@moonwoken said: [ shower ] your muse joining mine in the shower. (francis joining cas in the shower)
this might have been a meme i reblogged on another blog orion is special / NOT ACCEPTING ↷
Cas startles at the seemingly sudden presence of Francis as he opens his eyes after rinsing shampoo out of his hair. Despite his surprise being barely visible in the way his eyebrows shoot up, he says, ❝ One of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack. ❞
It’s a compliment, his surprise. It means Cas is comfortable enough to zone out in the shower with company in the house. Normally, if he showered with a partner in his flat, he would lock the door for one & certainly not be unaware of the sound of footsteps on the bathroom tile. Francis... is different. Feigned ire melts into a soft smile; Cas wraps his arms around Francis’s hips, palms half resting on his ass. Tugs him under the warm water, pleased with the sight of soaked, long hair. ❝ You do know showering together does not actually save water, yes? ❞ he muses, cocking an eyebrow. ❝ Statistically speaking, couples spend more time sharing a shower than washing individually. ❞ He’s making it up but it probably is not too far from the truth, at least in his experience.
you will never be wanted. not the way you thought you would’ve all those years ago, growing up. watching people. how they seemed to know exactly what to do, how to be with one another. puzzle pieces all interlocking and disconnecting at will, a moving board of pieces that always fit.
you learned pretty early on you never did.
you thought maybe, one day, it would happen to you. fitting in. being part of them. being wanted. but years went by and it still never happened.
you learned to make yourself useful so people would have a purpose for you. and you’d fill that purpose. but they never wanted you. you learned to be funnier. you learned what smiles people liked, what tone of voice, what words. but even that in and of itself took you further apart from them — they knew all this instinctually. you watched, and you mimicked, trial and error, like an alien studying human nature. they responded, sure. but nobody ever wanted you.
maybe you were too loud. too physically unbecoming. maybe they could simply tell things were wrong inside your head. maybe it was more noticable than you ever realized, your mismatched edges, the fact you never fit in.
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Whenever I see a post that condemns Jiang Cheng for ultimately prioritizing his sect over Wei Wuxian and publicly cutting ties with him it’s like. Do you realize how many lives are depending on him. He can’t just hand the job off to someone else; this is his family’s legacy and it’s his duty as his father’s son and the Jiang clan’s heir to revitalize their sect (which he does a damn impressive job of considering they were almost all killed, returning to one of the prestigious great sects in less than twenty years) and that includes weighing pros and cons of connections and his public image! He took over at the age of seventeen, and Wei Wuxian’s fall from grace took place when they were scarcely twenty! He was so young at the time, they all were, and under immense pressure, and you dare scoff at him for buckling under the weight of it?
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me : afraid of possible permanent changes if ever able to transition on hormones and decide that maybe it’s not my thing .. :/
also me: hideously jealous as fuck gremlin any time i see someone mention they’re getting hormones ... especially if the ppl in their lives are supportive . 🙃
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thank you to everyone who expressed enthusiasm about all the pride kirbies, I’m really glad y’all were excited about it <3 speaking of which, the whole sticker sheet put together can be seen [here], I’m really happy with it :>
on the [last roundup]:
@your-local-neighbourhood-kat said: You're welcome 😌💫
(I don’t have anything to say but I wanted to preserve this response to the Very Cursed Image lol)
@sortofabetaiguess said: YOU KEPT MY NOT TWILIGHT TAG— but yea can confirm that is what i was like. **squinting at the wendy’s menu** “what is a chicken nugget” my sister: “....it’s like an egg” ah good times. thanks for including my reply op i’m honored #not twilight
I had to it was too funny! XD and yeah that is exactly the vibe.
@laying-in-a-daisy-meadow said: me when i think about my girlfriend
@bubblesthesanddragon said: when i see my gf
extremely valid and wholesome :’>
on [rainbow flag]:
@the-halo-of-my-memory said: i love how fuzzy this one looks, reminds me of my currently clean blankets fresh from the dryer. nvm the blankets kirby is an alphabet mafia icon and we love to see it. he's like 90% love (jk he's probably more 20% love; the 80% is hunger lol) this is v cute op ty for making it
oooh yeah fuzzy blanket art sounds like a great thing to aspire to!! and even that 20% being love adds up to A Lot XD (thank you!)
@aggron-rocks said: WHY IS HE CRYING
he wants snacks!
@lucywrites02 said: TAKE THEM ALL KIRBY
be careful or he really will! XD
@zer0cracy said: new crying emoji dropped
that is exactly the vibe I wanted :>
@awesomenessdoesstuffsometimes said: Kirby is all the gender and also none of it
that is exactly correct.
@galacticnova3 said: oh I feel that in my soul
@aggron-rocks said: me at 10 am when i keep waking up at 4:30 am and then take 3 hours to fall back asleep
oof, my very tired sympathies to you both lol
@the-halo-of-my-memory said: hugging stuffed animals always makes me feel better. i hope you feel better too op. always love to see my fav pink circle
I’ve had this big stuffed dog since I was very little and he is the Perfect size and shape for sad hugs. thank you <3
@bluebayard said: A VERY LOVELY KIRBY, I HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER SOON
I’m sure I will, thank you <3
@nocleansocks said: he's gonna fite
@arsonistatlarge said: THROW HANDS! ALMIGHTY GOD! POYO FUCKIN BOYO
wo-oah here he comes! watch out boys he’ll beat you up!
also @just-a-kitchen-utensil tagged me in [this] very sweet art of kirby offering up some gem apples! I do like it, thank you for showing me! :>
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realized how long my hair actually is today
about to either
a) shave it
b) grow it out like keanu in river's edge.
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First kiss 👀👀👀👀
thank you for asking!! I could talk about these two all day, they're literally all I think about. and thank you to the two other anonymous people who sent me asks about this!
The tour ends outside Gwen's home, and she's exhausted, has been fielding questions all day and she hasn't been around this many people in six years; she feels wiped. She's looking forward to being alone for a little while. The settlers disperse, but Bell lingers by her side for a moment.
They clear their throat, a quiet, unobtrusive thing. Gwen is grateful for it, for them, in a way that's warm like a summer evening; syrupy and slow.
Bell says "Tea?" and Gwen startles.
"You're inviting yourself into my house.... to make me tea?"
Of course. Like it was obvious. Just like every other unspoken thing between them; blurry and undefined, but inevitable.
Boots is confused at someone else being in their home, beeping obnoxiously and zooming to and fro, unsure what to do with a stranger. Gwen raises her hands to calm Boots and quietly explains that this is Bell. Bell, this is Boots.
Boots perks up straight away, ramming right into Bell's legs in greeting, beeping strings of nonsense that could pass for the excited babbling of a child. Bell is enamoured, and the two of them disappear into Gwen's kitchen, filling her home with quick, easy chatter.
"You and Gigo are going to get on so well," Bell is saying, rummaging around for the tea pot, cups, tealeaves, the powdered milk and they commander Gwen's kitchen simply; like they've always been here.
Gwen leans against her countertop, watching Bell's face draw in concentration as they measure leaves for each cup; the deft movement of their hands, their furrowed brow and the set of their mouth. It feels like a dream; hazy and quiet and surreal.
It's broken by Boots beeping again, a query about Gigo.
Gwen shakes herself and moves to shuffle Boots away, "You can pester Bell later, they're going to be here for a long time, so you'll have ages to bother them with all your questions, okay?" Boots beeps once, rudely, and returns to the other room.
"Ages, huh?" Bell says, pouring their tea.
Feeling caught somehow, Gwen takes her cup and burns her lip on the first sip. "Well, I figured you were planning to stick around... Since I'm stuck with you now and everything." The mug is warm against her palms, soothing her aching nerves.
She remembers, in flashes, the fire. Adrenaline fading as she tucked herself in for bed, the gentle lap of the waves lulling her from all sides, Bell's voice in her ear; Bell had said something about wishing that Gwen wasn't alone, that they wanted help, wanted make Gwen tea and wanted-
She never did find out how that sentence was going to end.
She thinks maybe she already knows.
"Bell." Bell startles, and hums in reply. They're still in Gwen's kitchen. Together. Drinking tea at the end of an unbelievably incredible, but long, day. "Thank you. For staying with me. Today was a lot, y'know? I don't think I could have done it without you."
"You really thought I would leave you to settle this planet on your own? You couldn't stick to your schedule whenever it was just you, how were you going to manage that for eighty people?" their tone is light, teasing, and their eyes have little wrinkles around them. Gwen marvels at knowing what they look like when they smile, when they laugh, when they're teasing her, when they're annoyed by too many stupid questions... all the things she never thought she'd get to see.
She sets her tea down. It clacks against the metal counter. "It's lucky I have you, then," she agrees easily, and Bell looks startled at not being given a snarky reply. Gwen smiles, and plucks Bell's cup from their hands. A second clack. "You could have gone anywhere... but you came here. Why?"
"You know why."
"Yeah," Gwen takes one of their hands in hers, holds it close to her chest. "I know. You never said, but I knew. I love you, too, you know."
Bell inhales sharply, their face turning delightfully red and that smile, the one Gwen loves, is there again. Bell's free hand comes to rest along Gwen's jaw, gentle and shaking. "Gwen." Soft and reverent on their lips and then Bell is kissing her.
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Canon era, Silverflint. I would like to see a hug after Flint tell Silver about his past in 3.10. Like, Madi just showed him that hugging is effective for comforting, after her dad died. So he's gonna give it a shot :)
(i woke up just to write this and will probably now go right back to bed because the chronic fatigue is unparalleled today but thank you for this prompt i hope you like it!)
The lantern burned low between them, it’s delicate light barely enough to fill the space. Between the darkness that encircled them and the scar of starlight over head, the pulse of the lantern mimicked a heart beat, deep in the chest of whatever insatiable beast the two of them had become. What the light of the lantern could reach flickered in the darkness, the shovel standing as a silent sentinel, the disturbed earth where the whole of their futures now rested, the wisps of the ghosts that their stories had summoned, and Flint’s sharp smile that felt like an omen.
He was watching Silver, leaning in with his elbows on his knees with the bottle of rum forgotten in his hands. It had been almost cocky, the way Flint reminded him of all the various hells he had survived, how he had emerged further deformed by each until he sat there before Silver, a strangely small figure in the dark, like a king in his tomb. His eyes were black in the dim light and Silver was reminded, as he often was, of the sea, of the inky waters that carried them forward to dawn.
“I’ll remind you,” Silver said after a moment, “That you said this. That you think me anything but your inevitable end.” He meant for it to be light, playful, but with the faint whispers of the ghosts in the trees and the darkness, nothing could be said lightly.
“No doubt you will, Mister Quartermaster,” Flint replied, before tipping his head up to take a drink from the bottle. Silver watched his throat work, watched the light dance across his face and hands. The smile was still there when he lowered the bottle, only now it was a little less foreboding, lips slick with rum, a few spare drops in his beard. Flint passed the bottle to him, “And I will remind you, I am sure, that you brought it up in the first place.”
Silver laughed softly and took a drink, rolling his shoulders as the warmth of the liquor filled him, “Only Fair, Captain. Only Fair.”
They sat together a bit longer in silence, passing the bottle between them and simply existing together, in their shared darkness, watching the stars shift over head. The lantern burned lower , the woods closing in closer around them, the ghosts getting louder to Silver’s ears. It was then that Flint finally moved, sitting forward to add a little more fuel to the lantern and get to his feet with a soft groan. Silver watched him, his renewed bulk lost to the shadows around them. The days of becalming hadn’t left either of them completely, not yet at least, but it always left Silver feeling reassured to see the broad span of Flint’s back as he worked, or the softness in his middle, the dulled edge of his cheeks as they filled out again.
“Best find our way back, before anyone sobers up enough to notice we’re missing,” Flint said, reaching to help Silver up from his seat. It took a moment, Flint pulling him up with very little effort and holding tight to his arm until Silver was able to steady himself.
Between them, standing so close, the light of the lantern was extinguished, it’s light catching Flint’s eyes and the rusty trim of his beard like embers. Silver couldn’t help but look up at him for a moment, his mind a useless tangle of words.
He should say something.
He had expected to be ignored, when he asked Flint for his history. He’d expected- anything really, anything but Flint watching him with soft eyes as he cut out his heart and placed it at Silver’s feet, calling on the ghosts who stood always in the corners of their vision, naming them, entrusting them alongside his heart, to Silver’s care.
He had to say something.
But nothing would come. Nothing coherent or clever or earnest enough to be believed could be separated from the endless stream of questions and curiosities and desperate need to name his own ghosts in the safety of the dark.
Flint was watching him, head tilted a little, waiting with the saintlike patience he seemed to reserve for Silver and Silver alone. The same Patience that Madi seemed to show them both.
Madi, Silver thought, Madi had trusted him with her tears, with her heart in its moment of breaking, when he had been so thoroughly undeserving of it. And yet he had held it, held her, until the tears had stopped and the space between them was forever changed.
Oh. Perhaps that was his answer then.
“Is everything alright?” Flint asked softly, and Silver didn’t miss the look of wariness in the lines around his eyes, or the way his body instinctively braced himself for some delayed hostility. Always so ready for the lash, Silver thought, always so ready for the cat or the cane or the cold steel was his Captain. He wondered if he had always been that way, born into cruelty and alive despite it all.
Silver nodded, ignoring the urge to speak and curling his fingers in the fabric of Flint’s shirt, pulling them flush together, eclipsed in the dark. He got his arms around Flint’s shoulders and held him tightly, tucking his face into his neck. There was a moment of stiffness, Flint impossibly still in his arms, his heartbeat skipping where their chests were pressed together. Then- like a line cut and the sails dropped he caved in on himself, curling into Silver’s body and bringing his arms around him with a heavy exhale. Flint hid his face in Silver’s shoulder, his hands spread wide on Silver’s back as if to hold him tighter, to keep him from slipping away. Silver’s left hand cradled the back of his captain’s neck, his right an anchor between his shoulders, his body bowing into Flint’s like a line being drawn in.
Nothing needed to be said, not yet.
The darkness held them, the lantern flickering in the soft midnight breeze. Silver let his eyes close, Flint relaxing further into him with every breath, the weight of his grief shed if but for a moment. Silver could carry it a while, help him share the load. He’d been trusted with it, and so it was now his grief too.
“Steady now,” Silver said softly, lips pressed against Flint’s ear. “Steady now, I’ve got you.”
Flint took a heaving breath and squeezed Silver tight for a moment, a touch of desperation about the way his hands clawed at Silver’s coat. But slowly he let go, straightening again as he pulled away just far enough to see Silver’s face in the lantern light, unbothered by Silver’s hand that now sat at the base of his throat like an open question.
“Stick close to me, John,” he said softly, “I don’t want to be losing you in the dark.”
To late, Silver thought to himself, even as he smiled and nodded, the two of them hooking arms as they made their way through the dark forest back to camp, the silence between them lighter than it had been for a long, long time
It was far, far too late for them both.
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ᓚᘏᗢ SHIRATORIZAWA !!! ★彡
dumb little joke post
genshin mutuals lets discuss this leak
my guesses are
1. lisa since her character stories hint that she doesnt have much time left
2. mona since iirc in her trailer dainsleif says she might have to sacrifice something and well “ nobody can escape fate “
3. jean :( i would genuinely be so upset
4. diluc because i want him to die
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Can’t wait to see those Kai and Keiji Fondness Events :)
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The Numerical System
Even among the Clans, cats have a difficult time understanding the concept of numbers. They are unable to process them without attaching them to an item or animal (”three flowers” makes sense, “three” does not). Math is practically nonexistent, even among seers and leaders. For this reason, numbers are vaguely defined and rarely discussed.
It may be noticed that zero is not on this list. This is because zero as an idea is extremely hard for a cat to comprehend. Their equivalent is to say that there is “nothing within something” - that is, zero must be accompanied with an object that can be seen and felt. For example, one could get that there are no mice in a field, or there is no water in a dry ditch. Something must be left over in the absence of whatever you’re trying to say is not there.
Continuing on, here are the known numbers in the Clans:
Mi: One. Often associated with youth and weakness. To a warrior, one brings up the images of rogues, stray kittens, an oblivious mouse or bird, or an inexperienced apprentice. One is an unlucky, distrustful number - a superstitious Clan cat venturing out alone may carry a pebble or clover in their mouth to bump their number up.
Maat: Two. The average number of littermates to survive to apprenticehood, a pair of friends or lovers, and a safe number away from one. Loners are actually more trusted if they have a partner with them and warriors tend to work together rather than alone. Two is a safe, easy number, which makes cats unhappy to stray from it.
Nei: Three. On average, there are three queens in the nursery, who are all likely to have three kittens. Three is in the circle of multiplication, and so it’s a very important number to know. Many superstitions, poems and stories feature three in some manner. Speak a phrase aloud three times to ward off Terror; poems are told in three stanzas; a character may preform three tricks or make three deals, and so on.
Chaen: Four, a number of earthly significance. Every cat can count this high, even kittens. Four is the number of a healthy litter, the minimum of cats on a hunting or border patrol, the amount of feet (and toes on those feet) a cat has, and the age just before a cat crosses into a senior warrior.
Maneil: Six, or, literally, “two threes”. This number is part of the multiplication list, as it is a pair of threes (which, since two is considered a safe number culturally, is important to the Clans). Six is only really used to mark the age of a kit that is ready to become an apprentice, and to mark the amount of months that apprentice has spent training, since that is the average time needed for a cat to become ready to get their warrior name. Other than that, it’s rarely discussed.
Pel: Five to eight. This is an uncomfortable number because there is no proper word for the digits under its umbrella definition. Though it is smaller than other vague numbers, it is the first of them, and the least varied, making it feel a little off-putting. This “number” is associated with uncertainty, impulse battles, and lying, as cats can bluff that they have a large group without necessarily implying a truly huge number. Pel is skipped over entirely most of the time in favor of four, six or nine.
Sen: Nine, a number of spiritual significance and the last time multiplication is used in this list. Nine is the age of an elder who is close to joining StarClan, there are nine sections of the Code and nine common punishments when one breaks that Code, and it is believed that the most blessed of leaders and seers receive nine lives’ worth of memories. Nine is about as close to a holy number as one can get.
Sot: Any number between ten and twenty. This is a pretty obscure number, to the point that most cats hardly know what it means. However, it is associated with planned battles and war, as parties of ten to twenty are the favored size for an attack. Unsurprisingly, ThunderClan is the one who uses this number the most. It should be noted that this number can be seen as frustratingly vague because it can mean double of its minimum, giving a cat no solid idea of what a speaker means when they use it without clarification. Some cats have slapped -il on the end to mean its maximum (sotil).
Mirin: Approximately a Clan’s worth of something, or thirty to forty. There’s obviously no way to count this high, but as the warriors are accustomed to living in groups of this size, they can eyeball it and make a pretty accurate guess. The exact amount doesn’t matter over the visual given in a report to a leader or deputy. This number varies between populations, as has been discussed here.
Thlain: A thousand, a million, infinity, or some other humongous, uncountable number. Something completely eldritch or terrifyingly foreign may be said to have a thousand somethings, or have lived a thousand years. Only one cat has had this number stapled onto her description, and that’s specifically due to her incomprehensibility.
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theres three Very Specific series off the top of my head that i fucking WISH would die off forever and seeing one of them get ported or whatever to switch today was really. ugh.
im sorry but you cant convince me that a series that is based entirely on kids killing each other and continuously sexualizing them is good. you cant.
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my app keeps crashing everytime i try to read past the readmore link. i’ll catch up on fics soon and release pitter patter paramour tonight - see you all in a hour. 💗
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putting my art degree to good use by researching artists from the 50's-70's to come up with the styles Jude and Lorba have
Since Jude was born on the Cantor belt like Red, his style is v much entrenched on the commercial art of the 50's moving into the 60's. I think he did a lot of advertisement stuff while at home and liked it just fine, but really, REALLY wanted to design for movies.
His early professional work is probs very similar to Benard D'Andrea - where you can really see how it was JUUUST before we hit the 1960's and, while his figures were very classic, there was already some exploration with negative shapes and stylization that wasn't as grounded in reality. Especially with color and color blocking.
Then after doing art for a while and breaking into the film industry, especially around when he was coming to terms with his sexuality and gender - I think Jude really wanted to try pushing the envelope on commercial design and see how far it could go. Considering this was also when a LOT of stylistic advancements and techniques were coming out in movies during the time, it makes a lot of sense!! And I think from then on out he went in a LARGELY Saul Bass direction, with some Bob Peak thrown in for his personal/illustrative work. I don't know how well Bass was respected during his actual time as I've only studied his work and not his life - but considering how celebrated he is nowadays I def think its fair that Jude is a FUCKING LEGEND in the industry where he's at currently. Lorba is actually going to lose her mind if/when she gets to meet him.
Lor meanwhile is one i'm struggling with a tiny bit more. I was tempted to look into a version of the COMIX movement for her - but my real interest in it (the HUGE amount of lesbian/gay underground comix publishing) didn't happen until the late 80's to early 90's, so unless I feel like stretching my time period by over two decades, I'll have to pass.
So instead I'm considering the Psychedelic pop art movement that also sprang up in the 60's-70's and is SOOO gorgeous. I know the two artists I have listed here (and most recognized artists, unfortunately) are men - but this style always felt distinctly feminine to me. That could be that it was some of the first art I saw of the female form being celebrated, though - and the fact that I binge watched Across the Universe over and over as a kid and it had a lesbian character in it. Also he 60's and 70's had a lot of counterculture movements, especially for the gay community and women, that directly went against social standards of the 50's.
I really like how aggressive it is in some senses. It can be all soft shapes that are BARELY legible - but also the colors are extremely stark, the faces are distorted, and if there's text, it almost feels like it's daring you to even TRY reading it. That feels very fitting to Lor in general. Peter Max and Wes Wilson are some inspirations I have for her right now. While it became very commercially successful later on, I think in Nu-Clear's current time period Psychedelic hasn't taken off as a style so strongly yet, so her stuff is definitely an outlier. Though the Psychedelic art movement is also a blind spot for me as I kinda skipped over the 60's and 70's a in my own learning for a while. That's why it's been so fun!!
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ooc. i’m gonna take off soon, but... thinking real hard abt these panels today.
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“ i’m worried about you. ” for the protective prompts!
Thanks for the ask! 🥺❤️
Growing up in Southern Ferelden during the Fifth Blight, Ixchel learned well to be afraid of the dark. After her experiences in the Deep Roads in her first life, that fear has now become a handicap.
(This drabble might get incorporated into the fic when I tackle the Descent! So thanks for the inspiration ☺️)
An endless fall into unending darkness; the flicker of torches in the darkspawn colony deep, deep below; the hissing Elvhen voices of the Emissary Alpha. In the Deep Roads, where day and night had forsaken her in favor of the bleary, unchanging glow of the Dwarven architecture, and time's passage was marked in meals and bandages, Ixchel had a difficult time remembering what were dreams of past expeditions and what were the waking nightmares of the present. Either way, there was little rest to be had. Asleep in Solas's arms, she at least did not wake screaming as she might have once.
That did not mean she was holding it together.
Solas did his best to stay near her, but as the only mage in the party, he was sometimes forced to dart away through the rippling Fade--to renew a barrier on a companion, or to shape the battlefield with strategically placed rocks and mines. Even the briefest separation shredded her mental fortitude; in the Deep Roads, it only took a few yards for someone to disappear into the dark, and for a genlock or a giant spider to take their place. In those moments, panic shot through her like a lightning bolt, and she would throw herself into battle with a dying woman's fervor until she came into view of Solas or Hal.
Once they were in sight, she could reassure herself at least that this was not <I>then</I>. With the Hero of Ferelden and Fen'Harel at her side, she knew she could prevail against darkspawn and Sha-Brytol and everything in between.
At least, that was what she told herself. But with every mile they descended toward what she knew was the Titan's refuge, her desperation mounted.
Ixchel jumped at every noise, and she found herself almost incapable of speaking, especially above a murmur. And it was getting harder and harder to sleep.
Her restlessness was starting to take a toll on Solas as well. He already suffered here, where it was so difficult to navigate the Fade in his dreams; the guilt weighed heavily on her, knowing that her tossing and turning and clinging made it harder for him to rest his mind and gather his strength. She fretted that by keeping him from reconnecting to the Fade, she might be weakening him and his senses, and that any change in his power or attentiveness might prove fatal. Any tragedy that befell their hardy group would hang over her head for eternity, convinced as she was that she would ultimately be responsible.
Ixchel ruminated on all of these matters one evening as she tended the fire. It was technically their watch rotation, but Solas was pouring over the lyrium-addled ravings they had found accompanying a dead dwarf deep in the caves, and Ixchel's weary mind flitted inattentively between guard duty and anxious spiraling.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when a deep voice rumbled behind her: "Da'len."
Ixchel turned quickly to face Hal as he approached. The dim firelight cast deep shadows across the cavernous eye sockets and sunken cheeks he had painted in the fashion of a Legionnaire's skull. From within the sea of black ink, his silver-white eyes reflected the fire like a predator. He stalked toward her out of the dark where the rest of their traveling companions rested, and when he reached her side, he lowered himself to the ground with a grace that seemed to be both precisely calculated and incredibly natural.
Hal sat all too close beside her--closer than he ever had, really--so that their shoulders touched. He was warm and solid, and he leaned slightly against her.
"I'm worried about you," he said flatly.
Ixchel looked away sharply and caught the tail end of Solas's concerned glance for her sake. He returned to reading, though it was impossible to tell if he was truly reading or eavesdropping.
She worried at her dry and cracking lips for a moment as she considered her response. Hal was silent, and perhaps he would have been silent for a thousand years if that was how long it took her to find something to say. Hal didn't seem to be a man of many words these days, so the fact that he had come out of his way simply to make this announcement carried a weight in its own right
Ixchel found nothing in her dwindling mental reserves to deflect his concerns. So she bowed her head and pressed her forehead into her knees. Her heart pounded in her chest, though it had been hours since she had even last <I>moved</I>.Every breath felt strained as though her ribs had been replaced with inflexible iron.
"Yeah," she rasped into her lap. "Me too."
Hal shifted against her, and she startled again as he wrapped his arm around her back. He rubbed her shoulder slowly but firmly to press her closer to his side.
Almost immediately, her eyes burned with tears. This close to him, she could feel the Taint in his blood, hear the same strange song that whispered to the hollowest parts of them.
"This is not my Calling," the Warden murmured into her dirty hair. "Neither is it yours, da'len."
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Can you tell me a bed time story🥺👉👈
i sure can! not sure if you want shameless or something else, but since these dummies are still in my brain, here's ian and mickey trying to get some sleep:
"Tell me story."
"You already know literally all of my stories."
"Make one up."
"You can't fuckin' do that yourself? Pretend you're reading to Fred or something."
"I want you to tell it."
"Ian, it's 3:00 in the morning."
"You're not asleep yet."
"Because you won't shut the fuck up!"
"If you tell me a story I'll make you pancakes tomorrow and blow you under the table while you eat them."
"...Once upon a time, there was a boy named Little Red Riding Ian. He had red hair and he was really fuckin' annoying - "
" - and he literally never shut up even when other people were trying to sleep after a long day."
"I don't like this story."
"That wasn't in the rules. Let me tell it. Little Red Riding Ian was skipping through the woods one day, bothering every furry little creature in the whole goddamn place. A big bad wolf got so mad at him that he ate him. The end."
"The end? That's not even how it goes!"
"Are you seriously pouting about this?"
"Fuck, fine. The big bad wolf ate Little Red Riding Ian, but it was all okay because the incredibly handsome and capable Sir Mickey came along and pulled Little Ian out through the wolf's ass - "
" - and they lived happily ever after even though Little Red was super annoying forever. Sir Mickey loved his stupid ass anyway. The end."
"Thank you. Now shut up for the next several hours. And I want chocolate chip pancakes with my blowjob tomorrow."
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