#inbrunstig

“ he did deserve death, and you know it, @inbrunstig! ” it's not often she agrees with alistair anymore — their fighting took a turn for the worst a month or so ago, and the landsmeet effectively destroyed any affection they held delicately between their hands; but when he scoffed at riordan wanting to make loghain a grey warden, la'harya had with him. it's sascha she normally finds common ground with, it's sascha who she leans on in these times of disgrace, when her magic is so out of control and her rage unchecked and her heart desperate for something — anything other than the crippling ache that it beats with.

but sascha is wrong this time, and it's not just the red behind her eyes coloring her decisions. loghain deserved nothing, he was nothing, and if sascha couldn't see that, la'harya would make her see it. “ you think he would repent? you think there would be a sorrow in his mind eventually? he saw a justness in what he did at ostagar, and what he did afterward, there would be no regret! ” they're yelling back and forth, and she's sure that even with their group ahead of them, the dead in lothering could hear them. it steels her for this conversation. “ where do you think the money would come from to house him in that prison cell, to rot? where do you think the people of denerim would pull from? because i sure as shit know that it would be from the coin he pocketed from selling his elves! at least now that money can go back to the alienage. or do you think the poor souls stuck in tevinter would want their sale money going towards him still? ”

@inbrunstig​

     the evening has been... pleasant. surprisingly few scandals for an orlesian ball, but there has been one person that briala has been unable to keep her eye from drifting to all evening. the hero of ferelden, the warden-commander.

it’s a while until she can catch the warden alone, but once she does, she offers a hand in introduction. 

@inbrunstig​ asked: MAKEOVER :  for one muse to help the other with a new outfit or hairstyle.

      it’s almost domestic, almost comfortable. if she closed her eyes, ignored reality for just a moment she could pretend that she’s dressing up for sascha, that the other woman’s fingers adjusting her collar is for her own good. that perhaps they’re going somewhere expensive, extravagant - or perhaps even a local bar... she knows she’d be happy with either. 

     but reality sets in all too soon, and leliana exhales shakily as sascha finishes straightening her shirt. she prepares, again, to meet a stranger - in some vain attempt to get the teaching assistant, who has lurked in the back of her mind for almost a year, out of her head. 

     it’ll be fun, she attempts to remind herself, painting a small smile across her features. 

There’s iron in her mouth and smoke in her lungs, and she’s never felt so alive. The magic blade hums at her touch. It’s a comfort, but it reminds the apostate that she’s more than the healer she’s pretended to be. This is what she was made for. So, when Sascha voices the idea, Florence scoffs and plants her feet.

“ You want to run now ? ”

Running hadn’t been an option ( not before the Inquisition, at least ), and she wants to stay. If they flee, then what will she do with this rage?

( Sascha is right, though. To stay would be her death – outnumbered, and drawing on her last reserves of strength and magic. What good is she to the Inquisition dead? )

“ We run, then. ” The sword falls apart, but in its place comes the smell of singed earth and wet smoke. She’s set a line of tall grass on fire. “ That should keep them occupied. ”

bard kisses        ♡        @inbrunstig​.

@inbrunstig asked  📜

@inbrunstig​ // i’ll never love again - lady g.aga

@inbrunstig​

​     she’s been focused on her work, or at least trying to be. but the truth is, her eyes have been drifting to sascha more than expected for somebody who claimed to be ‘busy’ today. standing in the doorframe, her silhouette is a constant reminder to leliana that she isn’t alone anymore, that somebody that truly cares for her is always nearby, no matter how far she may physically be. 

     she rises from her seat, becomes another silhouette in the doorway as she joins the warden underneath the arch, her hand trailing gently along sascha’s waist as she walks. her other hand hooks beneath the other’s chin and edges her face closer, not content until their lips have been pressed together - a warm kiss that leliana immediately sinks into, hand that had previously been against sascha’s face moving to press lightly against her chest.