not going to hurt you.’

‘can i touch you?’

‘can i kiss you?’

‘can i hug you?’

‘promise.’

‘would i ever lie to you?’

‘i think you’re very beautiful/handsome.’

‘hey, good-looking.’

‘of course i care. you’re my family.’

‘one more chapter.’

‘i love you.’