#all those terminologies

[t0daybutmaybet0morr0w]

oh the beauty and horrors of anatomy

[canisalbus]

Different Italian anon, but the thing with Tuscan C is that it's pronounced like a very strong H sound, which is extra weird cuz the letter H makes no sound in Italian, normally. It sounds the way Spanish pronounce the J. We say it's "aspirato". So then people from there will say things like Hoha Hola (coca cola), and it's funny. It's also extremely contagious, I got family in Florence, you spend 3 days with them you start doing it too before you even realize.

.

[novantinuum]

hey want a mind fuck??

"diamond essence" is NOT a canon term

[buonaseranatasha]

1

2

3

Yeah Sammy you certainly got Wizard of Oz’d there

[juney-blues]

why do i keep seeing posts about hypothetical allies who "don't know the correct terms but are enthusiastically supportive"

why are we making up this specific guy so much. why are you so obsessed with the idea of a straight person who would call you faggot but mean it in a nice way, because they just don't know any better.

this is an incredibly weird rhetorical advice, why am i seeing posts about it again

[shallowseeker]

You know a headcanon that I personally don't vibe with?

The term Righteous Man being a positive thing.

So much of Dean's journey for me is about him struggling with his sense of code/law. In a sense, I think of him going through a lot of the same struggles Cas goes through as a lifelong soldier. It's this interesting interplay between cultural morals vs loyalties, nihilism vs meaning, fate and pre-determinism vs a genuine hope for the future etc. etc. etc.

SAM: I just… I mean, I thought (the angels) they’d be righteous. DEAN: (wry laugh) Well, they are righteous, I mean, that’s kinda the problem. Of course there’s nothing more dangerous...

4x07

///

CASTIEL: Yes, well, um… Before, I was very self-assured. I was convinced I was on this righteous path. Now I realize that there is no righteous path. It’s just people trying to do their best in a world where it’s far too easy to do your worst.

10x09

[shift-shaping]

despite the rain

solas and lady volant attend an extravagant party put on by the duke of wycome.

rating: t

pairing: solavellan

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first fic in this series

By the time Lady Volant and Solas arrived, the party at Castle Magnolia was well underway.

They had put off their appearance as long as they could, but each successive messenger sent to retrieve them from the apartment was more insistent than the last. They'd given excuses --needed to rest, to mend a sleeve, to answer a letter-- in the vain hope that they might wait out the party itself, or be forgotten once the drink was truly flowing. Rain, steady and cold, bought them more time still, but eventually there would be no more delaying.

Lady Guinevere Volant was dressed fashionably, yet modestly, in a long sleek dress with delicate floral details. Solas himself was once again in servant's clothes, albeit a somewhat more fitted set meant to compliment Lady Volant's. He was essentially her accessory, which suited his actual role of protecting her and watching their surroundings.

They blended in well at the party, though more so in terms of fashion than sobriety. Despite the eerie silence of their earlier tour through the city, this event was reasonably well attended. The rain had driven it indoors, with some brave, drunken souls spilling out into the darkness of the courtyard. Lady Volant easily sidestepped a stumbling couple and approached the guards at the door. At her introduction, they allowed her inside.

The ceilings of the main hall soared into vaults painted with elaborate scenes of the sea, a heavily dramatized celebration of the city's heritage. Paintings of well-dressed men and women lined the walls, some awkwardly crooked. Enormous gold-plated birds of prey stood before towering columns in a manner typical of Free Marcher excess. These birds looked unique though, with tall, thick bills and broad bodies --sea eagles? Above and around them were balconies dotted with colorfully-dressed party-goers, and to either side were wide hallways leading to other wings of the manor. Tall round tables were scattered about, most covered in discarded drinks and dirty plates. A few bards played clumsily-overlapping tunes, and a handful of half-nude men and women danced before leering eyes. He watched one dancer elegantly avoid a large puddle of what appeared to be wine on the floor, as if she'd gotten used to dancing around it.

Solas had seen far more opulent great halls, but for this age it was impressive enough. What alarmed him, however, was the suspicious lack of servants. The crooked paintings, the puddles on the floor, the unbussed tables --it was strange for such things to go unnoticed for so long at an event like this.

"Lady Ambassador!" Solas and Lady Volant turned to see a familiar bearded face smiling brightly at them. Duke Antoine seemed more at ease now, but maybe that was the result of the nearly-empty wine glass in his hand. With a prickle of apprehension Solas noticed the same elven slave from earlier lurking just over the Duke's shoulder. Solas felt less of a pull from the slave's magic on the Veil, but there was still an icy focus in his eyes.

That the slave was serving his master in this manner was not surprising in the least; Solas was extremely and personally familiar with the use of slaves to do dangerous magical bidding. What was surprising was the slave's dedication. He was obviously a talented mage, and could have defected to the Inquisition or even the nearby alienage with little effort. Solas sensed no charm present to track him, no curse to seal him to the Duke. Unless he was missing something, that left only mundane leverage to keep the slave in his place: threats to family, to friends, to a home somewhere.

If it was possible to untangle the slave from his master's web, the effort would be worth it to acquire a gifted agent. But to do that, Solas would need to find out what that web consisted of, and he saw no clear path towards that goal. His purpose was to investigate the Duke and protect Lady Volant, not necessarily to recruit.

The Duke and Lady Volant exchanged pleasantries, and the Duke offered her a glass of wine. She accepted, and the Duke looked around for a server.

He made eye contact with a young elven woman in the corner of the room. She held a bottle of wine and a few empty glasses on a round silver platter. As far as Solas could tell, she was the only server near them. She nodded to the Duke, and as she approached the bottle wavered on the platter. She reached up and steadied it, grasping it by the neck, and nearly knocked one of the glasses off in the process. Lady Volant continued her conversation with the Duke as the server handed her one of the glasses --smudged around the base-- and very slowly attempted to pour the wine into the glass.

"No more than half," Lady Volant said gently. "Too much and I'll get a terrible rash." The server nodded. The wine splashed into the glass instead of pouring smoothly, and some landed on the server's ill-fitted sleeve. She had poured maybe a third of a glass before stopping and looking at Lady Volant, who thanked her.

Relieved, the server put the bottle unsteadily back on to the platter and turned to leave. Typically, an event like this would dress servers in neatly fitted dress meant to accentuate the wealth and grandeur of the host. The uniform this woman wore scarcely looked like it belonged to her at all, with sleeves so long they had to be rolled, a baggy undershirt that barely fit under the jacket, and trousers a few inches too short.

The Duke did not seem to care, having instead launched into a lecture about the wine they were drinking, but the slave watched the server closely. She did not return to her post, and disappeared down one of the large hallways leading to another wing of the manor.

They began a tour, the ambassador once again treated as an honored guest. Unlike that morning, the Duke took the time to introduce her to other members of the upper class. Given the silence of the noble estates earlier, it was unsurprising that many of these guests were visitors from elsewhere.

Lady Volant had been clever in telling the server she wouldn't be drinking much. Avoiding any of the food or beverages at the party was wise considering there were Venatori present.

"Messere," a small voice said. Solas took his eyes from the ambassador's conversation to see a short, freckled elf with delicately braided orange hair. She bowed slightly, and the platter in her hand stayed steady. Upon it were hors d'oeuvres wrapped in napkins. "You are a guest this evening as well. Is there anything we can get for you?"

"No, thank you," he replied. Though she was short, even for an elf in this age, her clothing was a much better fit for her than the previous server he'd seen.

"Of course," she said, but she ignored his reply and handed him a shrimp tartlet. He raised an eyebrow. She nodded to him, then retreated without fully leaving the room.

Solas observed the tartlet closely, uncertain of what to do with it, before he noticed tiny scribbles on the napkin. As discreetly as possible, he unfolded the paper and read the message.

My name is Emilie. I have lived and worked here for years. I do not know who any of these servants are. Please help.

Solas quickly folded the napkin and put it into the pocket of his trousers. He looked to where the server had gone, worried she might have left the room in hopes he would follow. But then he saw her just outside the main party space, near an unstaffed bar in a state of disarray. It had a direct line of sight to where they were standing.

"Ambassador," he said softly, speaking to Lady Volant just over her shoulder. "I am going to get myself a drink." She looked up at him, and he glanced towards the bar. "Would you like anything else?"

She followed his gaze to the bar and shook her head. "No, I'm quite alright, thank you. But you should see to your own needs."

"Of course." He left her with the Duke, the slave, and several guests. The bar was close enough that he could still intervene if something went awry.

Emilie stood up straighter as he approached and put her tray of tartlets on the bar. "Messere."

He took the note from his pocket and swiftly burned it. Her eyes widened at his casual magic use, but she didn't comment on it. 

"Who are the other servants, if not the Duke's own?" He said quietly. He still held the tartlet.

"I don't know. I was only gone for a week to visit a friend in Bastion. When I came back, everyone was --replaced." She looked around for a moment before going on. "I don't know what to do. You are Inquisition, though, yes? You help people? Mages and-- and elves, right?"

It was somewhat heartening to know that 'helping people' was the Inquisition's reputation to this person, especially given that 'helping mages and elves' was primarily due to Enaste's decision-making. But it also reminded him of the target on their back.

"You should go, da'len," he urged. "If the other servants have been replaced, you are likely not supposed to be here." He looked towards the entrance hall. "Go to the alienage and hide. If anyone bothers you, tell them you were sent by Enaste Lavellan." He paused, then went on. "And if you see Enaste Lavellan, tell her Solas sent you."

"Enaste Lavellan, that's... The Inquisitor herself?" She asked, and Solas nodded. She opened her mouth, then shook her head. "But I don't know the alienage, I haven't even been there in years. I live here, in the servant's quarters. And... and what if the other servants are hurt? What if something happened to them?"

Solas looked at Emilie seriously. "What would you do to save them?"

"I..." She hesitated, then looked at him with a stubborn determination. "I know the castle. If they're still here, somewhere, I could help you find them."

"If the servants here have been infiltrated as thoroughly as I suspect, they will know the castle too. Unless you have a very good idea of where they are, you are better off keeping yourself alive by fleeing to safety."

"But they're... Some of them are my family. I know them, I..."

"And if you are hurt or killed trying to rescue them, where will that leave you?"

She looked down, visibly frustrated. He waited, giving her space to think. Then her shoulders sagged, and she nodded. "Okay. You're right."

He was relieved. As long as she got out of the estate, she should be safe and able to give them more information about the infiltration later.

She looked at his hand, then at the tray of tartlets. He went to put the tartlet down, and she cocked her head. "You don't like shrimp?"

"Abelas, please take no offense. I am simply uncertain of the precise... Ingredients."

"Oh," Emilie frowned, then took one of the tartlets and popped it in her mouth. Solas felt a little silly watching her eat it. She shrugged as she swallowed. "See? No poison."

"Fair enough, but you'll forgive my caution."

She glanced at the tray. "I do. Well," she looked past him, towards the entrance hall. "I'll take your advice. Enaste Lavellan?" She repeated.

"Lavellan," he corrected her pronunciation slightly, the Inquisitor's surname rolling off his tongue.

"Understood." She bowed quickly. "And thank you. Try to stay safe."

"We will."

…

The rain outside grew louder and the wind picked up as the party wound down to a more intimate size. The servers, few and far between, had eventually bussed some of the tables, but they were so far behind that they had no hope of catching up. At least the fireplaces were lit.

Lady Volant joined the Duke and a handful of other guests by one such fireplace, sharing hard leather couches. Solas stood off to the side, watching the ambassador and keeping an eye on the slave standing behind the Duke.

The slave's posture suddenly straightened, and the young man turned towards the entrance hall. Solas followed his gaze to see a tall, well-dressed human man flanked by several people --either servants or unarmed guards-- approaching them. The only one of the manor's servers Solas could see stiffened at the sight of the new guest.

The Duke turned in his seat and smiled, a bit too wide. "Magister Malchus! How wonderful that you've made it despite the rain! Come, have a seat."

The advisor was completely dry despite said rain, likely the result of a spell. "I apologize for my lateness, your Grace. I do appreciate the invitation." He spoke with a heavier accent than most of the Tevinters Solas had met.

"Lady Ambassador, this is Magister Lanius Malchus, of the Circle of Magi at Marnas Pell," the Duke announced as the Magister joined them by the fire. "Magister, this is Lady Guinevere Volant, the Inquisition ambassador to Wycome."

Lady Volant smiled warmly at the Magister. "What an honor to meet one of Tevinter's highest officials."

Malchus returned her smile. "I am honored to meet a woman as beautiful as yourself. And well-read: not many southerners understand Tevinter's titles."

Solas eyed the Magister's other servants. They were humans, as far as he could tell, broader and more built than the elves. He saw no sign of shackles. None of them had weapons nor were any actively using a spell.

As they talked, mostly trading pleasantries, the slave who had been babysitting the Duke retreated from his post. He still lingered close by, lurking in the shadows beside a cluttered standing table. From his vantage, he should have a clear view of the conversation. Seizing his opportunity, Solas crossed the room to join the slave. 

The young man regarded him coldly. At first neither said anything, their ears trained to the cautious political dance going on by the fire. Then, to Solas's surprise, the slave broke the silence.

"You are a powerful mage," he observed quietly, his accent thick around the words.

"As are you," Solas replied.

One of the servers approached them, and Solas tensed. She offered them both drinks, already filled with dark red wine. "Drinks, messeres?" She asked softly.

The slave looked at him. He still had that ridiculous wig, but it was better kept and styled now. The server, not waiting for an answer, put both glasses on the table. One was clearly closer to Solas, the other to the slave. Then the server left them alone.

Neither moved. "You do not have to do this," Solas hissed.

"You know nothing of me."

"I do." He stared hard at the slave, eyes narrowed. "I know you have carried the weight of shackles like a noose around your neck. I know your blood runs hot from how often worse men than yourself have spilt it." The slave finally looked at him, his expression hard and cold. "I know what it is like to want what you believe impossible to have."

"You will win no allies here, Inquisition," the slave responded sharply. "You are surrounded." His eyes gleamed in the dark. "You will die here, in your old world, and we will bring the dawn anew."

Solas snorted, and the slave flinched in surprise. "You honestly believe that? Is that what your master told you?" The slave looked away. "That your Elder One will break your chains?"

"My chains are broken," he snarled. "I am no slave, stultissime."

Though that surprised him, Solas just shook his head. "The Magister owes you nothing. He will use you again so long as you remain in his grip."

"You have no idea what he owes me." He reached for the glass of wine beside him, but Solas was quicker, and took the glass meant for the younger elf. He narrowed his eyes, but slowly took the glass meant for Solas.

The glass was no cleaner than any of the others Solas had seen that evening. The wine was impenetrably dark. He held it up to toast. "Sanitas, lethallin."

The glasses clinked together. Solas took a drink, confident that by switching the glasses, he'd thwarted the server's plot.

Then he saw the same server staring at him from over the younger elf's shoulder, eyes wide, one hand raised, and realized he made a terrible mistake. The wine tasted like ashes in his throat, and as soon as it settled in his stomach a horrid burn arced through his blood.

His vision blurred, like heat rising from stone, and he felt suddenly like his bones weren't connected to each other. There was a commotion as the fire overtook his mind, boiling his thoughts until he was conscious of little else but pure pain.

As his knees gave out underneath him, Solas watched the man he thought was a slave sip from the glass meant for him. His lips tilting into a smirk was the last thing Solas saw before everything went white, then black.

translation notes: stultissime - fool sanitas - health (used as a toast)

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[c0rpseductor]

*sees popular tumblr user realizing they have DID and talking about how lame and bullshit community terminology sounds and how the whole community is full of dogma and mysticism* wow, did i used to sound like this? holy shit i kind of sucked! anyway bye *makes out with block button*

[ongreenergrasses]

tell me why the leading coalition on domestic violence in the STATE is exclusively using “victim” in this presentation

[containmentbreach]

man it is actually so deeply funny to me that you can just write whatever the hell you want about people once they're dead and it's okay because they're dead. if i was someone who was famous and i died and then i learned some guy had just made up a ton of shit about my life and was getting super rich off of it i. well actually i think that'd be funny. if i ever get famous i give someone permission to do this to me after i die. as long as i still get to be a lesbian.

[teja-has-puppet-autism]

y'know sometimes I go to make a post on this here webbed site, and I almost always end up deletin it cause I measure it through the "how widely applicable is this" + "how horribly can people twist this" metrics and it just stops my little fingies from typin

(this turned into me typing an essay in the tags cause I very much did need to process some shit lmao)

[toytulini]

god this stupid fucking intracommunity infighting bullshit never ends and im so god damn tired. stop it. and if youre fucking discoursing this stupid shit you should have to add a fucking disclaimer to your fucking posts at least im tired of having to search yalls blogs when smth slightly off about your wording that i cant explain has me like hmmmmm and then i end up right and i really dont want to be

[exhausted-archivist]

On the topic of the inherent racism in the Qun and its people, with how baked in racism is, you can't buff it out and reformat. You can't remove it, and BioWare has only been doubling down on it up to Tevinter Nights in 2020. Which means you need to be careful with how you interact and build on it. At least that is how I approach it, in general I don't like to engage with it because it's just so difficult and not in any thought provoking or insightful way. So I refrain from doing so as much as possible in public spaces anyways, because it is so inherently unsafe for me to do so. From an interaction with fandom level, but also on a personal level because some of it makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

I am extremely weary of how da4 is going to portray them, I hope it will be better since the writing team has been moved around and there have been some acknowledgements on poor writing of stereotypes and biases in 2020. Which I take with a salt mine worth of salt, especially with the way the new comics like the Missing having lingering themes and stereotypes remaining. How Patrick Weekes described the rebelling antaam in Three Trees to Midnight (Tevinter Nights 2020) was the biggest red flag, followed by the yellow flag from As We Fly short story by Lukas Kristjanson (short story 2023).

With how BioWare has racism and harmful elements baked into the Qun and people in general it is going to difficult for them to fully separate it, update it, or reformat it. But I hope they do. I hope that they actually attempt to make it better like they have suggested they would. Because it is so harmful and they should. I don't think they'll get it right on the first try, but I hope they try. It won't magically fix the racism in the fandom but I would like to not feel the need to crawl out of my skin when playing a vashoth. I would like to see the franchise grow and become better than it started out as. I don't want it to stay stagnant for the sake of "consistency" which it doesn't have by design.

[volivolition]

I say this in the most loving way possible, how the fuck can you write the most expressive and magical tags ever?? How do you have the mental energy to form words? 50% I can only say "nice post op". You inspire me to spread positivity to everyone but I literally can't be this positive and kind all the time. Just want to send you love and know that I appreciate you <3

HKJGH AW RED!! :'] <3 it does take a lot of energy, i understand :'0 i keep a lot of cool art in my tumblr drafts. the art stays in there until i have energy to type all my thoughts out. a lot of things stay stuck in there… i try to make sure art from my friends get out soon though :0 don't feel bad if you can't type a lot!! anything you can manage is okay! no one can be positive and kind all the time, and that's normal! just do what you can. i promise it's enough. (<- these are things i need to remind myself too <3)

a lot of it is literally just me needing to scream hkjfh, i have a lot of thoughts and i love sharing them always. i love rambling, can you tell? (<- joke) also i have a lot of love to give and i love artists and their creations. like WOW someone made a thing!! and they wanted to share it with the world!! AND I GET TO SEE IT!!! i GOTTA tell them i enjoy it!!!!!

it's also my empathy acting up because im also an artist!! and he's like "hey!! you love people writing nice tags on *your* art!! imagine if you were this artist, wouldn't you be happy to see someone tagging it with nice things? :)!" and im like yeah!! if this makes me happy, i should make other people happy too :3

ANYWAY I APPRECIATE YOU TOO RED YOU'RE DEAR TO ME!! SENDING LOVE BACK!!!! <33

[roobylavender]

ngl for the longest time i thought bruce was demisexual haha

i could totally see that lolol

[localvoidcat]

still think it's funny that after about a year or so of stressing over labels and asking people for their opinions and trying to decide what percentages applied to me and all that, i got the most relief out of saying "well, fuck if i know, man"