#oops late and short

[an-established-butt-dent]

Dragon age inquisition: Solas

I wonder how long it took the companions to notice Solas wields magic just a bit... differently?

Surely an apostate knows magic beyond the boundaries of a Circle? But even Dorian doesn't recognize some of his techniques, and the ones that he does are only described in ancient Tevene tomes.

Hmm... strange.

Acrylic ink, fineliner and gouache on paper.

[honeyvenommusic]

❗️NEWGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSAN-

[kai-atlantis]

I'm late 😬 but I broke my ankle again so JUST PLEASE ACCEPT MY LATE ENTRIES OKI.

CW: grief, language

Artwork by @irunaki who graciously allowed me to borrow her work

FowlFest Day 2 - Diary Day

A Glimpse in Time

Holly ShOrt!!!

1953 

  HI DIARY!!! Today is MaY 3! It's my bIRTHDAY! I'M 32 today and at skool my class sang to me and gave me kandy! Escept for Riles Ross, cause he stole my space bar and ate iT in fronT of ME! >:( so i hit him in his face and all the kids laughed and Miss Persimmon sent me home. :( bUT I CAME HOME WITH CAKE! and its carrot. Mommy says it looks like our hair! :D cause we have orange hair! Daddy gave me a bow n arrow after cake and said I was a natural! Daddy is so strong he could hold me AND MY CAKE TOGETHER! :D then i got in trouble for hitting Riles Ross, but daddy told me later in secret that he was proud of me. :) 

  Anyway Diary, did you have a good day today? I sure hope so cause I did! I would share my cake with you but i dont wanna get cake on your pages :( sorry. BUT YOU CAN SLEEP WITH ME AND FOXY TONITE! we are having a secret sleep over under the bed. Foxy is so CUTEEE. sHH! Dont tell mommy or daddy. It's only for us :) 

  See ya there! 

Holly Short

1983

Today was fucking bullshit. It was so fucking stupid, I almost don't want to make an entry about it, but my therapist claims it's good for my grief to vent my feelings, so, here I am. Venting my fucking feelings. And no. I don't feel better.

So, you want to know why today sucked. Today was my second day at the Academy. The LEP Academy.

I've always known I was going to be an officer, but lately, I've been compelled to do something more than LEPtraffic, or Immigration. Yesterday was already weird enough because I got tons of looks from all the beefheads, but then today, in my Criminal Investigations class, the professor asked us what our goals in the LEP were. Anyone that knows anything knows girls who join the LEP are destined for traffic, or some bullshit area of "policing". We never go further than that… Unless you're Wing Commander Vinyáya. And nobody is as cool as Wing Commander Vinyáya. She's a total babe. Definitely not me.

But anyway, I have other aspirations. Dad was Internal Affairs. Mom's LEPmarine. It's my destiny to be in the force, and if I'm gonna go in, it's go big or go home. So, I answer that I want to be in Recon. And I shit you not - everyone laughed, even the professor. The FUCKING professor.

Fuck.

Why can't a girl be Recon? We're not all airheads. Some of us are actually capable of handling ourselves. Mom always says my aim is deadlier than a stink worm too, so those townies don't know what they've got coming.

Shit. Said, not says. Mom is dead. Stupid mistake.

Whatever.

The only plus side to today was that I ran into Trouble Kelp. He's the hot Kelp brother. An idiot, but he has a good heart. He's a junior, and super famous for his scores. Everyone knows who he is, so you'd expect him to be a total glow slug, right? But he's actually really kind. Some guy tried to trip me in the hall, and before I could punch the daylights outta him, Kelp shoved him into the trash can and swore him off. It was totally cool. He'd make a good partner someday, I think.

OH! Back to Recon. Adding onto today's bullshit, I overheard some rookies going on and on about Commander Root. Apparently he's a tough nut to crack and hasn't ever had a girl in his unit, and he intends for it to stay that way. Well, too bad for him, because I've got my sights on Recon. I work alone, and fly alone. Nobody to bother me, no stinky males and their gross ear cheese. Just me, the wind, and the surface sky.

It's what mom and dad would want.

I hope they're proud.

Oh yeah, one last thing: it's my birthday today. I'm 62 today. Is it super lame that I put up pictures of mom and dad on the table with me? Just so, you know… I'm not alone?

Fuck. Duh. That's super lame.

Hey. I'm back. Don't mind the weird gap between pages. Didn't feel like writing for a bit so I took a nap. But I'm back.

Honestly? I'm a bit mad. And before you ask me in the session: about everything?

Being a girl is hard enough, right? 'cause I'm stuck in this gnarly place of not being pretty enough yet also not being "tough" enough to be accepted by the guys. And I just started. Why should my appearance fucking matter? I'm a fucking hotshot. I'm resilient. I already know how to pilot a shuttle. That's more than these maggots can do.

My dad would've known what to say. I didn't know him that long, really. But still, when I'd spaz out and tussle with other kids, he'd always have my back, and he always knew the right things to say. I wish I had that now, you know? I miss him.

I miss mom. But I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about her death and I won't be forced into it either, k?

Oh yeah, duh. My original point. It's my 62nd birthday, and I'm all alone. There's supposed to be some junior thing at a pub in the city. Juniors. Not rookies like these dorks. Mom would kill me if I went.

Hah. Guess I should rebel and go make some friends then? Maybe Trouble will be there? Not that I'm into him or anything. Just a friend or two would be nice.

Anyway. I've got basics in the morning.

Night, journal. See ya.

[ehlnofay]

19 for the worldbuilding prompts + Torr?

the profound quiet of a small settlement at night

North Eastmarch is freezing cold all over, but it wears different outside the city than within.

Torr would never call Windhelm warm – not even in summer months, no matter how used to it they are – but what little heat it has it clings to with great determination. The walls huddle together, trapping the air so that it’s either still and muggy or a howling wind, like each close-knit house is breathing in tandem. The heat of the people run up and down its streets, blood through its knotted stone veins. The city is alive, an ecosystem unto itself; its snow, dark with footprints, runs sludgy down the roads; a fireplace is always burning somewhere.

Outside of the walls, surrounded by nothing but empty air and snow-laden trees, a slow-moving stream running with barely a burble – it feels dead, in contrast. Silent. Branches reach needle-sharp across the blue-black sky, the ground is gleaming white and undisturbed by anyone else’s footprints, and the nearest fire is the barely visible gleam of the Kynesgrove mining camp, up the hill and through the sporadic spindles of the trees. The breeze ghosts past Torr’s neck and whips the mud-stained snow into a flurry.

In the city, Torr’s comfortable sleeping almost anywhere – as comfortable as they ever get, anyway. Some of the buildings have great gaps under the porch where the snow can’t reach and no-one ever finds them; there’s places in the nooks of the walls, and sheds built into the side of the house that people don’t lock, and Torr knows a few people besides who don’t mind him kipping on their floor every now and again, as long as he doesn’t ask too often. The outside isn’t like that. There’s not many places to go. He’s lurking around Kynesgrove tonight – on his way back from a quick venture out to get some things done that pay better than running errands around the markets – and there aren’t many options. The inn, which he can’t afford – the mine, which would be warm but is very guarded – the miner’s encampment or someone’s house, both of which would most likely result in being chased off. Besides, there’s a performative element to meeting people, especially adults, in strange places, and Torr’s not in the mood to play to strangers. So much of his being is caught up in Windhelm’s grimy alleys, tangled in the hair and fingers of its discarded children; he doesn’t know how to be himself away from it all.

But they don’t have to, seeing as there’s the rickety old sawmill on the edge of a stream feeding into the harbour. It’s not bad, as shelter goes; no walls, so the wind rubs its fingers wraithlike down Torr’s cheeks and tangles them in his hair, but at least there’s a roof. It looks newly thatched, too, the floorboards free of rot, the water-wheel still chugging creakily along. There’s no wood to cut here, all the nearby surrounding trees too scraggy to be worth the bother. The only big ones are part of the grove up on the hill. There’s no point in keeping the mill running, but Torr is glad it is; he watches the distant firelight flickering through the scrub, and listens to the splashing of the wheel. It’s proof that people and the things they make do still exist – if not necessarily here.

It really feels dead, out in the cold, with the leafless trees and the wind that doesn’t even whisper. It always does. It’s a bit discomfiting, which is maybe why Torr doesn’t go on out-of-city endeavours as often as perhaps he could; but really, there’s not work out here enough to make it worth it. There’s always problems with bandits on the road, but Torr’s not a good enough fighter for bounty work; there’s collecting plants and things to sell Nurelion, but that’s easy enough to do on a day trip. (And, really, it’s more for Torr’s own enjoyment, besides. They never even venture far south enough to get to the sulphur pools, which is where the more interesting things grow.)

This trip, though, is an outlier. Unusually efficient. Just a quick job for Niranye, scouting a merchant’s cart on the road – almost definitely for something shady, but that’s not Torr’s business, and it was too much money too easy to turn down. And then – just earlier today, foraging out in the wilderness as best as Torr (a distinctly urban animal) knows how – they’d come across a giant’s corpse, stiff and white as the snow it lay in. Torr’s no master alchemist but they know the value of a cadaver when it comes to brewing alloys and admixtures, so they set to with their blunt-edged dagger and now they’ve got a sack full of what may as well be gold. (Long as it doesn’t start to rot before they can get Nurelion to preserve it, anyway.)

Torr’s going to be rolling in it when they get back to Windhelm. They could use that money for nearly anything – pay off a few things they borrowed, new warm things now that winter’s coming back strong, bedrolls, waterskins. Endless options – which, strangely, is more exciting than it is burdensome.

It’s all the sort of decision that would ordinarily feel life-or-death urgent but right now feels – not small. Not insignificant, not at all, but distant. A choice to be made at another time, by another person.

(Torr’s whole being belongs to Windhelm’s back streets. They’re someone else, away from it all.)

That’s the other thing about leaving the city, spending time in the discomfiting slow-paced ghost-world outside. It’s quiet. Torr sits surrounded by the wind in the trees, the lazy murmur of the stream, the creak of the water-wheel, and nothing else.

He’s been called a worrywart (mostly by Griss in a strop) but to tell the truth he doesn’t think that’s true. Torr doesn’t fuss for the sake of fussing, he just doesn’t like to leave things undone; can’t stop until he finds a solution. Out here, alone, in the empty cold, there are no solutions to find – same old problems back home, he knows, but no steps he can take at this time to right them. That’s never true while he’s in the city, so he can never stop thinking about it, every choice and action accompanied by a buzzing background chorus of everything else he really should be doing – that really should have been done by now – that should never have been left undone this long, what was he thinking? Everything is urgent when it’s doable. But here and now, there’s nothing to do.

So Torr sits hunched on the board floor of the ramshackle watermill, huddled among their heaps of bags and blankets, and thinks of nothing at all.

Not strictly true. They think of supper – haven’t eaten since an apple this morning, except for some snowberries they found around noon, and it’s been a long day. They nabbed some turnips from the garden of the Kynesgrove inn on their way to the mill. They’re fresh, if nothing else – also covered in dirt, so Torr rises reluctantly from their pile of stuff to crouch on the banks of the stream and dip the vegetables in to clean them off. It aches like hell, the frozen water turning their joints to ice – they almost drop the turnip they’re washing, so they scrub it as best they can with the frigid pad of their thumb and whip their hands out of the water soon as they’re able. They stick their fingers in their mouth to warm them back up.

Even after all that time spent warming up their hands, arraying all their belongings back around themself to conserve body heat, the turnips are still cold enough to hurt Torr’s teeth when he bites in. He eats them anyway, relishing a little in the unearthly silence and the aching of his lips and palms. They taste delicious.

With nothing else to do after, the gnawing of his stomach sated, he wraps himself in his shawl and stares up the hill at the camp’s fire until it goes out. The stars wink into brighter being. The wind whistles through the whip-thin branches of the trees. The water-wheel creaks.

Torr sleeps, but he feels like he hears it all – a silent observer, an echo, a beginning – until morning.

[jenivi]

some blurry pics of my splatoon 3 marina cosplay at a con i recently attended :))

[keeps-ache]

my sibling just tripped and i said 'god bless you ?????' like they sneezed or something ??

[automatonknight]

honestly i need a knight helmet AND a pair of those big ass gloves and i’ll be so so happy

[risingsunresistance]

[navar44]

Above the Ballroom

A bit of writing based on @aaytaro-gt ‘s Inktober prompt list.

Day 5 - Dance

==

Brum sat up above the ballroom, eyes closed as she listened to the musicians play their sweet music. She loved nights like this in the palace, when the Lord had a hundred guests and a party that filled the halls with song and laughter.

She was surprised so many people had turned up, the autumn storm had kicked up strong winds from the south, and the dying leaves were like knives in the air. She supposed some of the nobility wanted to try and wait it out in the palace, others simply didn’t care.

Up in the western attic space, where the Lord allowed their colony to stay, the wind had chilled the rafters and the homes of her fellow borrowers. The palace’s fireplaces had yet to light this yeat, and that would be welcome come the first frost. Until then, they lit candles and tucked themselves in blanket piles.

They also worked to keep the palace rid of vermin, and to keep an eye on those the Lord wished for them to watch. Not all borrowers acted as spies or exterminators though, many simply cleaned small spaces for the maids and other housekeepers. 

It was a fortuitous arrangement made when the palace was built over the borrower colony’s old home, an abandoned shack in an untraveled forest. The borrowers got a steady supply of food, shelter, and even a steady payment; the beans’ palace was free of pests, had generally cleaner rooms, and had litteral eyes and ears everywhere.

The work kept them busy, busy kept a person warm, and a warm person was a generally happy person in the cold seasons. Of course, when a party is ongoing they were to remain in the attic space, or at least within the walls, unless ordered otherwise.

And so Brum found herself up above the ballroom, waiting in the vaulted ceiling in case a candle on the chandelier needed replacing before the night was out. She had volunteered, of course. She loved the music, the dancing, the laughter- it was magical.

Borrowers had their own parties, of course, with music and merriment and dancing; but none were like the beans’ parties.

So she watched from above, looking down at the swirling dresses and coattails, hearing the strings reach a crescendo with the piper before crashing down with aplomb. 

She loved this.

Sometimes, she would dance by her lonesome to the music below, trying to match the footsteps of the dancers. Other times she would picture a dress for herself; beautiful and covered in glistening silk. 

But tonight she simply lay in the frame of her perch, watching the party below, listening to the music as it drifted up to her.

[justaradioguy]

@muses-of-kira asked ->

Munday asks, #5 and #9

#5. Do you prefer cool colors or warm colors when decorating your space?

Uhhh... I have a lot of greys at the moment! I also have greens and blues and purples and a yellow blanket. It's not really a preference, it just sort of happened, but I suppose cooler because of that since yellow is the only "warm" color in my room. I mainly just aim for coziness.

#9. If your blog has an aesthetic, what made you pick the aesthetic that you did? What were some other options you considered?

This blog is green and minimalist-ish! I had input from a friend of mine on Discord. (Thanks Cherry!)

Before that, I tried to go with royal blue, but that didn't fit Kain very well, and neither did the gold scheme I attempted after that! I think muted sage green suits him, and I myself am quite fond of it.

[la-cocotte-de-paris]

oh my god i was gonna ask if anyone was in the mood to send anons but i had no idea what time it was

[voidwaren]

you are truly one of the best writers I have known on ao3. The way you write is so special and descriptive to the point that I can imagine everything up in my head. Your writing is truly amazing. I’ve got trouble reading sometimes cause the words get all mumble jumbly to me and I lose interest very quickly (I have such a low attention span 🥲) but god your fanfics always keep me hooked on so fukin much. I am so so excited to see where Champagne Problems goes and even if it does take a while to update each time I will still wait with so much love towards the next chapter.

I am so excited where this will go and I know for a fact it’ll be as amazing as Warren is Strange and Whale song were. 🤘❤️

damn anon, I almost want to keep this in my inbox longer so I can just keep pulling it up and inflating my ego to insufferable proportions. being able to keep someone's attention when they have reading troubles is, like, BIG BIG compliment to me bc I also have trouble and my bar for good writing is "does it keep my attention?"

thank you so much for coming by and dropping an ask to let me know all this, I know I'm a broken record but I seriously do appreciate it when you guys come talk to me.

and thank you for the support, too! and for the faith, that's huge! (especially since CP is literally a filthy mess of scenes and confusion right now. but also so was Whale Song and we got there in the end, SO.)

ilu anon ❤️

[svbhuman]

PLEASE I LITERALLY HAVE THURSDAYS BLOCKED OUT ON THE AVAILABILITY MATRIX dont make me work thursdays i will die i will die

[blujayonthewing]

the thing is I think I need a way to know I'm Done With Drawing For The Day that isn't just 'I'm exhausted and it's way too late and if I don't go to bed I'm gonna implode'

[elenaes]

Elijah slowly made his way over to Elena, a neatly wrapped book in his grasp. "Happy Birthday, Elena."

ㅤㅤshe accepts the book with a touch of trepidation, not quite having expecting to receive a gift from him. feeling a mix of surprise and curiosity, she smiles gratefully. ❛ thank you, elijah. i appreciate it. ❜

[icysilverthread]

I'm rereading LoTR for the first time since I was a teenager, and wow, TT is really grim. It's not unrelentingly grim, in fact it's pretty relenting and full of people who are trying their best (even when their best sucks, the trying gets to matter). But it begins with Merry and Pippin in captivity, and ends with Frodo behind bars, and the middle is full of increasingly tenuous hope because what else is there. And that is all very ouch (compliment).