dreadwolfsspirit

[dreadwolfsspirit]

@ august please be a little gentle with me I’m so tired

[dreadwolfsspirit]

control

Day 1 of Viago Week: control

Viago/Rook (but can be read as Viago&Rook I guess?) | 919 words | Rated T | Mostly vibes

@viagoweek

“Again,” Viago says, for the twelfth time in over an hour. Rosa begins the sequence once more— a set of attacks against an invisible opponent, feet light but certain, rapier glinting in the sunlight with each of her movements. The metal sings, slashing open the air, and Rosa moves, quick as ever; graceful, as only wild things know how to be. 

In another life, she might have been a dancer, something to go with those bards she is always so fond of.

(In another life, she might have been meant for something else. Sometimes, when the light hits her eyes just right, Viago could swear Rosa’s pupils are like a cat’s, could swear her shadow grows taller, could swear she has sharp teeth. Sometimes, when she looks at him with all the strength of sentiment, with grateful affection, he thinks she might have been more at home kneeling at an altar than sitting at his feet. Sometimes, when she says yes, Fifth Talon, and does what he asks of her, when she brings dead things home and smiles through the blood on her muzzle, when she sleeps against his door like a faithful hound—

Sometimes, Viago thinks he got away with something, stealing away this rare creature for himself. If she might have been meant for something else— too bad. Viago de Riva is a selfish man.)

“Again,” he says, watching her carefully. 

Rosa begins the sequence once more—

Perfection is not what they strive for; perfection implies an end, a moment where things cannot be improved any further. If Rosa has any kind of limits, they haven’t found them yet— or perhaps it is that time and time again she pushes through them, though not without sweat nor blood. 

Obedience would be foolish to pretend— Rosa will never be truly quite domesticated, despite his most insistent early attempts. There used to be a delay, between his order and her action, as if she needed to verify it was a good order before following— and ultimately, she always follows them. 

If there is no delay now…

Perhaps she learned how to think faster.

“Again,” he says, hands behind his back, posture straight. Stern as ever.

Rosa begins the sequence once more—

Viago isn’t sure what he means to show off, exactly, making her practice like this in the courtyard. Is it her skill, in order to instill some sense of competition among the fledglings, something to aspire to? Is it his skill instead, in the face of those who called her too unmanageable, too aggressive, that feral thing he brought home?

(‘Viago’s rabid pet.’)

Not for the first time, he thinks anyone who was not able to see her potential was an idiot.

(At the same time, he thinks, as well, that no one else could have forged and sharpened her into the fine blade she is today.)

“Again.”

Rosa begins the sequence—

She prefers to fight with a dagger— only one, in order to leave her other hand free for casting fire and lightning. She prefers to fight as close as possible, darting in and out of reach, closing the space to slip beneath armor, sweet as a caress and as lethal as anything else he could create. 

She prefers to kill from up close.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly with the weight of the exercise; this endless repetition that she does not complain about— not out here, not in public, because she always walks half a step behind him, because they pretend that behind closed doors he does not cave in to her demands to play with her hair, because that soothes her, and ‘it does not matter why I need to be soothed, you know very well I am always three minor inconveniences away from biting, Vi.’

(Even with her private complaints, she will do it, over and over and over again, every single time he asks. It is not about perfection, and it is not about obedience.)

“Again.”

Rosa begins the sequence—

What Rosa doesn’t find within herself, she borrows from him; his patience, his words, his clothes.

She spills magic, spills soot and sparks, spills heat, spills thoughts in rambling patterns, spills affection like blood from a wound. She overflows, like a thing that cannot be contained, like she is full of cracks, and Viago has learned now how to hold his hands to the worst of it, how to hold with just enough force to keep Rosa from losing her shape, from bursting into a million tiny fragments of blazing stars.

“Stop.”

Someone else might have resented him. Rosa, instead, gets furious if he ever goes easy on her, if he does not push her as far as she believes she can be pushed.

(Then again, she relies on him to know just how far she can be pushed.)

Viago walks towards her, moves her— hands on her shoulders, with her heat seeping through the leather of his gloves he shifts her posture just so, the smallest of changes. 

She lets him, and lets him, and lets him, and does not resent this, but instead smiles, out of breath but always so willing to give him just a little more.

“Something funny?” He asks, quiet, as he feels her shoulders shake with a silent laughter.

“Always,” she replies in that same tone.

“This is not a game.”

“Spoken like someone who does not know how to play it.”

Satisfied with his corrections, Viago steps away once more.

“Again,” he demands.

Rosa begins.

[dreadwolfsspirit]

"i didnt need to try very hard to do a bad french accent" - GDL

anyways this definitely direct quote from tevinter nights features in the latest chapter of the joplin-inspired fic i'm co-writing with @cursedhaglette: nothing beside remains so. go read it hehe :)

[dreadwolfsspirit]

Viago Week Day 1 - Control/Lack of Control @viagoweek

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parallels or maybe im just going crazy

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i do think the ancient arlathan outfits could be 200% sluttier

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Photo study of modern day Solas for @luzial’s fics Overgrown and Roots 🌿

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Reposting this one on its own, just really love how it turned out

[dreadwolfsspirit]

viago week day 6 - alternate universe

@viagoweek

that meme with the dude taking selfies with the cobras bc we all know he's that snakebite guy

[dreadwolfsspirit]

Damn it Solas you were supposed to be a spirit of wisdom how the fuck did you think this was going to go my guy????

[dreadwolfsspirit]

- By the Ancestors, what’s gotten into you, my boy? - Enchantment? - That’s more like it. 

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[dreadwolfsspirit]

mods edits

[dreadwolfsspirit]

What is the old dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf take you?

[dreadwolfsspirit]

solrook as tumblr text posts | 21/?

[dreadwolfsspirit]

" He still believes himself a god, and gods do not fall gracefully. "

[dreadwolfsspirit]

Solas & Felassan | Quiet Moments .

↳ "What are the Crossroads doing? “The spirits of the Crossroads do as they must, Felassan. As do we all.” Thank you, Solas. That’s incredibly useful. Really helps your old friend pull together a rebellion against the Evanuris." - Felassan.