luminev-archive

[luminev-archive]

§ dear you ––

[luminev-archive]

“She peels an orange, separates it in perfect halves, and gives one of them to me. If I could wear it like a friendship bracelet, I would. Instead I swallow it section by section and tell myself it means even more this way. To chew and to swallow in silence with her. To taste the same thing in the same moment.”

— We Are Okay, Nina Lacour

[luminev-archive]

[luminev-archive]

Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville-West, 22 August 1927

[luminev-archive]

§ COLIN ROAMI § 

WHAT WE NEED ARE MORE PEOPLE WHO SPECIALIZE IN THE IMPOSSIBLE

[luminev-archive]

drunk ;

[luminev-archive]

drunk ;

[luminev-archive]

let me tell you a secret – sometimes i think this might all be a bad dream. every now and then, when the world is quiet enough, when the yellow light hits the ceiling just right, i feel like a child again. sometimes i wish i could find the spot where time is the weakest, touch it, tear it apart, and wake up on the sofa, behind my parents’ backs where i’ve crawled after some nightmare. from the tv, a laugh track. i’m pretending to sleep. it’s summer. see, the balcony door is ajar. see, there’s a mosquito trying to get in. see, my heart isn’t aching. see?

[luminev-archive]

§ dear you ––

[luminev-archive]

Ottessa Moshfegh, Eileen

[luminev-archive]

HARK! THE ANGEL OF THE WOODS! REINCARNATION!  §§ Arcelia Lavellan §§ Rogue, Reincarnated §§ Jewel of the Forest §§

[luminev-archive]

soulful;

It’s a soul-hollow ache for the serene, Angels and cherubs flitting in the confines of my mind, A scratching and clawing for heaven in this dream.

I can promise you that I am unclean, These eyes of mine weeping ichor, leaving me blind. It’s a desperate soul-hollow ache for the serene.

I crave rings of halos, ethereal and pristine, This endless pilgrimage to be kind, A scratching and clawing for heaven in this dream.

Stuck in this unknowing purgatory–– beyond and between, A heathen with a past I long to leave behind. It’s a desperate soul-hollow ache for the serene.

Nothing in death I could have foreseen, And here I shall remain, a sinner forever confined. A scratching and clawing for heaven in this dream.

A better or worse man I could not have been, A pitiful believer unredeemed, and at the gates declined. It’s a desperate soul-hollow ache for the serene. A scratching and clawing for heaven in this dream.

[luminev-archive]

hands; part one

It's interesting to see how Solas holds himself when you're around. 

His back kept straight, hands held behind his back, a slight sway as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, ready to run at a moments notice. An interesting way of appearing open while actually being guarded. 

Of course you understand why he's so private, hidden away in a corner of Haven away from the others. You feel it too, the glaring eyes, the distrustful stares, your every move watched to make sure you stay in line, to make sure you're not some savage unknown coming from the untamed forest to ruin everything these people hold dear. 

It bothers you, but you can imagine Solas feels it to a similar, if not greater extent. What little is known about him just makes you curious to know more, but the others would gladly shun him, fearing the unknown forever, letting their fears and doubts and worries fester until they scare themselves witless. You know how people are. 

 When you approach him the first few times, you try to rein yourself in and ask only a small amount of questions at a time, attempting to not bury him in your curiosities. You... Mostly succeed, but only because he shuts you down quite swiftly, offering clipped answers and eyeing you warily from the corner of his eye. You understand this, too. He doesn't know you, he point-blank tells you he's unaware of your intentions in asking about him or things he's interested in, thus does not know if he can talk to you. 

But over time, you offer gentle reassurances, offer empathy and understanding, offer protection from those who would wish to harm him. And each time, he opens more to you, his posture loosening by small increments, his hands creating more gestures and casual movements as he speaks, sometimes electing to wave back at you when you do it almost every time you happen to pass his area. Which perhaps is more often than you truly need to, but alas, his small hidden smile when you do brings you joy.

The way his fingers twine and wring with each other in a way you're sure he hopes you don't notice when you gently admire him or how he speaks, or when you thank him for offering you advice and guidance, or for putting up with you for an hour while you ask him questions that he becomes increasingly more happy to oblige you in answering, holds you enraptured, thinking about it for hours onwards after the fact. You sigh happily, rubbing your thumb against the palm of your other hand, wondering how it might feel if it were to be held by his.

[luminev-archive]

tamlen;

You can hear the gentle melody of the wind chimes that hang from the sail rig of the aravel, lulling you from sleep into the early morning chill that greets you.

It plays softly with the sound of the breeze through the pine needles, but the rest of the camp is quiet still. With a groggy yawn, you slip from the woollen quilts that you'd wrapped yourself in, instead bringing your travelling cloak around your shoulders to keep the chill from your bones. Your bow and arrows are slung over it comfortably, and you clamber to come out into the slowly waking world of the forest, blinking tiredly against the subtle sunlight that manages to peek through the thick foliage. The bonfire from the night before has burned down to faintest embers and ash, but the smell of the raging flames and soot cling to your clothes, your hair. It's familiar, lingering warmth, and makes you smile. It's time for an early hunt. 

You take a deep breath, stretching your arms high above your head before ambling towards another aravel. Tamlen, the oaf, still hasn't risen to join you, but this is hardly surprising. With a fond, but playful grin, you wander to a snowbank nearby and scoop a handful on the way. Opening the hatch to his sleeping quarters, you throw the snow in and slam the hatch shut behind it as quickly as you can. You clasp your hands over your mouth as you try to keep your laughter quiet for the rest of the camp, listening to his muffled yelp and the dull thunk of him promptly hitting his head on the hatch from sitting up too quickly in surprise. 

By the time he actually emerges, hair slightly damp where it clings to his forehead, and with a scowl on his face to mirror the innocent grin on your own, the morning is starting to become clearer. A doe would be a nice find, or perhaps some hare. 

The hunt begins.

[luminev-archive]

Archie canonically has a prosthetic now that I’ve been working on a full-blown reference for, but here’s a quick look into their style and such!

[luminev-archive]

oc; arcelia

Arcelia is my first, and currently biggest OC. I originally made them for a DND campaign (which I still stick them into), but they've turned into my biggest Dragon Age OC now, too. They're a huge inspiration for me, and I love telling and exploring their different stories!  Here is their pinterest board: https://www.pinterest.ca/angelaerium/arcelia/ And here are a few snippets below the cut!

Librarian

A lonesome soul buried in books, reaching out to touch withered spines and faded pages, breathing life back into them with gentle care. Often interested in ancient scrollwork and eldest editions to restore and conserve. Rows upon rows of bookcases, reaching high towards the vaulted ceilings, ancient wooden beams carved intricately across. 

Nooks and alcoves are accompanied with the likes of comfortable seating and plush pillows with blankets, or full of shelves of oddities, artifacts and trinkets. The whole library smells of books, ink, and slight hints of incense or rosemary. 

Large archways of windows along the back wall keep the space full of light, both sun and moon, casting everything in a wondrous light (even the dust). 

They love stationary, writing letters to old and new friends alike. The library is also home to many curios and art installations that Arcelia takes much pleasure in showing off, sometimes offering the stories that brought some of their presences to the library in the first place.

Aasimar Paladin

Arcelia was born in a small clan that they do not know the name of. The birth of an aasimar is usually a sight to behold, seen as prophetic good omens. Aasimar are not often born of any lineage other than human, so Arcelia’s circumstances were even more unusual being an elf. This, of course, came with its own challenges, as well. Their clan already tried to stay under secrecy of trees and landscapes, but word trickled out, and soon people began to catch wind of the mysterious glowing infant in the woods, and sought it out. Whether to admire it or to purge it, no one could ever be certain, and both could be equally harmful. 

Thus, Arcelia’s clan thought it would be better to send them away to a trusted ally, Grodrick Elmdot of the mountaintop monastery called Solheim. Grodrick was ecstatic about Arcelia, having travelled down the mountain to retrieve them himself, and bring them to their new home in the mountains with his own two hands (while he still could, being a dwarf). 

Solheim is somehow both simple and elaborate. The stone architecture is carved out of the face of the mountain itself, with veins of precious metals and stones running through its halls and columns. It is thousands of years old, having been passed down through generations and having multiple leaders. The people of Solheim are few, but close-knit in their sense of community and care for one another. They share resources, teach, study, pray, eat, and lounge together. The cold climate of the mountain leaves little to be desired for most people, but the people of Solheim have long gotten used to it with their extensive knowledge of tracking and hunting the regional wildlife for acquiring and treating furs of all kinds. Whatever they cannot provide for themselves, they often travel with goods they make to bring to the closest towns they can manage, setting up shops in local fairs and markets to sell and trade for things they need to bring back to the mountain. 

The members of Solheim monastery are quiet and withdrawn, but feel and express love and devotion to a very strong degree. They collectively worship the God of the Sun, Pelor. His help is also why the people of Solheim are often unaffected by cold and treacherous conditions of the mountain, being warmed from within by the Sun’s holy warmth. The forest begins somewhere around the middle levels of the mountain downwards, and this is where the people of the monastery often hunt and forage for food and supplies. 

Arcelia’s life has been quiet and calm for the most part since joining Grodrick at Solheim, training under him closely, and becoming very close to him, seeing him more as a father figure. When they reached the age of 15, they devoted themself entirely to Pelor and the people of Solheim, inscribing their skin with golden ink known as Vallaslin, an ancient rite that is bestowed upon the keepers of Solheim as a sign of devotion. Arcelia bears the marks with pride.

Grodrick Elmdot is the most prominent family to Arcelia, a wonderful father figure. Grodrick has never hidden Arcelia’s heritage from them, but they understand that visiting their parents might bring about more harm than good for everyone involved. They’re very happy with the people of Solheim, but they often keep to themselves, out in the woods or reading in a quiet nook. Tamlen, Arcelia’s best friend, is a keen trickster with a biting wit. They balance each other out nicely, and are often seen together in the woods or in the dining hall kitchen. Veryn, Arcelia’s angelic guide, is a being who appears to them in their dreams.

The Echo

A charming keeper of secrets, their bar called The Echo welcomes all. Lingering with a listening ear, Arcelia aims to have their patrons leave with a lighter heart or mind, if nothing else. 

[luminev-archive]

speaking of poetry for friends……. its maggie and evie, electric boogaloo 2