monocytogenes

[monocytogenes]

Your OC and the solar system

Tagged by @nirikeehan!

Rules: Bold what applies - italicize sometimes - strike out never. (Bonus): Color the ones that especially fit.

Gonna do this for my boi Nic!

SUN• egotistical • melted wax wings and fingers • stretching sunburnt skin • the most generous soul • blood in the fruit • halos • anger on fire • high vitality • thunderous laughter • is pride really a sin? • halogenic aura

MERCURY• expansion of the mind • silver-tongued • an everlasting wanderer • polyglot • high dexterity • handwritten letters • innately critical • en vogue • eyes in the trees • hidden libraries • there’s always room for improvement

VENUS• in love with strangers • iridescent waters • love potions for your mirror • selfless devotion • shattering crystal • seafoam upon sand • the golden ratio • drowning in your own passion • material value & high principles • luring • plush lips

EARTH• fresh springs • tree hugger • we can start again tomorrow • a blazing rainforest • respects survival of the fittest • nature’s adversity • lazy bones • constantly evolving • flowers sprouting from wounds • a granite altar • fossilized remains

MOON• illusory • silver shimmer off the ocean • secrets and gossip • cycles of reincarnation • a crybaby • physically ethereal • shared glances with a stranger • cat eyes • mistrusting their intuition • fear is a prison • ornate magic wands

MARS• healthy competition • attraction and repulsion • magma and rubies • a blade being forged • wrath wrath wrath • malefic • intense eye contact • cannon fodder & fireworks • blood floods • copper taste on your tongue

JUPITER• red robes and a suit of armor • beacon of stability • leader by birth • thunderbolts and lightning • guilty but can’t stop • secret rich kid • golden touch golden tears • innate optimist • failure isn’t an option • constantly reaching for more • unfinished symphonies

SATURN• traditional • overbearing energy • a sculptor of reality • this existence is a karmic one • has a heart it’s just.. way down deep • law, order & justice • avoid all necessary risk • the sound of shackles clanging • sisyphus’ struggle • grappling with the reality of time • self-governing

URANUS • psychedelic funk music • overflowing cups • a rebellion with skin • looking good in photo id • oblivious but caring • middle fingers in the air • double rainbows • icy diamond exterior • holographic • afraid of their own mediocrity • pearlescent smoke

NEPTUNE• an elegy for the lost • dissolving boundaries • white horses • the burden of mystical conditions • deceptive • escapism is their reality • a polarizing entity • artists soul • paranoia • searching for the unseen • a siren’s swan song

PLUTO• angel statues over graves • power • the cycle of necrosis • transformative • unfathomable depths • an ivory tower toppling over • screaming at the sky • violets and irises • eclipsed darkness • speaks with their shadow • sex, death, rebirth

[monocytogenes]

Asha' Aiselen, The Burning Lady

Been thinking of the many versions of Andraste that exist across Thedas since this post and turns out, there's several!!

The Dalish believe in the Creator Gods, but that doesn't mean they don't know the story of Andraste. Considered an important historical character rather than a prophet, many clans still pay respect to the human slave who rose up against Tevinter alongside Shartan. When walking through a dalish encampment, one can sometimes spot Andraste among the many characters depicted in engravings and tapestries.

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“A great deal of effort has been expended here, but to what end?”

—

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A Word With Friends

Thank you for the tag @woundedsoul12! I'm even not sure I did this right, but I love a good word-based prompt.

This Week’s word is

Avarice

1. Excessive or inordinate desire of gain; greed for wealth 2. Inordinate desire for some supposed good.

Based on an extremely silly convo I just had tonight with @monocytogenes about Meira and Lucanis.

The shriek woke her.  Meira lifted her head from the pillow, blinking blearily in the sudden brightness. The door to their room was open, spilling in torchlight from the hall. Lucanis stood in the rectangle of light, stark naked, with his sword in hand. A woman in maid’s uniform was fleeing from view, dropping fresh towels as she went.  “Not again.” Meira groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Lucanis, come back to bed.”  “It could have been an intruder,” Lucanis insisted, shutting the door. He stormed across the room to the balcony, sticking his head out the door to scrutinize the roof above and the courtyard below. “A burglar. Salle is full of greedy sneak-thieves. This is because Viago won’t—”  “I don’t see how the city’s crime rate is Viago’s fault,” Meira cut him off, to spare herself another rant about House de Riva’s many failings. She rolled over in bed. “They’re going to throw us out if you keep answering the door like that.”  “They wouldn’t,” Lucanis said absently, scrutinizing the lock on the balcony door. “They know whose name is on the ledger.”  The untouchable Dellamortes, Meira thought glumly. She’d thought it a bit dramatic, before she actually visited Antiva. “Lucanis, please come back to bed. The lock is fine.”  “You never know,” Lucanis grumbled. “Perhaps it would be better if I bring the sword.”  Meira yawned. “It will be very hard to cuddle if there’s a sword between us.”  He paused to consider this. “Two knives?”  Meira threw the pillow over her head.  “Okay. Just the one, then.”  “I can’t heeeear you,” she called in a sing-song voice. 

Tagging: @theluckywizard | @monocytogenes | @wishforhome | @librivore42 | @midmorninggrey | @highwayphantoms | anyone who wants to do it!

[monocytogenes]

Last Line Meme

Tagged by @nirikeehan and @theluckywizard! Cut off in the middle of Nicaise going 'boy you gonna learn today' to a nervy teenaged noble (you guys know who):

We learn of Hessarian’s brave act of mercy, the importance of the compassionate turn of his heart.

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nic when she did that and when she said dudes could be ordained

half of thedas when Divine Victoria dissolved the circle of magi:

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OC Looks Board

Thanks for the tag, @theluckywizard!

I'm going to initiate the brand new blorbo on this, who you can find out more about here! His name is Nicaise, he's a Chantry brother, and a character in @nirikeehan's You Take the Dread Wolf AU.

Face

Nic's a pretty soft-featured, average-looking guy, with not much of a jawline and kind of a stubby nose, lol. He could probably pull off a beard quite well, but keeps his face clean-shaven in line with the fashion norms of Orlesians in religious life, which tend to emphasize cleanliness and eschew Trendy Looks.

Of his siblings, he's the one who most closely resembles his father, to the point that his mother likes to joke that you can't tell he's her kid, lol.

Hair

Nic's hair normally isn't visible on account of him wearing his religious habit, and it's got a bit of a natural curl if he lets it grow, so he tends to clip it quite short all around. It's dirty blonde and starting to recede above the temples.

Eyes

His eyes have sort of a blue-green quality, depending on the light.

Clothes

Nic's generally dressed in his religious habit! You can find me going on about its components in this post, but here's some illustrative screencaps.

I imagine there are practical adaptations to account for different types of work and weather: for instance, less ornate versions of the scapular, a belt to tie it back and keep it from flopping around, a brimmed version of the hat, and a cloak for winter.

When not in his habit--such as when traveling through an area where it might be dangerous to identify himself as someone in religious life--he dresses in plain, functional clothing.

[monocytogenes]

Instead Came Your Arms

Alistair x f!Hawke | E | WC: 43,500 (Complete) | DA2, Act 3 | Second Chances | Assassination Plot | Grief | Hurt/Comfort | Fast Burn | Fereldan Politics | Exiled Alistair | Angst with a Happy Ending | Flangst

I am so excited to finally share the fic that I blasted out (lovingly) from mid-March to early May for the @templartationsexchange. I was fortuitously matched with Starrshine Girl and was instantly inspired by an ask for an Alistair x f!Hawke fic (though we did not match on that pairing).

The idea I had was this: what if I smash two people at rock bottom together like cupcakes? Then I went fully insane. Please enjoy!

Summary:

In the wake of her mother’s murder and the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall, Flora Hawke is adrift in grief and guilt. When she rescues a hapless drunk and fellow Fereldan from attempted murder in the midst of a street brawl, she’s astonished to learn the man had once pretended to the Fereldan Throne. Six years exiled from his homeland, freshly installed in Kirkwall in search of work and purpose, Alistair wakes from a rough night in an unexpected predicament: stashed for safekeeping in the home of the Champion of Kirkwall. Holed up together in Flora’s empty home, the pair work to uncover an assassination plot against the would-be king before it catches up to him. Tangled in parallels and coincidences, still battling their own shadows, Flora and Alistair surrender to the pull between them and find their way back into the light.

Excerpt below the cut 👇

Flora Hawke carves a slurry of food and the sticky remnants of mead and ale from a checked bit of the table with a dagger, her face scrunched at nothing and everything. The soupy Solace air followed her into The Hanged Man and her sweaty short stay heaps regret onto her bitter mood. A year ago, Isabela would have been sitting across from her, bottle rolling against her cheek, appraising her frankly until Flora would look up and tell her to spit it out, whatever it was. But there’s too much to spit out and the empty space across from her mocks her.

She paid attention to everything but the things that mattered.

Little sisters. Bootleg relics. Lilies.

A sheaf of dark hair tumbles over her face as she scrapes the sludge on the edge of the table. She leaves it for the same reason she’d left her stupid kaddis smear in its pot. Flora doesn’t want to be seen. The only regular who’d dare pester her is out— she’d timed her presence to coincide with a guild meeting Varric couldn’t weasel out of. Only Norah is blinkered enough to bother her each time she whisks close, a woman who knows everyone’s business and hasn’t a clue what to do with it.

“Gracing us with your presence again, then, Hawke?” she says in her naked Lowtown drawl.

It forces Flora to wrangle with why she’s come. Sparing Orana, Bodahn and Sandal her apathy is a flimsy lie she cooked up to cover for this restless craving inside her. She wanted the energy of this place, its lumbering chaos. And though nothing quite stops the mill of paralyzing thoughts, the apian hum of conversation twitches in her belly with a forgotten warmth.

Closer to the bar is a piteous installment, hair the color of dirty bathwater stringy around his glazed face. His beard is born of neglect rather than intention, and though they could use a wash, his clothes are decently tailored. Whoever he is, he’s got the familiar hunch of a hollowed out man, curling his body around his failures. It looks enough like her own slump that she’s mostly ignored him, but now the brandy he’s been tossing back speaks.

“You there. What’s your name, beautiful?”

Slurring aside, it appears he’s attempting to flirt. This should be good.

“It’s Norah, love. Get you another?”

Norah’s never been one to stop someone from drinking themselves blind so long as the coin flows.

“Love,” he sings back, surprised. “People aren’t supposed to be nice these days, you know. But I guess you didn’t get that missive.” Unexpectedly loquacious.

“Can’t say I did. What’s got you in a pucker, love?”

His head lolls as he lifts it and he fashions a smile behind that scruffy beard.

“Very little so long as you’re nearby.” Not bad for a man right clattered.

Norah balls her hands on her hips and lifts her brow in that magical way she does, her artful skepticism opening up patrons like tins of anchovies.

“I’m in exile,” he drawls, intoxication only brightening the Fereldan color of his voice.

He must be new in town.

“Ohhh. Fancy,” she says, flouncing to the bar for another brandy. “Haven’t heard that one recently. What’d you do?”

A whole table full of off-shift foundry workers twist and lean, craning to look at this latest bit of gristle to chew. They’re mostly unfamiliar, a bunch of townie-types possessed with an abundance of fierce pride and little else. They’d give up their front teeth just to prove Lowtown’s might.

Or defend a native maid from the covetous eyes of a Fereldan cur.

The man flops back in his chair, smiling up at Norah like it’s the last tool in his bloody kit.

“Looked a bit too much like the king for comfort. I’ve got his nose, you see. Can’t be having that.”

A surly voice sails across the room.

“Ain’t got no kings in the Marches!”

The locals perk up. Oh joy. Flora braces herself for that kind of night. While she hasn’t exactly been around, it’s been a spell since the place quivered with barely contained savagery. So ends the brittle peace that followed the expulsion of the Qunari.

“Riiiight. You’re free,” he says to nobody, sloshing his cup around as he gestures quotation marks.

“Yer a bloody wet dog, aren’t ye?”

“Now now. How about you fine gentlemen mind your pretty faces and let a man forget himself for another half hour.”

Norah returns with a pint and watches as the rubes dig in, sparring with the man who seems wholly unmoved by their contempt. Instead he delights in the acid repartee.

“There’s a mouth on that one,” she observes. “For better or worse. Needling that lot?” Norah shakes her head.

“He’s going to get the piss knocked out of him if he keeps going,” Flora grumbles. “You’d think in the five years since the Blight ended they’d find something else to entertain them besides harassing the nearest Fereldan, but here we are.”

“The glue that binds them,” sighs Norah, wiping her hands on a cloth. Flora slips from the conversation, reflexively scanning the foundry workers and the Fereldan for weapons they didn’t turn in at the bar. Corff had once dubbed her his favorite employee for the number of fights she’d squelched over the years.

“Good to see you, Champion. Place isn’t the same without you.”

Maker. It was only a matter of time before they laid the name on her. The honorific hadn’t been bestowed without provisos, ones she doesn’t have the energy to outwit at the moment. And so the title sticks like a splinter, at least until she surfaces long enough to make proper use of it. If she ever does.

Flora watches again, grateful for the distraction. The drunk has fobbed them off for a few minutes, but she doesn’t trust the truce. Their taunts may have settled, but their smoldering ire is still firmly trained upon him. A precise puff of air is all it would take to ignite it into a proper blaze.

It’s unclear if he’s itching for a fight or a licking, not that he has a prayer for the former. Any capability he might have had is swallowed up in languor. He’s big inside that deceptive slouch, shoulders piled up with muscle like a farrier.

The man catches her looking.

“Aren’t you a curious one,” he says. For a fleeting instant, Flora thinks there might be a dish underneath all the neglect. “See anything interesting?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking, Serah,” she answers, raising her ale to him. He leans back to admire her, glazed like a Maker-forsaken fruit tart. She needs his attention like a hot poker to the eye.

“Well. I’ll be here all night,” he mumbles, still smiling. “If your tune changes.”

Read the rest here!

DAFF Tag List

@warpedlegacy @rakshadow @effelants @bluewren @breninarthur

@ar-lath-ma-cully @dreadfutures @ir0n-angel @inquisimer @crackinglamb

@oxygenforthewicked @exalted-dawn-drabbles @melisusthewee @blarrghe

@agentkatie @delicatefade @leggywillow @plisuu @hekaerges

@queenaeducan-writes @volkoss

[monocytogenes]

OC Wardrobe

Saw this meme concept and I love it; gonna do two versions of my boi!

AgentPravin's sense of style is sort of a rebellious yet informed response to upper-class Imperial fashion norms, which tend to consider showing a lot skin to be uncouth (outside of specific contexts and, uh, being Sith) and achieve an attractive silhouette through dramatic tailoring--coats with big shoulderpads, high-waisted trousers, closely fit sleeves and collars. He likes florals and other patterns and running around with his shirt half-open, while still exploiting the hotness of a well-fit suit (whose jacket is also useful for hiding weapons and the like.) Shorts and short sleeves aren't really his bag--you roll the sleeves for maximum sexy, obviously--but he does dress down when just tooling around at home or on his ship; he's apt to wear a satiny robe, sleep pants and slippers.

Accessories-wise, he'll often wear stud earrings, a chrono, and perhaps some bracelets (he doesn't like having jewelry around his neck out of a paranoid fear of how that could be used against him in a fight.) He can rock a good pair of glareshades, too. For footwear, he likes comfortable dress shoes or short boots with a bit of a heel--the latter especially to boost his height a little, lol.

Pics above include examples of the fashions he likes, as well as some more Imperial outfits he's obliged to wear amid his home culture.

DA!Pravin--Fidencio Frye--is an actor living in Orlais, so I took inspiration from the fact that Orlesian fashion in DAI seems particularly influenced by 17th century European fashions (and a bit of later 16th century stuff) and set him roughly in the 1620s-30s.

This means doublets and jerkins over linen shirts, voluminous breeches, stockings with shoes or tall leather boots (with heels, of course, given that he wishes he were taller), the absolute swag of half-capes, and then of course for accessories--linen collars, leather gloves, a jaunty earring in his left ear, and the hats. Oh Maker, the hats! He loves a wide-brimmed, feathery cavalier hat; it's his signature.

Some unseen elements include a silver Andrastian medal that he wears under his shirt--a gift from his mentor Gaubert--and a leather brace he wears over his right hand/forearm due to a poorly healed injury; he has his clothes tailored so he can fit the latter beneath his sleeve. And, you know, hide a bunch of weapons on his person. Perks of living with a retired theatrical costumer.

Tagging @theluckywizard and @nirikeehan if you'd like to do this as well!

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@nirikeehan RELEVANT TO YOUR INTERESTS

Cruentis Cor Andraste

Been thinking of the many versions of Andraste that exist across Thedas since this post and turns out, there's several!!

According to the Chant of Light, Archon Hessarian saw the error of his ways as Andraste was burning, putting his sword through her heart to spare her from pain. He claims he heard the voice of the Maker when his blade touched her heart, thus converting to Andrastianism later in his life. Although the Imperial Chantry's cult is more centered on the Maker himself, Andraste still plays an important role in Worship, often depicted with her heart bared and run through with the legendary Blade of Mercy.

[monocytogenes]

is this anything.

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call him bubonic the way he plagues me

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On Southern Andrastian religious habits

Recently have been writing a Chantry brother character and got to contemplating how I think the clothing of folks in religious life in the Southern Chantry actually works, so here's some interpretation and headcanons!

(I'll be using clergy in the Catholic sense here, referring to folks who hold authority in the church hierarchy--e.g. at the rank of mother, revered mother, grand cleric, divine--and those in consecrated life to refer to anyone who has taken vows outside of the Seekers or Templars, e.g. folks in those upper ranks plus the brothers and sisters. Lay brethren do not take vows. See this codex about the hierarchy.)

General principles:

Styles derive from simple, historical garments worn by women. There are many regional variations and adaptations for different climates, often with a nod to local fashions (hence why we see different designs in rural Ferelden versus metropolitan Orlais.)

Despite the presence of ornamentation, especially on high-ranking clergy, the basic materials are coarser blends of wool, linen and silk.

Because women and men in consecrated life prioritize their duty to the Maker over family life and pleasure-seeking—most take vows of celibacy—religious clothing is modest in cut and covers the body from the neck down, with the sole exception of the hands (as touch is important in ministry.) In Orlesian styles, touches like leather boots and loose-fitting cowls allow for movement as they go about their duties.

Cleanliness and good grooming are valued, as those in religious life are to be examples to the world. Noticeable cosmetics and elaborate hairstyles are discouraged, and those in consecrated life generally cut their hair short for convenience.

Colors are symbolic: gold represents the light of the Maker, white represents Andraste, black represents death and ashes, and red represents fire and sacrifice. (The latter color is still referred to as rouge when speaking about Orlesian styles, but it’s actually more of a pink, a tone originating in the deliberate use of inferior dyes as a renunciation of worldly affectations.)

Underlayers:

(Some visible, some assumed, based on my knowledge of historical clothing.)

A short-sleeved linen shirt or chemise (depending on the length of the overgarments), to absorb sweat and dirt.

Short stays, worn over the shirt or chemise, if needed for comfort.

Black stockings of opaque, bias-cut wool, worn beneath boots. Length varies—for lay brothers and sisters, as well as high-ranking clergy, these are knee-length and secured with ribbon garters (lay brethren have them under their trousers); for vowed affirmed/initiates/clerics, these take the form of leggings fastened with ties about the natural waist, which the shirt is tucked into. The masculine version of these has a fall-front for comfort.

High-ranking clergy wear a feet-length black underskirt over the chemise, as well as petticoats if needed for warmth.

Overlayers

The clothing of brothers and sisters has a white cowl (long-sleeved robe with an integrated hood) over the shirt—relatively short for lay brethren and knee-length for those in consecrated life. Clerics may have decorative cuffs and trim. Above this garment, lay brethren wear a sleeveless pink knee-length tunic, while those in consecrated life wear a pink scapular.

Higher ranks wear a guimpe (stiffened, decorated piece of cloth) over the shoulders, to which is pinned a sort of four-panel overgown with a center piece resembling a stole. The Divine may wear a garment like this, or a variant with a sleeved overgown and a scapular.

Headgear

Typically consists of two to three layers: an underscarf (for cleanliness, modesty and to keep the hair in place), a hood, and a cap or headdress (to hold the hood in place and convey rank.)

The underscarf is typically black and secured about the neck with pins. In warm climates, it may be omitted.

The hood is a sewn-in part of the cowl, loose and flowing for lay brethren and more fitted for consecrated brethren. It may be in a contrasting color for the higher ranks.

Lay brethren wear a simple cloth cap. Consecrated brothers and sisters wear a brimless cap a bit reminiscent of the eastern skufia. High-ranking clergy wear a veiled headdress somewhere between a bishop's miter and a koukoulion, except on informal occasions.

Accessories

Lay brethren wear a pendant resembling a devotional scapular to signify their commitment, given the plainness of their dress, and high ranking clergy wear chains of office as a sign of authority.

Belts and purses are permitted with the more informal garments for practicality. (I imagine cowls and overgowns generally have small, unnoticeable side pockets.)

[monocytogenes]

Conversations you know that started screaming matches at the Hanged Man <3

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*taps mic* the reason they don't let tech classes have swords is because the imperial agent would be so hot with one they'd destroy the dark council and take over the empire.