Not Me Having A Dream Last Night Of Shielding And Trying To Protect Simon Riley With My Mid Size Body

Dragon Age: Inquisition imagine. Having the femquisitor as your sibling…

(when she died or presumably dead)

you are either the younger or older sibling of the femquisitor.

but that doesn’t stop you worrying when she went to the conclave to attend or see the summit.

when the news reached to you that all of the people at the conclave died, you cried.hard.

well your sister is your sibling, the one who is closest to your heart and may or may not be the only one in the family left.

but still you felt alone, loneliness creeps to you now like a shadow swallowing you whole.

for days you just lied down, staring at the ceiling

some nights you have nightmares, dreaming of how your sister died.

one of them is your sister being burned into ashes.

few weeks later, you fell back into normal routine with difficulty.

you had to do it or else your sister would be mad of you wallowing in your own sorrow.

‘if only my sister is here, I’m sure she would…’

little did you know….

in a bright sunny you are tending yourself, bored out of your mind.

suddenly there is a knock on your front door.

you jumped slighty as you heard the knocking.

'is that the templar or mages?’ heart thumps wildly as you thought on what you would do.

you know to defend yourself with a weapon since your sister thought you since your were very young.

grabing your weapon of your choice , you brace yourself as you slowly open the door .

only to find out

your SISTER with some of the strange companions behind her.

“well, well little/big (sis/bro) look who’s stiil alive and kicking” your sister started.

you don’t know whether to punch, slap or hug her.

you stare at her few minutes with silence still processing on what is happening.

“ OH MY SISTER, IS THAT YOU?” you exclaimed to her.

“How are you still alive and breathing?” you questioned her.

“That is the story for another time” she answered patting your head.

“Come with me to Haven (Y/n), it would be dangerous to leave you alone in here”

“But why sister?” you questioned her, hpoing for some answers.

“There would be enemies around here. I would rather have you with me” she answered with her eyes pleading that you would come with her.

“Alright I’ll come with you, I cannot lose you sister.”

And this is where your real adventure all began.

Just a reminder for any bloggers that are unaware—

The following blogs are spam blogs, all pretending to be Palestinians needing help in Gaza. They are mass flooding tumblr inboxes with identical text + emojis in order to ask for $90k USD.

Even when you block these blogs, they will use a side blog to send you seemingly infinite anonymous asks, and THEN change the sending blog when you block that anon.

At least 2 of these blogs have been confirmed by @gazavetters to be spamming blogs.

Here is the list:

mosabsdr

abedmajeed, which is now both aboodfmly and derawi1994, and which is also known in tags and/or blogs as:

Abdelmajed (tag)

abedmajder (tag)

familygaza5 (blog)

derawigaza (blog)

derawifami (blog)

(All of the above under aboodfmly link to the exact same chuffed fundraiser.)

nasergz

sajagz

abd20001

nasr-daher

Note: mosabsdr has a note in gazavetters' official vetting Google Doc to warn others of the spam behavior, since they are violating rule 2 (do not spam supporters or non-supporters).

Most or all of these blogs have replies turned off, so it's virtually impossible to message them directly and ask them to stop sending asks.

Please block, delete asks, and do not engage with these blogs.

To block anonymous asks: you have to wait until you get one, unfortunately, but you can then hit the 3 dots on the top right and then block the specific anon that sent you that ask. It's not perfect, but it's better than nothing.

Stay safe out there, and please donate to help Palestinians at this World Food Programme link.

And I will wait for you.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov | Caravaggio, Bacchus/The Lute Player/Saint Jerome Writing/Young Sick Bacchus (details)

Hey so uhhh. These are some messages I received in my inbox yesterday back to back before I even had a chance to see the message, let alone respond to it. I’m going to post it because I’m pretty sure this is somebody trying to guilt me into participating in a scam. The account only has one post which is nearly identical to the first message I was sent. Please vet the people you are sending money to.

ABBA - Voulez-Vous

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Showing Emotion Without Telling About It

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Expressing Cardinal Emotions: Masculine vs. Feminine

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Emotional Wounds

A Role Model Who Disappoints

A Sibling’s Betrayal

A Speech Impediment

Becoming a Caregiver at an Early Age

Being Bullied

Being Fired or Laid Off

Being Held Captive

Being Mugged

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Being Raised by Neglectful Parents

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Being So Beautiful It’s All People See

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Losing a Limb

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Overly Critical or Strict Parents

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tiny soap simply groovin out here

[Student Tales] During the checking of our exam papers....

Sir: “Oh, the numbers 41 to 50 bonus points is a Valentine’s gift for you.”

.

.

And also 51 to 60 on essay. Just check it already. There is no wrong in stating your opinion.“

THE BEST

omg congrats for 5k doll! i wanted to slide in and see if i could have a protective!bf Gaz written since my baby is so underappreciated??? i saw this tweet about the scene in mw where gaz's disabling a bomb and is unable to and price throws the guy off the balcony, but this time the bomb in strapped to his love and he's and he's struggling and sees price out of the corner of his eye and remembers what happens last time and panicks and goes all 'you won't do that to her'. just a thought, love all your work!

—Don't Look At Her

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [The bomb starts ticking down, rapidly firing to zero. Gaz won't let Price near you. Not after he'd remembered the Captain's actions when they'd first met.] ❞

"Gaz," your voice wavers, watching the rapidly working man and seeing his darting eyes—lit with panicked fervor. He doesn't answer, so you speak again. "Gaz!"

"No!" He barks, brown eyes instantly meeting yours. Lips pull in a right frown; there's a glint in his gaze that you'd never seen before—not in the many years you'd known him. Kyle's firm hands don't leave the wiring attached to your chest. The vest.

The bomb.

"No, Love," he grates out, immediately getting back to work as you try to keep your tears at bay, body jerking back and forth as your boyfriend pulls at the straps and bits. "Don't even say anything. You're going to fucking fine, you hear? It's going to be okay."

It was the product of bad intel, really. You'd been sent in without the proper know-how, leading to a scuffle where the butt of a gun had been slammed into your temple. When your eyes opened again, it was already too late.

Kneeling in the middle of a large office building, the glass of the windows shattered behind you, and the wind whips the back of your skull aggressively, you stare down at Gaz. Trying to form words on a tongue that won't cooperate.

"You need to run," you whisper out, resigning yourself as the rapid beeping increases. Your heart moves so fast you can't feel the skin of your chest anymore. "Kyle," pleading, you watch his jaw clench something fierce. "Listen to me—!"

"I'm not leaving you!" A sharp snap of a metal piece hits your ears, the piece of the vest clattering to the ground in a violent display of desperation. Gaz glances back up at you stubbornly; as if uncaring about the impending incineration only minutes away. "So you stop bloody talking like that, yeah? I'm not just giving up!"

The sides of your eyes dribble out rabid tears, lungs a mess of air and inhales that can't even be considered breathing anymore by how wheezy they sound.

How would it feel? Exploding into a patchwork of blood and fire—instantaneous, sure, but feeling Kyle's heat and his puffs of air; his fear, you can't imagine him dying like that. Not him.

"Look at me," Gaz pants, fingers pulling at cords in search of the one he needed to cut—unable to pinpoint it through the hack-job that had been done to your vest.

There was every color under the sun except fucking yellow. His teeth clench so tight they hurt his jaw, but he sends you quick glances as you shakily do as he says.

Brown eyes soften, and while the both of your hands shake, for a second there's a relief at the eye-contact. "Repeat it, Love."

You lick your lips and stammer, "y-you're not leaving."

Lips press firmly into yours, and you clench your eyes tight at the sensation, tiny sob breaking the contact.

"That's right." Gaz growls. "Not on my life."

Rapid footsteps race into the room, but before the Sergeant can reach for his weapon, the familiar call from the Captain echoes out.

"Friendly!" It's as if Gaz doesn't even register, still digging and fearfully looking at the timer.

50 seconds. 49. 48. 47...

"Sergeant," Price jogs over. You can barely find the inner strength to look up at him. "Sitrep."

Blue eyes dart from the vest to you and the Captain's serious face goes grim. His expression flashes with the inner workings of his mind, eyes narrowing and a grunt stuck under his lips.

"I have it," Gaz speaks quickly, and the words strike you as odd, though you don't comment. Price slid him a sharp look.

"Gaz—"

"Don't even look at her." Snarling like an animal, brown orbs are volatile enough to rend stone in two as they meet the older man's. You and John are rendered speechless, sharing a swift glance in shock like teenagers hearing their parents swear for the first time.

Kyle's eyes are wild, sweat slicking his brow. "Come fucking on!" He yells and your body is snapped forward as Gaz pries on the straps, having to steady yourself on the man's shoulders for support. Every muscle in his body is taunt; shaking with force.

Perhaps it was the memory that invaded his brain like a parasite that had made him snap at his superior like that—a stab to his fine tissue that digs all the way down his rail-straight spine.

Piccadilly Circus. Tanto building. Hostage with an explosive vest.

Kyle's fingers bleed as they peel back rough velcro, having ripped off his gloves to be nearer to you.

It all flashes past his mind in horrible increments, the past, but instead of a man—the hostage is you. And Price was burning his neck with a harsh stare once more.

He's going to throw her out the window, Kyle panics and you watch with the deadly realization of the situation. No. No, I won't let him. Not her.

"Garrick," Price says, voice deep. But he doesn't move. "You need to get your head back on."

"I've got it screwed on just right, Captain." Gaz grunts. "Trust me."

12 seconds. 11. 10. 9...

You stare at Gaz and memorize the make of his handsome face—the dates and the late nights speaking about the future sticking to your skin like leeches; sucking away every instance of love and happiness. His laugh. His brown eyes.

His smile.

Oh, you want to see your Love smile.

"Sergeant!" Price yells, moving forward to grapple onto Kyle's shoulder. "It's going off!"

Your boyfriend rips out of his hold, fists clenched and screaming.

"Get the fuck off of me! I can save her!" Your back hits the ground with a slap and a ragged gasp from your lips, the Brit straddling your hips in a desperate play to deactivate the bomb.

"Kyle," you look up at him, pleading. "You have to take cover, it's...it's okay. I love you, I need you to know that—"

"Bloody shut," eyes spark, locking on the bright color under the front of the vest. Gaz snaps a hand under the material and rips at it in a ruthless wrench of his arm. 2 seconds. There's a deafening snap of wire. "Up!"

The beeping stops and the world stills.

Your wide eyes can't stop crying as you stare up into brown eyes with astonishment; struggling to breathe. You can't tell if the building is vibrating or only you, but nothing seems to be able to focus as a wave crashes down on you; adrenaline still striking you.

Everything rings inside of your ears, pounding in your head.

Hands grasp the base of your jaw and lips descend to yours, tears slapping your skin from above in a wave of feral agony. Gaz stifles his sob on your mouth as you shake wildly, panting over your flesh.

Price gives off a large sigh from behind, standing straighter and turning his head.

Gaz's forehead connects with yours, but there are no words to be said—just the silent gazing and lingering fear of death. He won't let go of your cheeks, and, quivering, you go to grasp tightly at the sides of his arms.

With a shuddering breath, he closes his eyes and sags into you.

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Me if Price dies :

Me if Gaz dies :

Me if Ghost dies :

Me if Soap dies :