#irass

[coffeenuts]

[finallygaveintothesirencall]

Davrin Week: Day 5

Woodworking, Bestiary, Singing

Davrin doesn’t know the name of it, but it’s a lullaby his mother sang to him that he then sang to the hallas. I think it might be my favorite song in all the world now. Elgara vallas, da'len Melava somniar Mala taren aravas Ara ma'desen melar Iras ma ghilas, da'len Ara ma ne'dan ashir Dirthara lothlenan'as Bal emma mala dir Tel'enfenim, da'len Irassal ma ghilas Ma garas mir renan Ara ma'athlan vhenas Ara ma'athlan vhenas

Journal entry is by me, the Dalish lullaby is Mir Da’len Somniar from World of Thedas Vol. 2

@datvcompanionweeks, @bluerose5

[antivan-sprig]

🔥 A Bit More Pyromancy 🔥

Ah this one got sort of long, sorry for that! I added the slightest bit of Heloise & Lisel lore by saying they learned ballet together. You can disregard if that goes against your canon for Heloise. For Lis, Viago is the only reason she learned ballet and I thought it would be cute if they had classes together now and then. Anyway here’s some elven angst:

@a-mumbling-nerd : “Divination?" The small Antivan assassin's halla brown eyes watched the flames flicker and dance before her. She had not seen this art in practice. Just what could the fire reveal?

Taking her gaze away from Liesel and her hearth she attempted to find any object that she would not mind parting. In her pocket was a remnant of the tea leaves she used that night or well morning. It was technically morning by the time she and Coren had left their separate ways, "Will these suffice?"

With the fellow elven girl's approval, Heloise gently dropped a single tea leaf into the flames, watching it disappear within seconds.

Lisel watched Heloise as she sat down and smiled. She looked as if she were worried about messing something up, the way she scanned her eyes back and forth and over the scattered pillows Lisel had arranged.

“I appreciate you agreeing to come tonight.” Lisel said in a quiet voice, doing her best to make Heloise comfortable.

As soon as the leaves hit the flame a strong aroma of lavender wafted out of the fire; calming and distinct. Lisel hoped this meant things wouldn’t go awry, but knowing the background of most Crows, she knew the session was likely to get unpleasant.

Lisel looked at Heloise with a look of remorse, “I’m not sure you’ll like everything I’m about to say…”

She offered a slight apology before gazing into the yellow fire. “We can stop whenever you want- if need be.”

Almost immediately, Lisel felt something coming through. A slow melodic humming which began to seemingly twirl about them. The tune was somewhat familiar to Lise, but she couldn’t quite place it. The pair sat quietly, listening to the song as it modulated in pitch and volume and passed over them. Lisel glanced over to her companion, she looked somewhat surprised- a bit pallid even, but overall nonplussed.

“That was faster than I’d expected.” Lisel whispered to herself. Soon enough more words began to spill out of her mouth.

“Your goal has always been survival. But your dreams want more- happiness, hope, connection.” Lisel recited in an even voice, “Childhood dashed at six years, from then on you learned quickly the ways of the world. Stay useful or leave, kill or be killed, the weak don’t last long in Antiva.”

Purple fire began to arise from the pyre, eliciting a sudden shift from the burning logs. Little sparks bounced out of the flames as if they were trying to escape. Liselath regarded them with a questioning gaze, why were they so scared?

She shot a concerned glance towards the elf, trying to muster a look of wordless compassion. Her blue eyes met the other’s brown ones, and Lisel was relieved to see how resolute they looked.

“She’s holding up better than I am.” Lisel thought.

The flames rose higher, giving off a blistering heat; hot enough that the leather on each of their clothing began to tighten. It was almost unbearable.

A low rumbling began to beat out of the fire. So ominous that it sent a chill down each of their spines. All at once, the humming noises from before began again. This time much clearer and encompassing both of them from all sides. They sat motionless as the hums morphed into Dalish, and Lisel suddenly realized why she recognized the tune.

“A Dalish lullaby?” She asked aloud as blurry memories of Dalish mothers and their children filled her mind. Heloise gave a definitive nod- quick and concise, before shifting her eyes back to the fire.

The voice continued on, haunting and melodic:

Tel'enfenim, da'len

Irassal ma ghilas

Ma garas mir renan

Ara ma'athlan vhenas

Ara ma'athlan vhenas

As quickly as it had appeared the voice was gone. Lisel looked around, as if seeing if it was hiding somewhere but stopped abruptly. She felt as if she’d become prey to something. Lisel didn’t dare move, she was sure that doing so would only invite an attack. Something else was lurking beneath the surface; with a bit of intuition and focus she recognized it: fear. A total and instinctual fear which began in her hands and feet and clutched up to her neck.

She brought an open hand to her forehead and grimaced, it hurt like hell. She squirmed, her skin burning as the sensation of a knife cut across her face. It was like getting a Vallaslin all over again, but somehow worse given the emotions which accompanied the feeling. There was no sense of pride or accomplishment, this pain wasn’t representative of growth and maturity, instead it was one of cruelty and control. The feelings Lisel were picking up on were not ones of pride and resilience, but total primal terror.

A low crackle began to emit from the fire, growing in intensity with each passing second. For the briefest of moments a voice could be heard, gruff and commanding.

“Make her look Dalish” it instructed. And then, with an intensity which made Liselath’s heart sink, the shrill sound of a child’s scream.

Lisel clasped her hands over her ears. She felt sick. Even watching from afar felt like a revictimization of Heloise and Lisel didn’t know how to stop it. The fire burned uncontrollably in the pyre, threatening to spill over and catch the hanging fabrics and pillows which littered the ground. The smell was acrid and overcast it billowed out in thick blooms of smoke and collected above their heads.

“They’re not? They’re not Vallaslin are they?” Lisel stuttered, grabbing hold of her forehead as she felt the sensation of blood dripping down her face, “I had no idea.”

The screams continued on, growing more hoarse as the memory slipped away. Once they’d faded completely the only noise left was the familiar crackling of the fire. The smoke had dissipated and the fire resumed its typical golden color.

Lisel brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and regarded Heloise with concern. She wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure what Heloise would even want to hear at this moment. Without fully thinking, she poured out her canteen over the fire. A singular stream of smoke rose up, smelling of soft lavender.

The pause between them lasted longer, before Lisel finally sputtered “I’m surprised that I didn’t have to bring up hiding under the table!”

The comment fell flat and Lisel knew it, but at least it diverted attention away from what the two had just experienced together. This was the same girl she’d learned to dance beside, and after all these years of quiet glances and polite hellos, Liselath felt guilty that she’d never once realized the extent of her trauma. She was more like Lisel than she’d previously assumed, and she’d squandered the chance to express that.

Of course, none of this was shared. Doing so would require quite a bit of effort on both of their behalf, and Lisel didn’t want to put that on Heloise. Not right now at least. Instead Lisel offered a polite goodbye.

“Sorry about all that.” She shrugged, offering one final apology before she hurried down the stairs.

[theunsinkablesappho]

Davrin Week 2025 Day 5 Drabble (Prompts: Woodworking, Bestiary, Singing)

“Tel’enfenim, da’len, irassal ma ghilas.”

Davrin’s hand worked the knife carefully through the wood. He sat easily on a stump, a baby gryphon slowly emerging from the wood. And the gentle song on his lips filled the still air around him.

“Ma garas mir renan, ara ma’athlan vhenas,” he continued, following the lullaby without having to think about it. Clustered around his feet and stump the baby gryphons sprawled atop each other. Directly between his feet Assan was stretched out flat on his stomach, his little wings laying across Davrin’s boots while wood shavings piled on him.

“Ara ma’athlan vhenas.”

@datvcompanionweeks

[bubblecat-co]

Injury Dialogue prompt: Aria de Riva, pt. 1

Thanks to @larknnightingale for the prompt. I love putting Aria through horrors and this was a perfect way to do it. :>

The full list of prompts are here. I'm working on 1 and 13 for Aria. and 11, 25, and 29 for Elysia.

12. Where are they? Where are they?!"

CW, slight suicidal ideation, It's not like explicit but it's there

Aria was surrounded by complete darkness she felt herself slipping in and out of consciousness, this was just great. Judging by the pain coursing through her body and the way her mind seemed unable to focus on anything she was severally injured. She wasn’t staying conscious for long enough to have a look at the state she was in. Maker or Falon'din or whatever divine being have mercy on her and just let her die quick.

Voices seemed to float around her, surrounding her. They were faint and muffled she was unable to pick up what was being said. She could feel hands grabbed her but just as she felt the sensation it faded being replaced with a feeling of someone gently running their fingers through her hair as the sound of humming sliced through her mind. A dalish lullaby.

“Elgara vallas, da’len. melava somniar. mala tara aravas. Ara ma’desen melar.” her mother’s voice singing to her once again. A feeling of peace hearing her mother’s voice and hearing the words to a lullaby that she had been struggling to remember since she was ten only able to hum the melody from the shackles of her memory. Was she dreaming? A lose hopefully dream to distract from the pain she felt or was she slowly drifting off to the sweet comfort of death finally ending the game of chase that seemed to haunt her life. “Tel’enfenim, dalen. Irassal ma ghilas. Ma garas mir renan. Ara mathlan vhenas.”

“Hey kid…” a new voice flooded into her mind, far away and faint, It wasn’t an antivan accent she couldn’t place were the accent was from at all. It wiped away the sound of her mother’s singing and the feeling of fingers in her hand fell away as she felt a pressure on her abdomen.

“Is she going to be alright Ser?” another unfamiliar voice this one was antivan, meek and nervous much different than the first one. “Her clothes… she’s a crow.” the voices faded out once again as the sound of her mother’s singing flooded back into her mind. She must be dying and her mother was there to comfort. Viago was going to be so pissed, but this is what she wanted. This is why she jumped into those Antam. Viago’s anger wouldn’t matter if she finally got what she wanted. 

“Where are they? Where are they!” she could hear the faint sound of Viago, unsure if his voice was real or just her mind mimicking the sound of her guardian’s voice. Her mother’s hum stayed so it must just be her mind messing with her. That was until her eyes fluttered open, and she was face to face with Viago. “You idiot.” his voice didn’t hold the harshness she expected to find, and his face wasn’t in a scowl. 

“Vi-” 

“You’re my responsibility. Varric how does it look?” He turned to look at an older dwarven man.

“Well hello to you too talon, I’ll be honest it’s pretty bad. How ya holdin’ up kid?” the dwarf, Varric, looked over at her. So much sympathy laced in his eyes, but he kept a small smile on his lips.

“I-” she felt nothing but a fiery pain all throughout her body and slowly the realization dawned on her, she was alive, and she had failed. “Like shit.” she grumbled out. Slowly she began to try to sit up. The pain increased, shooting all throughout her body, her vision blurring.

Varric held his hand out trying to stop her from moving anymore. “Whoa there, kid.” His voice sounded muffled, but she could just barely see his lips move.

“I’ll be fine.” her voice was weak and strained as she spoke, trying to push down the pain as best she can. Ultimately it failed as her vision went black and all the sounds around her faded out once again as she slipped into unconsciousness. 

[arealcrow]

“I learned how to turn gritted teeth into a smile every time Varric called you Rook and used the same breath to call me Bishop. Does he think because I'm dalish I never learned chess? I was damp in Treviso for months, of course I learned chess to try and forget what it felt like to be dry. He might as well have introduced us as 'good mage' and 'slightly less good mage'." Imeric hopes they sound less desperate to fix their callous words than they think they do. "And then he had the audacity to dump the fate of the world on your shoulders? And you took it! You picked it up because who are you to say no to the next insane challenge that bares its teeth at you?" Imeric squeezes Rhava's fingers, heart hammering. Anything. Anything. Anything. - Imeric gasps as the torn edges of the memory scrape against their mind. The anguish rings so loudly in their ears, but the desperation tastes wrong… Anything. Anything. Anything. For Rhava. - Imeric drags their body off of their seat and walks forward, their pace desperate, like an injured beast who knows salvation is just a few agonizing steps away. They grab Rhava forcibly and pull them into the tightest hug they can manage. They draw a shuddering breath, curling their face into the crook of his neck, fingers twisting into the frayed locks of his braid and worn cloak. They try to crush their body against his, desperate for the contact, for there to be no space between them at all. Because they've been a world apart for so long--and because the way Rhava is talking makes it sound like they will be again. "Ir ma halani'an, dar bellanaris," Imeric mumbles against their throat. "Irassal ma ghilas, ara ma'vhenas."

(writing by @qunaributts , featuring our gay elves. dalish translations and bonus unedited pic under the cut)

Dar ma’vhenas (are you still my home?)

Ir ma halani'an, dar bellanaris (i will always be your refuge/place of help until eternity)

Irassal ma ghilas, ara ma'vhenas (whever you go, i will be a home for you)

[hoboblaidd]

a kiss on the forehead as the other sleeps!!!

A day passed, and still Nanna did not wake. Dhavihal had done what she could, as had the Inquisition’s resident healer. All Solas could do was wipe the sweat from Nanna’s feverish brow.

“Na’nadas then, vhenan,” said Dhavihal, her hand brushing the nape of his downturned neck. You should sleep.

Solas simply shook his head, if he heard her at all. Dhavi sighed and squeezed his shoulder before she left. An attempt at comfort that could not reach him.

He rested his hand against the pail of water set beside her bedroll, cooling it with a simple spell. Taking a fresh rag from the neatly stacked pile Cole had brought, Solas ran it through the chill water. He hummed beneath his breath as he focused on his task.

Mala taren aravas Melava somniar

He held the rag over the bucket for a moment, letting the excess water drain from it, humming all the while.  

Iras ma ghilas, da’len Ara ma’nedan ashir?

He brushed aside the curls that stuck to her forehead and rested his hand on her cheek. Her skin was hot with fever and slick with sweat. 

Tel’enfenim, da’len Irassal ma ghilas

He wiped the cloth across her eyelids. His thumb stroked her cheek and his song paused just long enough to lay a gentle kiss on her brow.

Ma garas mir renan Ara ma’athlan vhenas

He placed the cool cloth across her forehead, and tucked her blanket around her shoulders. He returned to his song, and to his vigil. 

Ara ma’athlan vhenas.

The night passed slowly, but the tent remained warm. 

[qubixo1]

Preparing to rest? What you can know about the cultures, Roth Iras

Ramsey solved the economy George Kauge Kamel warmed in America working in America and gives money to investors. To produce retirements for work and an object on top of many people. Most Americans keep their money “Golden” Years “ By retrieved plans and one accounts that set up, with traditional activities and Roth IRASs to be switched vehicles used in many times. Experts recommend to use Roth…

[cmechathin]

Baby, I know places we won’t be found (celric)

Imitou seu aperto e a trouxe mais para perto com ambos os braços, em um abraço apertado que durou alguns segundos. — Talvez tenha sido inesperada quando éramos adolescentes. — Ele deu risada, acariciando seu pescoço com o próprio nariz. — Recentemente o que me impressionou foi… a intensidade. Não era sempre que sentia uma atração tão forte, afinal, que o fazia se arriscar de tal maneira. Essa parte ainda o surpreendia sempre que pensava sobre as possíveis consequências dos encontros secretos e prazerosos que dividiam. — Mas foi fácil ignorar todos esses anos, seu sobrenome tinha muito mais peso do que qualquer coisa. — Ele apenas revirava os olhos ao ver sua expressão arrogante, lembrando-se de que ela era uma Mechathin e voltando a atenção para aqueles que não eram inimigos de sua família. — Isso antes de você me beijar, claro… Ficou difícil ignorar depois disso. Uma chave havia virado após provar da paixão de seus lábios e se tornou impossível estar próximo a ela sem querer que a ação se repetisse. Mais tarde, se tornou insustentável não dividir um quarto com ela por muito tempo. — E você? Já me achava atraente ou só percebeu o que queria mais tarde? — Cedric tinha um sorriso convencido no rosto. Sabia como Celeste se prendia no formato de seu abdômen ou peito, com olhares que se demoravam em seu corpo sempre que tinha acesso a ele nu. Antes disso, apenas um beijo tirava seu fôlego, assim como acontecia com ele, e a Mechathin se esforçava para fingir que não o queria. De seu desejo, ele nunca teria dúvidas.

Quando adolescente, jamais imaginaria que os olhos que a encaravam do outro lado da festa carregavam mais coisas que pura repulsa. Celeste sempre foi linda, é claro, e estava acostumada a chamar atenção desde pequena tanto por sua beleza quanto por sua posição, mas nunca tinha pensado que Cedric Bondurant estava em sua lista de admiradores. Admiração essa aparentemente guardada a sete chaves até para ele mesmo. Ela entendia perfeitamente como o peso do sobrenome podia afetar a percepção das coisas.

Quando isso mudara? Quando o sobrenome “Mechathin” deixou de ser um obstáculo impossível de ser ultrapassado? Sempre tinham se provocado, mas nunca havia passado na mente de Celeste de que talvez ali pudesse ter um fundo de verdade, para ambos. O primeiro passo jamais viria dela, então. O que tinha acontecido para Cedric começar a pensar em realmente tentar conquistá-la?

Ela soltou uma risadinha silenciosa com a fala do mago. “É claro”. Depois do primeiro beijo, havia sido impossível deixar de pensar nele, mas o segundo, quando ela mesma tinha ido atrás dele para pedir que a beijasse… tudo mudou. Percebeu naquele dia que a atração que sentia por seu rival era real e não pôde mais negá-la, ainda que essa realidade a irasse. Aos olhos dela, tudo que aconteceu após aquele beijo parecia inevitável.

E se nunca tivesse ido?

Celeste foi impedida de entrar nessa espiral ao ouvir seu questionamento e tentou achar um jeito gentil de falar que o odiava demais para considerá-lo atraente, na época.

— Você com certeza não passava despercebido… — ela afirmou. Não havia forma de se encontrar com Cedric em uma festa e não notá-lo. Mais magro e um pouco mais desajeitado que nos dias atuais, ele se destacava do restante das pessoas como o esperado. Lembrava-se uma vez, inclusive, que todos pararam para observar ele, Lucien e mais alguns adolescentes caírem na piscina que nem animais — Mas eu realmente só “percebi o que eu queria” — repetiu o que ele disse, com um sorriso leve ao olhá-lo de baixo e descansar a cabeça em seu ombro — Quando um certo alguém esfregou na minha cara. Talvez… se você tivesse dado em cima de mim antes…

Seu tom de voz era sugestivo, levantando um questionamento para ele, ainda que não aquele que realmente queria fazer: se Cedric decidisse conquistá-la enquanto ainda eram adolescentes, teria ele o mesmo sucesso? Aquela Celeste cairia nas lábias de um jovem Bondurant ou foi apenas com a idade que passou a ser tão insensata?

[hoboblaidd]

The apology cut deep into his heart. Solas paced the prison, wishing he could just see her, even if he couldn’t take her hand like he wanted. He wondered what she looked like now. He wondered if he would be able to meet her eyes.

“Tel’abelas,” he shook his head, though she could not see him. “That was not your fault.”

Solas’ pacing brought him to the stone edifice of a young girl standing in a clearing. Little Nanna Amell as he’d first seen her, as he would always see her. 

“Please don’t apologize to me.”

A soft, distant melody wove around effigy. Irassal ma ghilas. He felt the weight of the little Fade-touched stone in his hand. He felt her hold his hand over her heart. He felt her rest her head against his shoulder as they sat in silence in the deepest part of Skyhold as they shared their final goodbye. Ma melenem in ar'sil.

She had held him in her thoughts. She did not know the memory was poison. But she should.

“Ir abelas. I cannot take back what I have done to you. All I can offer is the truth.”

The statue began to crack, spider webs of crumbling granite snaking from her bare feet to the hand still clutching a wolf totem. And still, the melody persisted. Ma garas mir renan.

“Nanna, I took a choice from you. The first choice.” Solas took a steadying breath, but he did not look away from the statue’s vacant eyes. She deserved no less than what courage he had left. “I determined that the Inquisition could use your knowledge of the Calling and experience facing an archdemon. Given your reputation…” As the ‘Hero’, a weight she had always eschewed. A title she’d neither wanted nor asked for that stripped her of her personhood and made her into a thing of legend rather than a young woman with her own hopes and desires. The thing he knew she’d enjoyed most in their time together, was the thing he’d sought out first.

 Ara ma'athlan vhenas. And then the melody ground into silence.

“I determined that you would be the most practical tool we could find in Ferelden. So I found you in the Fade. I shaped your dream into one I judged would be most effective: a childhood memory. And in it, I laid a path that felt like it led you home, when instead it led you to Skyhold.”

You have so long observed the world. Why not consider joining it?

He had tilled that familiar garden, and drawn her into a world she had no desire to join. He was no better than…than his past.

Solas reached for her effigy’s hand, but it crumbled into ash at his touch.

Time felt slower in that moment, like the Fade was holding its breath. She had only meant to parse her thoughts. The world as she had known it was a fractured puzzle to reassemble now, and at times, verbalizing the pieces helped Nanna slot things into place. It felt real, that way - for better and for worse. And with Rook's companions scattered back to their corners of the Lighthouse, Nanna had never expected a response.

So she jumped, gasping with a start as though someone and slide ice down her back to hear his voice now. Nanna fought down the brief fear that she'd found another memory, then the instinctive urge to look around for some kind of presence, as though he'd just been hiding on the other side of the statue this whole time. But that was foolish. Of course he wasn't there. This was... some kind of connection, though through what Nanna wasn't certain. She had thought that Rook was the only one who could reach him.

"Solas-?"

Hesitantly, she laid her hand back on the statue, unsure if that had been the key or not. But there were so many things she wanted to say. To ask him. To tell him. The whys and hows and how coulds grasping clumsily for purchase in coherency to reach him. Until-

Da'lathin. How one word could rob so many more from her. A word she hadn't heard in a decade, and one she hadn't expected to so steadfastly find purchase in her heart as though it had been there the entire time.

“I am sorry for that." It was the first thing to stumble its way out into the silent space he left for her. She hadn't meant it to be, but she had wanted it said nonetheless. “That we saw.”

Though they hadn't elaborated, Nanna remembered vividly Casadh's expression when they returned from whatever means they used. It hadn't gone well. And yet, he had come to her not long after. I never wanted you to see that, he had told her in the veil of a dream. It still hung on her, even in the days that followed it. She had never seen his eyes so full of sorrow. I never wanted you to know.

"Whatever was in those memories, they belonged to you." A pause. And then, quieter- "Ir abelas way shra n'elm, hahren." I'm sorry the choice was taken from you.

[coffeenuts]

The King. by Ireneusz Irass Walędzik https://flic.kr/p/2oiswXj

[erdnaxelalexandre]

[solavellanbrainrot]

I don't know who to tag, and it's not Sunday, but I still wanna play, cause the fluff I wrote of Vir'bora's dad finding her is adorable, if I do say so myself.

"What's that, another kitten?"

Irassal shook his head, tips of his ears quivering ever so slightly with excitement. "No, Tylus," he replied, beaming at his husband, "it is our daughter."

Tylus stepped closer, wonder in his coal-dark eyes, as Irassal turned the baby so he could see her slumbering face. "Our daughter?"

"I found her crying, deep in the Necropolis, but she calmed as soon as she saw me. I know in my soul she is meant to be ours."

If you wanna play, I wanna read it! Tag, you're it!

Seven Sentence Sunday! Thank you @sunny374949, m’dear, for dragging me ot of my cave.

This one I blame/thank @sevenheaven7011 for, because she made s post about Emm having distant relatives who maybe could have supported him as a child and did not. Then the rabid plot bunny hit.

So here you go, the new fic I should not be starting yet:

“I would not ask this of you, Rook. But he is all alone. I am his closest relative. He is only a small boy.”

“Like you were?” Rook asks.

There are decades of loneliness in his eyes.

“Yes,” he says.

I tag (no pressure):

@sevenheaven7011

@awardenandacrow

@velvet-apricots

@knotyourdeer

@feral4fiktion

@otterpocketz

@theworldofsis

[999bazsy]

Továbbra is iskola nézés

Anya: Találtam kertészeti sulit Kecskeméten.

Én: Azonnal költözünk oda és be iratsz!

[thathiddencat]

so rwby volume 6. huh.