#i live and breathe her…

[lesbiantrish]

i think im too obsessed with the w!master master…

[lazylittledragon]

i am once again thinking about how karlach is doomed the second she leaves avernus. she finally escapes the hells after a decade and gets a tadpole put in her head that will inevitably kill her. she gets out of the nautiloid and there's a warlock hunting her down. wyll doesn't kill her but there are still people looking for her. even when they're gone and she's finally free, SURPRISE there's a cult trying to destroy the world. and if she makes it through against all odds and kills a god and saves her home, her own body burns up and destroys her unless she returns to her prison. she's dead if she stays and dead if she leaves. i'm eating bricks

[chiquilines]

Whoopsie daisy im late to the panel redraw train but this page is tattooed on my frontal lobe

[bunnieswithknives]

I feel bad for neglecting Hazel so much, I do have many thoughts about her.. and also a mermaid au that im probably not going to do anything with

[bacchuschucklefuck]

space sweepers but they're delivery people and are at no point on screen through the entire movie

[sheikfangirl]

Post-TotK fluff ❤️

No more nightmares. Zelda is really back.

Link can sleep peacefully ❤️

Cheers!

[star--nymph]

Vivienne's fear being 'becoming irrelevant' isn't something that's linked explicitly to her pride, no matter what Solas says about her (and the irony of Mr.Pride himself saying that should not be lost on you), it reveals what and who Vivienne truly is.

She's a survivalist.

Because we don't spend as much time in the Free Marches or Orlesian circles, we don't get to experience what being a mage is in these cultures. In Ferelden and Kirkwall, a mage is a lesser being without freedom no matter what they do--but in the Free Marches and Orlais specifically, mages are commodities that are given freedom so long as they play an entertaining enough role. They can explore the world if they have a noble patron, if they catch the right person's eye. They are, in a way, two sides of the same coin--refusing mages agency and forcing them to relay on higher powers. Vivienne lucked out, as sad as it is, when Bastion fell in love with her; she found someone who was contrarian enough to recognize her as a full person and also someone with power that could help her rise through the ranks. This is not to say that Vivienne on her own wasn't an exceedingly talented and intelligent individual--by nineteen she was already the youngest full fledged mage in Circle history and she was skilled enough to make herself an enchanter. But, I can not emphasize this enough, none of that matters if she didn't also play the Game and impress enough people.

Vivienne could have been the most brilliant mage in the history of Thedas and it means nothing if she was overlooked by nobility.

So when Bastion made her his mistress, she gained not just a lover but also a means to an end. Now she can use her magic to protect herself. Now she can roam where she wants and not be question for it because she's Madame Vivienne. Now, she can walk into the Orlasian court and belong there.

And what happens? Celene notices her and makes her the Court Enchanter, a position that has always been the equivalent of a jester. Vivienne took that title, ignored that it was essentially a glorified insult to who she is, and made it a position of power. She made the Court Enchanter into an advisor, a political rank. She had done the impossible and made mages an actual political entity in the Orlasian Court, something that wasn't seen outside of Tervinter (not counting what players can do under very specific conditions if they made mages in DAO and DA2).

All that, however, only continues as long as the court recognizes her as something worth their attention. Vivienne needs to maintain her act as Madame De Fer, The Lady of Iron, the Court Enchanter, The Jewel of the High Court, because the second she just becomes Vivienne, it's over for her. The assassins coming raining in, her name gets devoured by rumors and gossip, and she'll be found dead at bottom of the stair case with a dagger in her back if she's lucky.

So of course when the Circles fall apart during the Rebellion, she clings to that Loyalist Mages to maintain that structure--of course she moves her pieces to the Inquisition, knowing that if the Circle DOES fall, she at least as another place for herself and mages latch onto--of course when she hears that Celene replaced her with a new Court Enchanter that appeared out of no where, she grows to resent Morrigan.

Like, Morrigan literally pops up out of thin air, makes herself invaluable to Celene, and then plants herself in the place Vivienne had to claw her way up to and create so she could survive. Would you not be resentful when your life's work is usurped by some random witch of the wilds because she happened to charm the Empress? Everything Vivienne strived for all whisked away because the court find a gem who glimmers ever so slightly more than Vivienne.

So yes, Vivienne fears becoming irrelevant because the world has made it so that irrelevance for an Orlesian mage means death.

[tea-cat-arts]

You know what, I've read enough fanfic. I'm confiscating Madame Yu from you guys

Free my girl- she did the things she's being accused of, but not as frequently or severely as the fandom pretends, her actions are being taken out of context, and her depth is being reduced to that of a Colleen Hoover antagonist

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

jon val jon or something

[gingerteaonthetardis]

The X-Files Season 3 + close talking

[bastart13]

How do you imagine hybrids work in love and legends? We've seen elf/humans.

So there are 6 different species and aside from the mermaids, they're all compatable to have children.

I headcanon life expectancy, colouration, and the shape of facial or body features to be gradient traits, so they pretty much randomly combine between the two parents like any other child

Magical traits are probably more binary. So a fairy hybrid child could inherit the eyes, wings, and/or sparkles, or none, with no middle ground. A demon hybrid will usually inherit a faded form of the markings, but they won't always be able to transform or earn horns. Dwarf hybrids might inherit the ability to echolocate vs just having larger ears.

If two species with strong magic have a child, they're more likely to inherit magical traits (e.g. elves and fairies with strong magic vs humans and dwarves with low magic)

Considering the domains are all friendly with each other, I imagine it's fairly common to have mixed ancestry and there's no real taboo aside from the grief of lifespan differences

[gingermintpepper]

Tbh, I'm kind of obsessed with the almost tragedy of Eiland and Caldarus in Fields of Mistria. Eiland's dedicated his life to uncovering the secrets and stories hidden in Mistria's archeology - he's single-mindedly devoted to it, so much so that even his side hobbies are influenced by his love of history and desire to know more about Mistria's but it's that devotion that makes him so blind to the magic right in front of him.

It's Eiland's sharp eye that sees Caldarus' statue behind that tree on the farm. It's Eiland who whacks away at the bark with the axe fruitlessly until he's assisted. It's Eiland who coaxes the player to help repair Caldarus' statue and subtly ropes them into joining his History Society. It's Eiland who is devoted to the steles, who gets so excited at the prospect at uncovering a new piece of old Mistria's puzzle that he cuts his outing short to rush to the museum. It's Eiland who realises that all of the different eras of artefacts dug up in Mistria's soil must mean that Mistria itself was once the cradle of civilisation for Aldaria.

And yet, with all of that knowledge, he's still so, so blind to what's right in front of him. He doesn't realise that Juniper is a witch, he merely knows that she is familiar with all manner of the arcane and assumes it's a scholarly pursuit like his instead of what it actually is - Juniper's lifestyle, Juniper's culture. And ultimately, I think that's why he's blind to Caldarus and the magic right in front of him.

Eiland isn't taking the time to stop and really think about what all these artefacts and armaments mean. He isn't considering that remnants of old Mistria still live, he isn't even able to grapple with the question of whether or not it's right for him to dig up the armour at the stele when it's clearly hidden there for a reason. Eiland is completely detached from the history he's searching for and that's why, even with magic and the truth about Mistria right in front of him, he'll remain blind to it.

[inkskinned]

am i gonna put you in the book acknowledgements am i gonna be able to say your name without flinching am i ever gonna get a word in edgewise am i ever gonna recover the time i spent with you. computer virus kid; i arrived in your life already begging to be let in. somehow insecure i could even be your friend. like you had a line outside the door and we were all shifting our weight, begging.

you're so fucking good at that - at making people feel like they need to earn you, like you're a commodity none of us can afford. no kindness or careful communication could work on you - you were so good at just going-ghost, about deciding someone just wasn't cool-enough. something about that is super ironic. even the parts of it that weren't romantic felt like a romance book. i wanted you to like me so badly i scrubbed myself clean just so you'd spare me - what. your favor? a look?

okay okay okay. it's just a friendship - if it was even true that we were friends, if you even saw me as someone you trusted. on reddit someone would tell me girl literally just cut her out of your life, it's not that difficult. even i was aware of how fucked up the whole situation was. like, why the fuck do i even care about your approval? you're like, not even that fun to be around. you are often a little bit cruel.

but for almost four years of my life, i thought i had found someone like me. somebody who liked the same things i do. someone who liked to read and who liked making jokes with esoteric references and who spent maybe too much time on the internet and who was absolutely a little bit pretentious. i don't know, something about that was powerful and addictive.

i keep thinking about our last conversation. about how i said - okay, enough is enough. you pushed me too far, you really hurt my feelings.

and how you laughed and said - you think you're the victim?

[s0fter-sin]

ghost stares at the ceiling, chest heaving in a harsh pant; sweat ice on his clammy flesh and soaked into the sheet he restlessly kicks away.

ears still ringing, his fingertips blindly drift down to trail along his vivisection scar. he half-expects blood to smear in their wake. his own line of solomon, who ordered him split in twain; half of him given to a grieving mother and half left with the grieving to be.

just for both his broken halves to be rejected.

what did it make him that his mother grieved him more than she loved him? that she begged to be relieved of him more adamantly than she begged to receive him? why did his worth spill out with his drawn blood? why was his pain lesser than hers?

his hand flexes, digging into the raised scar like it’ll part beneath his fingertips to plunge into his mangled insides. no one knows the cruelty of reforming the halved; his name, his being, not nearly as important as his body when he was stripped from himself. no one knows the pain of healing and understanding losing pieces of yourself means losing your value along with them.

how many more pieces did he have to lose before he was halved once more? before his very presence incurred grief so strong it was better to be rid of him than cradle his bloodied remains?

did the infant fight himself? did he age always at odds with himself; his halves never truly whole? he hopes he wasn’t, that he was spared the loss of self; the fear that one may be welcomed over the other.

who will he lose when the inevitable comes? when he’s ripped apart again? simon? or ghost? is it better to be cursed with choice just like his mother or live with an aftermath chosen for him? does it matter if in the end, he convinces himself there was nothing of him left to lose?

his head lolls to the side and the wild buck of his chest slows. he watches johnny beside him, his face lax with the rare peace of sleep; his cheek squished against the pillow, his lips pursed as long breaths escape him.

johnny. soap. never torn asunder but two all the same.

he carefully reaches out and ghosts his fingers along the jagged scar on his chin. even in sleep, he presses into his bloodied touch. he’s never fled his half-flesh, never shies away from his gore as it spills unbidden from his cleaved torso. he holds on where his mother let him go; cups his stomach to hold his insides in place and never minds the blood that drips through his fingers.

simon will never let him become his own solomon and cannibalise himself. he will never let him question which half of him has more value; which pieces he can afford to lose before he’s cast aside.

ghost’s soap. simon’s johnny. his.

whole, in any incarnation.

[realbeefman]

stacy is sooo interesting because she's in love with house but knows that they will never ever be able to have a healthy, stable, sane relationship because they're too similar so. she finds house-lite instead and marries him and. essentially moves on with her life! and is successful in this because she's a moderately well-adjusted person!

wilson, in contrast, never manages to escape the inevitable, in spite of his best efforts to find a house-lite of his very own, because he's an absolute fucking freak and ends up glued to house to the bitter. bitter end

[laurelindorenan]

Things I'm learning while lifting weights

I lifted weights for like 6 months a little over 4 years ago. I really liked it, but I had to stop because it was taking too much of a toll on my body. For a while, I thought that lifting heavy weights was incompatible with living with fibromyalgia, but at the beginning of this summer, my family strongly encouraged me to try again – but this time going way more slowly and gently.

After 9 weeks, I'm almost at the level of strength I was at before I quit and I've completely fallen back in love with weightlifting. I'm learning so much about how to live well and thrive with chronic illness (and my own destructive thought patterns / tendencies that hold me back from living well in the body God has given me). I thought it would be really good for me to write them down.

I simply can't lift weights out of a desire to escape my physical weakness, to become a different person, or to prove something. When I used to lift weights, I kept pushing more and more and not listening to my body until I ended up frazzled and in even more pain. I think that's because I was doing it for the wrong reasons. Sure, I did it because it was fun and because I liked the way it made me feel –– but, inwardly, I also really wanted to prove something to myself and to others. I wanted somehow to escape the body I was in into a better, stronger, illness-free body and I (subconsciously) looked to weightlifting for deliverance. And, when I wasn't getting to those goals fast enough, I pushed too hard and made myself weaker, not stronger. In order to do this rightly, I can't focus on being as strong as other people as a benchmark of my own success. (I'm weaker than the average woman and even now can't even do a pushup – I have to think about what's success for me or I'll always be frustrated.) I can't fixate on how it changes my body as a benchmark of success. (My body builds visible muscle suuuuuper slowly and if I made that a goal, I'd be exasperated really fast. I might be at this for years and never ~look~ like I lift weights and I have to be 100% content with that). And I can't do this because I want to make myself autonomous and invincible. No matter how muscular I get, on a bad pain day, I'll still probably be shaky and struggle to stand. I will still need to rely on people and rely on God. And that's a good thing! My weaknesses are a beautiful opportunity for God and others to show their love to me. I could be a bodybuilder and I will always be fundamentally weak because I will always be a human being. I can either praise God for that or rebel against it (and inevitably end up injuring myself and hurting people).

The only healthy motive for weightlifting for me is love and joy. I lift weights because there are people who love me who really care about my frail body getting stronger and healthier. I lift weights because I love God and he loves my body and so I want to take care of it. I lift weights because I want to get better at helping friends move and picking up small children and have more strength and energy and vitality to offer up in service. I lift weights because I know people with fibromyalgia tend to age poorly because of lack of strength and mobility, and I want to love well the future children that God gives me (whether physical or spiritual; I of course have no guarantee of the former). I also lift weights because it helps me delight in living in my body (a good gift that I often am insufficiently grateful for) and remind me that my body is still capable of good things. (But again, not because I have anything to prove to myself.)

I have to be shockingly gentle with myself. Four years ago, I thought the whole point of weightlifting was to BREAK MYSELF DOWN and BUILD MYSELF UP. I was very macho about the whole thing (and also masochistic – sometimes I did it because I was mad at my chronically ill body and wanted to break it down and replace it with a better one). And sure, it takes discipline, and I am pushing my muscles out of their comfort zone – but it also takes just as much gentleness. If I try to bully my body into doing more than I can handle on a bad pain day, I do it with bad form and I injure myself. If I don't give myself good rest days, my muscles won't build. I'm learning that I have to stop and listen to my body and say, "okay, this isn't working for you. I don't have to hit this goal today. Let's go lighter". On my rest days, I do a lot of restorative yoga and make sure all the sore muscles get stretched out and can properly relax before I ask anything more of them. It's forcing me into a different relationship with my body: rather than treating my body as my own to control and abuse, I have to see it as God's possession that he gave me to nurture.

I have to be shockingly patient with myself. I have found one of my biggest sins is impatience. I want RESULTS and I want them NOW. But "fast" means very little in weightlifting and "sustainable" means everything. If I go too fast, I destroy my muscles instead of building them up. I messed up on weightlifting the first time around because I kept thinking in the short term. In order to do this well and faithfully, I have to stop thinking in terms of days and weeks and start thinking in terms of months and years and decades. Example: I started dumbbell Romanian deadlifts the other day and I did too much weight right off the bat. That wrecked my body all week so now I know that I have to start way slower than I anticipated. Next time I do deadlifts I'm gonna do it at 1/2 the weight. I'm really eager to get to the point where I can lift barbells and not just dumbbells, but I have to be okay with it taking a looong time. I want to be able to do full pushups and pull-ups and I think it would be extremely epic if I could someday deadlift my own body weight. But I have to be content with where I'm at now. It's humble and it's good and I'm honoring God by my quiet faithfulness, even if there aren't many flashy results yet. Again, this is SO antithetical to the way I'm wired. I have a live fast and die young kind of personality. I want to burn myself out in a blaze of glory rather than submit to long, slow, sustainable labor. All this was intensified when I first became chronically ill because I lost the ability to imagine a long-term future for myself. This year I've witnessed the pain in the eyes of the people who love me when I've chosen burnout and self-destruction over slow, patient, humble work and I've realized I have to change the way I view my own body and my own future. I have to discipline myself to look into my own future and see life and hope in it, because that's the true picture of reality and despair is both impatient and fraudulent. Weightlifting is a discipline that forces me to think long term.