healing hands.

     ‘ i thought you said you came out to BEAT ME ? that puny axe couldn’t kill a lamb. ’ he jeers, drawing serpent-breath from her scabbard, wasp-sting clutched loosely in his other hand.

@curatiive :: uhtred sc

    gróa might’ve offered a smart retort here, were it any other situation. perhaps that lightness and joviality that often finds her around him will find its way to her once again, but first? she needs to prove something. ( even with all her joking, she’s so damned competitive. and maybe she wants to show the saxons that she isn’t a woman to be underestimated, to be taken advantage of. ) 

gróa making up ‘avvar customs’ just to fuck w/ lowlanders 

but then also when lowlanders are like ‘haha is this fake’ abt the real customs she just gets super confused like ???? no ???? this is entirely reasonable how could u be fooled by the other thing and think this is fake

she must be the only appropriately dressed person in all of skyhold where are y’alls layers!!!!!!!! 

she is at least 97% sure that cole is a god 

tellin avvar legends to kids that happen to be around when she doesn’t have too much work to do!!!! 

she’s definitely climbed up/around/over dangerous parts of skyhold just to prove she can lmao

also u bet she’s started saying intentionally infuriating things to certain chantry folk just bc they get real annoying abt her gods and she’s learned how to get under their skin 

“Well I’ll thank Andraste you finally noticed.” Was Tamar coy about her attraction? Absolutely not. The woman’s beautiful physique was only accentuated by the detailed inking running over her body. It was beautiful, alike to the dragons her brother had tattooed across his chest. It made her want to touch. “Gods of the Avvar, yes?”

     he goes to speak, and pauses in the midst of it. her accent is strange – similar to the dialect he’d grown up hearing. he hums. interesting for one of the avvar to be here, of all places, but he’s here too. kodran hums. “ would y’be willin’ t’part with ten? maybe fifteen? or is ‘at too much? ” the lady only knows how much trouble he tends to get himself into. having a bountiful supply would be good, but he doesn’t want to take from her more important supplies.

     “  you  are  a  healer,  yes?  ”  it’s  been  interesting  to  see  the  number  of  wounded  dwindle  in  skyhold,  and  eventually  diminish  almost  entirely.  they  are  doing  a  good  job  of  saving  people  –  or,  at  least,  getting   rid  of  the   bodies.  “  do  you  sell  poultices?  ”

@curatiive / starter call.

put flowers in gróa’s hair like she deserves. literally always accepting.

      ‘ you know, i’m sure these were for you. ’ 

she doesn’t much look like she minds, though. when does she ever? if it had been anyone other than johnny, she might’ve been a little less thrilled with it all ( she’s lost count of the number of guys who think they can win her over with a wink, some flowers and a handsome smile at this point ) but she likes him enough to let him get away with it. 

@curatiive - con’t this gay aesthetic for Reasons.

The sun beams down on the park with little to no cloud cover; it makes for a nice, relaxing day on the grass. Kids play at the playground in the distance, ducks swim across the pond nearby. It’s a day to relax, and spend in good company, and although Gróa is rather enamored by her book, Anne doesn’t really mind.

In fact, she gets it. Often times, she’s been so involved in her work that she forgets the outside world exists.

Hence, suggesting an afternoon in the park with no worries, no commitments, nothing.

Though, she spots the cluster of daisies, and fiddles with one long enough to decide to stick it in Gróa’s hair, between the lock tucked against her ear. She smiles when the younger woman notices, just as bright as the sun above. 

“ – are they really?” 

Out comes another from the ground within reach of where Anne’s sitting, and into her hair, beside the first with careful hands and deft fingers to make sure they stay without too much hassle. Her hand lingers, subtly traces against Gróa’s cheek on the way past to get another. 

“Suppose I should add a few more?”

technically, every flower is gróa’s favourite flower. she’s a simple woman about these sorts of things, but daisies definitely get a little boost up the ladder now that anne’s tucking them into her hair like she is. 

it’s a little hard to tell if she likes this purely because of the attention ( the last time she got even the slightest bit of affection from someone she wanted it from must’ve been when she was... oh, twenty? ) or because it’s anne doing it. probably a mix of both, if she’s being honest with herself. it’s a bit of a worrying thought-- or maybe a confused one, since she’s not overly used to seeing women she’s had half-drunk make out sessions with again after the fact. she doesn’t really know what’s going on, here, and is a little out of her element. 

but she sure is enjoying it, whatever the fuck it is. 

put flowers in gróa’s hair like she deserves. literally always accepting.

she likes these celebrations. if lowlanders are good for anything ( they are good for lots of things, she’s realised, if not a little begrudgingly ) it’s their holidays, and all the merry making and ostentation, even if it comes along with a more than gratuitous helping of piety and their maker. 

but it’s ever so easy to ignore a thing like that when cecile is working beautiful little flowers into her hair. she can’t remember the last time she sat still for so long, at least without work in front of her, but here she is, obedient and serene as you like, all because the herald is playing with her hair, more or less. gróa’s sort of dreading it coming to an end, truth be told. this is far too relaxing, and she’s quite enjoying the company-- and the special attention. 

as all good things do, though, even this eventually ends. at least gróa doesn’t look disappointed when cecile proclaims she’s finished and, instead, she simply beams. 

“Oftentimes I wish for another set of hands to help with them. Yesterday Stiorra tried to eat rocks.” She chuckled, the three of them growing up to be such a handful. Part of her offer was in response to the darkness she’d seen crossing Gróa’s face, but Gisela would love for more help. “Misery is a part of Christendom, but we Danes have cheered them up somewhat. The only truly miserable place here is the church.” She nodded in the general vicinity of the church tenants had built, while raising her drink to her lips. “Why worship in a dark shack when the woods show the work of the gods better.” 

put flowers in gróa’s hair like she deserves. literally always accepting.

when she was younger, årne used to put insects in her hair because, for the fifteen years he’d had a sense of humour, he’d thought it was hilarious. it is a very similar sensation that she feels now, and it makes her jump slightly, finally forgetting about the book in her lap. she probably deserves it because, really, you don’t go to the park with a person simply to ignore them. 

she realises after a moment that årne hasn’t suddenly appeared in london, nor is he eight again, and that anne is tucking a little daisy into her hair. maybe it’s an attempt to get her attention, which makes gróa feel guilty enough, and so she sets her book down and decides to actually act like decent company for once. 

the two great loves of her life ( not including her homeland ) are flowers, and attractive women willing to play with her hair. so this is just bliss, understand, and she’s half hoping that anne won’t stop at just the one flower. it wouldn’t half be a shame. she’s more hair than she knows what to do with-- it’s practically begging to be covered in flowers! 

she doesn’t say that, though. instead--