#cimetier

[dovaeh]

tlou starters. "i've seen it in my dreams." @cimetier, fenjall.

unfair as it may seem to him, unable to pick and choose after being shackled to this gift by the gods, maesena has no need for his prophecies. she can already tell that just this little snippet will weigh on her mind even when she leaves him, a nagging thought biting at the back of her brain. her mind should be focused solely on ensuring her own strength for the battles ahead — not hunting for the truth from his visions like picking the mold from bread.

which is unkind of her. she feels guilty even if he can't hear her thoughts ( ... she thinks ) to know her selfishness. mae sighs and doesn't meet his eye. "let the rest be a mystery to me... at least for now. i would rather compare the reality to the dream than to anticipate something seemingly inevitable."

[orcristwielder]

A !

• SOURCE • / accepting.

This one can be found here! But, to add to it: another way he can show affection is by teaching someone what he does, that shows an interest. So, basically; say if Tilda or Sigrid wanted to learn the harp, or Bain wished to learn how to craft things; that would be his way of being happy and he would show them. Or, a simple pat to the shoulder is another way, but in reference to the link above, he's more than likely to use the forehead touch.

@cimetier

[herisms]

"there must be a celebration happening that i wasn't aware of." olin eyes the bottle in the enchanter's hand pointedly. his familiarity with alcohol beyond avvarian ale and mead is limited, making it difficult for him to tell what exactly vito is holding, especially in the low candlelight of his office. still, he can't help the grin that tugs at the corner of his lips, betraying his own pleased surprise at the other man's unannounced visit so late in the evening.

the moon hangs in the night sky just outside, a pool of its glow gathering at the foot of the large window where olin stands. his oldest and most trusted falcon, sylvi, has begun to nod off on her perch beside him, her head tucked under her wing, his hand gliding gently across her feathered back. he regards vito with a demeanor that's remarkably less professional than normal, though still collected, a glint of daring in his blue-eyed gaze. his brow lifts inquisitively.

"so, what is the occasion, enchanter?"

@cimetier

[herisms]

olin can't help the curious quirk of his brow at the mage's inquiries. very rarely is he ever asked for his own opinions on matters he's assigned to (he often provides it without request), though it occurs to him that his allegiances would be important to the leader of an outright rebellion. his eyes follow the antivan's movements from his seat. he hitches himself forward to rest his elbows on the desk in front of him, candlelight flickering across his cheek as he continues to observe vito.

"my people treat our mages with respect and dignity, which is more than i can say for your chantry," he responds with little hesitation. his statement isn't accusing from his lips, but very matter-of-fact, lacking any true bite or bitterness. the spymaster, regardless of what entity he serves, has never been shy about his distaste for the chant of light and the prejudice it seems to inspire in its more devout followers.

he also understands that, by vito's very nature, a rebel mage is the very essence of blasphemy in the chantry's eyes; a brave stance in which the so-called 'heathen mountain man' can respect.

"regardless," he interjects, "what i am an 'admirer' of is irrelevant in the face of direct orders, and the inquisitor was clear. i'm to assist you and your cause in whatever capacity you deem necessary."

comfortly all profession, he surmises. the man is sturdy and wastes no breath in courtesies; his aid in the enchanter's business is courtesy enough. with so much back-biting, secrecy, and clandestine work, it is a refreshing to deal with one so... blunt. a sigh escapes him on the inside at the thought of being able to let appearances fall, even if only somewhat. vito has been on the edge of every blade inside the fort the moment he was recruited. it is only a small assurance of faith in his loyalty to the cause, this meeting. but it is not one he will waste.

"that is all?" he asks in masked disbelief. he wanders on a wide arc away from the blond. he tugs at the vermillion shawl about his bare shoulders. "what are you in this mess? are you an admirer of the arcane?" the smile on the enchanter's face is like that of a tiger; not a smile at all, but a pleasant bearing of teeth. "come, you must have some say in this petty tavern brawl of a war."

[s1byls]

what soft romantic cliche are you?

bree tanner : the almost kiss. you're  unsure  about  things,    always  hesitating.    why  is  that?    maybe  there's  something  to  lose  for  you,    but  maybe    (    just  maybe    )    the  risk  is  worth  it.    you're  the  moment  when  the  main  characters  lean  in,    lips  parted  and  almost  touching.    but  it's  not  the  actual  kiss  everyone  loves,    it's  the  anticipation.    when  they  look  into  each  other's  eyes  before  their  lids  flutter  close.    and  there's  a  lot  of  frustration  when  things  are  interrupted.    trust  me  though,    you're  a  lot  more  memorable  than  the  actual  kiss.    you're  nervous,    but  at  the  end  of  the  day  all  you  want  is  to  be  loved.

tagged by: @klaeus thank u for tagging bree specifically?? ily♡ tagging: @lorebled, @winesold, @beycndthem, @cimetier, @wstlnds, @mythicbane / @emeratu / @icewept, @unflamed, @rodair, @dignitaes ♡♡♡

[jaimelire-france]

Les Grands Cimetières sous la lune est un pamphlet écrit par Georges Bernanos en réponse à la guerre civile espagnole.

[ada1r-arc]

@cimetier / one-liner call !

"we have only one chance at this. you must be ready."

[divineharc]

@cimetier sent : priscilla & kalla? :>

name: cassian claudii of clan frost-shield

gender: cis male.

general appearance: a boy with a mess of dark brown hair, never able to be tamed or well-kept much to one of his mother's efforts. it's unknown of his ancestry, but there is suspicion of nord and imperial. rather strong features, dark eyes that hold a cheerful gaze, he's very simple in appearance actually.

personality: a brash and reckless boy, cassian is always getting in trouble with others and often challenging others who are stronger or smarter than him. he's prone to stubbornness and foolish tactics, jumping head-first into danger. but even then he's a compassionate and loyal young man. just a bit of a dumbass.

special talents: a natural with heavy weapons, trained by his mother kalla and other companions. he was taught by some of the very best to be the best. often using a battle-axe though not afraid of using a sword and shield, cassian is a brute force of nature. this is where he's in his element, beating and battling enemies with little to no effort.

who they like better: hard to say because he values his mothers equally. kalla has raised him to be tough, to face things head on and to be a brilliant warrior, while priscilla taught him to be in touch with his emotions and compassionate nature. he'd say both equally.

who they take after more: kalla. both are extremely stubborn and determined to stand their ground, which makes training with one another interesting.

personal headcanon:

i. cassian was adopted by the two women, who found him as a toddler on one of their adventures. priscilla practically begged kalla to let them raise him, which neither regretted later in life.

ii. when he becomes an adult, he joins the companions almost instantly despite already being considered one of them.

iii. knows one spell and that's fast healing.

face claim: alexander dreymon.

accepting. / meme.

[vicereign]

          𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄   𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐒   𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇   𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍,   nerve   endings   and   flesh   crystallizing   almost   faster   than   the   cursed   parasite   in   his   rib   cage   could   heal   them.   Pain   and   blood   loss   had   made   his   vision   fuzzy   at   the   edges,   the   combined   sound   and   sensation   of   his   body   being   dragged   through   both   snow   and   underbrush   turned   his   stomach   over   into   complicated   knots.   The   fallen   lord   was   being   dragged   by   a   party   that   he   could   not   see   through   half   swollen   shut   eyes.

𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙻   𝙷𝙴   𝙲𝙰𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃   𝙷𝙴𝚁   𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃.

Coppery   blood   clashed   heavily   with   spiced   wine,   the   scent   of   stifling   damp   nearly   clouding   the   faintest   trace   of   lavender   and   cotton      —     disbelief   forced   a   painful   chuckle   from   Karl's   split   lips   before   it   broke   off   with   a   violent,   rattling   cough.   Perhaps   it   would   be   a   more   fitting   humilation   for   one   of   his   sister's   wine   cellar   dwelling   bitches   to   finish   him   off   versus   Winters,   even   if   this   one   was   significantly   less   awful   than   the   others.  

❝      Just   what   the   fuck   do   you   think   you're   doin',   bottom   feeder?      ❞

›››         @cimetier​​   and   delphine   requested    the   iron   steed,   Karl   Heisenberg.    

[orcstricken]

𝐭𝐡𝐞    𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝    𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝    𝐡𝐢𝐦    𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐬.    all    he    can    think    of    is    the    agonizing    pain.    he    cannot    tell    where    he    was    injured    as    his    entire    body    has    seemed    to    be    engulfed    in    flames.    poison    rushes    through    his    veins,    and    surely    there    is    nothing    that    can    be    done    to    stop    it.    his    brothers    carry    him,    running    as    quickly    as    they    can    to    find    someone,    anyone    who    can    help    him.    they    stumble    across    men.    the    ones    from    dale    who    have    been    graciously    invited    to    stay    alongside    the    elves.    they    were    out    on    a    hunt,    the    wardens    close    to    their    side    to    protect    them.    they    were    ambushed.    who    knows    how    many    survived    .    .    .    it    was    a    band    of    orcs    far    larger    than    normal.    rumil    is    speaking    frantically    to    them    in    broken    westron,    piecing    together    sentences    only    barely    understandable    by    the    women    who    are    trying    to    understand    him.    at    the    word,    ‘    orcs    ‘    they    gasp,    looking    at    each    other    with    fear    that    their    husbands    may    not    return.    for    surely,    if    the    march    warden    has    fallen,    that    leaves    little    hope    to    carry.    the    world    becomes    two    as    haldir’s    vision    blurs.    “    healer    .    .    .    “    he    groans.    “    someone,    please.    “ even    speaking    is    taking    far    too    much    of    his    energy.    he    barely    has    any    left    to    spare,    as    he    is    using    the    rest    of    it    to    stay    alive.    wide    eyes    dart    from    face    to    face,    hoping    someone    will    step    forward,    but    the    crowd    of    faces    stare    at    him    in    both    fear    and    shock.    these,    of    course,    are    not    healers    but    women    of    the    dale    society    with    seemingly    little    experience    with    orc    poison.    that    is    until    one    familiar    face    steps    forward.    he    remembers    her    well.    who    wouldn’t    ??    he    remembers    standing    in    the    throne    room.    meeting    her    gaze    from    across    the    room,    as    galadriel    and    celeborn    gave    their    warm    wishes    to    her    newly    coronated    father.    he    held    her    gaze    far    too    long    than    appropriate,    though    something    about    it    felt    right.    he    narrowed    it    down    to    innocent    curiosity    more    than    anything    else.    he    opens    his    mouth,    though    he    doesn’t    know    whether    to    address    her    or    to    simply    beg    for    help.    it    is    not    often    haldir    is    left    feeling    desperate.    he    wants    so    desperately    to    cling    onto    this    beautiful    life    and    to    wake    up    once    more    in    his    beloved    forest    in    the    mildewy    grass.    to    look    up    at    the    stars    at    night    and    find    each    constellation    as    he    does    every    night.    to    behold    the    sight    of    a    beautiful    woman,    especially    the    one    standing    above    him    now.    life    is    precious,    and    he    dares    not    leave    it    now.    “    do    not    speak,    brother.    “    orophin    urges    in    their    native    tongue.    “    you    will    be    healed.    “ haldir    does    not    listen,    forcing    out    the    words    to    her    so    she    can    understand.    “    help    me.    “

plotted starter for @cimetier​

[swordoaths]

@cimetier​ | plotted starter

     He swung an axe with as much effort as a human might lift a cup to their lips. The blade came down--- crisp and clean in its mark--- and split a log in two. Another. Then another. Yet another still. Beorn’s movements were steady, unyielding, and seemingly effortless. His eyes, though hidden ‘neath tufts of long, coarse fur, held such focus on the task at hand. But his head oft tilted between each split of a log, turning his ear to the wind to hear what it had to say.

   To listen for the warnings it bade to him.

   It irritated him, whenever strangers came. Beorn ground his teeth as the wind brought the scent of another to his lands. The axe swung--- this time embedding deep into the stump he used to split logs. Lifting his head to the tree branches, he spoke in the tongue of birds, and soon the birds grew silent. He lowered his head, now speaking to the rabbits and mice that had gathered nearby. Soon, they scurried down into their tunnels and under the cracks of the door. The dogs came ‘round the corner of his home, falling to all fours, for few were able to rationalise dogs walking on hind legs. But then again, Beorn thought, very few in these lands paid any mind to creatures deemed lesser than they. 

   The dogs growled, the furs on their backs prickling like porcupine quills. Beorn straightened up now, his height of the alarming kind, but still nothing compared to his bear form. Eyes in the colour of the tree bark regarded the stranger, and lips curled in warning. 

    “What do you want?” he questioned, getting straight to the point. 

[wilczmina]

this your man?

I’M  GONNA  SCREAM  .

[sunbentsky-archived]

date? letho & del lol

SEND ME “DATE?” AND I’LL ANSWER…

Who asks for it:

[ ] Your muse asks mine

[ ] My muse asks yours

Neither explicitly ask for a date, it just sorta happens.

Type of date:

[ ] Platonic Date

[X] Romantic Date

[X] First Date

[ ] Double date with: ____ & ____

Location for the date:

[ ] Movies   • [ ] Romantic Comedy   • [ ] Adventure Movie   • [ ] Animation (Pixar/Disney)   • [ ] Horror   • [ ] Drama   • [ ] Buddy Movie   • [ ] ___ (other options)

[ ] Restaurant   • [ ] Expensive/High Class   • [ ] Small and familiar   • [ ] Fast Food

[X] Nature  • [ ] Beach  • [ ] Park  • [X] Forest      • [X] …and having a picnic

[ ] Visiting a Museum

[ ] Visiting an amusement park

[X] Visiting a haunted location

[ ] Staying at home  • [ ] Watching movies  • [ ] Playing Video Games  • [ ] Reading

[X] I'm sure Delphine deserves it, but Letho is not setting foot anywhere fancy unless he's there to kill someone 😂 (other options)

The date might hopefully end with…

[X] …holding hands

[X] …a kiss

[X] …in bed

[X] …knowing each other better

[ ] …sleepover between friends

[ ] …a marriage proposal

[X] Physically fighting and sexual tension 👀 (other options)

Should you reblog this?:

[X] Yes. I want to send you one.

[ ] Yes.

[ ] No.

[herisms]

♡ for merilin & fenjall

relationship meme | @cimetier

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 .

[divineharc]

@cimetier sent : priscilla & hadvar

name: kyra thorrasson

gender: cis female.

general appearance: she was born with a head full of auburn hair, which was odd considering both parents are brunettes. though, it's not uncommon that parents can have a redhead. auburn hair, dark blue eyes, and freckles scattered across her cheeks. a mysterious, knowing gaze, she's ultimately a mix of her parents.

personality: a shy and quiet girl, rarely speaking as it is. she prefers silent surroundings, safe and somewhere warm, away from the chaos of the world. sweet, observant, and naturally charming, kyra is a strange one. though she is extremely stubborn.

special talents: kyra has been gifted with an intensely powerful magical prowess, especially from a young age. she's intense and knowledgable, once she has been taught, with her magic and specializes in illusion and destruction as equal parts. because of this, she believes that much of her charm stems from illusion magic.

who they like better: hadvar. easily. he spoils her beyond compare and is often sneaking her snacks and gifts despite what priscilla says. additionally, she could be running about while he's in an important meeting and he will still find a way to greet her lovingly.

who they take after more: hard to say as both her parents are rather outgoing and confident, compared to her shy nature. she does share some similarities between both parents, such as stubbornness and observant nature.

personal headcanon:

i. she is remarkably lucky, especially for an imperial. some would say luckier than the average imperial.

ii. is actually trained in swords, particularly dual swords. she is decently talented with a sword alongside her magical abilities. because of this, her favourite spell is conjure sword.

face claim: daisy ripley (particularly her role in ophelia)

accepting. / meme.