#;ask answered

[theodosiani]

♡ ghilan'nain lol

send a ♡ and i’ll fill this out for our muses !  i’ll bold what i want for their relationship, italic what i could see and strike out what i don’t .

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance / pen - pals or internet friends  /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  passionate  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /  other .

[orxna]

"did you know, out of all the extraordinary organs in our possession, our lungs are the only organs capable of buoyancy? it is courtesy of structures called "alveoli." one lung is comprised of millions."

Weird Anatomy Facts With Emmrich || @breathandshadow

"I-I've never seen a lung before," It doesn't occur to her that it might be abnormal to have seen any organs at all, "The alveoli, they are like tiny sacks? That sounds like oranges and lemons."

[devotionbled]

hc + name //hello and happy to see you here!

Send me hc + a word for meta to be forged || ACCEPTING.

She does not know her name. It is forgotten to time: a mother laboured to abandon a babe to the inferno, duty forgotten.

JOTE, it is the name she was given--a pleasant name stolen from a deceased member of the Undying. They say the one that came before her, was a man. He was the Keeper of Lore, all hidden in the Order's secrecy. He held no violence in ink-stained hands. They say he was a better person than she is: less hungry, less starved, no torment in spirited worship.

The Undying have the tendency to reuse names within the cult, their belief in reincarnation leading to the practice of stolen names for a new title to be forged, once a soul passes. She is the tenth Jote woven in the Undying's blanket of history and the first to hold the sacred position of the Phoenix's attendant and shadow.

They say she holds the same eyes as the first Jote, the first Priestess of Flames; and she was aptly named and the position she holds--is right.

Her name will be passed on once death claims her.

[bamsara]

as soon as the disorders stop disordering and the disability stops debilitating I will be so unstoppable powerful forever

[yamujiburo]

clothes shopping!

[ineed-to-sleep]

Collection of memes with mostly my tav/astarion to keep myself sane

[evilwizard]

what is the difference between a witch and a wizard

wizards are mathematicians and physicists. witches are chemists and biologists

[bixels]

Baffled.

[marvelsmostwanted]

Joe Biden, coherently and normally: I have three issues to speak about. First, the NATO conference went well. Second, the economy is back on track and inflation is down. Third, my proposal for a ceasefire in Gaza is moving forward. Any questions?

The media: Did You Know That You Are Old

[problemnyatic]

when will we talk about the willful helplessness epidemic on here. So many people on this god forsaken website demand to have any and all things that exist outside their personal experiences directly, personally pre-chewed and spoonfed to them. And when you do, they'll then ask for you to swallow for them, too, because, you see, in THEIR experience..,

[dingledraw]

Well, that went down like a lead balloon.

[theodosiani]

"Let's go home." for kas <3

Find my muse out in the rain, alone and freezing || accepting || @keepslore

Tama has always told her that she only wants what is best for Kasaanda and slowly, the more she stays with Rook the more she realizes that the Qun isn’t best. That is was only better than being a slave in Tevinter, that before now she simply never knew that. No one had taught her that, not even Tama. She was taken from chains in the hull of a slave ship to the Qun. Now she is seeing so much, lingering in awe of the world where once she might have quickly skittered back to Tama after an assignment.

The fear she felt but pushed down because it wasn't what the Qun would have of her. The fear that one day she would be cold and alone and in chains again—Rook has finally shown her it isn't weak to feel that. It isn't something that needs to be fixed. She will have to live with it, yes, but it doesn't define her as broken or wrong.

So she sent Tama a letter, poured all her words into it, even when they felt wrong and right at the same time. Tama would know, Tama would guide her. She only needed to wait until the next meeting, then they could speak in person and Tama could explain why Kasaanda was feeling this way. Use soft words and simple metaphors to explain that she was wrong to feel like the Qun hadn’t given her a life, it had taken one. One she’s never even known is possible.

Except Tama isn’t here.

The meeting point is a simple one, a little tavern just a half day's walk from the Rivaini eluvian. She smiles wide and tells the tavern keeper she's waiting for her teacher and finds a corner table to sit. She waits, patiently after first before she starts to fidget. Tama will tell her it's unbecoming when she arrives but she's also taking so long. Slowly, the sun grows dim first from cloud cover as a quiet storm rolls in and eventually darker yet as the moon rises.

The tavern keeper is gentle, when he ambles over and quietly, kindly, asks Kasaanda if she needs a place to stay for the evening. If perhaps her teacher was only caught up in the storm. The little elf feels numb when she shakes her head, tumbles from her chair, and quickly walks outside. Her hood is forgotten, she circles the tavern once, twice, needs to move until she doesn't because it's too cold and her hands are shaking and her knees feel so weak.

She isn’t crying, or rather the sky is kind enough to do it for her. Waiting, she sent a letter to Tama, she knew the woman wouldn’t like it but—

A figure appears in the distance and for a moment hope blossoms, bright and fervent in Kasaanda before she realizes the figure is too slight. The telltale bump of horns beneath a hood are absent and the cloak looks like lanolin woven and not the carefully waxed canvas Qunari use. Disappointment shutters through her, and it is as if her body has only just realized how cold it is when the Inquisitor approaches her. The little elf is wide-eyed, whether it is tears or rain on her face isn't discernable when the inqisitor extends her hand, "Let's go home."

The elder woman is met with a wail and a small elf, soaked to the skin wrapping her arms tight around the Dhavi's waist.

[orxna]

HC + aspirations

Send HC + a word for a headcanon || Accepting || @extravagantliar

Orana!! Wants!! To Make!! Her School!!!!!

I’ve said this several times before but I don’t know how much I’ve really gone into detail but Orana wants to make a school for liberati and otherwise liberated slaves from the Tevinter Empire. She was incredibly unprepared for the world when she first got her freedom and now as an adult she doesn’t want others to feel that way! She wants to give people a safe environment to learn to be people the way Hawke did for her.

Politically, this is a very hard task and I think that it’s possible that through like, Varric’s position as Viscount she probably does get something going on a small scale. I like to think maybe she manages to turn the Hawke Estate, should Hawke have no interest in coming back to live full time, into a sort of halfway house for slaves like her. Varric would probably take care of anyone being Too Concerned about all the ‘vints and elves’ hanging around Hightown whether through bribes or threats.

The only verse where she might be able to start something in a larger context would probably be her Herald verse where politically she herself would have enough sway to not immediately get shut down by those concerned about her amassing a number of freed people at that scale. However, she is also incredibly emotionally damaged in the verse and while she might facilitate the creation of such a school she very much is not in the right state of mind to run it as she might have wanted to.

[devotionbled]

"Cherish your life. Your life."

Saw Prompts. || Accepting.

The Hideaway is a burial site, a fucking grave.

It is the resting place for comprehension. It is among the rolling halls, greenery’s abuse of man’s creation; Jote finds grief. To be left behind, to be lost; she thinks she has died && this forsaken place singing of hope, is foreign.

A petite body curls in on itself, boards shuddering beneath the steps of training / battle learnt, in the loving arms of benign hurt. She does not need to study the war of bones. She knows it well, the parry && the strikes of silvery blades, the wood of training swords.

The cursebreakers dance to the song of weary pain, adrenaline soaring to feast on pretend death.

The lamps are placid as dawn arises, light ebbing then flowing when newborn winds sink into nothingness. It is a sick reminder of loss. Liberty is a paradox, one she scarce believes. Jote’s body hunches over && her corpse disobeys her, nerves on fire—not the way she likes it, belly searing from flames. Training has ravished a body in exhaustion, but still, she defies.

You do not parry properly.

Strike fast.

Deflect.

The enemy does not care that you are tired.

Appearances deceive. Sometimes those with strength linger with a body small. Do not let me make my mark.

Demand after demand she howls, in reach of the taste of iron. Bloody regret seeps && she still seeks holy enervation. Pain flowers, nerves groaning in protest to wood shattering against ribs. She waltzes back; gaze foul. A sweep of the leg && her training partner falls.

Perspiration trawls for bare flesh, to pour. Jote lifts a palm, to sweep away the slickness.

Do you yield?

YES.

A dry swallow && a back turns, barracks to be entered. Timber twirls in a grip, gaze empty—ribs groaning beneath the efforts, bruising sure to crawl across flesh. A gaggle of men && boys linger—

Cherish your life. Your life.

Snatches of conversation && a clever mind latches.

“Miles,” she begins, eyes searching for a brand long seared away; a taller figure. She rolls the name over her tongue. “It’s Miles, is it not? Do you believe in liberation? To cherish one’s life, how is that defined?”

She thinks quietly again, that without creed she is a corpse destined for rot.

[o0kawaii0o]

Happy pride!

[wickcipher]

You've Been Portal Jacked! Part 3

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