astrolabe & carousel

carrd | interest tracker | memes | spotify | pinterest

.     It takes a maximum of two seconds before the aforementioned promise is broken and the girl is wiggling about in his grip. He isn’t fooled by the tilt of her head, nor the girlish smirk that plays upon her lips. After her faux assertion, It’s not my fault-, Solas lifts his hand as though to cup her cheek, and instead wraps his large hand around her little throat. Her pulse drums against his fingers, and his mild expression darkens into a simper of sinister pleasure.

“You broke your promise,” He chides softly.

.     His lifts her by the neck, and slips his free hand beneath the skirt of her dress and between her legs. It rests against her, unmoving, absorbing her heat through her smallclothes. Solas tsks. “Would you like to know what I think?” He murmurs, “I think… you enjoy misbehaving, because you like to cause trouble for me. Not because I enjoy it. Selfish woman. ”

@dutydreamed​ : “i promise i’ll be good.” 

“Will you now?”

.     Solas noses against the bronze curls at the back of her neck, purposefully distracting himself by winding a single lock indeterminately around a slender finger. Despite her ‘promise’ comes the amusing knowledge that she would not, and could not possibly behave herself. He tugs her against him, and falls onto a plush seat to drag her into his lap. “We shall see.”

.     The weight of her hand was insignificant when weighed against all they had shared, their secret looks, the quiet exchanges– him, leaving a well loved book on her pillow, and her, leaving her doodled notes in pretty pen on their dog-eared pages. A lexicon of her that at length he had adored and examined in the small hours of the morning. Still, when she takes her delightfully exploratory thumb from him he misses it. Misses the softness against his bare forearm, exposed, because he had rolled his sleeve up just moments before she had greeted him.

.     He has the urge to kiss her. To take her gently to his side and play her head upon his collar, and move her face this way and that by her little pointed chin, and finally lay his mouth upon her Guineverian lips to taste what she had eaten for breakfast. She is close. It smells like fruit.

.     “I have been in contact with a vendor in the city,” He says. “He has a few tomes on the arcane and I would like to see them. It likely won’t be a very interesting endeavor.”

     her eyebrows arch, disbelieving, a coy smile playing at her lips.  ‘ oh, yes, because i am notorious for finding arcane tomes entirely dull, ’  she responds drily. her fingers twitch; she wants to touch him again, take his hand, something... but she doesn’t. lanathara turns her head away, gazing off into the distance, letting the sunlight fall across her face & warm her cheeks.

     she gathers her loose hair in her hands and moves it so it falls across her shoulder, though a few curls catch in the wind and dance freely. a deep breath of cold mountain air and she looks back at solas, silent for a moment as she simply examines his features with her gently intelligent gaze. a weekend in val royeaux...  she’s been conflicted about the city since she first visited in the early days of the inquisition, but she thinks a weekend there with him could convince her of its charms.

BLUE. cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways.

RED. wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets.

YELLOW. community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams.

GREEN. marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grotto / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theatre productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns.

BLACK. crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theatres / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces.

      IT’S NOT HARD FOR HER to imagine: a younger thom, hot-headed and ready to fight at a moment’s notice.  she almost feels like if she squints, she can see the last remnants of that young man beneath the one who has grown and matured in the decades since. well, she silently amends as she remembers the way the two of them and sera had gigged over titsicles the other day, not matured too much.

      still, she doesn’t think of him as a man with his fists up. in her mind, he’s a protector, even knowing now the past that has haunted him all these years.

      ‘ that’s not terribly surprising, ’  she says with a glint in her eye and a mischievous smile.  ‘ you’ve the look of a former hot-headed marcher lad, if i’ve ever seen one. ’

.     The Ancient elf felt curiously aloof from his own self, awash in his emotions– too numerous to name them all. Anger, sadness, embarrassment that she had not only seen him boil over in a fit of rage (so out of keeping with the cool stock character he had been playing), but that she had also seen for an instant the great expanse of his power. He had killed the lot of those loathsome mages in half a second– had she granted thought to that? Or was she focused on the fact that he had, before her very eyes, committed the brisk, bubbling murders of several people who hadn’t reasonably known better?

.     Solas aches once, hard. The scene replays: he steps toward the man who had addressed him, he lifts his hand. The entire group shudders, person by person, as he ignites the very blood in their veins and they suddenly combust. It had taken only a second. No longer. And yet it had been long enough for the strongest of them to look at him with fear and anguish as her blood very literally boiled, and the fat stores on her arms turned her instantly to a human candlewick. He might have laughed, had he not remembered the Lady Inquisitor at his side.

.     “Forgive me. I am not accustomed to taking comfort with others.” He is trying to be amiable at least. If she HAD noticed the viciousness of his magical ability, perhaps he could act unassuming enough that she might attribute such outburst to his anger and not some underlying pool of talent he was neglecting to share.

.     Her hand on his arm sends a vein of pleasure up his spine. Solas leans into it almost imperceptibly. “I might ask a favor of you, in that case. You have been gracious with your time and effort, but…”

“Would you consider accompanying me to Val Royeaux at week’s end?”

        the truth of the matter is simple: she trusts him implicitly. he nursed her back to health after the conclave, and has saved her life countless times in the months since. she can throw herself into battle against demons, red templars, or bandits and trust that he will watch her back. they have shared meals and dreams, talked of magic and history, swapped books and baubles. she would be a liar if she said she did not count him among her dearest friends.

      she would be a worse liar still if she said she had put their kiss in the fade behind her. but solas had asked for time to think, and she has granted it; she can force herself to be content with the knife’s edge they dance upon, half-friendship and half-something more. gracious with your time and effort: his words nearly make her laugh. she suppresses that instinct, but not the way her lips twitch into a smile.

        he acts as though it is some great sacrifice, to help him. as if it is not as natural to her as breathing.

“And like some great plague of grain-starved beasts, alas, my friend has been swallowed by those who know too little, care too little, and believe of themselves far too much.”

.     Solas stares out from a break in the wall, a thread of ivy tenderly brushing against his cheek. Out in the vastness of the valley, a wagon train was hauling its mauve coaches against the harsh blue of a glacier– and he watched it with an almost infantile pleasure as it caught a patch of ice, and capsized into a snowdrift. Like a ship on a foamy sea. Like his poor, bruised heart collapsing inward.

“I suppose it hardly matters now. They’ve received their due.”

      the inquisitor’s expression is solemn, her carefully-composed features belied by the grief in her large eyes. grief not for her own loss, but for his; grief that despite her efforts, they were unable to save his friend. lanathara is silent as he speaks, head canted slightly as she listens to the rhythm of his voice.

       ‘ they have, ’  she agrees, pulling her cloak more tightly around her slight frame. perhaps she might have granted them mercy, were she in his shoes—but he was the one affected by their actions. he was the one who lost a friend. she does not begrudge him his revenge.