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quizzyisdone · 1 year

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Take On Me | Fem! Bell Reader x Frank Woods

A/N: Hi!! I know it has been forever since I post for BOCW and honestly, I miss it a lot. Adult life just doesn't really lend itself well to having creative hobbies (shocking). But here's a little something for Valentine's Day that definitely is not projection at all :) Masterlist Pairing: Fem! Bell Reader x Frank Woods Word Count: 3.2k Synopsis: Woods has always hated Valentine's Day -- it's just a pathetic marketing gimmick for big businesses to take your money and for society to make you feel bad if you spend it alone. Bell, on the other hand, would beg to differ. Warnings: Strong language, mentions of alcohol, Woods is a jackass at one point but don't worry he makes up for it

*Title inspired by Take On Me, by a-ha

You walked glumly down the sidewalk, attempting to avert your eyes from the restaurants that lined the streets, young couples all enjoying a nice Valentine’s Dinner inside. Even the damn weather was romantic.

Light flurries of snow cascading around everyone, intricate snowflakes landing delicately in your hair and onto your coat. It wasn’t bone-chilling cold either, perfect for a stroll down the street, holding hands with the one you loved. Warm yellowish hues from inside the various buildings emanated onto the street, along with the sound of laughter and idle chatter as well. It would’ve been the perfect atmosphere to set the mood for a date with Woods. The idyllic late winter day.

You clutched the brown paper bag filled with his favorite beer to your chest, careful so as not to drop it. It was your little Valentine’s Day gift, small and inconsequential enough to play off as just a kind gesture and completely not at all related to the present holiday. Admittedly, your feelings were a little hurt when Woods had gone off on a sarcastic tangent about how much he hated Valentine’s Day the other day and that it was just a stupid corporate holiday.

He was kind of right, but it was still fun to celebrate, at least for you. A nice little date, free from the worries of either of your jobs or maybe at least a gift from Woods would have been nice. You two had never even been in the same state, or even country for that matter, during the holiday since you started dating.

Maybe missing Valentine’s Day was kind of your fault anyways, since after his little joking tangent both of you agreed not to celebrate or do anything -- it was just a normal day. Ironic, considering a day with Woods could scarcely be considered normal due to your work with the CIA and his with the Marines. A normal day wasn’t getting called into work and both of you just sitting on the couch, too exhausted to truly spend time with each other in a manner other than physically being in the same room.

Truthfully, life had been rather boring lately, your relationship wasn’t missing love per se, but it was missing that old excitement.

You turned off of the street and into the apartment building where you shared a flat with Woods. After climbing up two flights of stairs and finding your door, you reached into your coat pocket for your keys, opening to the door to find Woods putting his own jacket on and grabbing the keys to his truck.

“Hey babe.” He said, barely giving you a glance in acknowledgment as he tied his boots.

“Hi.” You said, confused and frowning. You crossed your arms. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, over to this dive bar with Adler, he just got back into town, thought I’d get a drink with him.” Woods explained, none the wiser to how upset you were. You harshly placed down the brown bag. “Uh, what’s in the bag?” He asked.

“Something I got for you. I wanted to do something nice for you.” You crossed your arms and put on the angriest expression you could muster to hide how defeated you felt. He opened it, revealing a six pack of his favorite imported beer, very difficult and expensive to get in America. Instead of a smile and a thank you, he furrowed his brows, frowning.

“We weren’t supposed to get each other anything.”

“It wasn’t for Valentine’s Day. It was meant to be a nice gesture” You spat, stomping off and into the living room adjacent to the foyer. “Not even a fucking thank you.” You whispered under your breath.

“Thank you?” He yelled from the other room, following you, now clearly just as angry as you. “We agreed not to get anything for each other. I don’t fucking want your gift if you’re just going to be an ass about it.”

“I went to seven different liquor stores across the entire Philadelphia city limit in the snow and paid nearly fifty dollars for a six pack of special imported beer that you’d go through in one sitting because I knew this was your favorite and now you don’t want it. Some gratitude would be nice. ”

“Why would I want it if you’re gonna act like a bitch?” Woods bellowed. ‘Bitch’ had hit a nerve, he had never called you that before, but then again the two of you never got into any bad arguments before. Regardless, you stood your ground.

“Maybe I’m acting like a bitch because your first response was to chastise and question me for getting you a present and now you’re yelling at me.”

“I didn’t even want to celebrate Valentine’s!”

“Maybe I did because I never get to be with you anymore, you’re always too tired or too busy to fucking be my partner.” Your pitch became quieter and you suddenly became aware of the tears streaming down your cheeks in a torrential downpour. “You haven’t touched me in forever. I miss you. I wanted to celebrate it with you, I never got to experience any of this.” You said through clenched teeth.

Evidently, the tears did not sway Woods, as he continued yelling.

“Well I have and it’s not that fun. Sorry I’m exhausted from saving the entire fucking free world, Bell.” He retorted.

You scoffed.

“Get off your fucking soapbox, Woods. You and I do the exact same thing, and I still make time for you.” You turned your body away from him facing the wall, not even wanting to see him. “It’d be nice if you could do that for me too.”

“I do!” He explained, almost childlike in his declaration -- like a toddler so boldly claiming that the sky was green because he said so.

“When was the last time you even took me out when it wasn’t my idea?” Woods paused, attempting to remember (to which he couldn’t). “See? You don’t even remember. Go and hang out with your buddy, don’t bother coming back if you don’t want me anymore. I’ll get the hint.” You said dejectedly, walking off to your bedroom but stealing a glance at Woods, who only glared daggers at you, brows furrowed, looking almost annoyed with you.

You lightly shut your bedroom door the exact moment Woods slammed the front door shut, the vibration of which could be felt against the wall and you could hear a distant clang and glass shatter. You placed your back against the wood, slowly sliding down into the floor and placing your head between your knees, sobbing.

You instantly regretted that ultimatum you just gave him, Woods was the only person you have after MK-Ultra, while he had everyone. He didn’t need you, you needed him. To ground you, to keep you sane.

---------

Woods stomped off to his truck, angrily shoving the key into the ignition. The drive to the bar was erratic and rage-filled, as he gripped the steering wheel with an iron clasp and swore under his breath, muttering counter arguments that he could’ve used in an attempt to justify his actions.

Arriving at the bar, he slammed the door shut, scanning the front of the building for Adler, whom he found almost immediately, nursing a cigarette as per usual. The person who stood next to him, however, utterly enraged Woods. Fucking Hudson.

Despite himself, Woods strided to where they were standing, waiting for him.

“Hey Adler.” He greeted the scarred man. Adler nodded back in acknowledgement.“The fuck you doing here, Hudson?”

“Well aren’t you in a great fuckin’ mood.” Hudson retorted, jabbing Woods’s shoulder. “Come on, we can argue inside when we’re sat down and drunk.”

Woods reluctantly obliged him, opening the door and scanning the room for a table, considering the bar was completely full. He found a high top table and sat down, beckoning for a server, for which he ordered three whiskeys and a round of shots for the table.

Silence ensued for a brief moment before Adler broke it.

“So why the hell are you in a bad mood this time, Woods?” He asked, exasperated in a way that indicated that it wasn’t so uncommon for the sergeant to swing by in a sour mood. Woods immediately went on the defensive.

“The more important question is why the fuck Hudson is here? Don’t you have a wife and kids to celebrate Valentine’s with? She pissed at you too?” Woods spat, and Hudson sighed deeply.

“So that’s what this is about.” Adler chuckled to himself.

“If you have to know, Jenny’s not in town right now,” He explained. “Few days ago she was really upset and needed a vacation, so I told her I’d watch the kids while she went down to her mother’s house for some alone time.”

“Oh and so I guess you just left the kids at home by themselves.” Woods retorted, realizing belatedly that his statement was a bit unfair. For all his faults, he had always known the man to be a devoted husband and father. Hudson rolled his eyes.

“What kind of father do you take me for? This sixteen year old girl down the street needed some pocket money so I’m paying her to babysit them. Happy?” He rolled his eyes and Woods let the matter drop. “So now that I’ve answered your question, what has put you in an even worse mood than usual? Is it Bell?” Hudson asked.

Woods groaned. “Yes, okay? We got into a fight.”

“About?” Adler beckoned Woods to explain.

“Well,” He began. “So a few weeks back, right? I went off on some rant that Valentine’s Day is stupid and we agreed to not celebrate it. But today I guess she went back on her word and got me a gift and made me look like an asshole for not getting her anything. Then we got into a fight. That’s it.”

“That can’t be it.” Hudson scoffed. This time it was Woods’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Fine.” He huffed. “Words were… exchanged.”

“And what the hell exactly did you say to her?” Adler piped up. Woods rolled his eyes again, slamming his beer bottle down.

“Fine.” He huffed, beginning to regale every single gritty detail of a five minute fight, seeing as Hudson and Adler would’ve pried everything out of him some way or another. Throughout his story, Woods kept stuttering over his words, pausing, taking deep breaths. He still couldn’t get over that ultimatum.

“You called her a bitch?” Hudson stared at Woods, his eyes glaring daggers.

“That was your first mistake.” Adler snickered.

“No, that was his hundredth mistake. Your first mistake, Woods, was ranting about Valentine’s Day in the first place.” Hudson paused, noticing the very displeased expression of the man across from him. Not wanting to get into a bar fight tonight, he chose his next words carefully. “Hear me out, I can tell you every reason why you’re wrong, if you want. If you don’t, that’s fine. Drink your pain away and let your relationship with Bell go down the drain.”

Tense silence filled the air as Woods retreated back into his head. He certainly hates Hudson, doesn’t think the man does a damn thing right, but he’s been married for the better half of a decade for a reason, right? Woods slowly nodded his head, it couldn’t hurt to hear the man out, and besides, even in his rage, even after the ultimatum you gave him, losing one of the only people he actually cared about was one he couldn’t bear.

“Okay. Well, as we all well know, Bell doesn’t remember anything about her life.” Hudson glanced at Adler, who suddenly found a keen interest in the glass of whiskey in front of him. “And in the past three years, she hadn’t been able to celebrate any holiday other than Christmas last year because of schedules. Everything is a first for her, making it special to her. So your first mistake was ranting about Valentine’s Day.”

“Wh- How?” Woods sighed.

“Jesus Christ you’re so fucking dense.” Hudson mumbled to himself, rubbing his forehead. “It’s her first and she has someone who she loves dearly to celebrate it with. Probably felt like a gut punch. And still yet, she tried to make it special in spite of you. You practically spat on her for it. You called her a bitch and yelled instead of just accepting it and spending the night with her. That’s all she wanted.”

Oh. Maybe he was onto something.

“You are all Bell has.” Hudson stressed, the way he was explaining the situation to Woods, you would think he has experienced this exact situation. Perhaps he has, Woods did find that break up letter to Hudson from some girl like fifteen or so odd years ago. “And she’s probably feeling pretty neglected.”

“So why do you all of the sudden like Bell?” Adler asked, shame from the mention of what he did to you still painted on his expression.

“I like her well enough, and she’s proven herself.” Hudson took a sip from his drink and laughed softly. “But I like proving Woods wrong more.”

“Shut the fuck up, baldilocks.” Woods grumbled and Adler snorted, while Hudson let out a small chuckle at the creative insult. “I’ve gotta go.”

Unceremoniously, Woods removed himself from the high barstool, fumbling in his pocket for his wallet. He placed a twenty on the table, leaving without a word.

“Y’know he’s never gonna admit that sometimes you’re right.” Adler said, a cigarette between his teeth as he popped open his zippo lighter.

“I know.”

Woods glanced down at his watch as he approached the door to your shared apartment. It was only seven when he left. Fuck. He hoped you might still be awake. As quietly as he could, with a bouquet in one hand and his keys in the other, he unlocked the door.

“Bell?” He whispered, hoping to hear at least a TV or the radio playing. Instead, it was dark, with only a small glow emanating from the oven light in the kitchen. “Babe?”

No answer. Shit. He set his keys down on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and turned on a lamp. Gingerly, he made his way to your shared bedroom, opening the door softly.

On the bed, he found you asleep, facing towards the door and your hand lazily resting on the pillow on his side. He sighed, it was clear you had fallen asleep crying, your eyes puffy and cheeks red even in sleep. Woods took off his boots, setting down the bouquet on the nightstand.

As stealthily as a man of his size could manage, he crawled into bed, facing towards you. He held the hand that was resting on his side in his own hand, bringing it to his, softly kissing your knuckle.

“Bell.” He rested his free hand on your hip, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. Woods smiled softly as your eyes fluttered awake. Instead of returning his soft gestures, you simply grumbled, taking back your hand and flipping over on your other side. He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t that. “Baby, I’m sorry.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re drunk. Go to bed, you'll feel differently in the morning.” You said, sniffling and barely audible.

“I didn’t drink anything. Baby girl, I am so fucking sorry.” He scooched closer to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush to his form. “I’m sorry for complaining about Valentine’s, I’m sorry for the beer, I’m sorry for calling you a bitch, I’m sorry for being a fucking jackass to my girl.”

Silence ensued for a few minutes, only interrupted with your occasional sniffle. You sighed, sitting up and facing towards him. You gave a sad smile.

“Frank, I just want us to be normal.” Your voice cracked as the tears began again. “I don’t want this shitty military stuff anymore. I just want to be a normal couple who does normal couple things.”

“Oh, baby girl. Honey, I am so sorry.” He shushed as he sat up, holding you in his arms so tightly, as if he was afraid you’d shatter into dust and leave him forever if he didn’t.

“Baby, we can be normal. I’ll take you to the movies, I’ll take you on more dates, I’ll bring you flowers, I’ll win you the biggest stuffed animal at the fair, I’ll even celebrate Valentine’s Day with you.” He kissed your temple, pulling you even closer as sobs racked your body. “Please, I just need you in my life.”

“Please don’t ever leave me.” You whimpered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.” He held you, strong and steadfast, guilt from the events that transpired earlier sweeping over him. “I couldn’t live without you. God, I’m so fucking sorry, baby girl.”

“Me neither.” The two of you remained there, locked in an embrace and peacefully silent. For hours, you felt as if he was going to leave you, and without him, you’d quite literally have nothing. Without him, you’d have to crawl back to the man that hurt you the most.

To have the normally gruff, brash Marine sergeant here, admitting to you how much he needed you in his life, it almost felt that for once in your life, that you were a normal person. Not some brainwashed freak.

“I got you a present.” He pulled his head back to look at you. A soft smile creeped across your features. “It’s not as good as those beers you got me,” He reached over the nightstand, presented the bouquet of flowers. “And it took me forever to find, considering every florist was either closed or sold out. But you deserve this, and so much more.”

“Oh, Frank. They’re perfect. Thank you so much.” You gave him a quick peck, looking over the bouquet with a proud smile on your face. Your first flowers from him.

“Bell, I also have a very important question for you.” He smiled earnestly at how your eyes were lit up, just from flowers. You nodded, beckoning him to ask. “Will you be my Valentine?”

Your happiness turned into straight glee as you practically exploded with joy.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” You exclaimed, pushing him down and straddling him. You giggled and peppered his face with little kisses all over as he grinned, chuckling along with you. “Of course I will.” You said softly, pulling back as you placed the flowers on your side’s nightstand.

You returned to his side, cuddling up flush against his chest as he smiled down at you, like today never even happened. Your hands drew small circles on his chest and you sighed contentedly, this was a feeling that you had missed these past few months. Just you and Woods -- nothing else.

“Baby?” He hummed. You let your eyes close, the threat of sleep drawing ever near.

“M’yeah?”

“We’ll do something more fun tomorrow, okay?” Woods grinned as he also let his eyes close, pulling you even tighter towards him.

“This is good enough for me.” You lazily smiled against his chest.

So needless to say I'm odds and ends But I'll be stumbling away Slowly learning that life is okay

#pls excuse the title but tbh idc if the song is a giant meme #the lyrics just fit a wood x bell ship so nicely #frank woods #frank woods x reader #frank woods x bell #russell adler #jason hudson #bocw #black ops cold war #cod #call of duty #quizzy writes

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greypetrel · 20 days

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Hiiii, this is for the dragon age questions and for your darling Aisling

ESSENTIALS

04. What is their moral alignment?

LIFE

06. Which aspects of the culture they were born into holds the most significance for them?

12. How efficient are they with things like crafting potions or repairing their own armor?

DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION

06. How did they behave at the Winter Palace? Who did they support in the political scheming?

12. Did they respect the rituals in Mythal’s Temple? Who drank from the Well of Sorrows, Morrigan or your Inquisitor?

13. What do they think of Flemeth? If they drank from the Well, how do they feel about being now beholden to her as Mythal?

Hello! Thank you so much for asking Kat! :D

There's a cut because you made me speak about my two favourite missions (with all its flaws, but I write fanfictions to fill gaps in a story, and the Arbor Wilds is the perfect match of a map I love, lore, fun banter -Solas and Morrigan should co-host a talk show where the guest inevitably tries to stop them from turn the other into a toad... and my brain is on fire.)

Tis the Prompt List

ESSENTIALS

04. What is their moral alignment?

Neutral Good.

LIFE

06. Which aspects of the culture they were born into holds the most significance for them?

The sense of community. Acting like you're part of a group, your actions aren't really just yours, but can influence everyone else. The sense that you can survive only together, and everyone has a part to play, no matter how small.

12. How efficient are they with things like crafting potions or repairing their own armor?

Potions: she's pretty good. Her Keeper was a very skilled herbalist and she learnt well from her. She's not exceptional or a talent, and it doesn't come naturally to her, but she studied enough to be highly proficient. Repairing armour: She can keep her armour in good conditions from fighting. As a Storm Witch, she doesn't wear much metal in her gear (too conductive, and she uses armours in enemies enough to know exactly what happens if she makes a mistake). She knows how to to maintenance, but for bigger repairs she definitely needs help.

DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION

06. How did they behave at the Winter Palace? Who did they support in the political scheming?

Contrary to most people's belief, seeing her wearing her heart on her sleeve, she behaved very well. After long, LONG weeks of Josephine training her for the task. With the super-power of the people-pleaser, she won Belle of the Ball. On the support... With the Well of Sorrow, it's the one choice that keeps haunting her in the future. She couldn't bring herself to trust Gaspard to stay put and let Briala tell him what to do without any retortion. In her opinion, if the man launched his country in a civil war out of ambition, he isn't one to be trusted with a throne, and he isn't one to be trusted not to try and gain some more power for himself. She hated it to guts, but she supported Celene, believing that out of love, she'd be a little less prone to assassinate Briala than De Chalons. Kept every single scrap of paper she found in her studio as a safeguard and is ready to take everything out and blackmail the Empress should the need occur. Yes even after she disbanded the Inquisition, Leliana is instructed to call her immediately if Celene looks at another Alienage for more than 10 seconds.

She is still not sure it was the right decision, even if she really despises Gaspard too.

12. Did they respect the rituals in Mythal’s Temple? Who drank from the Well of Sorrows, Morrigan or your Inquisitor?

Respected every single ritual, defined the floor puzzles as "quirky but fun", quarreled with Cassandra and almost broke her friendship with her over it.

Another decision that haunts her even after: she let Morrigan drink, thinking she was readier than her to face the consequences (after being assured thrice that Kieran would have been taken care of by a trusted person should something bad happen). For her, it would have been a jump in the dark with risks she hadn't considered before, and respected Morrigan enough to trust her with it. Add the fact that Solas was a little too much involved in that choice... Which never happened before. She took it as an alarm bell and trusted him thinking that at least Morrigan was prepared to face risks, knew some of them... She didn't. If hurt and it felt bitter that she didn't, but she stepped back. Kept her sister back too. Continues with motivations in the next question.

13. What do they think of Flemeth? If they drank from the Well, how do they feel about being now beholden to her as Mythal?

Terrible mother, struggles to connect Flemeth to the Mythal she's been taught about. It was the first crack in her faith. It kept up for 2 years thinking that she did it for the greater good and was thinking on the long run... And then well, Trespasser happened, and it's part of the reason why she took it so bad. If she had actually drank from the Well, she'd hate being beholden by her. But like, hate to the point of asking Solas to fix that and leave the Anchor, leave her to die instead. She feels horribly guilty about having left the Well to Morrigan. If she could turn back time again, this is the one choice she'd change in a heartbeat. If she knew from the start, she would have pushed Morrigan away from the Well and jumped in herself, Pocahontas-style to spare her being beholden by her.

But I played that mission without knowing so go Aisling you can have one horror more.

#Beloved Quizzy I know you're Dalish and this should be yours but in the case everything goes shit-#- we can't allow to an ill-meaning entity to control the Anchor don't you think?#dragon age character questions #aisling lavellan #I am sorry for the long rambling #except I'm not #I love/hate the Arbor Wilds #that choice is done in the worst possible way they could have done it #they COULD HAVE given better reasons to Morrigan - building her relationship with the Inquisitor more for once #or like...#It would have played on the personality erasure thing too. “You can't be a Dalish first - YOU'RE THE INQUISITOR FIRST”.#I love/hate Inquisition for this #they have GOOD ideas but don't conclude one if not half-way.#good for fan-fiction (at least for me - I write to fill gaps that drive me mad) bad for playing.#look at me keeping rambling in the tags some more :"D SORRY

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emmanuellececchi · 5 months

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Funny...

I wanted to stick here a gif of glitters explosing because I wanted to share just a bit of fun, joy and everything else to... anyone and everyone.

And so I began looking at my screen... And realized that looking at moving glitters was making me quizzy.

So sorry.

Be happy, have fun, I love you all. Here a hug and a kiss.

but no glitters.

#not going to do that #I still need my computer #quizzy when writing is not top

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pellelavellan · 15 days

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Being a writer is 98% crying into the keyboard wondering why everyone is smarter than you

#ooc #out of quizzy #crack #me; how can I write a smart and cunning villain when I’m not cunning at all #rereading your work like wow so I hate this 😂

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idolsgf · 11 months

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WIP Wednesday

Hello hello! I was tagged by both @ndostairlyrium and @melisusthewee for wip wednesday this week. Thanks lovelies <3

tagging: @fenharel-apologist94 @transprincecaspian @n7viper and whoever else has something they want to share :)

I’ve had this scene in my head for awhile, and then someone in a group chat had asked what the ocs’ opinions were on kids. I think one of the things I definitely know about Mori’na is that she adores kids, and would always regale the Da’len of the clan with hunting tales, often playing with them and looking after them.

You also barely see kids in Inquisition so I wanted to represent them a bit more. But of course I had to add some angst to the mix so here’s a scene told from Solas’ point of view that I might expand on in the future :)

Under cut as always

He bound down the expanse of stairs, on his way to the stables to discuss an earlier conversation over Diamondback with Blackwall.

They never got the chance to finish after his win.

Solas stopped mid way down, ears perking up at a familiar sound, a familiar laugh. Peering down into the courtyard, he spotted the familiar nest of hair. The Inquisitor, away from her normal spot in the war room. She wasn’t alone either, surrounded by a group of children not even above the age of seven.

Skyhold had become a refuge for displaced families and children, a lot of the parents wanting to join in the cause but not wanting to leave their families behind. Some of the children had lost their families in the numerous conflicts spread throughout Thedas.

Mori’na demanded to take the orphaned ones in. The elf wouldn’t take no for an answer, despite objections from the advisors. She was stubborn like that.

Solas admired her conviction.

They seemed to be playing a made up tale, the Inquisitor playing the role of the big bad monster. Solas stood there and watched bemused as the scene played out, a soft smile growing on his face.

It reminded him of something he once saw in the fade, a similar tale concerning two younger siblings playing the heroes intent on saving the local innkeeper’s daughter from harm. Darkspawn had ravaged the nearest village, now bound towards them, but the children still found time to play.

The little ones ran around the courtyard with wooden swords and tree branches, Mori’na pretending to breathe fire over the field. Eventually the kids were able to close the gap.

With one large war cry, the group tackled her to the ground, all piling on top in a flurry. It was a wonder how she could still breathe.

“Ah, you’ve bested me!” she loudly proclaimed, flailing around but failing in her efforts.

Mori’na was laughing the whole time, a real, genuine laugh. The sound was a nice reprieve from the heavy air that usually hung over the hold. Eyes crinkled at the corners, tears prickled the edges. It was the largest smile he’s seen on her face in a long time.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’d heard her laugh like that. He doesn’t remember if she even has for as long as the two have known each other. It was hard to be at ease during the times they faced, yet the way she laughed made it seem there was no imminent threat, no real monster out for her head. Just a normal day.

Solas eventually caught the elf’s eye — she held his gaze for a moment with a smile full of warmth. Solas nodded, returning the gesture in kind.

The gaze broke.

“Alright Da’len, it’s time for this beast to return to her duties.” The were groans of protest from the group before they slowly picked themselves off of her one by one.

Reality soon set in, Solas’ smile replaced by a thin line, brows furrowed as he was finally able to tear his gaze away.

You can’t humor yourself with simple fantasies he reminded himself.

He continued on to the stables.

#wip wednesday #writing #mori’na tag #i think this is still rather early in their relationship as lovers #but they have been friends for awhile at this point #i’m mostly writing snippets of Mo’s time as quizzy and her life right now that I want to expand when I have the time

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bluupxels · 2 years

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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* solidarity *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 edit #dragon age sims #sera #dorian pavus #edits #those are my bitches!!!!#dorian better be in dreadwolf he's literally my best friend #he's always my main mage no matter what kind of quizzy im playing #his banter is just *chefs kiss*#sera is bestie too i just wish her writing was good

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highwayphantoms · 2 years

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happy friday, jay! how does “You can go to sleep now. I will keep watch.” sound for Rowan?

thank you! here's a little something with Rowan and Blackwall for @dadrunkwriting :)

She can’t put her finger on it, but there’s something about camping in the Exalted Plains that sets her on edge. It’s not the undead prowling the abandoned forts, nor is it the Dalish clan sighted by Inquisition scouts. Either one would make sense: Rowan’s fairly certain that images of walking, rotting corpses will haunt her dreams for weeks, and she’s heard enough tales of what the Dalish do to trespassers to know to steer clear. No, as much as the two things are obvious threats, she’s certain it’s something else.

“Inquisitor,” Blackwall says suddenly, jolting Rowan out of her thoughts. Her eyes shoot straight to where he stands on the opposite side of the fire, watching her. A moment too late, she remembers that she’s supposed to be on watch, not puzzling over the source of her uneasiness. “Something on your mind?” he adds.

She hesitates. Her first instinct is to lie, to maintain the fiction that the famed Inquisitor is not a walking knot of fear and anger—but she’s known Blackwall long enough to know that he would see through any such pretense. He’s not like Cassandra, who can be easily convinced of anything she wants to believe. No, lying to Blackwall is a dangerous game.

As silly as it feels to admit the truth, she replies, “I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong with this place.” Somehow, she expects him to laugh even though she knows that he wouldn’t, that he’s a strange man who, for some inexplicable reason, deeply respects her.

Most people would laugh.

Most people wouldn’t have taken the time to not only suggest a style of fighting better suited to her abilities but to also train her in it.

Blackwall nods seriously. “Battlefields are like that,” he says. “All the death and bloodshed—it thins the Veil. Makes things seem just a little bit off.”

“Maybe that’s it,” she concedes. It seems unlikely; not that the Veil might be thinner here, but rather that she might sense it and not know. Through the Anchor on her hand, she can feel rifts in the Veil. Surely she would notice weak spots in the Veil that haven’t yet torn in the same way? A question for Solas, maybe; he always hedges with in the Fade and I suspect, but his answers usually end up being the right ones nonetheless. Rowan yawns, and says, “I thought you were taking third watch.”

He shrugs. “I am,” he replies. Neither of them speak for a few moments, the crackling of the fire and the distant chorus of bugs and nighttime critters the only sounds. Then: “You look exhausted,” Blackwall says, not unkindly.

Rowan shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she replies, and glances up at the sky. Still an hour or so shy of midnight, she guesses.

“Mhm,” he responds, sounding entirely unconvinced. “You should get some sleep, my lady. I’ll keep watch.”

That. That, she’ll never get used to. A shem, calling her “lady”? Anyone else, and she would assume it was meant as an insult—but not from Blackwall.

Still, she’s not going to say no to getting some extra sleep.

She flashes him a grateful smile as she picks herself up off the ground. Her left leg’s gone numb from sitting on it; to buy herself time to let it sort itself out, Rowan asks, “Why aren’t you asleep, if I might ask?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says simply. “Goodnight, Inquisitor.”

“Goodnight, Blackwall.”

#dadwc #dragon age #city elf quizzy AU #da fic #jay writes

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sovaharbor · 1 year

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eimhin lavellan. (plus his boyfriends) / pt. 2 of ?

#i ordered these in the canon-divergent way i like to think they happened thank you.#adoribull+quizzy shouldve been our first canon poly ship!#and i stand! by! this! to this day!!!#but it's fine this is what fanfiction is for i suppose :))#i really do need to write out a full like. timeline. i guess. of wtf happened to eimhin.#like im still working on his fic (since 2018. very red flag of me)#but literally as soon as they get to skyhold really bull is like 'ride the bull' and eimhin's like 'maker yes please'#and then everything with dorian happens and eimhin's Confused but bull's just like :smirk: i know what's happening here.#and then the 3 of them all fall in love and everything's fine nothing goes wrong ever the end!!!!!!!!#summer's gaming tag #oc: eimhin lavellan

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pellelavellan-a · 2 years

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I’m gonna try to be around later to do some replies 🦀

#ooc #out of quizzy #I’m sleeping so much today to make up for all the lost sleep lol #might have another nap and then pop on my laptop to write <3

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kismets-barista · 4 months

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Hold onto your Stetson, @ohposhers; have I got some personal HickDory lore for you 😎💜🌟🫧

Excuse the insanity for those who don't feel compelled towards these two

SO!

Hickory and JD met a few good years before the events of the World Tour when Dory was traveling to find Lonesome Flats, got heatstroke and passed out in the desert. Wakes up to Hickory shadowed in the flickering light of a campfire beneath a canopy of the brightest stars he'd seen since the Neverglades, but it wouldn't be until QUITE a few months later until they really started developing crushes against each other. (Cowboy under the stars, you'd think he'd fall right then and there, right? 🌟)

Why was Hickory already in Lonesome Flats, you might ask? Where was Dickory?

In a glue trap, I say in response. Hickory came from Yodelsberg (is there a canonical name for this?) for international study and to learn about new music. He fell in love with country because yodeling and country music are actually quite gorgeous together. She Taught Me to Yodel, anyone?

Delta Dawn obviously didn't take to Dory showing up and around the town, but after some convincing by Hickory and lots of proving himself (plus a vulture attack that resulted in John Dory saving the very young niece of Delta Dawn- Clampers-) he 'earned' a place there and began to work around town.

It was weird for him.

He'd never quite settled down, until then.

(Now, the specific timeline, yearly I mean is a little muddled because I'm still crafting this, but I'll put them out about three years, now.)

John Dory was still living in Lonesome Flats, and he'd started a relationship with Hickory. They loved each other, as my cohort in crime @protagonist-art (CHECK OUT THEIR ART I LOVE THEM SM MUAH) has Hickory tell John when we get write them, "More than the moon loves the ocean." As surely as the tide pulls in and out, so the lovers return to each other.

So Via, what does Hickory think about BroZone?

Oh, my sweet star.

He doesn't know.

After returning to the devastated Troll Tree, John Dory lost a piece of his heart in the damaged pod they used to live in. It was the first time he went grey, and the memories of his brothers started shifting from what was, to what would never be again. He couldn't find it within himself to talk about them, and has his secrets.

But so does Hickory.

Girl wdym stop being so mysterious.

Heh. I know. It's just a glimpse into my dark mind /ref. Anyways, Hickory never told John Dory he was a Yodeler troll. (Another piece of lore that Quizzy and I worked on together and I think it's brilliant.)

Huh? Aren't they in a long-term relationship? Won't this cause issues later on if they don't share these things with each other?

Oh, they love every aspect of each other too much for their bond to truly be broken.

And yet.

One morning, years after just living and loving, John Dory wakes up with a massive headache and nausea.

"Maybe it's that horse that kicked me yesterday, could've gotten me harder than we both thought."

"Lemme check for a knot, Darlin'."

No knots, but there was an egg.

🌟 (Here I'll say that I'm massively in love with the headcanon that trolls conceive through true love- it isn't quite necessary for them to physically do anything unless they want to. Just them, wholeheartedly trusting and putting everything into their relationship and pouring their heart out to their partner.)

They were absolutely ECSTATIC, and rightfully terrified in their own ways. Neither of them were looking for children but not against it, and after resting for a few days they began to plan. A nursery in the house, baby books with millions of names scattered on the coffee table, toys and cute little baby clothes for when the little one hatched.

Wanna know two of the names John Dory had in mind? Rhonda and Dolly.

They were ecstatic until the night John Dory woke up absolutely ill and with a pit in his stomach.

They lost the egg, and it was the second time John Dory went grey in his life.

A week after this had happened, John Dory left a bundled lock of his hair at Hickory's nightstand and did what he knows how to do all too well. He ran.

Hickory never went too far out of Lonesome Flats in the hopes that John Dory would come back. He couldn't imagine what would happen if his love came back and didn't find him there.

The events of World Tour come about, Hickory meets Branch, and travels for the first time since John Dory left.

John Dory continued to travel, until the events of Band Together.

But don't worry, dear readers, for as surely as the tides come in, so will the lovers meet again. 🌟

Aaaand BOOM! That's it! 💜 I've got lore behind the names Rhonda and Dolly as well, and am SO down to answer any questions about them that anyone has. For you, Posh, thank you for asking and helping me to share a story I've been working on, and for everyone else that read this, thank you kindly! I hope that everyone who made it this far has quite a lovely day, or if you didn't, have a lovely day anyways!

Remember to take your meds, drink water, eat something, and stretch!

💜🌟🫧

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quizzyisdone · 1 year

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It Will Come Back (Part I) | Ghost x Fem! Reader

Chapter Title: Witch Image Word Count: 4.3k Pairing: Ghost x Fem! Reader Synopsis: The instant you joined the 141, you took special notice of a certain member was not like the others, in both appearance and personality. The way his intense stare ignited a feeling within you that you could not put words to. For months you pretend not to notice him. But Ghost does not play pretend. Warnings: Strong language, canon-typical violence, slow burn romance

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

Masterlist

**Chapter title inspired by Witch Image by Ghost

I have always kept you closer than you've known I am riding in the shadows behind you On a pale white horse

He always lingered in the background, and were it anyone else, his presence would have been insignificant from where he stood. Ghost was different, though. Even from day one, the day you first met him, always in the back of your mind could you feel his cold, harsh presence emanating over you like an aura.

The first time you had met (although “met” is a strong word for what truly happened), you took notice of him immediately. Price had greeted you right off the heli with most of the team, including Ghost. Everyone had at least offered a greeting, but he just stood there. Several feet away from the rest of the group, staring at you, sizing you up. His mask was off putting, but what stood to be more intimidating was his stature, stare, quiet nature. 6’5, roughly 250 pounds of pure muscle and utter silence.

The balaclava that he never took off seemed comparatively minor in terms of intimidation when contrasted to everything else about him. You weren’t the type to scare easily, but to say Ghost was off putting was saying it mildly. When the group dissipated and went their separate ways, you stole one final glance at him. He simply nodded in acknowledgement then walked off, his assault rifle in hand with the safety notably turned off.

Why the hell was the safety off on base?

Price chuckled when you informed him of the encounter later that day.

“Sounds ‘bout right.” He took a puff of his cigar. “You’re lucky he acknowledged you. Must’ve caught him on a good day.”

The window in the makeshift debriefing room was propped open, allowing the cool desert breeze to sweep through the room, little wisps of your hair fluttering as it flowed by. You sat slumped in a chair waiting for Price. You were trying damn near everything in your power not to fall asleep at this late hour, but also to avoid glancing over at Ghost, who had elected to stand and restlessly pace about the room in silence, making you a bit apprehensive of him in the moment.

Something had to have happened to make him this restless, and his current demeanor reminded you of that first meeting with him.

Since that first encounter all those months ago, something barely bearing a resemblance to an acquaintanceship had formed, forged through the very few covert stealth ops you both had been on together with some of the others. It was a strange, unspoken bond between the two of you, like you both completely understood yet misunderstood each other at the same time. It was weird, but you had grown accustomed to it as he had.

Ghost never spoke to you outside of missions, he didn’t really do that with anyone (but his eyes seemed to linger a little longer, you realized). Like the others, he beheld you in a cool, stoic regard. You returned the favour and pretended not to notice him as often as you truly did, only ever standing in his presence if Soap, Gaz, or Price was present.

You two were never alone together like you were to be this time around. You don’t know if being alone with someone he didn’t trust on an op was causing his restlessness, or it was some other inexplicable reason.

You also didn’t know if it made you nervous or euphoric being alone with him. On one hand, he was unnerving, and ruthless by reputation. He was willing to sacrifice his teammates for the greater good, and as noble as that is, that often meant a bloody, horrific death for whomever he sacrificed to get the job done. On the other hand, he was a natural leader who embodied the spirit of professionalism, and his seeming omniscience and considerable skill bordered on the supernatural.

There was also a small part of you yearning to impress this enigmatic man that admittedly scared you at times, and this was the perfect opportunity. You didn’t quite know if that desire extended from a strange attraction or admiration of the man. Perhaps both.

Price opened the door, slamming it shut. His face set into a deep frown, clearly his mood over the next week hinged on the success of this op.

“Evening.” He greeted the pair of you curtly. “Let’s cut to the chase.”

Ghost stopped his pacing, crossing his arms as he stood and you sat up straight in your chair.

Apparently, you were tracking one of Makarov’s main weaponry smugglers, an ex-Spetsnaz ultranationalist known as Vadim Ivanovich. Intel uncovered that Vadim not only armed some of Al-Qatala’s army, but also a certain ultranationalist infantry battalion. While arming AQ would’ve made him inconsequential to the bigger equation, a job better suited for another taskforce, arming the battalion who were designated to protect key strongholds that Makarov used as bases of operations was what made him notable.

Vadim is your key to getting in close to Makarov. Ever since Ghost had killed Hassan and Makarov reemerged as a threat, he had remained, for lack of a better term, a virtual ghost. No leads had popped up. Until now. This was the first breakthrough the 141’s analysts had made in months.

He was operating from a farm turned Al-Qatala safehouse, located in a rural area on the border of Urzikstan and Kastovia. Intel states that this acts as his main transportation hub and base of operations. Given that tensions are heating up, with ultranationalists joining Makarov’s cause in droves, he’s most certainly there to oversee the operation at the orders of the kingfish himself.

With heavy AQ presence and Vadim’s penchant to flee at any sign of trouble, this mission was best left to stealth rather than a fully fledged gunfight with the whole task force. Perfect for you and Ghost to infiltrate, grab the target, and exfil — quietly.

“Target is intended to be captured and brought back for interrogation. You cannot kill the target under any circumstances.” Price stressed to the two of you, his expression was stern, a far cry from his normal, relative leniency on ops. “We cannot afford to fuck this up.”

“Yes sir,” You nodded. “What’s the plan?”

“You’ll land in a helo two klicks out from the safehouse. Ghost, you’ll position yourself on a nearby ridge, at a critical position overlooking the farm, providing overwatch and sniper cover as needed for L/N” He pointed at the table, Ghost’s name written in a circle on a topographical map of the area. “L/N, you will silently infiltrate the base, subduing and capturing the target with this stim provided by Laswell.”

Price handed you a sizable syringe, containing a mysterious orange liquid meant to incapacitate rather than eliminate.

“CIA shit.” You chuckled, looking the syringe up and down, examining it. “I like it.”

“Aerial reconnaissance of the farm revealed that Vadim’s personal vehicle is parked right outside the house at night.” Price said, directing your eyes with his hand to a photo with the vehicle attached to the map with a tack. Nice car, a 2020 Mercedes. “This is what you’ll use to get him out of the area without alerting AQ. You and Ghost will RV at a spot below the ridge, and exfil two klicks north of the safehouse. I’ll be on comms, in a helo for exfil.”

“Understood, sir.” Ghost’s hoarse, rough voice chimes in. You didn’t hear him speak often outside of missions, and this was the first time in days you’d heard a word out of him. His deep, scratchy, baritone voice always sent shivers down your spine, and you weren’t always sure if it was a good or bad thing.

“Wheels up at 2200 hours tomorrow.” He dismissed the both of you, and Ghost left as soon as he was given the order. You glanced at Price before he left, taking in his features. He was stiff, his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched in stress. The past few years had clearly taken a toll, evident by the wrinkles that had formed on his face that weren’t there when you first met him in Credenhill. “Nervous, L/N?”

You nodded. “A little. It’s pretty high stakes.”

“Well I’d be more worried if you weren’t.” Price offered you a small, reassuring smile. “I know this isn’t your tactical specialty like it is for the lieutenant, but given your past record, I think the both of you are uniquely qualified for this.”

“Yes, sir.” You dismissed yourself, Price was right, stealth wasn’t your tactical specialty. You were decent at it, better than some on the 141, which earned yourself a spot on some of those ops, but it was not what you excelled in. If you didn’t have to be on it, you didn’t want to be on it. But you trusted Price’s judgement and his insistence, even if neither you or Ghost seemed to understand it.

As you made your way to your quarters, you made a pit stop at the mess hall, grabbing a bite to eat before going to bed. There, you spotted Soap, Gaz and Ghost eating and conversing at a table in the corner. Well, Soap and Gaz were talking, Ghost simply sat there silently, a barely touched tray before him.

He had immediately taken notice when you walked in, shamelessly glaring at you as he sometimes did and you pretended not to notice. His eyes, which were his only visible features, were indiscernible in emotion. You couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or simply trying to intimidate you, but if it were the latter, it certainly worked. He followed your figure until you sat down next to an empty seat, diagonally from where he sat cornered against a wall.

“‘Evening, boys.” You smiled, patting a back on Gaz’s shoulder. You were met with a round of friendly hellos from two of the men, but with silence from the third. You side eyed him, hoping to goad a word out of him, if only to hear that rough voice again.

“Good evening, sergeant.” Ghost replied nonchalantly, which admittedly surprised you that he responded. You raised your eyebrow at him, but he simply shrugged, glancing away, and your heart skipped a beat. Soap laughed in response.

“Now ye finally got to say something to her now that yer going on an op alone with her, eh LT?” Soap nudged his shoulder, and Ghost once again shrugged, this time lifting up his balaclava just enough to reveal his mouth to shove a quick bite of bread, then pulling it back down immediately.

For that split second, you noticed ashy blonde stubble decorating his well chiseled jawline. Coincidentally, Ghost had also caught you stealing a glance in that moment, and you could’ve sworn you saw the outline of a smirk on his balaclava that vanished in an instant.

“It’s not polite to stare, sergeant.” He said, his voice muffled by the large chunk of bread he was still chewing. You almost chuckled, you could say the same to him.

“Facial hair, eh? You don’t shave?” You shot back, ignoring his statement.

“Does it matter?” Ghost swallowed, his question harsh and laced with a hint of hostility that didn’t deter you, even as you inwardly cringed at the nerve you seem to hit inadvertently. You looked over at Soap and Gaz, who were watching this conversation unfold with great interest.

“Well, a girl sometimes wonders what’s underneath that mask of yours.”

“Well a girl can keep wondering, sergeant. You’ll never know.” His gaze was intense, although whatever emotion and intent he had behind that statement was unintelligible, whether it was vexed, humorous, or simply neutral.

“You’ve seen his face, haven’t you?” You asked Soap, and he smiled and nodded. “Does he wear it because he’s ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.” Ghost interjected. “Right, Johnny?”

“Eh,” Soap glanced at Gaz and then Ghost, clasping his hands together with a chuckle, harking back to Las Almas. “Jury’s still out on that one.”

Ghost elected not to respond, simply turning back to his tray, lifting his balaclava to eat once more, this time, he ensured you saw the smirk on his lips and that you met his eyes, even as you quickly shifted your eyes elsewhere, feeling inexplicably warm in the face.

“This is Bravo 7-0, I’m in position. How copy?” Ghost’s voice came through comms, its gruffness exacerbated by the graininess of the headpiece. Although he didn’t really need an answer, he could see you through the scope of his rifle. Your back was pressed against the tall wooden fence surrounding the farm, laying in wait for the lone guard right behind the fence to come by so you could neutralize him.

You ignored his question for a moment, so as not to give yourself away. You readied your knife, and as he turned the corner, out of view from any other AQ, you grabbed him by the scruff, pushing him against the fence and slitting his throat. As his dead body slumped against the fence, you wiped your knife against your thigh and sheathed it once more.

“This is Bravo 7-2. About to infiltrate.” You poked your head around the fence, sizing up the AO. You saw several guards, two of them positioned at the front entrance of the barn, which had its wicket gate propped open, armored SUVs parked inside, being loaded with weapons to be shipped off to Makarov. Separated by a field of crops, the main building, where Vadim was located, lay completely opposite of you, and there was little besides the barn to offer cover.

“Sergeant, recommend we do this smart and take down all personnel at the barn first, then proceed to the main house.” His statement was less of a suggestion, more of an order. “After the barn, I’ll neutralize who I can at the main house but the interior is up to you. Visual on several AQ and ultranationalists through the windows. Won’t be easy.”

“For you, maybe.” You chuckled a bit uneasily, as you sniped a lone enemy positioned near the side of the barn. “For me it’ll be a walk in the park.”

“If it’d be even somewhat hard for me to do, it’ll be damn near impossible for you.” Clearly, the lieutenant was not pleased with your boasting that you used to mask the nervous pit in the bottom of your stomach. Even if he wasn’t here in your presence physically, you could feel a shiver go down your spine. Silence ensued as you made your way to the barn. Just as you reached the side entrance, an enemy came out the door in front of you.

The guard took notice of you immediately, grabbing you and pinning you against the wall, his pistol to your head as he shouted something in Arabic. However, Ghost quickly took care of the problem, and a bit of the guard’s blood spattered on your face.

“Walk in the park, eh?” Ghost jived.

“Thanks.” You said, wiping the blood off your face, a frown forming at his well-earned arrogance at saving your ass. That taste of instant karma might keep you off of boasting like that again.

Clearing the barn went off without a hitch, and more importantly, without the need of assistance from the LT. Something which you hoped he’d remember next time he doubted you like it felt like during the debriefing. It was a simple job, you cut the power from the generator, picking off one by one the enemies left stumbling in the dark.

Toggling your flashlight on, dead bodies scattered the vicinity, but you took notice of a desk in the corner, laptop still on but papers, maps scattered around it. One map in particular caught your attention, a map marked with routes and coordinates, filled with lines leading to circles. You folded the paper, placing it in your pocket for you to give to intel later on. Might prove useful.

“Barn’s clear. Might’ve found some intel.” You informed Ghost as you loaded your tactical gear with some flashbangs you found lying around. This was a weapons goldmine, RPGs, grenade launchers, innumerable semi-automatics, and even a few machine guns were simply lying around.

“Good job.” Your heart, against your brain’s better judgement, jumped a little. “Price will be happy after tonight. Provided you don’t screw it up down there.”

“I won’t.” You reassured him, back away from the desk to the front entrance. When you turned around, you were met with a pistol cocked against the center of your forehead, a man with a wicked grin smiling at you as the butt of a gun slammed the back of your head.

Some seconds went by, and not a peep from you nor did he see you exit the barn, which was unusual, given how talkative you tended to be. Raising his brows, he pressed the button on his radio.

“Bravo 7-2, how copy?”

Silence.

“I repeat, Bravo 7-2, how copy?” His voice grew angrier. He looked into the scope of his rifle, scanning the perimeter for any sign of you. Nothing. “Fuckin’ hell, do you copy?!” Ghost slammed his fist on the ground, his stomach dropping when he looked in his rifle again, seeing your limp body being carried by the target intended for capture, being brought into the house.

“Fuck.” He hissed. “Bravo 6 do you copy?” Ghost radioed the captain, trying to hide the desperation he felt growing.

“Loud and clear. What’s happening?” Price responded in an instant.

“L/N was captured. I’m going in.”

You were awoken with a cool feeling of liquid trailing on the back of your scalp, accompanied by a pounding headache, your head throbbing. Your hands were bound behind you as you sat in a simple fold up chair in a windowless and barren room. There was a heavy, steel plated door shut tight in front of you about 10 feet away. Your weapons were gone, but your tactical gear remained on you.

“That didn’t take long.” A thick Russian accent could be heard from behind you and your heart began to beat out of your chest. He placed his hand on your shoulder as he presented himself in front of you. Vadim. “At least they brought me a pretty one this time. I do get tired of the large, stinking brutes they bring me. You’ll be easier to break.” His thumb going to rest on your lip as he cupped your face in a sick, twisted attraction. Oh how wrong he was. “What’s your name, girl?”

You stayed silent, staring defiantly into his eyes.

“I said what is your fucking name?” Vadim screamed in anger, swinging his fist to hit square onto your nose. You gasped in pain, feeling blood trickle out of your nose and lightheadedness as the impact combined with the head wound you sustained.

“So you think I’m pretty?” You smiled in faux flirtatiousness, your eyes half lidded in lightheadedness as you tauntingly smiled. If he wanted to play that game, you’ll beat him at it. That had earned you another punch, this time the impact colliding with your eye.

“I tried being gentle with you.” He huffed, turning his back around, rummaging through a briefcase containing weapons. “I know that you know of the treatment disrespectful little girls get around here.” Vadim turned around, brandishing a knife with a taunting smile mimicking your own, and it only grew wider as fear grew in your eyes. “So, let’s try again. What is your name and rank?”

He held the sharp end of the blade to your cheek, threatening to break skin if he applied any more pressure. The realization that should’ve settled earlier came, he meant business and rescue was nowhere in sight. You remembered the first rule of being interrogated: Give them what they want, omit where you can, and lie only when necessary.

“Sergeant Y/N L/N.” You answered meekly.

“See, we can be nice to each other, Miss L/N.” His pressure on the blade lifted slightly at your admission. “So, why are you here?”

“To find your guns.” You glared hardened as your ears perked at the ever so faint sound of gunfire in the distance that Vadim seemed to not take any notice of. He smiled at you, even as the sound of fighting grew louder. “And to find you.”

“Makarov will be interested in this.” He tutted. He opened the door that separated the room from the main hallway, muttering something in Russian to one of his lackeys who was standing guard outside the room. The man saluted him, and walked away from his post and Vadim shut the door. As you could hear the fighting getting louder, you almost laughed. Idiot. “You’re coming with us.”

Soon enough, gunfire could be heard loud and clear in the vicinity, and that same soldier who he was talking to earlier cried out.

“Vadim, blya-” The soldier was cut off as a gunshot rang out.

“No, I don’t think I will.” You smiled, and in an instant, Vadim grabbed your neck harshly and pulled your back straight against his chest to use you as a human shield. He held a pistol against your head and backed into the corner with the table that had the briefcase.

The inside of his elbow pressed harshly into your neck, making it difficult for you breathe, especially so when you struggled against him. As you gasped for air, the door swung wide open, Ghost, who’s mask and gear were drenched with the blood of the no doubt many, many people he killed to get here so quickly.

Your heart jumped and you smiled, even as you were gasping for air and the sudden movement made your lightheadedness sustained from the head injury worse.

“Drop the weapon.” Ghost barked, although his gun was not aimed towards Vadim, instead just a little bit above his head. He was clearly still adamant about the objective to bring him back alive.

“I’ll fucking shoot her!” He screamed back, his iron grip now tightening impossibly hard on you as your vision began to tunnel.

“You kill her, you’ll die a long, painful death.” Ghost threatened, his eyes, normally indiscernible, now clearly enraged. “I’ll make fucking sure of it.”

He looked straight at you as he uttered that last statement.

As the two stood off in a battle of wills, you slowly inched your hand toward a screwdriver that lay on the corner. Even as your vision began to collapse on itself from the lack of air, you somehow managed to grab it. Using all the strength you could muster in your clouded, delirious mind, you drove it into Vadim’s side and he let go, falling to the ground. You stumbled to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.

Now that you were free, it wasn’t lack of oxygen clouding your judgement -- it was anger. Before either Ghost or Vadim could react, you used the same screwdriver and drove it as hard as you could through the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

In your anger, Ghost’s screaming at you to stop fell on deaf ears. Even if you could, it was already too late, the damage was done -- you killed him.

No longer gasping for air and your vision returning to normal, you pushed yourself away from his body until you reached a wall. You pulled your knees to your chest, feeling a sudden urge to sob, which you fought desperately to control.

“What in the bloody hell was that sergeant?” Ghost yelled, but you didn’t respond, still staring at his body just five feet away from yours. Shame began to set in as you realized what you had done. The only lead to Makarov was now dead. Because of you.

The urge to cry strengthened as it sunk in further. This was your fault, you thought as you felt a burning stream of liquid well up in the corner of your eye, which you quickly wiped away.

Ghost kneeled in front of you, and his signature intense gaze burned into your eyes once more. “Why’d you kill him?” His voice was not as booming and rough as it was the first time, but a notch of hostility could still be detected.

“I-I don’t know. He hurt me a lot and he just made me so angry and I-I just lost my shit.” You stuttered. He sighed, and his eyes looked down for a moment, as if he was lost in thought for a second.

“You can’t lose your shit like that.” Ghost muttered quietly. He glanced back up at you, a certain softness in his eyes. For a moment, for the first time, you understood him and he understood you. For once, you were not afraid to look him directly into those eyes that seemed to burn right inside of you.

But sooner than it came, that moment was gone. His gaze returned to that normal, shadowy, vague stare that was oh so typical of him and he stood up, reaching his hand to pull you up. “You broken?”

Shaking your head, you grabbed his hand and he pulled you up with precious little strength and you stumbled forward, grabbing onto his shoulder for balance. Ghost tensed at the contact, and you quickly moved away as you gathered your bearings.

“Bravo 6, L/N is okay.” He looked over at you, watching as you gripped at your head, trying to get the pain to stop. “Relatively.”

“Good. And the target?” Relief seemed to wash over his tone.

“KIA.”

“Fuckin’ Christ!” Price yelled through the comms, Ghost’s disappointment etched itself into his ashy blonde brows that peaked right below the mask. You averted your eyes, grabbing a handgun from the dead body of the man that was so imperative you brought in alive. “Just get your asses back to base, we’ll talk then.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

#hi this was barely proofread sorry in advance #if u squint rlly hard there's a life of boris reference in there #that was almost accidental #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #captain price #john soap mactavish #john price #mw22 #modern warfare 2 #cod #call of duty #quizzy writes

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ikeromantic · 3 months

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MasterList and Blog Info

I've reorganized my writing links and all new stories will be linked in the sections below. You can still find my old masterlist HERE too.

Currently Playing and Writing For:

Ikemen Vampire Masterlist

Ikemen Sengoku Masterlist

Ikemen Prince Masterlist

Ikemen Revolution Masterlist

Ikemen Villains - soon?

Obey Me Masterlist

Other Games/Fandoms Masterlist

Follower Celebration Masterlists:

Follower Celebrations 300, 400, 500, 600, and 700

Follower Celebrations 900 and 1K IkeVamp and IkeRev

Follower Celebration 1K IkeSen

Follower Celebration 1K IkePrince

No Longer Playing: Midnight Cinderella, Mr. Love: Queen's Choice, Destined to Love, Last Legacy

Other Fandoms:

Dragon Age, BG3, Mass Effect, Diablo, The Magnus Archives/Protocol, Malevolent, Stormlight Archives, The Expanse, Good Omens, The Wheel of Time, The Sandman, and a ton of random fantasy, sci-fi, and horror stuff.

Quizzies:

Your Perfect Valentine Quiz

Find Your IkeVamp LoveStyle Quiz

Blog rules and Ask courtesy:

I try to tag all my fics. If it's tagged smut or very spicy, you can assume it's mature, so don't interact if you aren't.

If I think a topic may be triggering, I will also tag that as tw: in the tags and/or in the description at the top.

If something isn't tagged and you think it should be, message me.

I love getting comments, likes, and reblogs. It lets me know there's still someone out there interested in what I've shared.

No hate please. Remember that fanart and fic are made for free from a shared passion. If it's not to your taste, read something else. You don't need to let me know how much you don't like it.

Asks are great, but I don't always have time to get to them quickly. If you don't hear from me, that means I have it in my to-do and will get to it when I can ^_^

If you want an ask faster, commission me on Kofi.

If you ASK as anon and I decide not to write your ask, you won't get any response. But if you ask as yourself, I'll let you know privately that I am not able write your request.

If the ASK box is open, I'm taking asks. When it's closed, I'm not.

#pinned post #masterlist #blog intro #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #ikemen vampire #ikemen prince #ikemen sengoku #ikemen revolution #arcana #obey me

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sxrensxngwrites · 8 months

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Spirit Inquisitor Headcanons

This ask comes from an anonymous user who asks: "I was wondering if I could request the inner circle reaction towards finding out that their inquisitor is a spirit like Cole, like first meeting them and how'd they get along with them or how would they treat the Quizzy after finding out, maybe the inquisitor is a 'Hope' spirit since in lore it stated Hope and Faith are very rare spirits so maybe the Inquisitor was attracted to the real world due to the hope of both templar and mages in the conclave"

I absolutely ADORED this ask and had so much fun with it. I'm even entertained by the idea of an actual oneshot or fic... And for those of you that sent in other requests, I see them! Just getting to them slowly.

WARNINGS/TAGS: Inquisitor is referred to in the 3rd person with they/them pronouns as to keep it open for everyone, Hawke has a mention and uses she/her pronouns, There's a small mention on Anders and Justice/Vengence, most of this is sweet/fluffy in my opinion

The Inquisitor wasn’t always a spirit. In the grand scheme of things, the change has been fairly new–at least compared to Cole.

They went to the Conclave to watch the discussions between the mages and the templars. Unlike many others, they were hopeful for new beginnings and opportunities that would occur as a result. However, after the Conclave exploded, they were one of the many to be caught by the wreckage.

The Fade was already very thin at the site of the explosion, due to the nature of its cause. So, it’s not unreasonable for spirits to pass through. It’s not long before a spirit of Hope finds its way through one of the many rifts, it hopeful of the same thing that the Inquisitor wanted. Having similar wants, the spirit of Hope merges with the body of the would-be Inquisitor.

When they awake, they have no recollection of who they were before—only filled with a strange sense of levity despite the awful situation they’re in. They’re a bit uncoordinated, almost like a large child that isn’t quite sure what they’re supposed to do just yet. However, after the journey to the Breach alongside Cassandra, they become more in tune with the skills of who they used to be.

In the beginning everyone is very quick to dismiss the strange behavior of the Inquisitor, chalking it up to them being shaken up from the Breach or some sort of residual magic left within them. However, as time goes on and they don’t seem to be recovering any memories, suspicions begin to arise. However, they’re such a sweet and optimistic soul, dedicated to leading the cause, that no one can stay put-off by them.

When Cole appears, there’s an immediate connection. The two are so similar it’s almost eerie. Neither seems to know exactly what they are, but they know that they are like each other. Hope and Compassion easily find a place alongside each other, and this uncanny similarity is what begins to raise Cassandra’s red flags—that it’s not just amnesia or a strange personality trait of the Inquisitor’s.

At Skyhold, the implications become far more severe. When the Inquisitor’s family writes letters and sends for them, they simply tell Josephine that they’re not quite sure who those people are or what they want. Their mother only says that the Inquisitor has the face and name of their child, but there’s a strange absence of everything else.

It’s Hawke who points it out to Varric. From the moment she meets the Inquisitor she can identify what’s wrong. At first she could never tell when Anders was truly Anders or when Justice and Vengeance had seeped into his mind, but by this point it’s burned enough into her mind that she can see it in the Inquisitor. Of course, it’s different here: whoever the Inquisitor was before, they’re very much dead—Hope now piloting the body. Hawke is relieved that they’re not fighting over control on the inside; that has been Anders’ demise after all. Varric doesn’t want to admit the similarities, too afraid to face the same situation again.

When it becomes clear that the Inquisitor is dead and they’re actually a spirit of hope, reactions are mixed among the Inner Circle.

Cassandra is very off-put initially. The concept scares her a great deal, but she eventually comes to terms with it. After all, she had begun to respect the Inquisitor for their devotion to the future. That respect couldn’t disappear at the mention of a spirit. The same could be said of Blackwall. Leliana and Josephine are also puzzled, but I think they’re both more open to it than Cassandra.

Cullen is admittedly very afraid. He’s still apprehensive of anything spirit-related since that night at the Circle Tower. However, he is won over by seeing the caring nature of the Inquisitor—and their hope for him on his journey to wellness.

Vivienne reacts very similarly to how she reacts to Cole. She’s ready to pull her support of the Inquisition immediately, but there is something about the Inquisitor that’s very endearing to her. I think their devotion to help her, even after she treated them so rudely, was enough to get her to stay.

The Inquisitor being a spirit makes no difference to Sera, Dorian, or The Iron Bull. They’ve certainly seen or heard of stranger things.

The relationship the Inquisitor has with Solas is very deep and profound. He seems to understand what’s happened almost immediately, and encourages the Inquisitor to touch into their spirit-side. Of course, he educates them on their origins and the Fade. They even journey there together many times.

Varric is still haunted by the image of Anders, so he’s hesitant to fall back into their friendship. However, after some encouragement from Hawke, he does his best to continue interacting with the Inquisitor again. It’s then that Varric realizes that he never knew who came before, but he does very much know he’s talking to in that moment—his friend, the Inquisitor.

And of course, Cole and the Inquisitor are virtually inseparable. They share such a strange coincidence, that it’s only natural they get along so well. They each understand the other and their own personal confusions, providing support for the other as they battle with the question of Who am I?

It takes a while for everyone to get used to saying it out loud: that whoever the Inquisitor used to be was actually dead a long time ago and that they had been inhabited by a spirit for as long as they had known them. But after they say it out loud, they realize it doesn’t make too much of a difference. Just as Varric realizes, everyone else does too; Their friend isn’t the body, but the Hope inhabiting it.

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