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SIGHS...SORRY FOR MY ABSENCE im trying to read up on elven history inbetween....possibly getting brought into a managerial position at work....splats on the ground...someone save me...

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There was something so...warm, reassuring that welled in her from the other's words. Chosen carefully to be sure, she was a rather worn hero by this time. It was still endearing though, to have the words returned to her in the tone of familiarity.

"That I'm enough of a shelter to rest your weary legs from your travels says much." She responds, gently grabbing up from her cupboards a few noteworthy cups. Hawke had spied it in the markets one day and had figured she might take a shine to it. Unfortunately, she hadn't used it for much else but display until now. Hawke hadn't known, but the handles had been carved from fallen halla antlers. It was beautiful really, and well crafted.

It was probably why she'd thought to pull them out now, rather than any other time. The simple presence of the other was making her nostalgic for something not even long taken from her.

...had it really only been a few months since...?

"But you've stories to tell, I'm sure~ You know how much I enjoy them. Would you not tell me your favorites?" Because in truth, it would be nice to not have to tell her own.

@firstsblood [ cont. ]

Where does she even begin? She'd thought she would never see Merrill again. By the time the Blight was ended, by the time Ashalle had taken her home... Marethari would answer no question as to where her old friend had gone.

And to find out, years later? Because Alistair had happened to brush shoulders with the then-soon-to-be Champion of Kirkwall and described them as traveling with a dalish elf? One who was unmistakable even in a brief description?

Sharrah couldn't help but feel that Marethari had betrayed her in some way.

Dwelling on it would bring neither of them joy today, however.

"My old friend brings me to Kirkwall."

Years of hard fought confidence seem to slip out of her hands, escape the twisted fingers laid upon the table. Nearly a decade. Was Merrill still an old friend after all these years?

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–"You don't pay attention to templars, Qunari or politics, but you notice kittens?"

–"Templars, Qunari, and politics don't meow and attack your feet when you're buying food."

wanted to illustrate one of my favorite banters in da2!! merrill, my beloved<33

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the only throuple. ever !!!

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I FEEL WHEN I QUESTION , MY SKIN STARTS TO BURN ... WHY DOES MY SKIN START TO BURN ? ©

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sorry to anyone watching me and griff go crazy today. its bc we are <3

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It's sweet, and gentle, and kind. Everything she expects from it, and it still gives her pause for a moment. With all the teasing and the giddiness. she never once saw herself growing this flustered about it. But the cautious way he holds her, and hesitates at her lips, waiting for her response...

Oh, it makes her red to the tips of her ears. She understands it now. She can't help but giggle against the warmth of his lips.

Which causes excitable arms to swing forth and wrap around his shoulders, head tilting slightly to press a kiss to one corner of his mouth, before returning to the center, and giving him her answer.

Do it once more, I don't want to be done just yet.

And could you really blame her? Ever since the thought had been entertained by more than just him, it kept coming back to her.

Do it more than once. Again and again. We have all the time in the world right now, don't we? And besides, Varric would find the tale rather entertaining.

SHE RISES ON HER TOES, and it makes him dizzy. Either by the scent of her, something delicate and floral, or the physical open invitation for him to make good on his flirtatious threat. & this close, he can make out the intricate details of her face---something he has come to compare to the sun.

Bright, enticing, kind.

Something a man would look forward to seeing after a hard day's labor. Something a man might lose sleep over in anticipation of seeing in the coming days. Carver dips ever closer, the tip of his nose brushing her own --- and she is rambling, he thinks. Though he doesn't mind.

He never minds.

"Damn the wyvern." a single gloved hand raises to cup the side of her face, and his thumb rubs idle and gentle circles at the crest of her chin. The Warden steels himself; he sets aside all anxiety and worries, if only for the moment. Because this---THIS moment is all-consuming, all encompassing, all important. Carver closes the gap and presses his lips to her own in something of a shy passion. He wants her to signal for more, to ask for more, and he outright refuses to overstep himself.

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@lone-blade continued from here!

And she doesn't want him to. Because despite all the innocent teasing and remarks which had gone over her head in years past, she'd caught on to a thing or two herself.

And...she rather liked the idea of it. So how could she pass up such an opportunity when they rarely crossed paths these days?

As he lowers himself, she meets him halfway by rocking onto her toes; hands clasped behind her back as she waits for him to close the distance. It is something he's spoken on himself many a time, after all. Whether it was with the hesitancy and coyness of a boy or the sloppy, awkward confidence of a man in his cups, he'd spoken it rather ardently. So, despite her eagerness to do so herself, she wanted him to do the honor.

Besides, it was nice to take in his gaze. His eyes reminded her so very much of the cornflowers she used to spy along the Sundermount plains.

"Not this time~ Isabela's always telling me it's a bit of a good luck charm, and I think it would be really something if you found the wyvern first, you know?" Not that he hadn't already promised away the taming of it's heart to her.

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D....DELTARUNE.........

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It feels like this every time I write a fic

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every day I go on my lunch and I have more scratches from work!!!! GAHHHH

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ok hopefully after today's shift I can lock in and get to some replies+asks!!!! BC ILY YALL AND I FEEL BAD IVE BEEN OUT

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The atmosphere of the Hanged Man is...pleasant to her. It was certainly a change from the heartbeat of the forest or the windbroken ambiance of the Sundermount plains, but that was what she liked about it. It was bustling and busy and everyone who came in wore a different attitude about them. It was enough to keep her entertained for hours, let alone with friends who shared different jabs and tales amongst one another.

But as they delve deeper and deeper into their cups, she can't help but notice how much more affected others are than say...her or Varric. Perhaps it was why she found the other's more upfront demeanor all the more curious. She couldn't help but smile up at him.

"I try not to miss them much, but it happens rather frequently...which is a shame. Isabela is always trying to teach me how to notice..." She begins, before giving him a rather curious once-over. "Maybe it's because you're so tall that it goes over my head so easily!"

i lied its not a short starter | @firstsblood

THE HANGED MAN IS crowded; their usual haunt boasts a curious mix of patroons. Young and old, poor and wealthy, conscripted and freed. Their own group blends rather well despite their own oddities, and, despite their unruly behavior and tone, no one seems too bothered with the company. Meanwhile. Carver has taken to his cups eagerly and liberally; the events of the day wearing heavy on his shoulders. Perhaps that is why he drinks to greedily---the stress, the exhaustion. & perhaps it is those libations that allow his tongue to be so free in conversation.

"Do you do tha' on purpose?" he's sat next to her, his massive frame stiff despite the alcohol in his system. "Pretend like my..." a pause while he searches in earnest for the right words. "...flirtations go right over your pretty little head?"

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ℑ𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑ 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫.

Independent, Selective, Canon-Divergent Portrayal of Sebastian Vael, from the Dragon Age Franchise. Revived 2024, low activity. guidelines and profile on carrd. all graphics credited to @kaiserscomms,

𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔯 𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫: a character study of survivor’s guilt and how vengeance can be a prison in itself. Of finding meaning in the pain and rising to carry the weight of a legacy.

More importantly, this is a 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 to those who have found purpose at rock bottom, those who have felt the power of faith, and to any who know the ever-present struggle to be a better person. As loved by Saint

nsfw; triggering subjects may be present.

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casually messing around in ffxiv...dw about it..

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Hm yes I think I’ll get a pfp commissioned