#god i wish i could hear more

[rosered-schneeweisschens-sis]

i never knew there were men in the room for this, “that was tough” oh man they were not prepared XD

[oars]

[rika-mortis]

Bonus:

[wizardnuke]

hozier songs are all "i wouldn't be here without black artists" "you should kill your boss" "i love ireland :(" "DO Y OU NEED A DOG. I CAN BARK"

[sherbetyy]

do you ever realize after masking intentionally and unintentionally so much in your life, you completely forget who you are.. and how it feels like every time you mimic someone you lose a part of yourself and personality. and fear you’ll never figure out who you are or who you were once.

yeah.

anyway pictures of moth !!!

[lesbianshadowheart]

the lack of fandom insanity about aloy hzd is crazy to me.....she was literally born of immaculate conception to be the saviour of a world that doesnt want her. she was the loneliest girl in the world the first and last of her kind. while gay

[lilfriezatyrant]

@reptile--queen ✨✨🥺👌

[puppyeared]

i feel shy talking here when i dont have anything worth sharing but i cant help feeling like ive said things in the tags that could be brought up in court

[shift-shaping]

the lost art of infodumping

The Inquisition has arrived at Skyhold. Enaste Lavellan awakens from a very long nap and absolutely geeks out over Solas's frescoes.

rating: general

pairing: solavellan

previous fics | 1 2 3 4

More than anything, Enaste wanted to sleep.

All that had transpired since she and the rebel mages sealed the Breach left her entirely drained. Corypheus was very large, and loud, and she felt she'd never get the reek of him off her armor. Truthfully, she had no idea what to make of him. Darkspawn were unfamiliar to her, and though she knew broadly what the Chantry legends said of the ill-fated trip Tevinter magisters took to the Golden City, she'd deliberately avoided learning much more human mythology. She paid for such ignorance now.

The dragon, however, was easier to understand; she'd seen dragons before, after all. Once, early in her time as First, she and Keeper Deshanna had needed to migrate Clan Lavellan early from their winter home when an Antivan Whitesnout moved into a nearby valley. She'd seen glimpses of it above the treeline, a massive red shape scorched across the horizon. She'd seen their bones, too, and held weapons made from them in her hands. They were heavy bones for a flying beast. There was no hope of dealing with Corypheus's dragon in their current state. She could only hope Skyhold might protect them upon its inevitable return.

Then there was the orb, a tool apparently used to focus the power of an elven god. 

The idea alone made her head spin. The Creators weren't real, not in a tangible way. She knew them, could call every myth she'd ever learned to the forefront of her mind, but not since she was a child had she actually thought they were living beings. Enaste was certain --was-- that the Creators were best understood as metaphors, symbols. If this artifact could somehow unlock the power of one, how could that be true?

She had no energy left to think about it. Only through a total exhaustion of her magic had she staved off frostbite in the mountains. When she collapsed into the arms of Cullen and Cassandra, every part of her was empty. That she survived at all was a marvel. In the following days, as she led what remained of the Inquisition towards their new home, it was only through the dual powers of adrenaline and lyrium that she kept herself moving. She could still taste the metallic sting of the latter on her tongue.

That Solas knew of Skyhold, and how to reach it safely, was nearly as miraculous as her continued existence. He was careful to lead from behind her, so she could take credit for its discovery. It was a beautiful castle, and it made her feel insane. When she stood in the courtyard and looked up at the sky it was as though she was falling upward. The walls were so tall, the mountains domineering. At least Haven had trees and a lake filled with fish. Skyhold was magnificent, but it was as far from home as she could possibly imagine.

There was a ceremony not long after she arrived, and despite her protests, she had a new title now. She would lead them as a mage, she'd said, and it had felt right at the time as she looked over the rebel mages in her care. Many of them were injured by the assault on Haven. Some of them were children. They looked to her for leadership. It was not the clan she'd expected, not the one she knew, but it was now the one she had.

Afterwards, she slept for nineteen hours straight. She had vague memories of being checked on, but when they saw she was alive they let her be. When she eventually awoke, she found the food they’d left by her bedside. She ate greedily, so fast she barely tasted it, and then lay an additional hour in bed recovering from the subsequent indigestion.

Finally, on shaky legs, she rose from her bed and stumbled to get dressed. The wardrobe selections were, frankly, dizzying. Josephine must have figured out her measurements somehow. The vest she chose was sturdy and fitted, with delicate embroidery around the chest. She brushed out her hair, and tied it above her head. It would do.

Many of the people in the main vestibule of Skyhold apparently did not recognize her yet. She knew they would soon, so she took the opportunity for anonymity to explore the parts of the castle that had been repaired so far.

The main hall needed work, but the Undercroft looked amazing. Harritt seemed satisfied with the facilities, and even showed her the family hammer he'd saved from the fires in Haven. The courtyard was coming along too, though she only looked over it briefly before continuing to the library.

What she saw there made her freeze. She stood in the doorway to the rotunda, mouth agape. She turned slowly as she stepped inside, taking in the massive, colorful murals on the walls. The smell of fresh plaster met her nose. At first she assumed they were just decoration, but as she studied the imagery she realized they were far more detailed than that. The murals were about the Inquisition, about her.  

She recognized the style immediately. It was elven, and its practice was so scarce that she'd only seen it a few times herself. She stepped closer to the wall, wanting so badly to touch it but knowing better. Instead she covered her mouth with her hands, hiding a bright, girlish smile.

"Oh, you are awake," Solas said, and she turned to him. He stood by a desk in the center of the room, arms held behind his back.

"Solas!" She pointed at the fresco behind her. "Do you know what these are?" He started to reply, but she kept talking, facing the fresco again. "These are man'tuatheleala vira! It's so rare to see them so large, and they're new! Look, these pigments, the orange here, you can see how it fades down but it's still so thick. You can tell it didn't lose any consistency. And these lines, they're so crisp. I wonder what tool they used. Oh, and these patterns! They're beautiful, and so delicate." She turned to him again, unable to contain her excitement. "I've never seen man'tuatheleala vira this large, but this is how they were meant to be made. Sometimes a clan will have a piece of one, but they require so much upkeep and they're nearly impossible to move. This..." She sighed, her thoughts finally catching up to her mouth. "This is amazing. It is a nearly-lost art among my people." She caught herself, and cleared her throat awkwardly. "Our people, sorry. I... I should meet the artist. Or artists. Thank them properly. I cannot imagine where Josephine found someone who could do this."

He hummed, and only then did she notice his smirk. "Where indeed."

She tilted her head at him. He looked unbearably smug. "Did... spirits do it?"

"No."

She looked back at the fresco, then back at him. Her eyes caught on a small smudge of red on his jawline, and her breath stuck in her throat. "You made these." Her voice was breathless, awe-struck. "You made these."

"Josephine did help procure the pigments." He must have felt her eyes on his jaw, as he reached up to wipe the spot away.

She stopped him. One hand took his, and the other gently brushed the pigment from his skin. He stiffened, but kept his expression the same. Where she touched him, she felt the same electricity as before. Her face felt hot. She pulled away. "Sorry," she said. She shook her head quickly. "How?"

He cleared his throat. "How did I make them?"

She nodded, then hesitated. "How did you learn to make them? And how did --how did you do them so quickly?"

"Consider it divine inspiration, Inquisitor." Her face fell in exasperation. Then he chuckled, and Creators, it was a lovely sound. "I understand your hesitance, but the title suits you, lethallan."

"Well," she looked at the rotunda, then up to the library. "It is a title fit for whoever lives here, I suppose."

"Is it to your liking?"

"I... well, I've yet to see much outside the castle itself. I've mostly been asleep since we arrived."

"I imagine Josephine spared no expense on your quarters."

"Mm... I've never slept with so many pillows." He smiled. She took in a deep breath, and locked her gaze with his. "You should see it for yourself, really."

He blinked, as though unsure he heard her correctly. "Your... bed?" His voice was extremely measured now, the words almost over-enunciated.

"My quarters, Solas." She sounded more confident than she was --her mouth felt stuffed with cotton.

"I... see." He straightened his back. She swallowed. When he spoke again, the lowness of his voice sent shivers down her spine. "That would be unwise, Inquisitor."

She licked her lower lip. Her heart pulsed in her skull, so loud she couldn't hear herself think. "Why is that?"

He shook his head slightly, as though he couldn't believe what she was saying, but his expression was still carefully neutral. "I am certain you have duties to attend to."

A shaky exhale left her lips, and she gave a curt nod. He squinted at her, and her heart sunk. "I understand." It was a ridiculous thing to say. And unfair of her to even ask. "It would be... unbecoming, of... an Inquisitor. Or whatever."

Despite the tension she created, he smiled. It was comforting somehow, and seeing that he was not entirely put off kept her from feeling completely awful. "You wanted to know more about the man'tuatheleala vira."

"I would very much like to know more about the man'tuatheleala vira."

"It would be best, then, to have that discussion where they actually are." He gestured towards the painting closest to the entry. "And we should get started before someone comes looking for you."

"Of course," she returned his smile, even if her heart was still racing. "I'm ready when you are."

<- prev fic | next fic ->

[meownotgood]

dan heng............ sighs heavily

[l0rd-0f-c0ws]

I frequently feel completely isolated no matter how much I talk to people. So that's fun

[sanchoyo]

We had to put him down this morning. His health was getting too bad and I couldn’t stand the idea of him suffering.

it’s just crazy to think I don’t really have puppy pictures of him because we got him before we even had cell phones. I picked him because all the other puppies had cute little shirts on and when I asked why he didn’t, the guy giving him to us said he was too rowdy and was a wiggly little fighter and I was so charmed by that. He had so much personality and would wake me up at ungodly hours in the morning for our walks. But like, he gave me a reason to get outside and see the sunrise everyday. I hope I took even half as much care of him as he did for me. Love you forever, fuzzy ❤️

[mostofthingsmostofthetime]

The rescent riots in the UK are despicable (but sadly not surprising).

Yes, what happened to those little girls is a tradgey, but the person who was responsible wasn't an asylum seeker, and even if he was, that would NOT excuse the racism displayed these past few weeks.

The people taking part clearly don't care about the safety of children as they're, scaring other people's & indoctrinationating their own into perpetuating racist acts.

Seven years is a lot, though! Then don't fucking join a hate group.

But the non white people are being violent too! Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you attack people. I'm not going to hate on people for standing up for themselves.

They're taking our jobs! Why do you believe that those jobs are YOURS? Are you actually qualified & able to make a good impression on bosses, or do you think just being white should be enough.

They don't work! Well Asylum seekers litrually aren't allowed to until their case gose through but plenty of other POC have jobs (I know you've seen them though it must be hard to make them out through that fog of hatred) & I've met plenty of white people who don't want to (no hate to those who can't because of disability or mental health issues) or loose jobs because they're just overall terrible employees (some of the shit I've seen middle aged white people do at their jobs is crazy).

They're all criminals! Well, that's just not true now is it plus it's been proven multiple times that the biggest factor in crime is poverty, NOT race & again I've encountered plenty of white people who've broken the law yet most didn't seem to get more than a slap on the wrist (if that). Strange, that isn't it?

Well, "those kinds" of men hate women! Ahh, yes, because there's never been white rapists, woman killers, stalkers or harrasers. Its been proven that hating women is a problem in all races & and sadly, the biggest threat to us is usually our own partners or family, not some random aylsum seeker (who if they do hurt women tend to go after the ones from their own community).

They're not from here! Ok, so I don't know if anyone told you, but you can actually be born here without being white and you can't ban people from a country just because of the colour of their skin. Also, neither was half my family, yet we never get told to go back to our own country. Hmm, I wonder if our white skin could possibly have anything to do with that.

They can't speak English! A lot of them are multilingual, actually (& you make fun of their accents) & for the ones who can't well you seem to hate them getting anything (such as English lessons) for free. Also, how many Brits go abroad despite refusing to learn absolutely anything about other countries (there's a reason we're known as disrespectful, violent, sex obsessed, drunks by most of the world).

Also sooner or later we are going to have to accept that a lot of the issues that make immigrants flee their home countries are caused (or at least made worse) by ours & other Western governments.

This country definitely has problems, but we should be taking them up with politicians & their rich mates. Who are the ones actually hording wealth made from the exploitation of the poor, not random people of colour who are just trying to live their lives.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

real talk, I cannot believe I'm seeing gfms that I remember from the first round of donation posts on tumblr still attempting to reach their fundraising goals. i don't even know how to put into words what i'm trying to say but i think it's a miracle that so many of these people asking for help are still alive after months. i'm almost relieved to see asks in my inbox because at least i know they're probably still alive. at the same time, it's awful when it's a fundraiser i remember from so early on, because they are still trying to reach people and raise what they need.

[fideidefenswhore]

philip making mary happy like she was 10 is a line i remember from her Children of England bio. so "for the first time since she was ten, when her father's eye had first lighted upon anne boleyn, she was truly happy." it's anne's fault again! so i guess weir wrote this novel from reading all her old books again, and not updating it with modern theories. which is kind of like endorsing herself.

also, she says mary had "dreams" about philip, "reliving the delights" iykwim. weird she changed that part.

the boleyn years are actually the only section of the book where weir imagined and wrote out long, extended, creatively reimagined scenes and conversations between characters; pretty much everything else, up till her marriage with philip, reads like a summary of events, either paraphrases or literal verbatim excerpts from her previous works. but, as she herself said in the author's note, the only piece of her life weir sympathizes for was her 'victimization' by anne boleyn; after that she says her sympathy for her is over (an objectively wild thing to say...no sympathy for the execution of her maternal surrogate in 1541? fr?). one gets the sense that the dialogue she gives mary concerning this is 100% what weir wishes she had said to her own father's 'other woman', that she never got the chance to say (tl; dr, revenge fantasy...i still have so many questions about that a/n...her mother was threatened with jail??)

she repeats the line about dreams; ('she was tormented by sensual dreams, in which [they were] making love'), however the actual portrayal of their sex scenes makes it explicit that she doesn't experience orgasm with her husband:

"this time she began to feel, in the core of her body, some tingle of response [...] but he was pressing on heedlessly to his climax and the moment was lost anyway."

and that is...the closest she ever gets.

she does this with her AB novel as well, which i just attributed to her hating her, because she portrays that in such a roundabout way...there's 'no alchemy' between her and henry (of like, all historical couples, this seems like a reach), and the evidence she could've used to support the choice (although, i think it's pretty clear now, especially from this A/N, where she says her own mother = coa, and this other woman in her own past = anne, that it was because she found it gratifying to write about anne suffering and unhappy and lacking pleasure in her life, again...revenge fantasy/transference) she dismisses (the 'vigor nor virtue' quote is a 'lie' from jane boleyn out of spite, anne even has the thought that it's 'not true'...?).