#theshirallen : love

[queenaeducan]

His love could burn against me like a bonfire.

[theharellan]

Meta about why Solas told Ian the truth in the grove!

meta questions | accepting | @theshirallen

There are several things that inform his decision.

Solas canonically was trying to tell Lavellan the truth in the grove, and then backs off at the last minute. He writes in Veilguard he was considering giving everything up altogether- although, notably, that was just one option for him, indicating he might have continued on with them knowing:

That night in Crestwood, when I shared the truth about your vallaslin... you do not know how close I came to breaking. I could have shared the truth, or even put my plans aside and simply stayed with you as Solas... as I wanted. (x)

The structure of the sentence indicates to me that it wasn't just tell Lavellan the truth and then give up everything, but that he might have worked with them towards something new. The fact that it happens after What Pride Had Wrought, when Solas (if in the party) is the closest to giving himself away I think also informs the decision for him to try to tell the truth. Tell them now, or lose them forever.

There is a point in their relationship where I think it would have resulted in an ending closer to canon for him and Ian- which is when Solas was planning the grove trip before Ian's personal quest. It doesn't pan out, for obvious reasons. Ian is made Tranquil, and then Solas undoes his Tranquility, but at that point Ian is far too fragile for Solas to consider telling him anything for a long while. Like in canon, his hand is forced by their fight after the Well of Sorrows- tell Ian now, or lose him forever. From there, the scene plays out differently.

The Tranquility reversal does tip the scale in ways I don't think Solas could articulate if you asked him. It ties him, Ian, and Love together in a way that he is tied to the fate of the remaining rebels- he has committed himself not in affection but in deed. Ian would exist in an entirely different state of being had Solas not taken direct action to change the circumstances of his life. Just like he did with the rebellion. He owes it to him (to them) to see it through. I've said to you before that through his Tranquility and the reversal of it, Ian becomes a metaphor for the world, something Solas hasn't managed to turn his back on yet.

On a more practical level... Ian is not a threat.

I have written before that I don't think the Solas-Inquisitor relationship power dynamics are as simple as "Solas holds all the power, the Inquisitor holds none." Solas holds power because of his knowledge, yes, but he is not the magical powerhouse he was (nor the one he becomes after killing Mythal). The then-Herald's ability to tell him they'd protect him in their first conversation reflects the vulnerable position he was in, the fact that (as alluded to in his Dream Haven convo) his only recourse when he thought that the Anchor might be beyond hope was to simply run and try to find a fallback plan, yet another indication that he was on the backfoot at the beginning of the game.

He gains some semblance of stability through his friends in Inquisition, but they are still the leader.

Tell Inquisitor Lavellan the truth, and he may risk them reacting as the Dalish clan that hunted him after he convinced them of his identity. At a point where he doesn't have the eluvian network and lacks the power of Mythal, that is a risk when the Inquisitor commands the Inquisition's forces, and could use them against him before he is ready for that kind of direct threat. When he tells the Inquisitor the truth, it is when he possesses the power to face them.

This is a risk that Ian doesn't carry.

He is liked by the Inquisition, but he does not command them. If he turns against Solas, Solas could manipulate the Inquisition into taking his side of things (which would break him to gaslight Ian that way, and yet) or simply run, and trust that they won't take a random Dalish apostate's word as reason to start hunting him. Thora, who likes and trusts Ian, certainly wouldn't. Because Ian would sound crazy.

Those are the two biggest reasons. The rest are smaller: Solas knows Ian's belief in the Dalish gods is far from devout; Solas knows Ian is kind; Solas hopes that Ian knows him. They have, in some sense, understood each other from the beginning and he selfishly wants to know if that feeling he's had nurtured they spoke overlooking the dragon valley is his imagination or if he can truly be known and loved.

Thankfully Ian has the answer to that question.

[wittyrogue]

@theshirallen | continued.

It had been a long, long time since he'd last seen Ian, yet it felt just like falling into step again. They might be wearing different shoes, of course, but the gait and pace was familiar. Zevran could still make the little healer laugh, and that was all that counted.

When Ian manages a smile, however strained, he responds with a bright one of his own, encouraging and warm. Waving his hand, he pushed Ian's words out of the way. "Ah, my friend, I have learned many things in all my vast, old years. One of the early lessons? There are more important things than gold. Not many, mind you, but there's not enough coin in Thedas to make me cross a friend willingly."

The beauty and advantage of working for himself now. All contracts he entered into were his choice. Whatever the job offer was, he ultimately got to choose whether or not he accepted. And, of course, for what price. But there was a short list of people that no amount of gold or silver could ever cause him to harm or betray, and Ian could count himself on that list.

As Ian's arms wrapped around Zevran, he squeezed carefully, having noted his friend wincing slightly earlier from the press against his wounds. "I believe you."

He gently ran his hand over the back of Ian's head, keeping in the comfort of his arms for a while longer. "We will figure something out. If these Evanuris can bleed, then I can make them suffer. And if not then... well, I suppose it's time to learn a few new tricks, yes?"

[littlehoundthings]

Did you always hope Lily would be a mage, or did you want a different future for her?

"You're curious today, lethallen."

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "To me, Lily was going to be Lily, no matter what. I had a feeling she was going to be a mage, and I have t'admit that as a parent, I was already plannin' out what I'd do when she did get her magic. After all... Just look at me an' her mother."

"And while The Chantry... Well, while that religion may have villainized magic to many, I've also seen where magic and people walk hand in hand. That was the life I wanted for Lily."

"Regardless of The Chant. Regardless of The Circles. I've always wanted Lily to be proud of who she is. Whether that was as a mage, or simply the daughter of a traveling healer."

"So-- honestly whether or not she was a mage wasn't going to factor into the future I wanted for her. I just want my little girl to be happy, and have enough pride in herself one day choose her own path."

[howetragic]

Nathaniel's eyes sweep over the young elven man once before the hurlock at his feet shift. He looses the arrow into the back of its skull, just where it meets the creature's neck, and it collapses back to nonmovement with a seething grunt.

The Grey Warden does not draw another arrow from his quiver just yet.

"Are you alone here?"

The elf is- hm. Dalish, perhaps? He's dressed... oddly enough, but then so is the Warden. Too young for vallaslin, it would seem, though Nathaniel is admittedly poor at estimating the ages of elves.

"There are more of the creatures about," he reports to the other, the whisperings tugging at his veins not dying with the creatures at his feet. "I urge caution. Where are you traveling to?"

When he left Ferelden, denied the Joining he had spent a year fearing and anticipating, Ian had thought he'd seen the last of Darkspawn. The Blight had ended, after all, and...

And he was leaving. He was going home.

Not that he's made it far. Kirkwall had pulled him in, stalling his feet and his hope with the uncertainty of which direction next to move. In all the years he's spent trying to return to his clan, he's never made it so close as the shores of the Marches, and yet somehow it feels as if he remains too far to manage the next step.

Even when he leaves the city, seeking the hills in need of open spaces and wind through his fur, his feet carry him back. And these hills are less safe than they ought to be. Darkspawn, even here. Even still.

He growls even as he takes back his own skin, fingers crafting intricate patterns that raise his barriers, too familiar with the vicious way their blades will bite.

He is not without his own abilities, though, did not survive a Blight without the knowledge of how to end their threat. Ice tips his fingers as he fashions a blade, but the creatures fall before he strikes, arrows in their backs flung from a bow that remains at the ready. Ian shakes his fingers, dismissing the frost, though he does not lower his barrier. He's already been seen with his magic, too late to assume innocence, and he eyes the approaching man. A Warden, then. The first he's met on this side of the sea, though his accent betrays his Ferelden roots.

"I'm alright." Ian's answer comes quietly, gaze locked on the arrow. Its tip does not currently seek his heart, but he's not foolish enough to believe it would miss, should it loose. "Glad of--glad of the Wardens, if the Darkspawn are going to--going to remain."

[weptfreedom]

VG was actually written the way it was because Alanari and @theshirallen, as two people who love Solas in their own way, together would be Too Powerful and incinerate the remaining Evanuris by vibes alone

[queenaeducan-writes]

last line tag game

tagged by @inquisimer thank yoooou

this is from a little oneshot/three parter i'm working on before work this morning.

"You love me," Ian says. The sentiment, spoken with as much certainty as the force of gravity, does not fail to flip Solas's stomach around itself. "Do you love me more now that I've kissed you, or... or less?"

tagging @darethshirl @theshirallen @valorcorrupt @nixeofmidgard @tortoise-teapot

[mercysought]

In ancient elvhennan, a nameless priestess of Falon'din is lead to elgar'nan's temple during a diplomatic visit - the goal is to be within those of lower rank and gather any and all information about how the enlightened army fights. this drabble takes ideas from concepts of the Evanuris virtues from Joly (@theshirallen) and Tas (@theharellan), that is their original concept as far as I know and I take no ownership from it. this was also very inspired by a spider in the roses by joly!

   "Don't make yourself too appetizing."

Longing was beautiful. Beautiful in the way that the heart grew warmer at the thought of a loved one that one could not hold any longer. Fuzzy, distant, but warm all the same, a light to follow. Her hair was cut at her shoulders, a light grey that shimmered with light itself - the shades turning and shifting with each movement. The nameless priestess, walking ahead of the small entourage as they entered Elgar'nan's grounds, looks up to her for the first time.

She wants to play stupid, but the thought that she would inflict that on Longing soothes the sharpness of her tongue, the anxiety in her mind.

   "Yes, my Lady." she says, simply, leveled. Dark eyes behind a faceless, featureless helmet falling once more to the ground.

   "You are a valuable piece of this board." she continues, brushing past her words and assurances. She doesn't look to her and she cannot make her features. Beside her, Ambition moves silently. Longing sighs, exaggeratedly, her hands folding over her the front of her body, disappearing in the lavish purple silk of her sleeves, into the dark emerald, almost black fabric. Her eyes finally fall on the nameless woman and she feels them burning, and so she refuses to lift her dark eyes "And if you die now, we will be poorer for it."

You will have failed. The words are clearer when put that way. She knows. She glances up to Ambition who watches her closely, though loses interest quickly as his voice rises to a whisper.

   "She will be fine, Longing." he says, tone unaffected, distant himself. His robes are plain, starkly plain in comparison to Longing's. Almost close to the ones of the newest recruits that accompanied them. Made to fit him exactly, comfortable "She is less than nothing to most of them." he adds, giving a small hint of a smile that stokes the anxiety in her chest further - though tending into something else: nervousness, the good kind "If anyone can do this, it's her."

  

  

   "Longing. Ambition." the man that receives them at the opening of the temple could never hope to match the splendor that Longing and Ambition carried with them. And so, the nameless woman does not bother.

Instead her eyes travel across from him from behind the darknened helmet. She counts the number of priests, weapons. Exits and windows. She counts how many seemed to be combatants - given it was Elgar'nan's temple she would presume that even the lowest of archivist would have been given training and been told to defend the temple if it were needed.

It would not be needed. Not today.

   "It is always a pleasure to have you visit in Enlightened Halls." he says and the tone is flat, though it does not threaten to throw Longing's smile into imbalance.

Some of them were not Elgar'nan's. She could see some wearing Mythal's robes. They did not seem combatants, but they didn't seem to be lower ranked people. They would not be, given that they were left unattended.

   "You are too kind. Also, we come with a fun activity for your temple." her hand waves towards the nameless woman and the figures that stand behind her. She can hear some shuddering, her body remains as it had been - her head lowered, shoulders straightened, eyes now locked on the man in front of her.

He looked as unimpressed to her as she looked upon him from the safety of her helmet.

   "These are some of the newer recruits, resilient little ones."

With a movement of her hand she motions for them to stand in a line, and so the priestess does, along side the shuffling of other's tired feet. She mirrors them, hearing the clinking of armour, the coldness of the stone beneath her bare feet. Odd. How the stone was meant to reflect the artificial sunlight that poured from above, meant to simulate the heat and yet all she felt beneath scarred and bruised feet was cold.

   "I know how much the Enlightened army loves to have a live target." she hears Longing continue, no longer looking at them "Ah, the only thing I would ask..." her hand raises, as if hesitant "Is that they are returned to me alive, I grow attached too easily and, alas, I have already seen their faces, you understand?"

She smiles sweetly, so sweet it might have been saccharine when compared to the sour expression from the receiving Elgar'nan's priest.

   "You tither ever so close to calling us mindless mongrels, Longing." his teeth grind, tongue clicking. The nameless woman's eyes return once more to them, leveling her breathing. There was a lot of lip on that man for someone that dared speak to one of the Virtues like that "We would not kill your entourage for our own enjoyment, obviously."

   "Oh, I would never suggest such a thing."

   "Longing is sensitive and easily overwhelmed by the thought in their enthusiasm they may lose themselves." Ambition cuts with a warm tone, hand disappearing into the large sleeves at Longing's arm "Can we drop the act and move on to what actually needs to be done here?" his voice lowers, teeth cutting the words through the sharpness of the smile. Looking to him and then back to Longing "I tire of hearing you both prattle."

The mouth on the man opens, as if he is to give Ambition something to think about, but closes after a few seconds. Good. The nameless woman returns to her shuffling, unmasking the discomfort of multiple days travel.

   "I can assure there is no army which holds their craft more finely than that of the All-Father's." he finally says, with an unaffected tone but a sharp, proud smile as the following words are spoken "As it's been proven, time and time again."

Ambition smiles. Longing mirrors it, following closely in shape and shadow "Of course."

   "This way."

  

  

It is a familiar taste, a familiar sensation; the blood on her tongue, it pooling in the back of her mouth. The leveled breathing. Dodging. Taking the hit. The blood dripping from very light wounds - nothing deadly. The sharks were out in the water, biting at them to see how they would react. Who would be the first to run.

The nameless woman remains in a line - every single one of them still holding onto their faceless dark helmets. Dark eyes followed each of the soldiers that had entered the area. It was a large space, domed in shape with beautiful glass ceiling. Light seemed to pour from within, though outside it had poured. There were no entrances beyond the balconies and the doors they had been brought in.

Beneath her feet there were different textures. Where she stood now was firm, marbled floor. She could see blood in the cracks - blood that had not been neatly cleaned. It meant that it was dirtied often enough that proper care was not needed, not seen as valuable.

   "Creators. What is the fucking point?" a soldier yells. They do not wear a helmet. Why should they? The priests wore no armour, they were all initiates. Badly trained.

The nameless woman's eyes follow them. They are young and unblemished. Itching for a fight. The dark hair is kept short - not surprising.

   "Any time we fight any of them, they don't even fucking scream at being hit!" and, to demonstrate, a pole-arm is whacked against the side of one of the faithful closest to them. Their body bends but no sound pours from the figure. The nameless woman follows their actions carefully, watching and hearing as they continued speaking.

The frustration in their voice loud, building.

   "Might as well be fighting a fucking wall." he scoffs, walking down the line. Meandering, uncaring for a single thing in the world. She kept her head down, watching from the periphery, mirroring exactly the body language of the rest of the priests that had accompanied them "Even a tree would probably put up more of a fight."

He hums, uninterested, walking down the line and stopping on her.

   "You're a short one, aren't you?"

Shorter than any of the rest, in fact. She had always stood smaller, either by a curse of fate or her own health coming to collect - she stood with her head down. The crackling of the blunt side of his pommel slaps against her side. The inside of her cheek is bruised but she doesn't weaver, not beyond what was expected.

Another. Another. Anot- her teeth sink into her lips. The back of her throat throbbing with the collected screams and grunts. Her chest heaves, leaning forward. A small smile of glee and victory passes over his face. Large hand touches the side of her bent helmet, pressing it softly one way and tilting it up to him. Long fingers drag themselves down the side until the opening at the bottom, starting to pull it up.

Her hand snaps against his. Tightening her grip. Surprise flashes on his face, but emboldened he pushes further - the helmet creaks. Her hold tightens, it tightens until his other hand releases the weapon he was holding to grab onto her neck, pulling her up until her feet dangled.

Her lungs start to burn but her mind pushes for her breathing to slow. For her wits to remain. She corrals panic into her chest once more.

   "Ah, there it is—" he says as the helmet splits in two. From beneath, she finally sees his face, unburdened by the helmet. The dark lines of Falon'din's vallas'lin over her face. Dark skin beneath the coloured light from above. Pure ire in the darkness lingering behind her eyes.

Her closed fist hits the soldier's nose.

The spray of red drenches her hand as the hold on her neck is released. The light above them all shines, the floor swiftly becoming nothing but the same burning shade as the dome above them. Breath catches and panic settles as dark eyes fall on the figure in front of her, the bright red almost burns in the space around. What is happening?

The nameless woman can only hear the gurgling of breath against one's throat. The air around them bubbles, starts boiling and her eyes become dry, drier each second as all around her vision threatens to turn completely white. When her eyes close and her bare foot touches the floor - she can smell the blood in the air.

Her body slams against the ground and her eyes snap shut. The red of her eyelids is bright, even as she tightens the hold. One hand wraps around a metallic ankle. Short nails digging, digging further. Her body rolls on the floor, against the other leg too, rolling him down to her level.

More boots on the ground. The clattering of weapons and armour screams. The nameless woman's breathing slows, the noise pushed away with the weight of the struggling body in her grasp. Her legs wrap around the armour, the cold metal against her body was starting to burn against her too. Her back against the floor, her fingers dig only deeper the more they struggle, the more they scream. The pressure on her fingers digs through flesh, into bone and they scream.

Above her only his larger body provides shade from the deep crimson from her closed eyelids.

   "This is what the enlightened army has in their ranks?..." she grunts against the side of his head, the creaking of bone under her fingers. No more pulling back, she would give them a reason to not hold back against her - she would be another lesson to Falon'din for his folly, if it meant that they would show her more than they first intended... "You're fucking pathetic."

She whispers against this Sun's son's ears. Her teeth opening and lodging themselves against the soft shell, and pulling it until it ripped. The screams from this soldier in her arms drowns everything else in the room. With her free hand, she taps the sides of their armour, checking buckles, openings. Structure. It is barely a glimpse beneath coarse fingers, but more than she would have been allowed anyway.

   "That is enough."

The voice rings in the back of her head, cutting through the noise, the heaviness of the blood on her face, on her tongue. Her arms immediately go slack and the form dashes from her. His blessed shadow keeping the sky from turning full red away from her vision. Her muscles hurt, her skin screams from the searing burns against her ill armoured body. The cut of a blade is felt against her side as her body rises from the ground.

She spits the piece of flesh onto the floor. Her mouth is coated with blood. Theirs and hers. This time, she swallows it as she catches her breath.

Her hands do not move to the bleeding wound. One foot on the floor, the cutting of the air - grunting. She dodges. Closed eyes glancing towards where she knows Ambition is watching. One hand grabs her neck. Breath catches and eyes loll behind closed lids. Left arm rises, empowered by the blood pouring from her mouth, twisting it - in the most macabre of dances her head tilts to the side, away from the grasp.

Her body screams in effort. But she doesn't. The hand that holds the half torn piece of her helmet raises. It slams against the side of their body - so she lifts it more and slams it again in hopes of finding their face. Instead they find their fists.

She is surrounded - she can hear them now. One hand on her arm. Another punching her in the stomach. Her legs give out from under her - beads of sweat fall from the sides of her shaved hairline. A grunt torn from her mouth - her body starts to shake as the temperature rises still. Deep breaths - or so she attempts, instead they come out like gurgled struggling, panicked breaths - seeking air that didn't exist. The blood now pours openly from her mouth.

   "Provide a struggle" - the voice commands and so her head tilts, eyes still closed as her face is held up, fingers reach to open her eyes and she digs her lids further shut. A scream is unleashed from her lips, and once it starts it flows as easily as the blood on her tongue.

Pulling from within her, she forces her breathing to slow - the noise to soothe. Her body to work through the heat, slow down enough to provide enough time for whatever Ambition might want to do. She pulls her arms free, tries to. Keeping her head down, to the side attempting to escape but the hands that hold her are too strong "but not too much."

They are talking to her. Screaming at her. But she cannot make out the words, not under the well that she put herself. Not with the slowing of her own breathing. Not with the attention she paid to the only voice in the room that mattered - the one whispering in the back of her head. Her body screamed as her sweat mixed with her blood. There are no tears that she can cry, her own blood is starting to dry against her dark skin. And yet she still screams.

She only stops when one hand is wrapped around her neck. Another one at her mouth.

   "Is this your finely held craft?"

Longing's voice feels like a warm hug, even if it is distant. She doesn't know how long she had been in that agony - only that her voice makes the crimson skies dim. She is in darkness, warmed only by the burns in her body, the dried blood on her body. The roaring of voices and armour all around. Her body is still held and she pulls at her arm - at the resistance the fist holds her body tighter. Her mind swims, swims in the blood in the back of her mouth, in the pain that floods from everywhere "When explicitly told not to destroy your toys?!"

   "You can rest now." Ambition's voice swims along with her, the back of her head by his hands she could almost swear. It scratches in the back of her mind. and so she does, allowing the full weight of her body fall in the simmering darkness "Tomorrow is another day."

Tomorrow is another day.

[ourdawncomes]

a flirtatious kiss on the back of the hand . And the forbidden lovers as well for grim and his aeducan. I love them and I will never not be their nr 1 biggest fan

kiss meme | selectively accepting | @mercysought but also @theshirallen

They are together every day, for most of the day, but rare are the moments when they can touch.

The finest warriors in Orzammar make a line in the throne room, ready to swear their allegiance to the king's second child and only daughter. She had been bathed since the Proving, the blood washed from her blonde hair and, thankfully, her sword. She stands radiant, the paragon of a princess.

Tamar holds her blade steady as, one by one, each warrior kisses its broad side and swear by their house words. Most are steadfast, eyes cast down and appropriately reverent, though some with beards even newer than his say the words with daring eyes, as if there were any hope of catching her attention.

Although he will admit it is tempting.

When the time comes for his allegiance (a little redundant, he had made sterner vows when he became her Second), he tries to play his part as she plays hers. He bends artfully, like his grandfather had taught him, as though the iron case he's in wouldn't sooner drag him to the ground. His breath mists the steel when he kisses it, and the says the words like the prayers the human envoys mutter.

"You fought well today, my lady," he adds, without mention that he had fought beside her. He keeps his eyes in line, but he cannot control his heart and how it hopes her gaze follows him as he parts.

Later, he is beside her again, their company mingled but less formal.

He'd been trying for several minutes now to think of something clever to say, as the older deshyrs bestow the congratulations their younger sons and daughters had in the procession. As Lord Harrowmont utters the nth compliment to the weapon she had wielded that day.

"It's a little strange, all of this," he mutters to her as Lord Harrowmont bows from the conversation to attend to Trian's ego.

Tamar looks at him out of the corner of her eye. "It's pageantry, Gorim. You'll have to be more specific."

"We paid our respects to your blade, and it is a fine weapon, there's no mistaking it. House Turana does Aeducan proud, but..." He looks at her, and she's looking back. "It would be clumsy in another warrior's hands. It's yours we owe our deference to."

Gorim can bow in full plate without breaking his back, but holding his hand out without his gauntlets rattling from shaking is a greater test by far. His breath steadies him, as he offers,

"May I?"

To his surprise, she slips her hand in his.

It's likely the deadliest blow she's struck all day.

He lifts her hand dumbly to his lips, her knuckles soft against his skin. A second breath fills his lungs with a strange scent, a perfume that had to come from the Surface- sweet, airy, impossible to name.

The words come a second too late for her to buy that they are the reason he asked for a second oath, but he says them, nonetheless:

"Mathas gar ma salroka tun atrast."

I will always be at your side.

[theodosiani]

LET'S GET REACQUAINTED ! hey rpc ! lets be honest, datv brought us all back in one way or another either you're a veteran or new, i'm sure there is stuff that has changed or we don't know each other so let's have a game about it to reintroduce each other ! repost this to do the same & tag some pals if you want !

Name / Penname: Sawyer for veterans, did you go by something previously ? if so what was it if you're comfortable sharing that name &/or penname: Used to be known as Sarah, don't mind if folks know but Don't Call Me That. age & gender( if comfortable sharing ): Nonbinary, 29 what was your first dragon age muse: I will be so forreal I don't remember if Averill or Varania's blog came first but I thiiiink it was one of the two of them? do you have any other darp muses / blogs: I run @orxna and I used to write on @rattrunner and @birdfacedelf, and several other muses that I've since moved over to my multi here. what muses / blogs do you have outside of darp: None right now thedas has two moons: true | false - Two moon truther I don't care what any of the newer media says

single line, para, or novella: Honestly, I'm pretty open for anything. I am a person who may spit out a multi para at you out of nowhere and if we haven't agreed to a length beforehand do not feel pressured to match my legnth. I just can't shut up about my muses sometimes. plotting or winging it: I like to plot a lot, I think it's fun to talk about how our muses interact and I think it can give more depth and nuance to any future spontaneous interactions. That being said, I also like just stuff out of the blue it's fun and brings in variety. fighting threads, you bold enough for them?: Depends entirely on the muse but yeah, I do like them. I do like to have some idea of how they're mostly going to go, and I'm ALWAYS happy to have a muse lose if yours is understandably more powerful. I actually think it's quite fun to find creative ways to throw my muses at brick walls so to speak. The desperation builds character. what content warnings are on your blog?: There's a lot of body horror potential from Several muses, I've got blood mages and demons and eldritch abominations so it's not something I shy away from. I do also have some level of child abuse in several of my muses' histories along with themes of slavery and finding personhood after. what things do you need tagged for your comfort?: Just general epilepsy related tags. Flashing gifs, epilepsy warning, etc.

shipping preferences: single | multi | no ship | polyshipshipping boundaries: For the most part, as long as a person shows pretty basic respect of not autoshipping, and actually checking in with me? I'm real open for shipping. I love smashing our barbie dolls together, I like to be able to talk with folks about the ships so like communication is key and all that but I'm not particularly finicky, I guess? I also love all varieties of ships be they romantic or platonic. favorite ships in dragon age: I love HoF/Sten, any HoF I simply don't care it's just a good ship whether it's queer platonic or romantic, I am a VarricHawke truther. I did not like Solavellan when the game first came out but because of all the wonderful rpers in darp I'm pretty feral for it now lol. favorite ships from the rpc( tag your friends ships ! ): My fucking KINGDOM for Solas(@theharellan) and Ian(@theshirallen). I have shipped that shit for almost my entire time in Darp which is buckwild. I love Inara(@valorcorrupt) and Alistair, Merc has given me so much emotional damage over on Orxna about it.

fun facts about yourself that may have changed since in the past ten years( when inquisition dropped )--

This is so hard, lol. Well, I don't live in the south anymore and am, in fact, like an hour from canada now. I also work on a whole ass Farm now, it's pretty great.

be honest, did you miss darp. come on now--

Yeah, I really got my legs writing in darp I think it very much helped shape who I am as a writer. Definitely helped me fine tune what kinds of characters and tropes I enjoy and work on my collaboration with cowriters just as passionate about this series as I am.

challenge round ! put a small top five things unrelated to dragon age !

I have Too Many birds. Three geese, one gander, twenty-six hens, and one rooster.

I also have too many dogs. I have four Hungarian puli and two Scottish deerhound.

I'm working towards getting my vet etch certification in the next few years.

I currently work at a brick fire oven pizza place making pizza and I'm really good at stretching dough HOWEVER I cannot toss dough. I don't have the pizza rizz necessary but I make a really good sausage mushroom alfredo pizza.

Snow was put upon this earth to specifically inconvenience me every morning when I must do bird chores.

tagging: I am really bad at tagging because I have a horrible time keeping track of people who've already answered so just steal if you wanna

[theharellan]

On Benevolence's behalf, Wisdom makes a bid for Love's loyalty | @theshirallen

Mythal has led him to strange places, yet perhaps none so strange as the novelty of the ordinary.

He comes to a small village, the sort of place where one can always hear what is going on at the other end, begetting community— and busybodies, Wisdom thinks with a quirk of his lips.

He walks the little roads as one of the people, his hood hiding his intricate hair and the pointed tips of his ears relieved of their gold cuffs. That they do not mark him as other indicates, at least, that they are not unaccustomed to strangers. The buildings around him are humble, hewn of the woods that surround the hamlet, trees talked into the shape of hovels. The roads at his feet are worn to dirt by the passage of feet and blunt wagon wheels.

A far cry from singing fountains and shining streets, but even the farthest reaches of the kingdom are still possessed of magic. It reminds him of where he began: a mere kindling of a thought behind the eye of the dwarven people, stirred to being by the desire to make something of the new ways of the world.

It seems a curious place to find a spirit worthy of Mythal’s attention. But then, had they not met at such a crossroads, themselves?

The thought of her drives him into the village’s heart, where a wooden likeness of Mythal watches over the thatched roofs with an even, smiling mien. Unlike the surrounding houses, the statue had been cut from the earth, symbolising their inevitable victory over it. Flowers lie at its feet, petals bright as the day they had been plucked, emboldened by the people’s faith.

A cold thought presses upon his spine, as he wonders if they would still love her if the paint that gave colour to her cheeks were allowed to crack.

“They told me I would meet him soon-” The observation Wisdom had made on his arrival is fulfilled, as he overhears a couple walking in step down the street. Around them, the air hums with the feeling of rain over newly seeded ground, a promise of tomorrow. “They said he’d be the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I need only patience.”

The pair walk arm-in-arm, commiserating as only two friends may. They stop when they see him, the pair that had spoken regarding Wisdom with a thoughtful look before shaking their head, and tugging at the crook of their companion’s elbow.

He snorts, wondering if he ought to feel slighted, but instead he tips his chin to look the All-Mother in the eye.

“It seems I may have need of a Matchmaker’s services yet,” he says in a commiseration of his own. “I suppose it is as honest a place as any to look for Love.”

For that is who he hunts, now. He sees that. Why Wisdom may stand a better chance than Kindness or Mercy is not clear to him. Love had always seemed to be wisdom’s doom. Within the span of his existence, he had seen the wise brought to their knees by its force, made into fools by its whims.

Perhaps that is why he is so very stiff-legged as he searches. Yet the spirit he seeks has made no shrine, no home of this place. The undercurrent of its aid is baked into the soul of the houses he passes, and it becomes evident that they had helped more than one of the village’s denizens.

But it does not avail him of their location.

Beneath the boughs of a heart tree he strays in his search, meditating in the shadow of branches that resemble those on his face.

The spirit, Love, had not linked two hands and told them they were meant to be, they had not even described what the hopeful lover’s heart would look like, only that they would find them beautiful. As if it still falls upon them when and who they will love— not prophecy at all, but the illusion of it.

Love cannot be hunted, he realises. Even Andruil had not snared her lover with an arrow.

Wisdom eases the hood from his head, bearing his skull to the sky, and waits.

[magistheir]

@theshirallen | continued.

Dorian laughs--then begins coughing and wheezing, wincing as his side burns from his wound. Once he finally regains his wheezy breathing, he manages a smile at Ian. "Oh, just what I needed: a healer with a sense of humor."

His tone was fond, despite his earlier prodding. Truthfully, he was relieved it was Ian of all the healers. Not only because he was the best, but also the most familiar. That and he'd already cursed out and chased away the non-magical healers, because he was not going to let a needle and thread near his skin when a few minutes of restoration magic would mend it all without looking like some child's embroidery project.

"Be honest Ian..." Dorian coughed again. It felt like he couldn't get a full breath, and that probably meant he should stop talking. But it was so much easier to keep the banter going than return to the silence ruled by his anxieties. "Will it scar? Because I find most men skip over my--ah-ha--stomach and this could be a lovely diversion for them."

[littlehoundthings]

𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓...

to be loved

it's lonely, despite people constantly reassuring you. platonic or romantic, you crave to feel warm, to feel held, to feel worthwhile and to feel cared for. you yearn for that feeling, like a spot of sun hitting your skin on a breezy day. you want validation, love, from those who surround you. you aren't sure how to ask, or if you can. there's fear there, you can't figure out if they care, if this is love, if they're sincere. perhaps your shoes were muddied, during a long walk in the rain, and you fell, and you were muddied as well. you got home, finally, and washed off, but part of you still feels muddied. your past is not the present. someone loves you. reach out, and express that you need that love, and surely, someone will reciprocate.

Tagged by: @coldjustness Tagging: @crosaidi, @thxwxlf, @circlefled, @saccageurs, @avrorean, @theshirallen

[howetragic]

DARP Advent 2024: Day Six

HALFWAY THERE!

Let's talk about INFLUENCES and ADMIRATION! Mun Portion!:

1. What inspired you to get into DARP? Former RP experiences? Just a love for the games? Oh boy. So I actually have a looooooong history of RP since I was in like middle school??? My best friend in the entire world and I actually met on Neopets!!! on the RP boards. I was in this group called the Annoyers and we would "raid" creepy/weird RP threads and/or just flood the boards. Some of us got banned. I then went on to lead this group in a multi-fandom mix of boards. We had a b2g board and a... gosh I can't remember what it's called. We were also on Gaia Online. I was a moderator with Dragon Ball Z / greek mythology muses (hilarious spread there, I know). Then I got on Tumblr, I started writing Dragon Age fanfic for my Hero of Ferelden. And Shink, Pandy, and Tabbi were foolish enough to allow me to RP with them on my personal blog until I finally took the leap and made myself an RP blog and the rest is kind of like history. 2. Name one (or a couple) of your fellow writers that you think are neat, and why! Can be famous, on Tumblr, in your real life, on AO3, whatever. My baes both on AO3 and here are @theshirallen and @theharellan, and I'm also in love with @fatedvoyage, @turlums, @mercysought. Can't recommend those nerds enough. 3. Has anyone in DARP (past or present!) really helped to define or reimagine a character for you? Or made you rethink perceptions that you held? Oh God yeah. Most notable being Tas with Solas - before I met Tas I didn't really give a shit about Solas and wasn't particularly interested in him or his story. Unfortunately for my brain if Inara doesn't Vibe with a character I don't pay too much attention to them at first, and Solas resided in that gray bubble. Tas made me love him and be fascinated even before that turned out to be a very plot-relevant thing to be. 4. What other fandoms/works/writers have influenced your writing style and the way that you view writing and creative expression? lololol maybe see above but overall my writing was influenced very early on by Douglas Adams and Phillip Pullman. I wanted to be magical, but also amusing. 5. Do you have any friends that have created a Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor/Rook that you've basically adopted? Yes. I still use Pandy's Hawke but also steal @fatedvoyage's Van. I love Thora for Inquisitor but am coming to love Asharen more and more since I've been back here, as well as @keepslore. There's a lot of great Rooks so far I'm sure I'll absorb one. 6. What's a fandom work (writing, art, etc) that you think is super cool and you wish more people would see it? Share it with us! I mentioned this Sebastian and Nathaniel fic from Gaia to @mournflame the other day and I think all of you should read it too.

Muse Portion!:

1. Who or what are some things/powers/people that your muse admires? Unfortunately for Nathaniel, his greatest hero was his father growing up. He admired the man very much. 2. Does your muse have a "hero" that they look up to from canon? In an extension of the above, Nathaniel saw Rendon as a hero for his contributions to the Rebellion. He really believed that his father was courageous and brave. 3. What legends, tales, or stories helped to form your muse's ideas of power and heroism? Many! He heard all the stories of the Heroes of the Rebellion as he grew up, from Maric and Loghain to his own father. Standing against the odds, acting noble even when your title has been stripped from you and taking back what is yours by right. Those are the stories that inspired him. 4. Conversely, what sort of legends, tales, or stories formed their idea of what a villain is? Much the same. Nathaniel does not care for Orlais, though chevaliers are a bit softer in his mind thanks to his time with his mother's cousin. 5. Are there other muses in DARP that your muse admires? Or reviles/fears? (be careful with that second one and be RESPECTFUL.) In DARP I think he would admire @mercysought's Anora. He begins hating every HOF that slaughtered his father but especially Couslands. 6. If your muse is someone who has companions or is one of the groups of companions from canon, how do they and their companions play off of each other? Are they friends? Enemies? Two dudes who'd cross the street to avoid each other? What are their most powerful connections within their "group"? He's got a wide variety in the Awakening crew. He and Sigrun are fairly close. He has a crush on Velanna, but she rebuffs him. Anders frustrates him, Oghren disgusts him. Justice... Justice tends to piss him off.

[spitedriven]

@theshirallen | continued.

Lucanis had suspected that Ian would be a poor patient. The healers always were, the magical ones even moreso, somehow. He returned the spoon to the spoon back to the bowl for a moment, moving to grab a small basin of water and cloth before resuming his seat. The cool water brushed across Ian's forehead as Lucanis pushed the hair away from his sweaty brow.

"Liar." Stirring the soup, he tried again, this time ensuring some of the vegetables are on there. Steam curls gently in the air and he blows it gently towards Ian, hoping that the smell reminds him that food is good. "Your body is hungry, even if the mind forgets. You need to give the fever something else to chew on."

We could force him and be done. Spite lingered near the balcony, looking from them out to the Fade.

Lucanis ignored him. Perhaps a change of tactics. There were many ways to get people to talk, so surely there had to be multiple ways to get one to eat. "If not for me, than for your love. You would not want to worry him by neglecting yourself."

[queenaeducan-writes]

Latest Fanfics

Rules: Post the first line of your ten most recently published fanfics, and then tag ten other users to do the same!

Tagged by @bodysnatch3r xoxoxo

Tagging @darethshirl, @theluckywizard, @virshiral, @theshirallen, @valorcorrupt, @inquisimer, @effelants, @neonteeth, @dreadfutures, @nixeofmidgard i 100% reused ppl from matty's tag sorry

1. var shiral'vhen | dragon age | solas / non-binary!lavellan, solas & f!cadash | multiple | multichapter | 124,044 words (so far) | written with @theshirallen

“Don’t think I’m getting out of this one, salroka.”

2. codex entry: wolf's weed | dragon age | n/a | other | oneshot | 251 words | written for the @/daflowerzine

The sanctuary is nigh-unapproachable on foot. Our scouts report that the valley is overgrown with a noxious stripweed, dubbed wolfsteeth by the Dalish for how it tears the throat.

3. his sentimental fool | dragon age | solas / felassan | m/m | oneshot | 2455 words | written for the @/arlathanxchange

Most days, the Vhen'theneras sings.

4. in the blood | dragon age | merrill & m!mahariel | gen | oneshot | 3248 words | written for @dreadfutures

As the years go by, it becomes more difficult for Merrill to remember their faces.

5. a new heart | dragon age | solas / non-binary!lavellan | multiple | oneshot | 1371 words

"What does it mean to love someone?" Wisdom asks.

6. elvhenan worldbuilding - calendars & holidays | dragon age | n/a | multichapter | 2376 so far

These were our enemies once, now they are our allies in misery- although perhaps they always were. For we, at least, knew freedom for a time. Now it falls to us to keep hope alive, and forgive.

7. solas & ian drabbles - worm love | dragon age | solas / non-binary!lalvellan | oneshot | 604 words

He has long since abandoned any notion that he is working, but the pretense still lays in his lap as he watches Ian in the garden. The words of Brother Genitivi lay, dull and dry upon the page, the past eclipsed by the present.

8. the eternal question | dragon age | solas (solo) | oneshot | 2989 words | written for @transthedasfest

He had never wanted a body.

Content to be as he was: the question in an inquisitive mind; the fire kindled in the hearth; the lesson passed from mother to son, he had never dreamed of inhabiting one of the bodies that partook in his nature.

9. miossan one shots - i am the view | dragon age | felassan x agent of fen'harel | 476 words

“Do they look different to you now?” Felassan asks.

They lie together, under one open sky or another. Somewhere distant, somewhere safe.

10. laundry day | dragon age | solas x non-binary!lavellan | 410 words

His world is nothing but colour, vivid and bright.