#krem scribbles

[krembruleed]

astarion is cheating

[venndaai]

More Tama Bull with bonus Ashkaari Dorian and Altus Krem for fun

I... really love this AU...

[bzrcdragons942]

And now, we scroll! (Get it? It's a scroll frame. Ha.) Guessing on the safe side I'd say I'm 2/3s done with this (with about 32hrs logged)

[eldritch-bat]

Not a pallet challenge, just a colored sketch of Krem for @themefo. Thank you so much for donating to my kofi! ♥♥♥

[lunarreverb]

For Inktober today I drew a picture of Krem from Dragon Age filling out a ballot! I hope you will be cool like Krem and vote too!

[aclassikrem]

Right, so a couple days ago, I made a comment that I had noticed something interesting about Krem’s weapon and would make a post about it later because I was mobile and also it was stupid early in the morning. Well, here’s that promised post.

Under a cut because it’s long and picture heavy.

First things first, for anyone who doesn’t know the weapon I’m referring to, here it is.

No one in the fandom can seem to agree on what exactly to call it. I’ve seen it referenced as a hammer, a giant mace, a flail. I personally call it a maul. But the point is, it’s a pretty unusual weapon. I don’t recall anyone wielding anything similar to it in the other games, though I have seen someone make a mod so you could give Fenris something similar.

But let’s take a closer look here, yeah?

I know there are people out there that think it’s just a rock. But it looks to me like it’s a small dragon’s skull. Particularly because you can see that the strap that’s actually attaching it to the pole goes right through what look like eye sockets. And the remaining two straps are placed like they’re holding the jaws shut.

I had always assumed, because of this, and The Iron Bull’s well known dragon fetish, that this meant that Krem had killed a thing and decided that best course of action to take with it’s skull was to mount it on a stick and hit people with it.

And then I saw this.

These two are Elvin spirits from Trespasser. Ignore the fellow on the right, he’s not what we’re looking at right now. We want to focus on the dude on the left. And that very interesting looking weapon he’s got there. Look familiar? It should. Let’s take a closer look.

Yup, that is exactly the same as the giant skull maul we see Krem swinging around on the Storm Coast.

I outlined them in red because there were parts of Krem’s that were hard to see because they were blending into the background and the elf’s glow made some of his shapes a little tricky to see.

But the point I’m making is that, not only is Krem swinging around a dragon’s head on a stick, it might be one that’s older than the Imperium.

Where did he get it? Was it just random loot? Did he see one in Tevinter at some point and decide to replicate it? Why does he have an ancient Elvin artifact as his weapon?

I don’t know. But it was definitely interesting enough to share.

[rosella-writes]

10 First Lines

Thanks for the tag, @queenaeducan! These are all pulled from AO3.

“Is dreaming something you must practice to be good at?” — Fluffuary 2022

“Again.” — I want to taste your mouthful

The rumble and bustle of the Herald’s Rest dimmed behind them as Krem followed Virelan behind the building — she laughed, light and happy, and turned her face up to receive his hurried, sloppy kiss. — grab hold of the earth's four corners

There were days, even after months upon months awake in this world, where even time spent painting could not calm the frantic, looping tracks his thoughts would hurtle down. It was then that Solas would put aside his work — be it a book, a pot of pigment, or a hastily scribbled note — and retreat to the quiet of his room. — This Mortal Coil

“That was foolish.” “Oh I don’t know, I thought it was rather roguish and daring of me.” — honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror years ago)

Justice drew him to her, as surely as a planet drew its moon to its side. — What Pride Had Wrought

The boy had gotten excellent at dreaming. — He Comes In Humble Guises

Solas woke with a start. — stare at the fire (for hours and hours while I listen to you)

The plaster was drying quickly. Solas worried at his lower lip as he painted, filling in the moistened planes of the earth-colored material with wide, confident strokes of his brush. He had laid down the base shapes of the Inquisitor’s accomplishment in Redcliffe — the twin castles, one dark and one light, along with the hooded figure between them — and merely filled in the details now. The bristles of the brush rasped as they ran dry of paint, and he dipped it again. — I bleed applause (I’m fading slow)

“Don’t go.” Desire tugged at Solas’s arm as she wore Lavellan’s face. He could not bear to turn and look at her. — bones, blood and teeth erode

The challenge is to identify a pattern in your writing and uhhhh… I use dialogue to begin fics an awful lot, which should not come as a surprise. I also need to stray away more from the comfort zone of Solas’s POV lol.

Tagging (with no pressure): @dreadfutures @melisusthewee @darethshirl 💚

[enasallavellan]

Snowball Fight: 12 Days of Satinalia

So I decided to go ahead and give one of these a go!  Sadly, not an ounce of lemonyness on it (those of y'all who can write/draw it - you’re the real MVP.)  For some reason I just get all sorts of embarrassed.  So yeah.  I’m a weirdo.

So here’s the prompt “Snowball Fight”

.

.

“Really, En?”   Krem and Enasal ducked lower as a snowball shattered against their shelter, raining snow on them both.  “You and Shiral never did this?”

“Not like this!  It can only go so long with only two people!”

Somewhere beyond their shelter, Bull was cackling in absolute glee.

“Chief says it’s good training, but we all know the bastard just likes -“

Krem grabbed Enasal’s arm and pulled her along as he went from one spot of cover from another - Enasal screamed with laughter as a tiny avalanche of snow poured over their original hiding space.

Krem grabbed Enasal around the waist and heaved her up, “Mercy! I have a child with me!”

“I’m older than you!  Varric, help!”

Varric glanced up from the play-by-play he was scribbling, “And ruin a perfectly good show? I thought you knew me better than that.”

Enasal was dropped to the ground, landing on her behind as Krem took off in the other direction.

Suddenly, everything was very cold and very dark.

With a choking gasp, Enasal managed to pop out of the top of the newly-formed snowbank, “Bull!”

“You can’t just dump snow on her, Chief.” 

Iron Bull laughed, digging around until he found a limb to pull her out, “Well, I hit her so she’s dead now. You abandoned your friend and destroyed the Inquisition.”

Enasal grinned, “As long as nobody… kremates me.”

“That’s why I let you die, En!”

Bull was repeating the pun between bouts of laughter. 

Enasal ignored Krem and looked up at Bull, “Remember, I want a burial and a sapling!”

Bull set her back on her feet, “He just doesn't want to get snow down his armor.”

“She already put snow down my armor!”

“You put snow down my shirt, Krem!”

Varric patted the ledge beside him, where a steaming mug was holding her spot, “Come on, Seastorm - you’re dead. I got something warm for you.” 

She nodded, but took time to dramatically point at Krem and shout, “Get him, Bull!”

Bull had already begun crafting another snow-cannonball, “Oh, I’m gonna destroy him.”

Varric laughed, “I hope Curly didn’t see Krem’s little prank.”

“He did!”  She was pretending to be angry, but her laughter ruined the effect, “And do you know what he did?  He laughed!”

“Curly?”  Varric grinned, “I thought he couldn’t stand you getting cold.”

“Apparently, when a so-called friend shoves a snowball down the back of my shirt and runs it’s absolutely hilarious.”

Krem’s head popped up from behind a crumbled stone wall, “She screamed like a little noble who saw a spi-”  He ducked as a much larger than necessary snowball shot over his head.

Varric chortled a laugh and tapped her mug, “Drink up anyway.  I don’t want to be the one held responsible if he sees you shivering.” 

Enasal was already on a new subject, “Is this… this is chocolate!  Varric, how is this chocolate?!”

“Thought you’d like that.”

She stood and held the mug up, “Krem, how did you people make chocolate a liquid?  I’m drinking chocolate!”

Krem stood up just long enough to get a massive snowball to the chest.

“You’re avenged, Boss!”  Bull shouted, meandering over to yank his lieutenant out of the snow.  “And you’re dead now.  Hey, Boss!  What should I do with the man that murdered you?”

“Throw him in a snowbank, Bull!”

As Enasal often did, Krem forgot Common as he arced through the air, flinging a few Tevene curses before landing with a soft thump.

Enasal took another drink of that wonderful chocolate drink - today was a good day.

[veorlian]

wip wednesday

thank u for the tag @mrs-theirin​! i am SO excited for the next chapter of your fic!!

here’s a lil snippet from what i’m writing for the prompt you sent me:

Hawke stayed over at the Hanged Man just about every night of the week. Depending on her level of intoxication, she could be found sprawled along the couch, draped over a chair, or taking up most of the already impressively large bed. On one memorable occasion, Varric had found her curled up on the table amongst his scribbled notes, ink smeared across her face. He’d woken her up with his laughter.

So it wasn’t as though they hadn’t shared a bed before. Regrettably, Varric did need to sleep occasionally, and so he’d climb in next to Hawke and poke her in the side to get her to make room.

It was perfectly normal. Perfectly acceptable friendship territory.

“What time is it?” Hawke mumbled blearily. Her already wild hair was sticking up in every direction, her eye makeup from the night before haphazardly spread across her face (and also his pillows).

“Do I look like a sundial?” he murmured, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Hawke squinted at him suspiciously, scrunching up her forehead.

“Is this a trick question?” she asked. Varric chuckled and shook his head.

“Go back to sleep, Hawke,” he said.

plus bonus Krem and Dhava for another prompt, from my still unwritten coffee shop au:

Dhava took a sip of their drink, the hot chocolate pleasantly coating their tongue.

“Cinnamon?” they guessed.

“Yep,” Krem said cheerfully. “And?”

“And...cloves? Maybe a bit of nutmeg?”

“Can’t get anything past you, huh?” His smile was like the sun. Snowflakes clung to his long eyelashes, dusting his coat. Dhava tightened their grip on his arm just a little.

I don’t have anyone in particular to tag, so if you see this please feel free to do it and tag me! no pressure though ofc <3

[krembruleed]

beach episode?

[kagetsukai]

Drops of Satina: Day 18 - Distance

Raphael Trevelyan belongs to @out-of-the-embers​

Excerpts of correspondence between Hannah and Raphael as they travel around Thedas and miss each other terribly. 

Words: 2048 || Read on AO3

My Darling Hannah,

My life is agony. Whoever decided that Western Approach was a good place to inhabit was mad and I would like some words with them. It’s incredibly dry here and the temperature never stay the same for more than a few hours. Some days it’s terribly hot and other days I have to wear my jacket for warmth. It’s insane. And let’s not mention all the sand; it must’ve seeped into every crevice of my body and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of it. I long for a bath, but that won’t happen until we’ve reached our next destination. At least Varric understands and commiserates with me.

I miss you dearly. I know it’s only been a week since the last time I saw you, but it feels so much longer than that. I really miss our daily walks around the gardens - it’s made even more acute by the fact that there’s almost no plant-life around here. I did come across a flowering deathroot and picked a few buds to send with this letter. Didn’t you mention once how purple was your favorite color? I hope you like them.

Are you well? Were you able to travel safely? I do trust Cullen and his men, but I can’t help worry about you; there’s too many horrible people who do awful things just for a laugh. I hope to hear from you soon, because I desperately need to know you’re alright.

Yours, Raphael

=============================

Dearest Raphael,

I must confess, your dramatic depictions of the Western Approach had me giggling like an idiot. Surely, it can’t be that bad? I’ve never been to a real desert so I can’t say if I agree with your description, but I do hope you got to have a better time than what you’ve described. If not, I’m sorry for your discomfort. If it makes you feel better, I really appreciated the deathroot flowers you’ve sent me - did you know they are hallucinogenic and are used by some as a form of intoxicant? I caught someone eyeing the petals, so I had to hide them in my engineering journals. I hope you don’t mind.

To answer your questions, I am well. As much as I’m thrilled to be out of Skyhold and seeing the world, I desperately miss my own bed. I forgot how much I hate sleeping in tents. That being said, I’m currently in Caer Bronach to look into repairs to the castle, so at least I get to sleep in one of the rooms here. I’m amazed how much lack of proper maintenance can put such a young stronghold into immediate decrepitude. I got to inspect other Fereldan places as well, but I doubt you care to read about it - this isn’t an official report after all. The most important part is that I’m almost done with Inquisition properties here and I’ll be traveling to the other side of Frostbacks soon. Judging by how angry Lily got over the bridge in Exalted Plains, I’m sure to find a doozy.

I will admit, I can’t wait to be done with all inspections so I can be back in Skyhold and awaiting your swift return. I never considered myself the waiting type, so I place all the blame squarely on your shoulders; considering you have strong and capable shoulders, I’m sure you can handle it. I miss you terribly, too. I just don’t have a reason to laugh as much when you’re not around to do dumb things at the most inappropriate times. I also miss having you around during mealtimes - things just don’t taste the same without you adding your salted garlic paste. And really, I just miss your kisses. Your kisses are the best.

Hannah

 [added in a rushed scribble]

Ps. Chargers just arrived with summons to go directly to Western Approach. They are to escort me to Griffon Wing Keep so I can oversee urgent repairs and construction of a bridge through some horribly noxious area. If I’m lucky, I’ll see you there - I cannot wait.

=============================

My Darling Hannah,

I tried to postpone our departure from the Griffon Wing Keep until you’ve arrived, but Lily would not be convinced. Logically, I understand that the sooner we’re done exploring western Orlais the sooner we can be back in Skyhold, but my heart wanted the gratification of seeing you immediately. I hope you received the note I left for you with Rylen; he was terribly amused by it and poked fun at me, that cheeky bastard.

We’re in the Forbidden Oasis and it could not be more different from the Western Approach. It’s still technically in the middle of a desert, but this place has canyons shaded from the sun where all sorts of waterfalls and verdant pools sit in a warm shade. I took the liberty to soak in one of them and it was glorious. I wonder if you’d like it here. According to Lily there isn’t anything to build so she won’t be requesting your presence, which I’m sad about, but perhaps it’s for the better; I loathe the thought of you traveling through the desert. Still, I miss you dearly. It’s been entirely too long since I’ve seen you last and I’m starting to suspect it will be even longer before I see you again. This expedition is shaping up to be long and arduous. I just hope you’re well.

With all my kisses, Raphael

=============================

Dearest Raphael,

Thank you for the lovely note you left me at the Griffon Wing Keep; it brought a smile to my face. Granted, Rylen decided to be a little shit and make fun of me for my reaction, but he changed his tune once I reminded him he’s just a man and can feel pain just like the rest of us. Perhaps I shouldn’t have kicked his balls, but maybe he’ll learn the lesson quicker that way.

Anyway, I now understand why you hated Western Approach so much. This place is so dry, my face has turned into a prune! By the time you see me again, I’ll have aged 20 years and I’ll no longer look youthful; I hope you’re prepared to court a grandmother, because that’s how I will look from now on. At least the area is interesting and should keep me occupied for a while.

Speaking of which, I know I had originally estimated it would only take me a month to attend to everything, but with the exploration of the Western Approach and increased workload, I doubt I’ll make it back to Skyhold anytime soon. Just judging by my initial sketches, I’ll have to stay here for an extra month to make sure everything is done correctly; who knows if something else doesn’t crop up while we work. I hear Lily might be returning to the Griffon Wing Keep at a later date so maybe I’ll get to see you here instead of Skyhold? I would very much like that. As much as I enjoy Rylen and Krem for company, I terribly miss having you around. Can you imagine having a date on the dunes? Sand would get everywhere, I’m certain, but I’d still enjoy it.

I’d like to thank you for all the little flowers you’ve sent with the last letter. They are so pretty! They’ve joined all of the other blooms I keep in my journal and now, whenever I open it, they make me think of you. And they still have the scent! They’re wonderful, so thank you once again.

I hope you’re well and you continue to be well. I cannot wait to see you next, because I miss you dearly and it’s horrible how long I have to be without you. Maybe fates will bring us together soon.

Yours, Hannah

=============================

My Darling Hannah

It’s been a while since my last letter, because we’ve been slowly exploring the entirety of the Hissing Wastes and haven’t been back to the main camp in what feels like an age. Yes, you read that right. Hissing. Wastes. In case the name isn’t a good enough clue, the place is an even larger desert than the Western Approach with even less friendly flora or fauna. The wind blows at extreme speeds and everything is so grey and muted, I think I’m sad just from looking outside my tent at night. I suppose it’s an important spot to the Inquisition, though in my humble opinion, I’d just let it fall by the wayside. Why does Lily have to be the one to look at this stuff? Can’t we send some archaeologists to excavate the dwarven ruins? I suggested that once and Lily only got annoyed with me. I thought it was a good idea, but oh well.

I wonder if you’re still at the Griffon Wing Keep. Judging by my count, you’re probably done with your work and heading back to Skyhold as we speak, though I do hope you are still there when we arrive later this week. Maybe that way we could escort you back home? I’d love that, I won’t lie. I miss you so damn much. Normally I don’t mind traipsing around Thedas with Lily, but being away from home is really difficult this time; not only it’s a longer trip than any before, but I now have a reason to want to return. I wish all of this was over already, so I wouldn’t have to travel so much. I miss our daily chats. I miss you.

Always yours, Raphael

=============================

My Dearest Raphael,

I miss you, desperately. It’s been too long since we’ve kissed or held each other or even talked, and I’m going a little crazy from this clutching feeling in my chest I associate with not having you around. I hate the fact that we’re apart and there isn’t much we can do about it. I cannot wait to be back at Skyhold with you, so we can go back to some semblance of normalcy. I’m done with being on the road and constantly sleeping in a bed that isn’t my own. I’m done and I want to go home.

Instead of Skyhold, I’m in Exalted Plains. When Lily first told me of how Master Wardell completely neglected his duties when constructing this bridge, I hadn’t expected this level of incompetence. I mean, it’s a functional bridge, but with the kind of resources we are given, he should have been able to repair this gap properly and in no time. Thankfully, the team I already have here is hard-working and not afraid of challenges. Once I draw up new plans and divide up the responsibilities, all work will be done fast. I hate that I have to once again clean up Wardell’s messes, but it can’t be helped. At least this is the last of it.

I hope you are well. I hope you are taking care of yourself. I hope to see you soon.

Yours, Hannah

=============================

My Darling Hannah,

We are on our way home. We just passed through Exalted Plains and I got to admire your handiwork in person - you’ve done a fantastic job here, dearest. Lily is also happy with the results, but I’m sure she’ll want to thank you in person, so I’ll let her speak for herself. Still, I’m proud of you. This bridge and what you’ve done in the Western Approach proves that you are the right person for the job and I’m so glad you are finally recognized for your hard work.

I will see you soon, my darling, and I cannot wait. Lily wants to stop by Emprise du Lion to take care of some dragons, but once we’re done, we’re coming home. I cannot wait to see your beautiful face again. I miss you so fucking much. We will be together soon.

Forever yours, Raphael

=============================

Raphael,

I came back to Skyhold two days ago and I am thrilled beyond words to finally have my own bed back. I cannot wait to have you back as well. I spoke to Leliana and she said you should be home within a week, so I won’t be making this letter long. I miss you and I’m looking forward to seeing you again. Be safe.

Yours, Hannah

[buttsonthebeach]

An Ordinary Evening

@empresstress13 decided to be the sweetest friend and surprise @wardsarefunctioning with a commissioned drabble, and of course that meant I had to continue the modern AU we’ve developed with Elizabeth Trevelyan and Solas! So glad you both loved this, my friends <3

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions

Pairing: Elizabeth Trevelyan x Solas, modern AU

Rating: Teen for drinking

********

Elizabeth Trevelyan entered the Haven Bar and Grill late, and in a flurry of frustration, and with snowflakes on her eyelashes, and it was this last detail that Solas found himself fixated on. The tiny perfect crystals, and the soft sweep of the lashes that framed her eyes. Some people would call them narrow or small, but he found them utterly lovely, full of depth and spark. They were the first thing that attracted him to her, in fact.

“I am so sorry,” Elizabeth said, wedging herself onto the seat next to him. “A train broke down, and we all had to get out, and I had to walk to the next station I could catch the right train from, and it’s snowing, and I’m cold, and I’m wet, and I really want a drink. How are we doing?”

Her face was red from the cold and she was clearly not in an amorous mood, and he really should have been paying attention to the master of ceremonies who was directing the trivia night, and yet Solas found himself looking at Elizabeth and thinking I love this woman.

It was not the first time he had thought it, but all the other times the thought had been idle and ill-formed. This time it hit him with the clarity of a struck bell. They were different people from different walks of life - he, an elf who had long hemmed himself up in the cloister of high academia, studying esoteric mathematics and maintaining few connections to the outside world - her, a human with a sprawling, maddening family, dozens of connections from her days at Circle College, and her daily tales of her high school mathematics students. They had the math in common, but they came at it from such different angles, with such different histories and expectations. And they had been together for such a short while - only six months now, after over a year of acquaintance. And somehow, still, Solas found himself in love.

“Hello? Solas?”

He shook himself free of his reverie. He covered her cold hand with his own, rubbing it idly to warm it.

“Apologies. I was quite distracted by you for a moment.”

Elizabeth froze, horrified. “Is there something on my face?” She caught the server’s attention. “Pinot noir, please.”

Solas could not help but laugh. He curled his fingers around hers now. Elizabeth eyed him, still suspicious.

“No. You are simply quite beautiful.”

As she so often did, Elizabeth took a moment to bloom under the influence of that praise. She had a suspicious, exacting mind. He loved that about her too.

“Oy,” Krem said from his place at Solas’s left. “Are you two going to canoodle or help us? We all know I’m just here to look pretty. You’re the brains of the Chargers, Trevelyan.”

“What’s the category?” Elizabeth asked.

“Chantry history,” Solas said, not bothering to hide his distaste.

“Well, my Sunday school education has to count for something,” Elizabeth said, settling now. She squeezed his hand, and it was a nearly imperceptible thing, but it made his heart beat faster.

I love you, he thought as he watched her argue with Bull about the order of Divines who presided over the Chantry in the Towers Age. She dropped his hand in order to scribble down her answer and carry it up to the judge. But she took it again when she returned. Her thumb traced the back of his hand. She was not often given to public displays of affection. This meant something. He knew she could not read his mind - if their history together, full of misunderstandings and miscommunications, proved anything, it was that - but it almost felt like an acknowledgement of his own internal realization.

It was an ordinary evening. It was their Thursday night tradition, after all. Fereldan inspired pub food, thick with grease and salt and more delicious than he wanted to admit. Cheap beer for Bull and Krem, Elizabeth and her pinot noir, and his own whiskey sliding smooth down his throat. But everything seemed rosier than it had in many years, because Elizabeth was holding his hand, and because she was brilliant, fiery, hellbent on getting them as many points as she could, triumphant when the two of them arrived at the same answer at the same time.

They left together, and that was when he couldn’t stand to wait any longer. He kissed her there, just outside the bar, and the world fell away from him when she returned the kiss without a moment’s hesitation.

“It’s cold,” Elizabeth said. “Do you want to come back to my place for hot chocolate?”

“Miss Trevelyan, if I did not know better, I would say that was a proposition.”

“Darn. You caught me.” She smirked, and she leaned in and kissed him again, and then turned to hail a cab, and the streetlights shone on the snowflakes that were trapped in her golden hair now, and Solas fell in love all over again.

[rosykims]

OC INFO MEME | ASHARA LAVELLAN

tagged by: i was retagged by @falkreathh bless <3 tagging: @trvelyans @nordxz @noonvraith @synthzander @denerims @vesuvius @the-elves and u aka the person reading this !!!

BASICS

Full name: ashara dhavise lavellan ( dhavise is her family name, roughly translated as “kissed by fire” )  Gender: cis female Sexuality: pansexual Pronouns: she / her

OTHER

Family: numina lavellan ( mother, deceased ), arlan lavellan ( father, made tranquil ), mithra lavellan ( twin sister ) nadaia da’eralen ( daughter, post canon ) Birthplace: the free marches, within clan lavellan Job(s): first to clan lavellan’s keeper, leader of the inquisition, and later a professor of elven history at the university of orlais Phobias: she has a fear bordering a phobia for despair demons. they’re what inadvertently killed her mother so she is terrified of her own sadness and the actual spirit of sadness in general. fun times :3 Guilty pleasures: dancing ! she always dances when she’s drunk gthugtrhugtrh. she also likes taboo magics and studying frowned upon topics but she doesn’t exactly feel guilty about it so Hobbies: she loves writing and brings her journal with her EVERYWHERE, and is constantly scribbling down notes and memos etc. she loves reading and practicing magic as well, basically anything she thinks will help to better herself. she also likes ice skating, just because <3

MORALS

Morality alignment: chaotic neutral Sins: lust/greed/envy/gluttony/pride/wrath/sloth Virtues: charity/chastity/diligence/humility/justice/kindness/patience

THIS OR THAT?

introvert / extrovert organized / disorganized close-minded / open-minded calm / anxious / restless disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient outspoken / reserved leader / follower / flexible empathetic / unempathetic optimistic / pessimistic / realistic traditional / modern / in between hard-working / lazy / unmotivated

RELATIONSHIPS:

OTP: solas x ashara  Acceptable ships: ashara x alistair, ashara x krem, ashara x cullen ( they have a very brief Thing between inquisition and trespasser ) and ashara x freya who is my skyrim oc but idk, if freya was a da chara they would have such chemistry sorry ( EDIT - also ashara x celandine trevelyan aka maia’s inquisitor who i love more than life itself. they are.....so alike its uncanny and i would die for them ) OT3: hmm i mean romantically non that i can think of, but i really like the friendship between ashara x solas x cole. v cute and good BroTP: ashara x vivienne ! friends that judge together stay together ;) ashara x cole, ashara x leliana which is a dynamic ive only just recently started appreciating NOTP: ashara x blackwall ( they HATE each other ) ashara x sera probably altho they would be a pretty funny/cute dynamic now that i think abt it 

[eldritch-bat]

Krem in pallet 12, suggest by Shaiandra from DAME on my pallet challenge post.

I imagine him looking fine as hell in casual clothing when they aren’t doing stuff in the field. > >

[dw-writes]

iii. Pray, Inquisitor

Hi everyone! I’m really sorry that its taken so long for me to update this fic! But I really hope you enjoy this new part!

Chapter One

PREVIOUS

The journey was long, much longer than you remembered, and, honestly, peaceful. You didn’t mind warding off the occasional beast, the rare thief. You reveled in the silence. Your horse followed Krem’s as you travelled north. You allowed the closeness of them and your travel companions to let your mind wander.

The first time you met a Qunari warrior was when you were but a young elf, hiding in the ruins of a village. He was as tall as he was large, which was larger than the doorway of the half ruined home. You remembered how his horns smoothly followed the curve of his head back until they curled away from the base of his neck. He knelt and held the crumbling roof with two bloodied hands as you and your friends crawled from the safety of its shadow and into his own.

You were disappointed that you couldn’t remember his name.

You did, however, remember a similar trek, heading north to safety, fleeing the reach of the Red Templars. He had helped set up camp in the safety of a deep cave. The rain fell and thunder clapped and lightning split the sky into beautiful pieces of grey and sickening green. He sat at the mouth of the cave, tirelessly keep watch, making sure you and your clan were safe. You sat with him, watching the rain. He taught you about the Qunari, the Qun, and the basics of Qunlat. You scribbled the words in the dirt as you struggled to learn.

“What do you call him?” he asked late one night, as the moon rose full over the mountains in the distance.

“Who?” you asked. You were taller then, no longer a child, no longer afraid of the glow of the Red Templars but angry at it. He was older, scarred, with eyes that were cloudy and almost empty. It had been many years since he saved you, since he agreed to teach you.

All that time, and you couldn’t remember his name.

“That Tevinter scum,” he rasped. He tilted his head and scratched at your parchment with his stubby piece of charcoal, correcting a misspelling in your Qunlat. “That one that figured out how to fly.”

“Just what the stories do,” you answered with a shrug, “The Unholy God in the Golden Throne.”

He barked and coughed. You could feel his old age in the sound. “That, kid, is what gives him power,” he said. He turned to you fully. One of his knees was missing, replaced with a magicked ball of iron ore decorated with Elvish runes. It was one of your Keepers more elaborate creations. The tendon’s of the Qunari’s leg framed the orb as it spun and moved with him. You watched it. It wasn’t something you understood quite yet.

“He’s just a mage with an ego,” he finally added. Your eyes drifted up from his knee to his heavily lined face. He grinned. “Like you, kid.”

“Funny,” you answered flatly. He laughed.

“Herald.”

The name ripped you out of your memories. You blinked away the images of rain and grass and torn skies, shook your head to rid yourself of laughter from a mentor you would never see again. You weren’t sure you called for you: Krem, Solas, Varric, or Cassandra. Someone had. They all stared at you. You swung your legs from the horse and dropped to the ground.

“Sorry,” you muttered, “Just thinking.”

“Too much thinking is never a good thing,” Varric commented.

“Don’t writers think all the time?” Solas asked.

“Like I said, it’s never a good thing,” Varric responded. You smiled.

“We should make camp here,” Cassandra stated. She lowered her shield to the ground, looking around. You did the same and found the area familiar: a long cave with a wide mouth, a vast expanse of grass, the open sky. You pressed your hand into the cave wall and stared at the floor, searching for Qunlat words in the dirt. They weren’t there. Of course they weren’t. They would never exist. You curled your fingers into a fist and gently thudded it against the stone.

You built a fire at the mouth of the cave and rolled every bedroll out nearby. As the five of you sat, you talked. Everyone talked. It was hesitant at first, with carefully structured sentences to mask personal information. Then Varric stretched his legs out and leaned against the pack he had unburdened his horse of.

“Herald,” he called. You looked over, dirty fingers pushing meat into your mouth, absently thinking of the germs and possible diseases. “Do you even believe in Andraste?” he asked.

Cassandra scoffed. “Why would you ask such a thing?” she retorted.

“Dalish very rarely believe in the ideals of Andrastian religion,” said Solas. He waved his hand as he stretched one leg out, rolling his foot carefully. “After all, Andraste is a creation of the Chantry, and the Chantry are the reason the Dalish live as they do now.”

You swallowed the meat. “First of all, bold of you to assume I’m Dalish,” you said. His head snapped to you, gaze tracing the vallaslin that curved over your cheeks and up to your temples. You ripped at the hard bread of your rations and mopped up the meat with it. “My clan may have been Dalish at one time, but they have long stopped believing in most of the gods.” You ripped the bread with your teeth and spoke through a full mouth, eyes trained on your dish, “Why would we believe in gods who stopped believing in us?”

“That’s very bleak outlook of the world,” Solas commented.

“The world is bleak,” you said. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, staining the leather wrappings that concealed your mark. Your eyes darted between your companions. “We prayed to Mythal before our travels in hopes that someone might hear. But, mostly, we believed in the strength of our feet and the bond our of clan.” You motioned to your face. “The vallaslin reminded us of where we came from.”

“That doesn’t answer the Andraste question,” Krem pointed out. He smirked and tipped his flask to you. “You still have to answer.”

You hesitated. A shameful smile spread across your face. “The youngest of our clan – my friends and I and some more war beaten elders – called her the Shemlen Sham.”

The indignant sound from Cassandra was worth it. Varric exploded with laughter, rocking backwards and holding his gut as Cassandra turned to him. “That’s not funny!” she exclaimed. Solas spared a chuckle. Krem grinned behind his flask. “That’s blasphemous!” she squeaked. She scrambled to her knees and sat back, tunic pooling over her legs, and pressed her hands together in prayer. Krem couldn’t keep from laughing. You covered your mouth and tried your hardest not to snort as she prayed. “I will not be blamed if we are struck down for this!” Cassandra snapped between prayers.

When Varric’s laughter turned to silent cackles and clapping, Solas placed a comforting hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. She turned to him. He reached back to his own pack and produced a skin, the leather stained maroon with age and wine. She took it, red in the face, and twisted it open.

“Now it’s a party!” Krem exclaimed. He lifted his flask from the other side of the fire. “To Shemlen Shams and drunk devotees,” he toasted.

Cassandra almost choked on a gulp of wine. “Cease!” she shouted.

Varric’s roar filled the cave.

It was late morning when your party had fully awakened. You each were slow as you refilled your packs and smothered the embers of your fire, squinting against the sun as it filtered through the clouds. Cassandra rubbed her face and eyes as she and Solas departed to fill skins and canteens with water. You carefully strapped your pack to your horse. Its hair was soft beneath your fingers.

“You know the Vitaar that Qunari use in battle?” you called out to Krem. He glanced at you from the other side of his own horse, only feet away.

“Yes?”

“My clan was full of people on the run, not just Elves. We were Elves, and Humans, and Qunari. Everyone. And our customs were mixed,” you explained. You patted the neck of your horse. “I’m not sure when, but we decided to shave the Vitaar into the fur of the horses. We had tried the halla, but they weren’t too fond of it.” You smiled and met Krem’s gaze. “It made our clan Ours.”

He smiled in understanding. “It made you family.”

“It made us family, yes.”

He patted his horse and sighed. “I understand that,” he murmured. He cleared his throat and mounted his horse. “You’ll enjoy the Chargers, I believe.”

You smiled. “I think I will.”

[veridium]

CW: Light NSFW (partial nudity + physical affection)

For Context, read the previous episode here.

Inquisitor Trevelyan is recovering from her severe injury dealt at Emprise du Lion. Her week at Skyhold filled with medical attention, oversight from her allies, and being kept from any and all “fun” has wore on her, though. Thankfully she gets to have some attempts at mischief when her lover, Ambassador Montilyet, offers to help with something outside her typical duties.

“I am surprised you are minding yourself this well, considering you have always been ready to jump to the next excursion,” the Seeker said, walking slowly alongside the Inquisitor. Lady Trevelyan looked underdressed beside the armored friend she had escorting her along the short courtyard path. For the past week the bandages were her interim small clothes garment, but when she was finally allowed to start walking and do some of her own minor healing spells on herself, she couldn’t be held back in her room by anyone or anything.

Theia smirked softly under her breath. She wore thick resting pants to insulate her legs from the air, and a muslin overshirt to cover her bandages. Around her shoulders as a thick blanket of bear fur, one she held close to her aching muscles. Her pale hair was tied up in a mess of a bun, though a couple braids intertwined made it look intentional – Josephine’s doing, to be sure.

“I know. I could almost pass for Cullen, sulking and wrapped in fur like this,” she joked in return. “Surprisingly, I have found these last couple days to be…comforting,” She was finally able to breath, talk, and walk without heaving for breath. The healers let her bandages be loosened as the sutures began to heal.

“Good. You need those kinds of days, as we all do. Only, you have the more difficult task in such a goal.”

The made their way to a set of steps leading to the stone hallway, and the Seeker outstretched her forearm for the Inquisitor to brace on as she made her way up, her body tensing extra when her right side was being propelled upwards. Her face was as unaffected as it could be – she had been humbled enough by her body for a while.

When they came to the door leading to the great Hall, Cassandra stopped to gaze back out at the Courtyard. “They have taken good care of this place. It provides a valuable place of solace,” she remarked.

“Yes, though, if I see one more bushel of elfroot, I think I’ll start grazing like a Druffalo.” Theia’s humor was laden with fatigue from being messed with, supervised, and escorted every which path she took. She always considered herself an extrovert, though the attentiveness everyone gave her, as if she was more their ward than leader, made her heart heavy. She wanted to be depended on again as a source of strength and solidarity. It was difficult to keep in mind that their care for her was just so, because she was indeed just that.

Still, walking the garden for what felt like the 500th time that week was becoming more monotonous than healing.

As they made their way back to the hall, Cassandra stopped and shifted her weight. “I am afraid I must go back to my duties. Should I ask someone to escort you to wherever you wish to go further?” Cassandra asked with care.

“No, friend, I can find my way to my own chambers. I want to rest, and read some of the reports from this morning again.” Theia wasn’t tip-toeing back into her responsibilities. From the moment she could sit up on her own volition and move her hands without a twinge of connected muscle pain punishing her, she had been receiving her own reports and letters once more. She couldn’t stand the thought of her advisors piling on her own correspondences on top of their own.

“Inquisitor, are you certain? The stairs are steep,” Cassandra cautioned, eyeing Theia knowingly. Toughness and austerity were like a second dialect to the Seeker.

“I can manage. If I fall, I’ll simply laugh all the way down at the tragedy of my existence,” she laughed softly.

Cassandra shook her head, “At least that makes one of us capable of doing so,” she replied, before nodding her head and departing for the Courtyard.

Theia watched her go for a moment, before turning sorely on her hip and sighing. How much longer before she can be rid of this pace? She had been injured before, but nothing that caused more than a limp, or an arm to be in a sling, or her head to ache for a couple days. Having a flesh wound was more trouble than it was worth.

She had the urge to yell up at the sky, “Alright, now it’s either having an Anchor that opens and closes doors to the Fade, OR it’s debilitating flesh wounds. Not both! Got it?”

--

Skyhold responded with reassurance in the wake of seeing their injured leader. This was the woman who survived an avalanche, and encounter with a possible arch-demon, who traveled through time magic. She could certainly best a battle wound. And, with the way the story was spun, no one besides her close allies and Council members knew the true severity of her circumstance, or how close she came to danger.

No one had cause to fear. Oh, well, besides the prevailing reasons that loomed over them like an apocalypse…you know, because it kind of was one.

The journey was embarrassing for Theia and she had no witnesses. Each step had to be reached with both feet before she could move onto the next one. A hand went protectively to her patched up side as she pressed on, wincing and grunting with frustration. When she got to angry she had to remind herself there were people nearby who’s primary job was to run in the direction of her voice if they heard anything suspect.

It felt like eternity had passed when she finally reached the top, but In actuality it was no more than 5 minutes. Theia was injured, sure, but she was also unreasonable in expectations.

She took a moment to collect herself, steadying her breathing as her gaze went to the spread of papers laying atop her bed. She had three important letters to dispatch today, including a discrete status report to The Iron Bull who remained with his men in Emprise du Lion. The letters they returned were amply entertaining for the Inquisitor during her bed rest, scribbled with sidenotes and exaggerations:

“Boss, demons are here up the ass and Templars are running around looking more mangey than the actual wolves. The wolves also hate us. It’s some frozen crap up here. I’m starting to think you got the better end of the deal,” one line from Bull.

“We requested more heavy clothes to go under our armor. The Dalish’s “bow” can’t take down enough rams in time. Also, watch yourself with those compression bandages. The heat will get you if you’re not careful,” a note from Krem.

“Everything is faring well and we are remaining steady, and eagerly look forward to your return. Rest easy, Inquisitor, you only have one body to arm,” a sincere and warming note from Blackwall.

She slowly approached her bed, tossing the bear fur onto a nearby chair. The brisk air embraced her upper body and sent goosebumps up and down her arms. Even if it was cold, as she slid out of her muslin shirt, she felt better. Just having the bandage wrapped around her body like a corset and her slacks made her feel like the injury wasn’t as bad as it was.

--

A couple of hours had passed, with the Inquisitor sitting on the side of her bed, sifting through notes and fulfilling her paperwork duties. Her flow was broken by the sound of a door knock.

“Please come in!” she called out, but fearing her voice wasn’t heard she flicked one of her wrists, and the downstairs door unlocked and went ajar. Her eyes went back to the lines of text in front of her.

It was Josephine and one of the healers who were tasked with keeping the Inquisitor alive. Surely, she did not get paid enough for such a responsibility, and the Inquisition was known for paying well. Josephine was behind the elven woman, who bowed respectfully, holding a roll of new bandages and some cloth for washing.

“Your Worship, it is time to change your bandages,” the woman advised, holding the materials out. Theia had insisted after the third round of bandage changes that she would do them herself. This was the first time she would do so, though.

Theia slid out of bed very carefully, and walked lightly over to her. “Thank you, Anya. You have taken good care of me,” she greeted, taking the cloth and bandage into her own hands.

The woman named Anya smiled. “Thank you for being a cooperative patient. You are a welcome respite from the soldiers and their…mouths,” she said, knowing Theia wouldn’t take offense. In fact she agreed: nothing could be more vitriolic than the words of an injured soldier, and she could only imagine how they sharpened with the sight of an elven mage.

“Tell me if they cross a line, please,” Theia placed a hand on Anya’s soldier. “I know I keep asking, but, I mean it.”

“Of course, My Lady,” Anya said, nodding again. She turned and greeted Lady Josephine, before departing from the bed chamber.

Theia went to her bed and tossed the supplies on it, reaching for the place in her bandage that secured the outermost end of it.

“I’m starting to think if I kept these on they’d become a second layer of skin like a creature’s hide,” Theia joked with a darker sense of humor than usual these days, no doubt from her impatience at not being able to resume her life as it had been.

Josephine grinned, “You’d look more like Corypheus by the sounds of reports,” she countered.

“Ugh, you’re right, nevermind.”

Theia had started to unravel herself from her binding, but she was stopped when she felt Josephine come up behind her and place a hand on hers. “Theia, I was wondering…”

“Hm?” Theia looked up, brow furrowed with curiosity.

“Would you…let me re-bandage you?” Josephine’s voice was sweet and hopeful. Up until that point, she had witnessed all of Theia’s re-bandaging and check-ups, but she had always been surrounded by healers and personnel. It was hardly a discrete ritual.

Theia froze in place as she was caught off guard by Josephine’s request. “I, uh, well,” she cleared her throat and looked down at her body. “You know what to do?”

Josephine smiled. “I watched like a hawk, and I asked questions. You do not have to humor me, I just…felt an impulse.”

“Sure, Josephine, I don’t mind.” Theia’s voice was warm, humbled. She guided Josephine’s hand with her own to the bandage end and then surrendered both of her arms gently above her head. This made Josephine’s face glow with both nervousness and glee.

Attentively, Josephine exchanged the collecting bandage between her hands as she reached around and around Theia’s waist. Theia watched her movements and kept quiet, the stillness of her face and body at the mercy of Josephine’s touch.

“I am flattered you stepped away from your desk in order to tend to my grotesque and boring battle wounds,” Theia teased, feeling her chest and ribs grow into themselves with the loosening.

“I had a moment, and when I saw Miss Anya heading to your chambers, I took the risk. I am happy it paid off,” Josephine hummed, though she grew quiet as she came to the end of the bandage. Then, she say the compression cloth square that clung to Theia’s side from the endured pressure. Her eyes flickered up to Theia’s, almost as if she were asking for permission. Theia grinned and stayed still.

Gently, ever so gently, Josephine’s right index and thumb fingers picked at the corner edge of the cloth, and it cooperated, damp at her touch. She pulled it away slowly, the sticky sound of its detachment yielding to the sight of an intimidating wound.

The sutures had done their job and had since been removed, at least at the insistence of Theia’s opinion, Once she was out of the woods she could tend to the healing herself with the insights of a couple trusted healers, Anya being one of them. The wound itself was leaving a hefty scar, about 2-2.5 inches in width at its widest point. The wound stretched from the front of her right upper ribs and slid downward towards her hips. It looked like a giant cat had clawed at her.

The tissue was healing well, but the paleness of her skin made every blue, red, and purple hue of bruise and scar known.

It was a quiet moment of aw when Josephine uncovered it all, and finally got to get a clear look at the remaining damage. She couldn’t even process the fact that her lover was topless in front of her, baring herself in the open air, still her same beautiful self but now with war telling its story on her body with a vengeance.

Theia picked up on the irony of it, and when she saw the concern and pause in Josephine’s expression, she sought to break the tension.

“Well, that’s not exactly the look I imagined you’d have when you first saw my bare breasts, but, I’ll take it,” she teased, holding her waist and chest still as her hands went to her breasts shyly.

Josephine heard her words and blinked rapidly, snapping herself out of it. “Oh, uh, My Lady,” her instinctive rhetoric kicked in. “I mean, Theia, I—“

“It’s alright, Josephine. I understand. But, it looks worse than it is,” Theia comforted, leaning into her lap some more. Josephine felt her weight and became even more self-conscious. Everything felt like a trap into embarrassment. Is this what Theia felt like on a regular basis? Because it was most unsavory.

She managed to step outside of her own thoughts as she watched Theia reach a hand down, pressing the open palm of the hand sans anchor onto the scar. The hand began to glow lightly. It wasn’t anything special, no magical fix-it method of erasing her wound. But, the healing nature of it was just enough to protect from infection and ease the course of healing slightly. That would have to be enough expedience for her. She was comforted by knowing she could do something to help it along besides lay here or there, waiting.

After a moment, the glowing ceded, and she released her hand to fall to her side. She made eye contact with Josephine, who had watched in wonder.

“Do you ever get bored or unimpressed with having these abilities? Like it is simply another limb or sense like taste or smell?” Josephine made conversation.

“Hah, when I get close to it, I ask Dorian to make something interesting happen. Then we go off somewhere and play around. I learn a lot from him, he…learns something from me, I don’t know what, but, I have to think for the sake of my ego.”

“Ah, I see. So that is where the sparks of fire and ice in the tree line just southeast comes from.”

“Um, yeah. We…we try to remain discrete.”

“Try?”

Theia nodded with surrender. “Alright, but you have to admit, it looks rather badass.”

Josephine gave her a look. She had seen a lot of “badass” things if all that required it was elemental magic and the sound of two people being way-too-impressed with themselves for their own good.

“Very well, if you say so,” Josephine said, reaching for the new fresh cloth and folding it into a shape like its predecessor. Theia smirked at the lack of impression she made.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Theia teased further, “the healer actually recommended to me a new position for re-applying my bandage.”

“What? But she did not tell me—“

Theia bit her lip with mischief, and before Josephine could react with reason, she reached her hands and placed them on her shoulders, pushing her back on the bed she had been leaning on. Josephine’s breath escaped her mouth abruptly as she went down. She was confused, then intrigued.

“Theia, what are you doing?” she asked, eyes narrowed and peering down her nose back at her.

Theia was gambling with her believability and allure whilst nursing a wound that made her groan when she sneezed. But, she wanted something to be salvaged in these days of practical vulnerability.

She got her left leg up first without much soreness, and used it to anchor the other, weaker side. She bit bit her lip to hide the difficulty behind an expression of thoughtfulness. It was rough, but she got up to where she wanted to be. Josephine’s hands didn’t know where to go: do they keep her in place? Do they help her?” Do they reach for skin? Where?

Her contemplation bought Theia time, and she was finally there, straddling her woman’s hips, exhaling the tension from her jaw. Josephine knew that had to ache.

“Theia!” Josephine said, her hands finally resolving to fall on Theia’s hips as a gesture of support. “What has gotten into you?”

Theia breathed, the lack of forgiveness in her body perturbing her. “Doing some physical therapy?”

“Oh, please,” Josephine tried to sit up, having her arms reach behind her and push her chest upwards against Theia’s upper body. She didn’t mean it through her concern, but her lips came in close contact with the Inquisitor’s.

“No, really, I needed to stretch my hips. I promise,” Theia breathed, putting her lips within an inch of Josephine’s, breathing hot air as her hands rested on Josephine’s chest as soft as she could while also lightly depending on her body for support.

An impatient groan came from Josephine’s mouth. “Agh! You and your machinations,” she chided.

“You honestly thought I could resist you for a full week? Even with a giant gash in my side? Josephine, please,” her words danced on the entendre of rebuff and begging…the worst and best kind.

“You know what you are doing and you know it is unwise. Now, if you can get on our right side, I can help you down and it will not risk…” Josephine began to shift her weight forward, as much as she could without forcing Theia’s fragility into an unintentional fall or slip.

Theia beared down on her seat, she was not giving up easily, Her hands went to Josephine’s hair, fingers hungering to get lost in the ribbons of black curls that remained secured in her classic bun. Her shoulders curved into Josephine’s body. She had her effectively pinned enough; even with the wound, Theia had the build of a Knight-Enchanter in training, and it was not frail nor compact.

“Josephine, I have a secret to tell you,” Theia breathed on the skin of her lover’s neck as she left kisses in its path, “you have a topless and besotted woman on top of you. Choose your next move carefully,” she said low, irresistible, enticing. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it: Josephine closed her eyes, the buried desire she had kept in the midst of stress and duty coming to the fore.

“That woman,” Josephine exhaled, her hands moving to Theia’s sides with care not to hurt her “is after my own heart. But she is also recovering, and is being attended to generously by the hands of her lover who is also a busy and demanded-upon Diplomat. Perhaps she should rethink her advance for now,” Josephine pulled her head back enough to make eye contact with Theia.

Theia’s chest raised as she inhaled with longing and disappointment. A pause, while she scanned Josephine’s conflicted face. She knew she wanted her, but something in her gut spurred at her: not now, not like this.

“As you wish, Lady Ambassador,” Theia whispered. She was about to pull away and slide down, but the back of her neck was caught by Josepine’s hand. Suddenly, Josephine’s mouth was to hers, in a quiet, still kiss. One with conviction, one that was relentlessly waiting for it to be able to grow into something beyond itself.

Theia kissed back, letting the consolation prize flood her veins and her nerves like a forest fire. She could feel her magic oscillate, and in her left palm, the Anchor’s energy stirred.

Ten seconds of bliss, before back to the reality of it.

Josephine helped her slide down gently, until Theia was back on her feet in front of her. Instead of pushing her fully away from her grasp, she tenderly wrapped her legs around Theia’s upper thighs, securing her stance in front of her. Smiling knowingly, Josephine grabbed the cloth again, and, finishing the folding, tilted her head as she pressed it on the wound with a fully-open palm. Now, it was time for the bandage.

Busying herself, Josephine’s hands held the roll of bandage as she began unraveling it. Theia took the opportunity to wrap her arms around Josephine’s neck loosely, keeping her close. Even though she did not get what she originally wanted, in that moment it felt like the alternative was proving to be better than expected. She enjoyed this side of Josephine, a side where you could see just how truthfully and intimately she cared for the good. That is when the thoughts started interjecting themselves in Theia’s stream of consciousness: those terrifying, enthralling, deadly, enlightening words.

I’m falling in love with you.

When she had found the end of the bandage knot, Josephine paused, and let her hands fall heavily on her lap. Her face was lost in thoughts.

Concerned, Theia let a hand caress the Ambassador’s cheek. “Hm?” she hummed, her eyes looking for truth in Josephine’s.

Josephine gazed up at her for a moment, before a pang of weakness enveloped her again. She let her hands grasp at Theia’s ribs, and her face went to her abdomen. Deeply, reverently, lovingly, she kissed the indent between Theia’s lightly-sloping abdominal muscles.

The act sent butterflies racing in Theia’s stomach, Not even the subtle ache it caused in her wound was noticeable beyond a fleeting sting, Her arms enclosed their grip tighter around Josephine’s neck, her own lips falling to rest on the top of her head.

“My love,” Theia whispered into her hair, “I don’t remember this part of the bandaging process.”

Josephine’s lips parted from Theia’s skin as she laughed lightly. “Some healing touches go beyond manual direction.”

Eventually, the Lady Ambassador was able to finish what she started. While her execution was not, the end result was nothing but textbook. And no one knew just what her secret ritual had been to get there.