#// thanks for sending sara!

[coffeebooksrain18]

funny how tb and those god forsaken hotd writers try to present rhaenyra as a feminist icon when she relies so much on daemon lol. she'd be even more incompetent without him

FR! Like she would be dead already if it wasn't for Daemon and Corlys with their knowledge with war. This girl really has no idea what she is doing and it shows. Also I'm so annoyed when people say "Viserys never prepared Rhaenyra!" Like true but she was his Cup Bearer for YEARS and was apart of the small council until she hid at Dragonstone so it's no one's fault but her own at that point.

But yeah she really needs Daemon and I think her line about how everyone asks for Daemon shows she knows she's nothing without him, that without him she wouldn't even have a chance.

Also I have said that them changing her from a feminine woman into a tomboy shows their sexism. These show runners have no idea how sexist they are as they chant "FEMINIST!"

Thanks for the ask Anon!

[rafent]

hc + first impressions

hc + a word > FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Rafal is uninterested in making good first impressions. He's snippish and sharp-tongued per norm and he doesn't hold these qualities back for just anyone; the exact opposite of a people pleaser, perfectly content to conduct himself however he likes without any regard for what others think. If anything, he finds it more desirable to be looked at in an unfavorable light because it means the people involved will avoid him as they - in his eyes - should.

On the flip side, he does take notice of the first impressions belonging to those around him. Whether they're strong or weak are among the first qualities he notices. Fighting ability is a major parameter of worth for Fell Dragons, and even more so for Rafal personally, so he doesn't hesitate to either make or verbalize his judgments.

Rafal: You… You are quite the enigma. You fight so fiercely, yet appear so weak.

Eirika: Should I…take that as a compliment?

Rafal: I had heard you are the strongest of all the Emblems. Frankly, I remain unconvinced.

Ike: That’s quite the greeting. I guess I appreciate the honesty.

Rafal is a wholesale product of his native Gradlon environment, seemingly holding different things in priority like power over gentility, and appearance of strength over unseen inner character, but these all pertain to his initial judgments. He has the capacity to value deeper qualities such as kindness and sincerity but his instinct is to rely on strength and weakness based impressions first. It's not much different from noting the color of someone's hair or eyes for him.

[laslow]

[ 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 ] : sender is helping the receiver through a panic attack / severe anxiety. bro what if we were each others rocks during these troubling times

For you, I would

His hands won't stop shaking.

Inigo stares at them as if in a trance, fixated on the staccato rhythm. Battle aftermath is never easy in the best of scenarios; now, after facing near defeat at the claws of a seemingly endless horde of Risen, reality has settled in his chest like a stone.

How can they fight against creatures made from fell magic? How can they possibly avenge their parents when they can't be sure of surviving the next hour?

A band tightens around his ribcage. He can't get a full breath, can't hear past the blood pounding in his ears--

Movement catches in his peripheral. Inigo starts, hands scrabbling for the sword laying discarded in the dirt next to him. Foolish, stupid idea to disappear into the treeline alone. But he needed the space, needed to panic in peace, where no one else could see Inigo the Invincible crumble.

Fingers curl around the blade's hilt, soil gathering underneath his nails. Rising onto his knees, he whirls, weapon half-leveled at the approaching, blurred figure. He doesn't remember starting to cry, but he blinks his tears away regardless, relaxing only fractionally when his vision settles, revealing not another opponent, but Owain.

Inigo's hand spasms, sword dropping unceremoniously back to earth. "H-hey, Owain." His voice cracks and he curls further in on himself, chin touching his chest, shoulders caved.

Of course it's Owain who finds him at his lowest. There's a joke in there somewhere, one Inigo would make in happier circumstances. But right now he can only tremble, and cry, and nearly buckle under the weight of his own fears.

There's a rustle, followed by a sudden presence at his side. Owain's quiet, for once, perhaps feeling some of the same dread coursing through Inigo's veins. A heartbeat passes, then a new weight settles on his shoulders.

Pink head lifts just enough. No trace of mockery lines the other boy's face; instead, his brows are pinched in concern. It's enough of a reassurance that Inigo can feel the crushing despair lighten, breath by breath.

"Thank you, my friend."

[cotharach]

"that wall’s an illusion ! hiding what, i wonder …" ( hiii miss flayn 😌 )

bg3 starters (accepting!)

"Is it really so?"

Flayn, raised on fables and the dreams borne of a long slumber, is eager to believe whatever mythos might emerge from this age's folk. She enjoys, particularly, the stories they've constructed of the saints—though this tale that Dorothea whispers to her with a grin... this one is also quite good. Of course, Flayn would never admit to believing in such things as wonders hidden within walls (stories are but that: stories!), but... there always was a chance, was there not? Indulging in that chance seems like the natural course of action anyone would take!

Fingers go to trace the walls, pale digits running over brick and grout like a stone skipping across water. Flayn leans closer towards it, feeling for a heartbeat. She turns back to Dorothea, eyes agleam with a small helping of whimsy—that childlike belief that the world is more special than it truly is, or that the walls have secrets they wish to share.

"I must admit, your words have fascinated me. If this is true... then we must break through this illusion and take hold of the truth!"

[jxrmngxndr]

[VINGT-ET-UN] - Let’s go gambling! The best bar in Fleuve Cendre is holding a Black Jack tournament. It’s time to test your luck and see if you can make it big, or lose it all.

off to the side, kaveh watches the game with a quiet interest. it is the people gathered there who draw his attention—the dealer, moving with almost mechanical precision, flipping cards onto the felt with a smoothness that borders on ritual; and the players themselves, each caught in their own small dramas. some tap their fingers nervously, others lean back, their faces unreadable.

objectively, it's such a trivial thing to sit around a table and pass the hours in this way. the renowned scholars and sages of the nation of wisdom would have much to say on the matter—those who would dismiss this as nothing more than a game of chance, critique its lack of substance & value.

but this, too, serves a purpose, he thinks. his mother’s words return to him: the wisdom of connection, how it is through bonds that one alleviates suffering. for all the simplicity of a card game, there is still knowledge to be found—a truth in the shared experience, however brief or inconsequential, that anchors a person to the world, giving them roots where none seemed to grow.

a figure off to the side catches his eye. the man stands tall, imposing, yet there is something about his presence—something familiar—that reminds kaveh of another stoic face he knows well. without a word, the architect draws closer, keeping a respectful distance as mehrak floats silently behind him.

"i've always thought the game is reminiscent of life," he begins, as casually as speaking about the weather. he gestures toward the table. "no matter how much effort or strategy we try to implement, luck will always be the final arbiter. even happiness and virtue are largely matters of luck, as are all things touched by forces beyond our control."

It was not necessarily that the crowd around a game that involved gambling was more interesting in itself - not inherently, for all types could be found in all scenarios, but what was undeniable was that the proportion was greater in favor. There were the fools, of course, merely after the thrill of gaining greater wealth, or of the adrenaline of losing it all, but by and large and at the higher levels, it was an exercise in reading the field.

Mundane. Irrelevant to the greater weave of the cosmos. The game itself was nothing to look at, and, if he were honest, Kevin had always been bad at these types of things.

He was not watching for anything in particular - no recruitment, with that resting firmly in the past along with the rest of his life that had been put to an end, but there was something familiar in the observation, in the measurement to see if the stock was up to par.

Kevin had noticed the other man from across the room, the flourish of a peacock's feathers as he moved, and had noticed, too, when he was being observed in kind.

It was no surprise when the other approached, but it was a surprise that he had begun speaking, so mildly, so without fear.

His eyes narrowed, but did not waver from the table before them, the faces of the remaining players, the scrape of card edge against the table, against fingernail.

There rested a silence between them, for a long minute, and one might have thought that he had not heard, or if he had that he was offended, wouldn't reply.

But, finally, he said, "The game is no more reliant on luck than life is. One may be dealt a better or worse hand, but it is one's responsibility to proceed as though he intends to win the game regardless. You can't control what you are given, but you can control what you give in return."

A flicker of his eyes, weighing the air between them for a moment. "But you knew that."

[swiftlance]

[ 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄 ] ― sender lights a scented candle for receiver

"believe it or not, this came with a proposal attached." dorothea gestures lazily toward the cream-colored candle encased in rich, purple glass—intricately designed, with foreign flowers etched into its surface. she lights it with a casual flick of her wrist, and watches as the dancing flame brings about the scent of smoked spices, mingled with strange blossoms from a distant land. "a letter and a candle. imagine that. and the real punchline? he didn’t even know my name. it makes you wonder what goes on in the minds of these rich men."

and now she adjusts herself in her seat, nodding encouragingly at nephenee. "well then? have any stories of your own to share? a woman as pretty as you must have her fair share of them."

Five Senses

Nephenee stares at the ornate candle, wonderin' how long all that glass etchin' must have taken. What is it like, bein' able to afford pretty things like that just because?

The wick flares to life. Smoke and spices fill the air. Her attention goes from the candle to Dorothea, who wields magic as easily as birds fly.

Nephenee exhales a surprised laugh. "A proposal without yer name? That's downright insultin.'" Privately, some small part of her is relieved to know rich folk can treat their own kind with the same dismissiveness they treat farmers like Nephenee. It's mean, and cruel ta think such a way, but it makes her feel less like she's the root of the issue. "Not much beyond how to get what they want, that's fer sure."

With another laugh, she waves away the question, then stops once the candle flame gives a dangerous flicker. "Nah. Most'a the boys in my village ain't interested in a girl they've known since childhood. Then there was this fella in the army who tried askin' me out, but he went after every girl he came across."

She pauses, thinkin' back to her trips inta town. Back then, she didn't talk to strangers much, too worried 'bout soundin' way outta her depth. But it's true most men paid her a little more attention when she smiled.

'Course, she wasn't too keen on recievin' all that attention, anyhow. "...I don't have time for that kinda thing."

[boundlesshart]

[ 𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 ] ― sender and receiver see each other again after a period of being apart

As casually as noting the weather outside, she states, "You've changed since I arrived in Fodlan."

It's not said unkindly, but Sara also doesn't show any signs of explaining herself anytime soon. She looks him up and down, confirming some invisible truth that makes sense only to her. Finally, Sara's gaze catches on the gleam of gold fabric draped across one shoulder.

"Do you still see me as family even though we are no longer members of the same house?" She doesn't mind either way, she thinks. Life demands that people go their separate ways sometimes and Sara has no regrets about the decision.

Before he can answer though, her expression takes on a certain playfulness, lips tugged into an unapologetic smile conveying there is no ill-will. In truth, Sara has grown rather comfortable here over the years. Inured to people and places and unforgettable experiences in her time at the academy. It may be as close to family as she will ever know, so she hopes he finds what he is looking for too.

"Nice to see you too, stranger," Claude replies, smiling playfully. As for her question... thankfully, it's one that's easy to answer.

"Family goes their own way, eventually." It's in his nature and in his blood to venture into the unknown to seek what he desires. Even so, it's never easy to break old, familiar routines and take on something new. Perhaps in the past Claude would have taken the departure more personally, as a result of a personal failing. It was difficult to accept his lack of control. "And let's be honest, I'd be a shitty house leader for holding you back!" he laughs. "You were always an incredible mage, but after joining the Eagles you really became a force of nature. You may not be among the Golden Deer anymore, but I'm definitely still proud of you."

A pause. "I do miss you in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, though. It was amazing to see you plow through the competition, but not so fun when you're on the receiving end..."

[dukemeropide]

30. What is their preferred level of activity and stimulation? How do they cope if they get either too little or too much?

Character Dev Questions | still accepting

This answer, unlike the last ones, is mostly headcanon. By and large, I think Wriothesley prefers mental stimulation over physical, contrary to how he may appear (I think back to all the impressions that came out around the time that his designs were leaked, most of which tended to lean more on Big Tough Guy Who Lets His Fists Do The Talking which, while different from canon, is still valuable in conveying how he might come across at a glance, and what kind of assumptions a stranger might make about him). I pull this idea from the fact that he has multiple lines about picnicking in the sun, or lying in the grass, and that his favorite time of day seems to be when he can have his afternoon tea. All of this portrays a character who enjoys physical leisure.

Where does boxing fit in? Wriothesley says it himself: it's not a hobby. From his character stories, we're told that boxing has always been a means to an end for him, first to gather strength and tools to kill his foster parents, and then later to win the credit coupons needed to survive in the Fortress of Meropide. We're also told that after becoming the prison's administrator, he doesn't fight in the Pankration ring much anymore. He's earned himself a comfortable life at this point, and no longer needs to rely on this to make a living. His line about the imitation Pankration ring for the teapot also has him declining the offer to fight in it.

All that is to say: I think if given the choice, in terms of physical activity, Wriothesley would prefer lazing in the sun all day. Obviously, he's muscular and fit, but like with boxing, this is probably borne from necessity.

Mental stimulation, on the other hand... his office is full of books. He talks about how he'd sought out the long lost history of Remuria and read history texts on it just out of his own curiosity. His character stories say that he has "always seemed to be preparing for something," whether that be learning to build meka to defend himself with, amassing credit coupons to take down the last administrator, or building a flying ship for some vague disaster in the uncertain future. Wriothesley comes across as the kind of person who needs projects, and planning for and building toward those projects is rewarding for him. Likewise, his drive to learn appears to be at least partly driven by the possibility that such information might be useful one day, which also seems to be what drives his interest in listening to other people's stories (i.e. finding people he might be able to hire for projects later on).

Overall, I think he has a high tolerance for both mental and physical stimulation (I imagine you'd need to, to run a prison), but to cope with having too much of either, from these two lines --

(Teapot: Nighttime) Wriothesley: The daytime hours are always full of sound and fury, so I've developed a habit of saving work that requires more considered thinking for the evening. Wriothesley: However… I'll pass on that while I'm here. Allow me to space out for a little longer.

(Good Night voice line) "Good night. I'll be staying up for a little while yet — want to run some numbers while everything's nice and quiet."

-- it sounds like he seeks quiet solitude after the bustle of the day, whether to work or to simply unwind and space out for a bit.

[aubins]

[ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 ] : sender drapes a coat / cape / etc. around receiver's shoulders. ( can't have you catching a cold yurikins! )

[ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 ] : sender drapes a coat / cape / etc. around receiver's shoulders.　╱　for you i would

It’s an exceptionally boring party, as far as ones that Yuri has attended go. Leering gazes and wicked smiles, every conversation overshadowed by the expectation of more. But they are not here to give, merely listen. When secrets are the name of your trade, one becomes quite used to slinking through the shadows. Though keener eyes will of course spot them splayed out on the sofa in the corner, the wine glass dangling from their hand empty.

Keen eyes like Dorothea’s.

“My, my.” Head tips back against their sofa’s headrest, lilacs finding the ladybird’s gaze. A dry smile creases the mockingbird’s lips. “I must be the envy of men and women across Fódlan to have the Dorothea Arnault looking after my well-being.”

As though there had not been a purpose to the sheer clothing, in what parts of their body had been concealed, and what parts had been laid bare. They know that Dorothea understands that more than most. “I grew up in Faerghus, you know,” they drawl, picking at her shawl with two fingers. Faerghus, where even the mildest winters are unkind. “It will take more than some exposed skin to get me sick.”

“Well, come on then, ladybird.” They drag the shawl across their shoulders until there space for another to fit underneath it. There is no suggestion in the offer, no implication of sharing warmth beyond sitting side-by-side with a drink or two and some conversation. “Can’t have you catching a cold either, can we? Now that would just be tragic.”

[blaiddllodi]

[ 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 ] : sender takes a hold of receiver's both hands. ( twirling my hair hiiiii prince dimitriiiii )

??

He'd heard her approach - she'd announced it, after all, and it was difficult not to be aware of when Dorothea was in a room - but he had not expected immediately for both of his hands to be scooped up, turned this way and that, handled so.

"Er...hello, Dorothea." It wasn't uncomfortable, quite, in rather the same way he imagined that an elk felt when a bird nestled in its rack - her hands were so much smaller than his, but the fingers fluttered nimbly over his palms, each of his own gauntleted digits, and the more enchanted she seemed to become, in turn he allowed himself to become enraptured.

After a moment, she raised his hands and pressed her palm against his, remarking with some breathless astonishment, "Oh, look at how much bigger your hands are, Dimitri!" and he, indeed, looked on, cocking his head, willing the warmth of her palm to reach his skin.

"Er, yes, I suppose that's true, I had not put much thought into it," but now he was, and now it took every ounce of his restraint not to linger on his monstrous strength, at how frailer things had crumbled to dust in his grip.

[rotisseries]

RORI ROTISSERIES BIRTHDAY REAL?!?!?!?!??!!!!!!??!!!! happy birthday to the bane of my existence who convinces me that humanity was a mistake and also simultaneously berates me for my cringe interests in every single conversation <3 hope ur drama-loving, bakugo-coded, cannibalism-obsessed (can i even talk), iconic being has a good day 💟💟💟 love u or whatever 🙄 sending u 393739383 that branch from trolls thirst traps in spirit

tumblr user cannibalismyuri accuses me of having a cannibalism obsession real not clickbait

[coffeebooksrain18]

“All the men in the show don’t have to worry about where they put their hands because they’re constantly holding the pommel of their sword. That obviously sounds like innuendo and you can do with that what you will but that is true. And all the rest of us are going, “Where do we put our f—king hands?”

Anyway, next year one hand is going to be taken care of. That’s what I want. I want a sword and I’ve been really clear about that with Ryan and I think that’s happening.”

(posted by the westerosies account on twitter)

Apparently that's was Emma's request which tells me exactly how much bullshit the entire cast has been fed by these writers lol. And it's not even a valid reason?!? Like, you're changing the character even more than you already have just because an actor doesn't know where to...put their...hands??? I can hear the circus music playing🤡

God forbid you lean on a chair or twist your rings! I mean it's not that bad but a sword isn't something to just give a character out of no where. Like I could think of several things she could carry or play with instead, rings, necklaces, dagger, but not a sword when she isn't trained!

[rafent]

9. Is your muse attracted to any features in particular?

9. Is your muse attracted to any features in particular?

Broad but still relevant answer: Rafal once he's romantically invested in someone, everything about them becomes attractive to him. Definitely a bit of a rose tinted lens; an unconditionally loving perspective along the lines of "you're beautiful/handsome because you're mine", analogous to how parents will find their children cute and charming because they're their children.

Despite his arrogance, he isn't a person who focuses on appearance. He's dependent on close connections to feel attraction. As someone who used to be very lonely and miserable and developed few standards his attractiveness parameters are definitely different. Assuming there is a connection though, he finds himself attracted to eyes. Eyes are the window to the soul and the most emotive part of the face. He enjoys when he's gazed at with adoration. In one of his Pact Ring wake up events, he says that he likes it when he's the first person to be reflected across your eyes in the morning. It's a pride thing, for sure, but it's also an affirmation thing.

The way an individual looks at you says a lot. To Rafal who was born twinless and incomplete in a world where Fell Dragons are born in sets of twins, who later believes himself to be an imposter unworthy of his bonds, that manner of looking at him is invaluable. It proves that the love had is real, that it's unadulterated and totally for him. Not for anyone else.

[laslow]

"We are bound for the land I was born in," Sara shares in a particularly quiet voice, wistful as she looks on the horizon. It will be days before they come close to approaching land, but her eyes remain fixated towards the distance like she can clearly see Jugdral's shores already.

"You should be careful. Though there is no questioning your skill with a blade, those we will soon face avoid direct confrontations when they can. Our adversaries will employ tactics that could be considered underhanded. The laws of the Church can be unforgiving. Dissent is punishable, traitors are executed. They do not value their lives or rather, they were taught not to by those higher in the chain of command." Light vanishes from Sara's eyes, expression growing increasingly listless until her whole face has become devoid of emotion.

"Your life belongs to the Lord. Your soul never truly vanishes from this world. You may suffer an unpleasant earthly death, but you live on through Loptous". An agonizing melancholy washes over her, one that takes Sara back to childhood. She laughs and does not know why. "It went something like that. I do not recall it anymore. I am telling you because I do not wish for you to die."

He'd been humming a sea shanty under his breath, coiling rope and generally staying out of the way by the bow when she appeared. The sun sinks lower, staining the sky shades of orange and gold. Laslow glances up at Sara, finishing the last coil before bracing his hands against the railing.

Mouth remains shut while she speaks. Interrupting now feels rude, almost dismissive of the trust she's placing in him by voicing her thoughts and concerns aloud. He's honored by her trust.

Gaze flicks over to her, side profile outlined in radiant yellow against the deepening blue sky. A shiver trips down his spine that has little to do with the fair breeze keeping their sails full. Her recitation of such an ugly vow followed by her laugh makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Laslow swallows, attention returning to the sea.

"Thank you, Sara. It feels right, somehow, that I should return to your homeland with you." After everything they've endured together, this feels like the natural course of things. Not quite an ending; he's said enough goodbyes for two lifetimes to ever rush along another. A new beginning instead, perhaps, or at the very least yet a wider understanding of the world.

He's careful when choosing his next words. "The Church sounds a lot like a religious sect I once fought. Perhaps it is a good thing you no longer remember their teachings with stark clarity. It means you not only survived, but found the will to move forward."

A tiny smile graces his lips. "But I will keep your words in mind. I'd rather not die so far away from my family. The same goes for you--I've always got your back, Sara. And if...if I don't get the chance," he starts, once more facing her, "I'm elated our paths crossed for this long. Promise me you'll keep smiling, yeah?"

[cryingforcrocodiles]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CqEBMTLumOp/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

This one of your kind....? 👀😭💀😻

... idk who that is man ... or those flags.. I'm colorblind they look Blue to me.. and my team is Red... ☺️

link

[permanentreverie]

evermore and red tv for the ask game!

Evermore:

my favourite lyric: 'I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones, in a faith forgotten land, in from the snow, your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand' /

my favourite song: gold rush / marjorie / long story short

the song that makes me cry: evermore / tolerate it

the song that’s a fucking bop: ivy / no body no crime

the song i most dislike/least love: dorothea / cowboy like me

Red (Taylor's Version):

my favourite lyric: 'and did the twin flame bruise paint you blue, just between us did the love affair maim you too?' /

my favourite song: treacherous / holy ground

the song that makes me cry: run

the song that’s a fucking bop: message in a bottle / the very first night / 22

the song i most dislike/least love: I bet you think about me / come back be here

send me an album and I'll tell you!