#ever4sking

warrior of darkness // accepting

Asharen watches Rook's sleeping form, standing just a single step behind Tamara. The other continued her work with her tinctures and healing magic; Asharen had done as much healing as she could, worked through what damage she could see, expect despite knowing very little of what he had gone through. She could push herself further, but she knew the limits of her own body and the fatigue that she had pushed and pushed and spurned in order to get to this place, a place where they had finished the dagger and got Rook out. That fatigue had sharp teeth and it was prowling closer and closer.

And there was still so much still to do. Were it any other time, this dagger would have likely been one of her crowning achievements and yet, knowing the inspiration and the reason behind it she could feel nothing but a sense of bittersweet victory.

Light eyes lift to Tamara upon hearing her words; she cannot stop herself from smiling. Giving the other a nod, Asharen takes a single step forward, hearing her prosthetic hand rustle against the fabric of her robes. Her left sleeve was folded as she approached, standing beside Tamara.

   "I still can't believe it worked." she whispers though how deeply the other slept it was unlikely to make a difference.

Truthfully, it had been a massive long shot; and incredibly lucky on so many levels that it could, perhaps, be considered miraculous. Asharen now knew more people that had walked into sections of the fade that no living being was meant to walk away from and having that honour gave her pause. The fact that they had been able to craft as powerful an artifact and managed to narrow down the area that they needed to cut through in order to pull him out was a testament to the power behind this team. Truthfully, much was still unknown, she didn't know what the effects of the prison that Solas crafted would be on him.

The elven woman inhales, glancing once more to Tamara.

   "Mara, I am..." so sorry. She wants to say and yet the words don't quite come out. Her light eyes are on her friend's, brows arched.

But even that wasn't her place. It had not been her that had put Imad in such a place, and yet she still felt guilty. It was not her who had unlatched the keys to allow for such a terrible thing to have happened, but it had been her who had kept pushing for temperance, to not trust but allow for grace, mercy.

And now, now she felt she needed to apologise because she would keep asking for it. Even if doing such a thing felt cruel, even if his actions felt unforgivable. And Asharen could only imagine, she could only imagine truly what both of them might feel. And yet, selfishly, terribly selfishly Asharen knew she would not stop now. There were nights where she wondered how she could ask this of others when she herself sat and wondered where the line was. When would it be too far? Too much? Could she find it in herself to forgive him, when they met again?

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Asharen closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. She touches the side of Tamara's arm with her own hand "I am glad we weren't too late."

Clearing her throat, the Inquisitor pulls back, away from the bed and away from Tamara.

   "When he wakes, tell Imad that I am glad he lives." long fingers dig through her pockets and pull out the brass prosthetic, swiftly pulling it onto her arm and tightening it. She hoped that some of the spirits in the Crossroads could be of aid, to let her know about what was going on within the city, what should they expected beyond just devastation.

She did not need to ask them, she was sure that Solas out of everyone was surely fine, and yet that question too was on her mind. Metallic fingers wrap around her staff, pulling it closer to her as she walks out of the room "Please let me know when he does, I'd like to have a word with him before we leave for Minrathous. I will be in the Crossroads."

   "Are you alright?" Asharen asks, glancing towards Tamara with a worried glance. She seemed fine, holding on. Good. Asharen pushes the loose red hair stuck on her forehead with the sweat, pulling it over her ear and against her scalp. She turns to the five frazzled people they had found in the ruins of the nearby village. They looked at them with wide eyes "Is anyone injured?" it was hard to tell; it had rained all day and the ground was muddy beyond just the pools of altered blight.

They were all in rough shape, but none looked blighted. Not that Asharen would be able to tell. One of them raises their hands and she moves towards them. Lifting her flesh hand to pull at the healing spells she knew off. It would not be much, but it would be enough to keep them moving. Moving and hopeful that they would make it out somewhere warm and dry.

YOU ARE EATING AN ORANGE // selectively accepting . @st4ysoft . @ever4sking

Tamara's hand is warm in hers, her single flesh hand held between the other's as she keeps the brass hand away from that moment. It did not feel right, even if it was as deeply a part of her as the rest of her body.

It is odd to feel so painfully calm in that moment; it is not relief that fills her bones but this chaotic environment is not so unfamiliar. Asharen has not quite ever felt herself like in this moment, having climbed to the heights of the Archon's palace and knowing, having an inkling, of what awaited her when she turned her back. When she said her goodbyes. To be faced with the unknown after so long of chasing solutions, to face it without the demand that she should know and find the answer by the tip of her tongue.

How terrible a thought it was, to be so relief to be allowed to simply leave into a place that she had never known? Knowing how much she would leave behind.

And how bittersweet to know how unlikely it was that she would ever see it again. The implications of such a decision flash through her mind and she pushes them aside with a blink of an eye, with a small smile. With a squeeze of hands and a pull of a body against hers. The warmth she feels and the heartbeat of both their hearts beating against their chest.

Asharen wished for that moment that she had spent more time, one last time, watching a sunset with a deep orange glow and feel that warmth upon her face. To feel the dancing leaves of her orange trees upon her face. She holds those memories each time she blinks, fighting the feelings that tempt to overwhelm her, fighting to stay in the moment and to not allow her mind from slipping from the moment. those memories would always be with her. This too was loss, but there is no life worth living that did not have it woven into it.

   "Truthfully, I don't think I'd ever be able to truly fully depart." there was a saying, she had first thought it Dalish but had come to think that she didn't actually remember where she first heard: different deaths held at different times, one of the body and one of the name, of memory. This was not a death of either but felt like a permanent parting all the same. There is fear, of course, to not fear what was to come was to be foolish but Asharen held onto that fear, holding with hands that held hope in it too "Not if you allow it to."

She loved this world and for the moment it was safe, it would keep itself safe and she looked upon Tamara, Rook and Émilie and had no doubt that those that remained, that had trusted her with the vision of what the world could be would continue to do their best. This vision was hardly hers, or hers alone, it had been shaped by them all too. And she would miss them so.

She would miss the small house that she would never be able to rebuy and rebuild, the books she would never be able to recover, the visits to her clan. The orange trees she would never own. Late night stories and warmth and hope. To be seen by others so clearly and to be believed and loved so wholly, it was a gift that Asharen could have never dreamed of by herself. It wrapped her as a warm blanket and she would carry it wherever she went for as long as she breathed.

She is constantly under water there.

She can feel it; the lighthouse's light is off and there is a constant hand wrapped around her ankle like a chain and a hand on her neck keeping her down. She can see the light sway just above her, shinning brightly, so brightly that it hurts her eyes. Mind swimming and yet sharp focus, a constant struggle and a throbbing headache that bites into the front of her throat and back of her neck, like two jaws pressing into her throat. And the guilt, the guilt was the worst.

When they walk from the Eluvians across the worn walls she can almost see them. The frescoes that were there before. She wondered what had happened to get to that point, she didn't think age would do that but what did she know about Elvhen frescoes? Still, each time they cross them, if she were to really focus, she was sure that she'd be able to... see them, tell the shapes. If she focused on them, which she didn't.

She hears Tamara's voice through the distant sounds of water sloshing. Émilie hears it but doesn't quite register, not quite yet. Émilie never thought that she would consider leaving the Inquisitor and Tamara, but the thought that they would require of her to stay for longer in this place made her feel unwell.

It made her feel like she would unravel at any moment, that if she were to stare a little longer at any given part of this that she would become completely undone.

It made her feel like she was going to die. There was no voice that came from the lighthouse. Just permanent judging in the silence. A silence that said: there was once hope and life here too, do not forget why. Do not forget. Do not forg—

   "You also need to sleep." she finally cuts through, looking at Mara she gives a small smile though she can't really tell much of her face. Even in the dim light, the bloom that comes from the orange light of the small candle blurs most of her vision.

Holding the other's hand, she squeezes it softly. Only long enough to feel its warmth, quick enough to not let her concern touch her chest but even that reaches her heart far too quickly.

   "I'm just going... for a walk, I think." she finally says, not really looking at Tamara. Slowly she grabs the sword and sheathe, buckling it against her waist. Then, she grabs her robes, pulling it over her shoulders - there was no amount of clothes that could make her feel warm in the Crossroads but she still hoped each time. Finally, she turns to Tamara feeling a chill in her body "I will talk with the Inquisitor, once she wakes. I might need... a different arrangement for resting."

the witcher, the last wish // selectively accepting // @st4ysoft @ever4sking

The trees around them twist onto themselves like a foothold trap. The branches twist akin to being twisted and curved by the dome in the darker sky above them. Red, a deep red of a sundown that hangs forever.

When Solas enters the clearing of these trees in the shape of claw it is only the sky's light and the dying sun that bathes the wild grass. No wild flowers grow here, or perhaps they never did after the dream's bearer had walked it last.

Finding Tamara Szewczuk's dream was easy, what had been harder was to navigate them without being noticed. His feet are soft and barely audible even against the grass, his body is one of the many other bodies that would likely find in a forest. And his real aspect in this dream world was not unlikely the same spirits that the woman, were his reports to be believed, knew and had found familiar.

The many eyes on his head blink softly, the dull green barely registering in the deep crimson that fell upon the clearing like a veil. He circles around, body weaving itself into the shadows, his eyes only the many that lived within those twisted woods.

There is a girl in the middle of the clearing. Frozen in space with firewood holding firewood. This is not who she seeks and she shifts and blurs.

It should not surprise him, that one such as Tamara should have accompanied Asharen. The details weren't clear, only that she had been seen with the Inquisitor alongside a few others. Slowing down his pacing as the figure disappears, he keeps watching the clearing, glancing up to the sky and the twisted branches that now look like fingers.

When his eyes return to the clearing there is that same girl, now opposite to him through the fire. Beside her there is a figure of a man much like her - hair glued to forehead and lost eyes in the flame. The girl looks directly at him and all that Solas can do is watch - watch with the many dim lights staring from the abyss of the forest. The red is slowly becoming the dark crimson, the lightness and softness of night that covers the sky like a warm, light blanket - though the cold that is expected never settles.

When she speaks, the fire remains equally lit, but she is a grown woman and beside her Solas can see the brief form of a sleeping woman with bright red hair - shoulders covered by a well loved shawl. Curled with her back to the flames. With her back to him.

Good. Though his chest says otherwise.

His form takes a step back, eyes closing as he becomes one with the darkness that welcomes this dream's edge. A thin smile forms on his lips when he wakes, cold thumbs pressing into his socket softly. It seemed that even now he could not stop himself from attempting from distracting her and the guilt followed him.

It was not loneliness that bit at his heels - it was the knowing, now confirmed, that she chose to not dream. That she had, perhaps, at one point realised that he was there, though he rarely lingered - to linger any longer would be selfish. It was not loneliness, for it was unlikely they would ever be in the same space, not without some serious injury likely coming to pass.

DISCO ELYSIUM // accepting . @st4ysoft @ever4sking

The sound of the scribbling comes to a sudden stop when she hears Tamara's voice coming from the bedroll to her right. Émilie had fallen asleep long before, but it was not uncommon that she did, at least when they didn't make camp in the Crossroads.

She had been using a small piece of charcoal, careful when dragging against the small pages of the travel notebook. Asharen had thought she had been careful, and yet it had clearly been loud enough above the dying ambers to wake Tamara up. She could only hope it would not be enough to wake up the last member of this trio.

Asharen's light eyes find the other's in the soft dim light, her brows arched with an apology that had yet to reach her lips. Enough to weight her expression.

   "Did my light wake you up? Or the charcoal? Apologies," she places the charcoal back in the small piece of cloth she carried it in. Wrapping it with a practiced speed without making more of a mess than necessary. She doesn't blow on the page to remove the small pieces, instead shaking it softly towards he side, softly that none of the sheets go flying and soft enough that it might have been mistaken for the fluttering of distant wings.

Her eyes return to Tamara though lower almost immediately as she wraps the notebook closed "The tea is just taking a tad longer to work than I expected."

It was medicine, in a way. Something that tasted something foul but that needed to be done. She had to sleep at one point or another, even if some nights the want was not there - even if some nights it simply evaded her like so many of her other ghosts. Sometimes the tea was not enough, even if the promise of a quick and restful sleep sounded tempting. Shifting in her bedroll, Asharen tugs herself further into it, allowing the heavier blanket to weight against her back.

DISCO ELYSIUM // accepting . @st4ysoft @ever4sking

The city didn't even look like the same place that she had visited just a week before.

It was heartbreaking to see, each time she stepped out of the Eluvian it was there just staring back at her. The weight of her choices and each time she hated herself just a tiny bit more. She didn't regret the choice she did, and in the back of her mind she knew it was ridiculous to expect that her presence would have made any significant difference: and yet there it was, she still felt guilty.

The Inquisitor had assured her that sometimes there was no good choice and that people got hurt. The best they could do was try their best to make sure they could protect those that remained. That doing all you could was the only thing anyone could ask. But she still had made the choice. And now Treviso would not be the same, probably ever again.

And yet, she didn't lose a wink of sleep knowing Minrathous was safe. For now.

   "Yeah, well." she hums to herself, brown eyes shifting from the Blighted sight of Treviso at sundown to Tamara "I have a knack for destroying beautiful things."

Her brows arch as the sun pieces through her sigh when her eyes return to the city. She'd have liked to explore it more, not that she had the time and who the fuck knew what would happen after all this was said and done. The world was coming to a fucking end after all. These people's at least did.

God, what she would do for having her pipe with her.

   "I need to go talk to the Crows," or, with the murder of crows, she guessed they thought themselves clever with the names. They were, but Orla had lost all sense of humour these past few weeks. Giving a half smile to Tamara, both of her hands come to rest on the pommels of her daggers as she shifts her weight and turns towards the Casino's rickety passway "they'll want their pound of flesh too."

Starting to walk, Orla stops mid step turning on her heels towards Tamara. Giving her a second look and biting into her cheek. She takes two barely audible steps back to the same spot where they had been before.

   "I know I'm not the Inquisitor," she starts, feeling a budding headache creep from the base of her neck "Got no business asking you to do anything," sucking in her teeth, Orla barely stomachs looking up to Tamara's eyes before she looks down to the floor again "but if you find yourself with some time on your hands. Could you please go down there? Help them?"

She nods, towards the small figures that worked beneath.

KISSES + SUBTLE NSFW // accepting . @st4ysoft @ever4sking + 「 BARE 」 : for sender to undress in front of receiver + 「CLIMB 」 : for sender to climb into receivers lap + REVERSE + 「 THROW 」 : for sender receiver to throw receiver sender onto the bed + an emotional kiss bringing one party to tears

Kissing Tamara made her head spin. In the best of ways. Her chest roared and clawed from within against her ribcage and while she felt often she would completely unravel unless she felt her hands around her face, holding her in place and in her body, it feel good. It felt more than good, but no word truly felt fitting enough.

How could she ever hope to explain that it was all at once to feel herself in the middle of the strongest hurricane and storm she had ever felt and yet to still feel herself grounded. Unafraid of releasing because she knew - trusted - that Tamara would be there?

The room was small and the noise from the Inn poured into the room, but Émilie could not hear it when Tamara's form was over her, seated comfortably on her lip, when her breathing brushed against her face. When Émilie felt the fluttering of her eyelashes against her own skin. There was nothing but Tamara and the loud and roaring engine within her. It was one of the few times that they truly allowed themselves away from the Inquisitor and only because she had asked them both to be her voice where she could not be.

Émilie wondered, at times, if she knew. Tamara believed Asharen did know, only that she didn't comment. And Émilie had the same gut feeling. Other times, she found it that it hardly mattered.

They did not travel through the Crossroads and so traveling was slower. Émilie was thankful that was the case for multiple reasons.

The orlesian mage is brought back to the present as Tamara lifts from her lap, taking a step back out from the bed. Her fingers undo the buttons and buckles of her own armour and robes. And Émilie cannot do anything but watch, rooted in place where she had been left.

To say that Tamara was a beautiful woman would be a dire understatement, but Émilie could not quite conjure the words in that moment. She could hardly keep herself from looking all over, feeling unsure if she should. It doesn't stop her, however, especially as Tamara approaches once more. Émilie's hands hover over her form for a moment, not unsure for the touch itself but... Her skin is warm, that much is felt just by the hovering.

The skin feels soft against the tip of her fingers, and the pressure that befalls the fingers pulls Tamara once more close against her, climbing the creaky bed once more.

   "Are you sure about this?" Émilie asks softly, her chin resting against Tamara's bare chest. Her hand curls around her waist briefly, waiting for Tamara to say something and when she nods with a smile, pushing aside the pale hair off her eyes, placing it behind her ear, Émilie cannot stop herself from smiling.

Her armour requires a bit more work now, more maintenance. She had never thought herself thinking in even the slightest hint of a curse towards it, and yet it feels like she takes too long, makes too much noise.

When she is done, it feels oddly... Cold.

It wasn't that it was her first time, or that she was bashful of her own body. It was the first time since the White Spire; the first time since she had singed so much of her body. The first time where anyone looked at her that way instead of the clinical panic or the careful eyes of a healer. She was proud of her scars, but she felt small once more.

   "I am just—" the words don't come out. Not well, they get stuck and mangled in her tongue and in the shape of her lips. Light eyes find Tamara's whose eyes shift to concern and she feels that she is ruining this. She doesn't want to ruin it, doesn't want to stop the moment "It's just —"

Her teeth sink into her own lower lip, a caught breath.

   "It's overwhelming. Or can be. For me." her fingers rest against her hip, softly making their way up to her stomach, tightening the grip so that she could - hopefully - not misunderstand her. Maker, make her not be misunderstood. "I want to do this, I —"

Tamara's hand moves to cover the side of her face. First her left side, caressing her ear, nails coming to rest against the pale scalp. The other, carefully, holds the right side of her face. Careful, as to not pull on the scars, but not with fear, not with extreme caution. Not like she was something that might break at the sudden of touches. She held her firmly, with warm hands that guided her light eyes up.

   "We can just take it slowly."

Émilie gives her a small smile, hearing her voice spoken so softly. Something within her feels a sense of relief that is not all that welcomed. The happiness that follows though, the understanding lifting the weight on her shoulders and chest allowed her hands to move once more. Softly over the curves of her body, up her chest, pushing the dark hair to the side of her face. Émilie nods.

Yes, slowly would be good.