bitterveteran

[bitterveteran]

A long, cardboard tube sits outside the General's door, which when opened reveals a collection of antique topographical maps of Ferelden, The Anderfels, and The Free Marches. Attached is a note, in flowery but legible script: Saw these at the Night Market and thought of you. Hope that your travels bring you back safely. -Elissa

The door to his hotel suite in Hightown was pulled open, and the sharply dressed General almost found himself stepping on a lengthy tube on his way out the door for dinner. He paused and lifted a scrupulous eyebrow, unknowing of the package’s contents and uncertain whether or not he even wanted to touch the suspicious gift. The note caught his eye however, and he proceeded to pick it up and read it in silence.

A rare smile pulled at the corner of his lips, one that graced his face only when he found himself pleased, content, or even grateful. This was such a case, as he found himself reeling back into his suite to examine the contents of the parcel—all of which would be mounted and framed during his stay in the city of chains, and brought back with him to Ferelden when it came time for him to depart. How thoughtful. The gift he planned on giving her at some point didn't seem all that uncomfortable now.

#elissaromildecousland

[bitterveteran]

My hope will guide me through the days without you, and love shall carry me when hope is broken by pain!

#augh this is arttttt #relevant b/c tattoos

[bitterveteran]

kill the messenger set

#can we discuss your moustache sir #and what the hell you're wearing around your neck #I don't understand what is happening here #it's so unflattering and I'm dying #face claim

[bitterveteran]

#not having any of your shit #outoforlesians #face claim

[bitterveteran]

↳ vera farmiga films; middleton     → edith

#face claim #Celia is that you?

[bitterveteran]

"Maric was never fond of the Wardens, you ignorant little shit," he spat back having been more offended at the realities of a history terribly told rather than her insults on nobility. Loghain had no love for the upperclass, and instead identified himself with the workers and agricultural labourers. He was a military man yes, but only through necessity. If he had been left to his own devices instead of stumbling into Maric all those years ago, he would have still been out in the hinterlands living off of what the earth provided.

"Your self-proclaimed intelligence is clearly lacking, girl," he cut in, "your facts are wrong--" but his own words thereafter ground to a halt as a sudden, splitting pain lanced through him from the crack of her forehead against the bridge of his nose. Bloodied, yes, but considering his own history of broken noses due to similar scraps in the past, he knew a fracture when he felt one. In that lapse of weakness however, Solona proceeded to claw for higher ground by successfully tossing him onto his side, though he would not give her the upperhand. He refused to be bested by some little rat the Wardens pulled into their fold and made feel special when no one else would. If she wanted to roughhouse, then he would roughhouse.

A knee lifted to increase the distance between them; a stark contrast to the aggressive albeit borderline intimate moments before. With a shift of his hands to her shoulders and the stretching of a strong leg, Loghain shoved Solona off the high bed and onto the suite floor before leaping up from the mattress himself to stand over her. She'd reach for any weak point, he noted, so the position didn't last long.

"Do not lecture me about crooked politics!" He bellowed as a strong hand grasped at the front of her blouse to lift and shove her up against the nearest wall. He was tired, body sore from their desperate acts for supremacy, but he would not fold. The blood dripping from the split in his nose was ignored due to the fury that pumped through him--fury at her ignorance. What did she know about tyrants and politics when she had been so lucky to avoid the Orlesian rule? How dare she point accusing fingers and spout garbage of her superior point of view from her roost in a country filled with nothing but self-entitled hypocrites--from the ranks of charlatans that flashed pretty smiles with teeth like daggers as a façade to get what they wanted. Orlais was called the masked empire for a reason, and it was because of of the games they played; its royalty's hidden agenda and cloak and dagger tactics. It was because they were pompous, greedy globetrotters who had no love for anything but how pretty their faces were, and how many precious material things they had at the end of the day. He was not easily influenced by such baubles, nor was he in the same vein as their crooked diplomacies. He fought for Ferelden for over thirty years to free it from such clutches, how dare she accuse him of the tyranny he fought so fervently against.

"You live in a world where everything is handed to you, where you can live without fear of foreign tyrants helping themselves to everything you love--to everything that is yours! I fought for that right, Solona!" He shouted, strong arm pulling her away from the wall before throwing her back against it to punctuate his words and drive these facts she so blatantly ignored into her head. "I fought for your right to live as a human being without being subject to rape, abuse and murder if you did so much as look at an Orlesian the wrong way. Do not tell me that I am corrupt, when it is the very fucking thing I kept you from!"

Suddenly, his grip relaxed and he released her. A hand finally flew up the cradle the damage that had been done to his already-disfigured nose with a dissatisfied grunt. With a swift but heavy step, Loghain turned away from her sore and no doubt bruised body as she gathered herself to hurl whatever inaccurate bullshit she deemed applicable, but he had already shut her out in his own overwhelming anger.

Chains and Whips Excite Me {Braids and Mood Rings}

Solona was no fool.  She had spent hours every day training with her fellow Wardens to figure out how to take down opponents of different skill sets.  She was a mage, and she never mistook her capabilities as such.  But with the use of her mana, and laborious hours of training, she had figured out how to fight.  Not just the setting a man on fire kind of fight, but the good old fashioned bar brawl.  And really the one thing that all Wardens agreed on is that, Solona Amell was best suited to taking all opponents down quickly and with whatever means possible.  So no, she would never be the fair dueling type.  She wouldn’t use her magic, but she wasn’t above biting or hair pulling.  She was no noble, she didn’t have to make a proclamation before slapping him with her silk glove.  Wardens learned to kill quickly and precisely, not how to properly wrestle so as to not muss the generals braids.

He finally managed to get a good angle on her, and maintain his position above her.  She knew it the moment she lost the leverage to move.  Fuck, this was about to get messy. “You realize I am a Grey Warden, right?  I have no country anymore, and I sure as hell don’t give a flying fuck about being disgraced.  I am not one of your nobles to be given titles, pet, and sent on their way.  I do what needs to be done to keep people alive.  That is clearly not your mission.” She elbowed him in the jaw when he reached for her hands.  No, she was not going to let him pin her down.  Hopefully he lost a tooth and learned his lesson.

"And in that dusky gilded cage, I was able to read all about what happened.  But it is through the Wardens that I know why Maric was fond of Wardens.  I was in Orlais you know, after you allowed for all the remaining Wardens to be slaughtered."  Her words came out as more of a snarl, and she found herself pressing forward a hairs breadth from Loghain’s face.  It might have been romantic if she hadn’t considered biting off his nose.  "I am a very smart girl, General.  I know where to look for information when it benefits me or my cause."  Then she head-butted him, and hard enough to disorient him thoroughly.

It was not entirely intentional, she had planned on using the weight of her frame to push him up, but he had been so close that there was no way to do it without contact.  Well, that was a bit more contact than expected.   She could heal almost all of wounds immediately, and that meant a slight concussion.  He on the other hand would need her help to fix whatever damage she caused.  Solona knew she was in trouble when she felt blood drip onto her forehead.  She didn’t think she had broken his nose, but she had caused a bloody nose at least.  His grip on her sides weakened and she managed to lift them both onto their sides.  Her breaths were harsh and she was feeling a soreness in her bones from their tussling.  ”You are just as childish as everyone else, just as easy to corrupt and influence.  You just don’t want to admit it.”  Maker she had made herself a nice grave.

#pls can we cuddle now #come use your magic fingers on my nose #if you would be so kind #that would be lovely #Chains and Whips Excite Me #warden-solona-amell

[bitterveteran]

iloveogres:

Happy Anniversary, Papa Loghain.

#HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN SITTING IN MY INBOX WITHOUT ME NOTICING? #CAILAN HOW LONG HAVE YOU LEFT THIS FOR ME? #SCREAMING #submission

[bitterveteran]

Loghain’s struggle with snacks:

String cheese.

#I'm sorry I'm laughing really hard #I had to reblog this okay

[bitterveteran]

The fact that he had managed a smile rather than stare blankly up at him hurt more than it should have. Surely he wouldn't have been so accepting of his presence if he recalled what had happened and exactly why he was stuck in a hospital bed to begin with, would he? No, Loghain knew that well. He was to blame for the delay and the eventual retreat of his troops. If Duncan remembered, then there really was no reason to smile. How ironic it was that he was given such an opportunity to witness something other than a blank canvas, and all it did was make his stomach drop.

The rough pads of Loghain's fingers brushed against the palm of the bed-ridden Warden's hand as the ring was passed from one to the other. They lingered, though withdrew in unspoken fear as he swallowed thickly and leaned back into the chair. His own hands worked fervently to smooth the unprofessional creases that wrinkled the many layers of his suit, but the attempts were futile, though worth the effort if only to keep up with appearances.

"I know," came a choked response, though he held his composure to the best of his ability. He was often a sturdy, unreadable wall that few understood and even less knew how to read--Duncan, like Maric, being one of the very few that knew how. "Forgive me."

He almost regretted asking for pardon, especially when his plea was far more loaded than he lead on. The hands within his lap folded and his fingers laced together as he kept his eyes low in search of the correct words to articulate, but he could find none. He was left exposed and vulnerable in a time that he should have felt relief, but there was anything but dismay coursing through him.

In a way, there had been victory. Many lives were saved from Cailan's inevitable death march. He would not listen, and instead offered up the lives of many men and women at a chance for glory in which Loghain assumed to take the brunt of the force for. But in reality, the battle didn't play out the way he planned, and very few understood let alone sympathized with his actions. There was little hope that Duncan would as well.

But that made his rare optimistic efforts that much worse, and the General almost feared he'd never see it again.

♖ Turning Tables [ for Loghain ]

Murky brown held crystal blue for what felt like an indefinite stretch of time.  Only after a tidal wave of emotion crashed through Duncan did he break gaze and notice the chain now dangling around Loghain’s neck.

Standard-issue Ferelden Military tags with…something else beside the plates of thin yet sturdy stamped metal.

A Warden-Commander’s ring.

Duncan watched with numb, exhausted fascination as Loghain slid accessory from chain and passed it into his fallen comrade’s waiting hand.  The familiar, heavy weight dropped into its owner’s palm, warm from Mac Tir’s chest.  He’d been expecting the contact, and yet it somehow felt foreign.  To feel anything felt foreign, now.

How long had he been sleeping?

"You’re late."  Or perhaps he was the late one now, depending on how long he’d been unconscious.  A few days?  A week?

The very edges of Wolfe’s lips pulled upward.  Even to smirk felt taxing, but the effort was well worth it.  Loghain hated the ever-present neutrality Duncan showed him.  He’d earned something else this time, hadn’t he?  Wolfe could hardly imagine the old warhound sitting bedside for however many days, hiding his sleeping peer’s ring inside his shirt.

But was it concern which kept the Ferelden military hero by his side, or was it…something else?

The brutality of Ostagar had not been erased from Duncan’s memory, but he was alive with Loghain at his side, no less.  The general had kept his promise. They hadn’t failed.

Right?

#Turning Tables #ferelden-commander

[bitterveteran]

A kind offer, but one he couldn't accept. He had many problems--longterm ones, and others that showed face on a daily basis, though none of which were things he could speak of, mostly because he didn't know how. Plus considering his line of work and knowing absolutely nothing about the voluptuous woman who squeezed into the chair next to him, speaking to her about military-related things other than his own battle scars was a hazard to Ferelden's militia. He'd have to politely decline after a mouthful of potent scotch.

"Such is life," came a rumbling reply after the amber spirit was swallowed. It burned going down, but it was pleasant. The liquor warmed him from the inside-out, and it always had a way of setting his mind at ease. How fortunate he had company, and was willing to entertain the idea of spending a bit of time alongside another for a drink. No less, he did not return the smile she had offered, quite simply because he was unable to do so. Smiles for him had always been rare, especially now that the country he loved was going to hell.

The thick tumbler was set down and his eyes scanned the documents that sat out in the open before him. Nimble fingers gathered the sheets and slid them into the crisp manilla envelopes that sat beneath, string wrapping around the plastic latches in a figure eight for some papers while others simply slipped into folders. A neat stack was made before the pen was plucked from the table and pushed into the innermost pocket behind his vest where it was stashed away for easy clean-up (and in case of the documents, confidentiality) when his evening was said and done.

"Though I must apologize, I am not one for casual conversation." It wasn't a recent development either--Loghain never was. He spoke when necessary, not simply to fill the empty void. It was a waste of time, he found. But sometimes a distraction was needed every now and then to refocus and get back on track. At least, that's how he felt currently. Another half an hour at maximum though, and he would return to the Grail to get a decent night's rest before rising at the crack of dawn to do it all over again.

[Annaliese & Loghain Mac Tir] Candlelit Greetings

“Bitter? Oh honey.” Her laughter held no joy. “We’ll be two peas in a pod if that’s the case.”  She drank directly from the bottle of scotch, fully intending on finishing it before the night was up. There was no hesitation as she swallowed. Over the past months the Don had learned that, though cliche, alcohol was a decent way to dull the senses. 

There was not much else she could say lest he proved himself to be a non-threat. Instead of giving away anything else about herself she took a far less enthusiastic swig of her scotch before glancing at her own watch. It wasn’t that late, at least not for her. She’d still have to call the Ministro once she got home.

"Overstaying—please. I fall asleep here far too much. If anyone is overstaying, it is myself." She waved a hand at him as if to dismiss the very though. After all, it was a ridiculous notion. Especially when she had invited him to stay with her for a while longer. "Though you seem to have much weighing on your mind. If it is anything that you would be willing to speak of, I can be a good listener." 

Listening to his own problems seemed far more pleasant than listening to the scathing voices in her head that she never could quite drown out. Plus, the guise of a motherly and airheaded cook became tiring. Especially when she had failed being motherly to her own children. Despite her own thoughts being grim, she looked over to him and smiled warmly. 

#candlelit greetings #cointeressare

[bitterveteran]

Where Loghain was usually seen sitting erect, his posture had been anything but. His back was bent forward and his head had sunk beneath the general contour of his broad shoulders, elbows pressed upon stiff knees and his fingers steepled out before him. Ebony tresses that, like his posture that should have been neat and crisp, hung loosely in his eyes instead of being pushed back like they aught to be. A book had been opened and skimmed through countless times over the course of the former-Commander's prolonged hospital visit, though none of it (despite 'reading' it several times) stuck at all. It looked just as worn and distressed as he did, and amongst the refreshing green leaves and colourful flowers that lined the room, Loghain and his paper companion seemed even more haggard than they actually were.

The overhead thrum of the buzzing florescent lights was punctuated by a ragged cough--one that belonged to not a nurse or a doctor (all of which he knew the names and shifts of by now), but rather to the comatose patient who had remained motionless beneath the stiff hospital sheets. Mac Tir's head snapped up and craned towards him, tired, icy eyes lined with rings of exhaustion spying out Duncan's darker ones, and all of a sudden his blood ran cold.

Where guilt hung over him like a dark cloud, regret clung to every limb and weighed him down as Duncan finally stared back at him after many months of being unable to. It was unreal, a feeling like none other he could remember. There was relief after so much dread, but it faded as reality caught up with him and whirled away within his mind. All of a sudden, the the lights seemed too bright and the distant chattering far too loud. His ears rang and his throat stung, and all the words he recounted within his head a number of times escaped him like sand through his fingers. Now that he had the chance, nothing he could relay seemed adequate or eloquent enough to share. So instead, silence lingered.

And he regretted that for the first time in his life, his famed silver tongue failed him. Nothing seemed appropriate, but what happened at Ostagar spoke louder than anything he could ever say. Perhaps nothing was needed after all.

A hand lifted to slip beneath his unbuttoned collar to retrieve something--a chain, the usual one. Along with the familiar dogtags hung a heavy platinum ring, one with the stretch of an griffon's wings reaching around the sides of the band to hold a polished sapphire in place. For the first time in what seemed like eternity, the chain was undone to slip the ring off and hand over to Duncan. It belonged to him, after all, but that didn't mean Loghain was about to let any sticky fingers of overworked and underpaid hospital staff run off with it either. Whatever Duncan perceived of the action--theft on Loghain's behalf or benevolence--he would accept it without explanation or retaliation.

♖ Turning Tables [ for Loghain ]

Faces white in fading light:

White from fear;

White from lack of fear.

Flashes of blood

Or fire.

A drumming.

A constant drumming

Of feet thundering in.

At first, a drumming of hope. 

Hold the ranks! He’ll be here!

His throat was hoarse; thick and slow.  His words were acrid and they burned on his tongue. But he kept saying it.  He kept believing it.

A dam of Warden bodies broke.

A sea of bloated faces

And a drumming.

A constant drumming.

Of feet thundering in.

He’ll be here! Just—

A colossus.

A King.

The crack of a breaking body. 

And a drumming.

A constant drumming.

And screaming.

Of bullets

And of blades

And of spells

And of death

Hold the ranks.

And the constant drumming of feet thundering in. 

Drowning out the silence of an unfulfilled promise

And the crack of a broken…

He’ll be here.

The pain was unbearable

The drumming was unbearable

The screaming was unbearable

And it was all inside him.

And then it stopped.

  Everything smelled so clean. The sound of footfalls on a tiled floor replaced the thwack of blades.  The sound of a mechanised air pump replaced the panting and wheezing of blood-choked soldiers.  The subtle hum of fluorescent lighting replaced the screaming. 

And the drumming in his heart slid away from his ears and he could hear voices.  Unfamiliar voices talking quietly a distance away.  And a ticking.  The drumming had dissolved into the steady ticking of a familiar watch,clicking along in time with his own heartbeat.

That watch.

Blurry pastels swarmed Duncan’s vision as his eyes snapped open at the recognition of the ticking. After two blinks he was squinting at a rather large, brightly lit private hospital room framed by dark hair that was far longer than he remembered it being.  

To his left, at his bedside, sat the source of the ticking.

He’ll be here.

Wolfe considered speaking, but his throat was dry.  His tongue was dry.  It was all far too dry.  And the longer his eyes rested upon the figure seated there, the more he began to recognize the sensation of pain.  Familiar but wholly unwelcome pain.

Everywhere.

Duncan lay staring silently at the man, watching without being watched.

And then he coughed.

#oops my hand slipped #feels incoming #Turning Tables #ferelden-commander #fereldencommander

[bitterveteran]

A smoking ruin makes as good a monument as any.

#musings #basically Loghain and his outlook on Cailan's glory seeking #oops #iloveogres

[bitterveteran]

The Hero of River Dane was just as busy in Kirkwall as he had been in Denerim. His time flopped between writting missives back to Ferelden's capital, scanning through enlistment forms and dealing whatever nonsensical requests the Grey Wardens required of him. The latter was often shoved to the bottom of the mountain of documents when they came across his desk if not crumpled and thrown into the trash bin. They had enough funding from the Anderfels as it was, so whatever they needed from him or Ferelden wasn't about to happen. They lost their function when Blights failed to ravage the land, so he could only imagine that they their coffers were running terribly dry. That was too bad for them.

But there was a sudden knock he hadn't expected. Room service, he assumed. It was already passed noon, which meant he was largely in disarray already--his hair was mussed from continually running his fingers through it in frustration, tie loose, collar undone. The General wrinkled his nose beneath the metal frame of his reading glasses which had been left on rather than erratically removed. No less, he stood up and pushed the ornate wingback away from himself and the cherrywood desk with the back of his knees as he padded across the suite. In the moments before he reached the door, his collar was expertly buttoned and his silk tie drawn back tightly against his throat. Sleeves were rolled back down into place and fastened at his wrists before he pulled the door open and parted his lips to dismiss the housekeeper waiting in the hallway with a trolly of cleaning products--

--though his eyes betrayed him at the sight of a young woman who was most certainly not working for the luxury hotel, but instead a much darker business.

Loghain looked away from her and down at the watch around his wrist to confirm the current time and date. The offer he had given had ideally expired weeks ago, and her arrival hadn't been between the hours he asked. Still, here Miss Elissa Cousland stood with a look that shouted nothing short of terror despite their abrupt and fairly violent meeting some time ago.

A hurried hand lifted to pluck the slender reading glasses from the bridge of his nose and tucked them into his vest pocket. With some mild embarrassment of his own (for perhaps looking far more vulnerable than he wished; his eyes were sharp, but not as sharp as they used to be), the General stepped aside to allow his potential recruit into his temporary living space. It was only when she moved passed the threshold and the door was thrown firmly shut behind here did a rumbled greeting-slash-allegation ring out into the lofty ceiling, as if cementing her decision and concluding her demise:

"You're late."

Humility - [Elissa and Loghain]

It had been several weeks since General Loghain Mac Tir had made Elissa an offer that had both infuriated and intrigued her. During that time she’d faced up to the results of her poor choices during her separation from Gamlen and made the decision to completely renovate her life. Accepting Loghain’s offer, reclaiming her family name, ridding herself of the majority of her vices; all of these things had to be done, but before that could even begin she had to get out of the Coterie. 

As such, she’d taken what had been given as her “final job”, only to discover in the process that the job was meant to kill her, or send her back with the task incomplete, an option that was equally detrimental to her health. She was running out of options. In fact, only one remained. 

Loghain. 

She did not want to do this. 

You have no choice, Elissa. You’ve put yourself into this position. You have to face the consequences.

She sighed, knowing the voice in her head was completely right. No matter how much she feared the disappointment she knew she’d see in his eyes, she had no choice but to ask for his help. With a resigned tip of her head, she raised her hand, and knocked.

#sorry this is super late #and I got a little carried away :'D #elissaromildecousland #Humility

[bitterveteran]

Rise and rise again until the lambs become lions.

#musings

[bitterveteran]

An idea came to mind--one that tempted him more than he realized--and that was choking her. Grabbing Solona's fragile, slender neck and squeezing the blighted life out of her became more of an attractive option with with each passing moment, not to mention every time something left her mouth. She spoke of things she knew little of--things she wasn't even alive to experience. If she didn't learn to shut her trap, he'd do it for her. Perhaps permanently. Stitching it closed sounded pretty good right about now.

And there she went with the cheap shots again. Verbally and physically. Sure, maybe he did clock her in the breast, but every chance she took she went for the ribs or between his knees. It might have been a good tactical idea to get the job done, but it wasn't courteous in their scrap--or duel, if you pleased. What happened to the quality fighters? People like Rowen who fought with dignity rather than throwing sand in the eyes?

"You're foolish!" He yelled, strong voice bellowing out from the pit of his stomach as the muscles within it tensed to minimize the damage from her knee's impact. She thrashed around far too much. That needed to stop. Immediately. 

"And what does your pretty little mind know about anything? Hm? How many years has it been since you've left the Circle thanks to Duncan? What, pray tell, could they possibly teach you in that gilded cage that makes you think you know everything!?" Loghain screamed as he continued to wrestle with her, out right ignoring her nosy inquiries and comments spewed by rage, while his own knees found their place more firmly in the mattress by her hips. It was only then that he finally came to wedge her between the plush duvet and his pelvis to prevent her from twisting and squirming any further. 

"You're ignorant of everything! Your country's politics, its history--do you even know why your order was permitted again?" Mac Tir growled as he grappled for her hands in order to pin them down over her head, chest heaving as he powered through her swings like a charging bull. "Do you even know who it was who set it in motion, girl!? Silence yourself before you disgrace yourself and your country any further!"

Chains and Whips Excite Me {Braids and Mood Rings}

"I didn’t say that.  You are the one who thinks he was philandering not me.  Personally I don’t care who King Cailan fucks; your daughter, the Empress, or you.  You seem like you could use a nice rough fuck."  He was sloppier when he got angry.  There is his right… OW, did he just punch her in the breast.  Fuck, what kind of monster was he?  Is that how he removed the Orlesians from power, one breast punch at a time?

She dug her elbow into his side and used the hand that had been in his hair to pull his head backwards.  The thought that she could bite out his throat flashed through her mind, but she immediately felt that niggling bit of her consciousness that sounded an awful lot like Duncan telling her that biting the General was not a good idea.  So instead she twisted her head around and bit into his shoulder.  Not hard enough to tear out skin, but hard enough to leave a bruise and some scabbing.

When he was finally able to pull her back a little and push her onto the bed, she kicked up into him and punched at his kidney.  ”I think the only person you fisted was Maric.” Oh, Solona, one day you would learn to shut up.  ”And you are the one with so much ego and pride that you would sacrifice your King and the people protecting Ferelden from the Blight.  Ferelden burns right now, and you are forced to look everywhere but the Wardens for help, when no one can help you but us.  It burns you that Maric trusted the Wardens, that Cailan trusted us.  They knew what you didn’t, and that kills you.”

And Solona head-butted the General of Ferelden’s military, using her knees to press up into his sensitive abdomen.  She bucked up into his pelvis and twisted her shoulder so that she could hit him harshly in the chest.  ”Did- you ever ever care for Duncan at all?”  The words slipped out of her mouth before she could filter them.  Well, if they were airing all of their tensions, this was the best place to do so.  She let out another growl, the mana in her veins humming loudly.  He was not going to get away from this lightly.  Punching into his side again with her added strength, she hissed in contempt.  She would flip them again once he left that weak spot in his side open again.

#it's gettin' hot in hurrr #so take off all your clothes #( I AM GETTING SO HOT! ) #( I'M GONNA TAKE MY CLOOOOTHES OFF! ) #wardensolonaamell #Chains and Whips Excite Me

[bitterveteran]

"Good. Now get some rest."

"What is this? A party? I do not know if it would be a good idea to have alcohol on top of painkillers. But I will not argue."

#have fun hiding that #giant cupcake soaked in bourbon #at least the bottle could be easily hidden #I don't know about that cupcake #and a shot or two won't hurt you Cailan #Maker's breath

[bitterveteran]

"Good. Then it's settled."

"If either of you are in need of anything, I would happily oblige. I'll leave a bottle of Bourbon with your things. I don't care what the doctor's orders are. If you want a drink, then you can have a fucking drink."

"That might be a tall order. If I have the ability to walk out of here, I will.”

#let him win let him win #THEN YOU HAVE TO KEEP YOUR PROMISE YOU BITCHASS #YOU CAN'T FUCKING DIE IN A OSPITAL ROOM #YOU HAVE TO LIMP AROUND WITH YOUR FANCY CANE AND HIT WARDEN RECRUITS WITH IT #don't worry tho he'll update your booze stash #mix it around a little