#sunlilted

[battleshot]

Unconventional munday asks!

             ↳ @glovesup​​ asked : 🤩 who is someone in your RPC that you admire? 

there’s a handful of people I could list here, but then I’d be worried I forgot someone ((((((((: so imma go with two because I couldn’t decide on just one ahsdsjhdgsdy

@sicsemper​​​  i attacked mika back in august last year, because i was absolutely in awe of his writing -- anything i would see on the dash, i would read, and i was waiting for my opportunity to creep in like !! everything he writes truly captures the depth of the character, down to the smallest detail -- his writing is **chef’s kiss**, and i aspire to write just half as decent as him. I don’t get the chance to read a lot of books, so this as close to it as i’m going to get right now. I live for his meta’s, when he starts going off on discord, i’m fed for the week. I’ve learnt so many extra little things about xv -- and considering i’ve been a long time fan, since versus -- it’s refreshing to analyse things in a new light -- like some of the lore and deeper references -- truly that man’s mind is wonderful, ( insane but -- ) and i thoroughly enjoy his presence -- tru m8 ;)

@sunlilted​​​ -- nYX!!!  when i tell you that i live for our discussions on discord - WE’VE had a lot of behind the scenes with these boys for many months, and i’m always thrilled to read about a thought they’ve had !! things that we know, but we don’t know the in depth -- like one time they told me about beads, the symbolic value and even how certain colours hold placement in nyx’s community. that’s just ONe example -- But, when nyx does swing around on the dash -- i just lose my shit. it’s wonderful to see someone who writes nyx, cares and fleshes him out so deeply, and isn’t just used there because he’s a pretty man ( i mean he is, but ) honestly, i feel blessed to have found their blog and seeing them around -- even on oc’s just brings me joy and happiness. <3

[scarfbond]

 @sunlilted​​  ::  spots to kiss 29 -a kiss on the inside of the wrist. from sheik time for kisses  ::  accepting 

he stands to the left of the princess,  arms crossed over his chest with eyes glued on the map laid across the table,  watching points of interest  &  known keeps being drawn across.  all those that matter are in attendance of the meeting  --  generals, commanders,  even messengers --  being held at the beginning hours of twilight,  to leave them to brew with the information brought by the scouts sent out the week prior. 

he knows why he’s there,  but again he has to wonder.  they can just point  &  tell him  ‘ kill ‘  &  he’d kill.  knowing the in   &  outs of the battlefield didn’t interest him any longer,  not when they didn’t prove to give them the upper hand in prior engagements.  he doesn’t think of strategies,  a sword doesn’t have to  --  well.  maybe fi.  but calling  her  a sword doesn’t feel right,  somehow.

so,  as a result,  he quickly loses interest,  the words of wisdom going straight over his head.  blue eyes glance downward,  more towards himself this time,  to the grey  &  blue metal that’s now become his left forearm.  his stomach flips.  

it still doesn’t feel right.

he knows,  logically after being given a long winded explanation that he barely understood,  he can’t  actually  feel it.  yet still it .... feels .... wrong, somehow.    a thumb brushes against cold steel,  &  his stomach twists at how he can feel the sensation of smooth coolness on his thumb,  but not his thumb on the metal itself.  is it silly?  he’s not sure anyone would be able to answer that. 

he almost wishes it wasn’t there.  almost.  he knows it has to be,  at the end of the day,  a broken sword isn’t a sword at all.  his brows furrow  &  he scowls,  anxiety climbing up his body like a creeping ghost  --

his head snaps up as his name is spoken,  &  link looks at the holder of wisdom as if he  wasn’t  just tuning out everything around him. his shoulders square,  head lifts,  ready as he is to hear the orders that lie on her tongue,  obedient little weapon he is. 

    “ you’ll be sitting this one out. “

his world stops,  mouth opening as if he had a voice ready to protest,  arms falling to his side.  before anything could be written or signed,  she continues,  “ your arm -- “   his world goes dark,  the rest of her words running past him as if too scared for him to hear them,  fearful of his reaction.  a rare spark of anger lights up his stomach,  rising to his chest,  to where a voice would be if he’d trained it as he once wished.  his arm?  his arm?   his fists clench at his side,  nails digging into fabric  --  metal scrapes against metal. 

suddenly,  his arm hurts.  it  burns  with fire  &  heat  ;   it strains  &  thumps with overuse  &  forming bruises  ;  then it’s as if he can feel the sensation of metal slicing through skin,  muscle,  bone all over again.  he wants to scream.  it hurts,  it hurts,   but it’s gone --

gloved hand races to grab onto the metal,  as if to confirm it’s still there,  that he’s already gone through the battle once  &  never again.  he hears concerned noises,  questions,  his name.  where is he?  they’re so far off,  everything’s so dark,  his breath is caught in his throat before it forces itself out  &  back in to repeat.  he feels too warm,  he feels eyes of anger  &  conniving jealousy all centered on his left arm.  where the mark of the gods used to be.  

then he feels  suffocated.  the voices are closer  --  no,  too close,  they’re in his ear,  someone’s telling them to get away from link.  him?  suddenly  he can see the ground beneath his boots,  shadows of those that surround him with worry in their tones  --  the shadows smile at him.  

he chokes in a breath,  &  all at once he’s barreling out of the tent.  from a statue to a sprint,  shoving past the other generals.  he’s not sure how long he runs,  full sprint ahead towards somewhere that doesn’t exist,  but eventually he comes to a stop.  under his feet is grass,  twigs,  leaves ....

he looks up.  sky of twilight painting the sky in beautiful colors that fade to darkness,  leaves rustle above him with a gentle breeze.  it reminds him that he hasn’t brushed his hair yet. it’s gotten long,  he thinks.

tired legs carry him to a nearby tree,  & his back hits it with a groan from the hero,  sliding down the bark to sit himself on the ground.  his breath is heavy,  from running if he had to guess,  but he finds himself at a predicament  --   he doesn’t remember why he’s out here. his brows furrow as he tries to run through his memories,  recent  memories, but comes up short.  a twig snaps,  his head lifts to see ...

ah,  of course.  the gods would never let him rest.  here’s the great hero to be,  sitting in the growing dark,  having ran from something,  holding his prosthetic arm until his knuckles turn while. his face is flushed,  his breathing shaky  &  uneven. 

there he stands.  sheik,  the one from another time,  he noted before,  staring down at him.  he must have done it on purpose,  link decides.  a sheikah would  never  let their prey know they’re there by pure accident.  they stay like that for a long time,  the light finally fading around them into darkness,  &  with it link closes his eyes. he’ll scold the hero for sure,  for whatever it was  he did,  for this shameful display. 

he notes that he can’t hear him move,  even the slightest bit,  &  that’s when he  knows  the twig was broken on purpose.  a match is struck,  he recognizes the sound,  &  a lantern is lit.  it sits beside him,  illuminating the sheikah just barely  &  -- 

first of all,  when the HELL did he get so close.  his body tenses all over again,  sheik sitting on his knees in front of link  --  no,  between links legs,  more specifically.  

secondly  ...  even in light as low as this,  a glow that barely illuminates the both of them,  his breath is snatched away by something other than anxiety  &  fear.  it’s the same thing that took it away the first time he’d seen sheik  ;  when he’d seen the sheikah fight for the first time  ;  when they first truly  fought  each other.  he’s not sure what it is,  what to call it,  but the urge that comes with it remains the same nonetheless. 

he’s beautiful.  the thought comes easy to him,  &  he doesn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed to think it for once.  they only stare at each other in the dim light,  &  then sheik reaches for his left arm  --  link flinches away.  sheik stops, staring at him.  there’s a question there that he can’t understand,  somewhere in that eye,  but he answers it.  he lifts his hand,  his left hand,  &  he notes the steadiness of it.  much more steady than the trembling of his right hand,  fingers digging into the dirt next to him. 

sheik takes the offered hand,  &  for a moment link thinks there’s a glint of satisfaction in his eye,  before it flicks down to the metal again.  a thumb brushes against the palm,  link curses under his breath.  how he wishes he could feel that.  how he wishes he could feel the way his hand it being held, turned towards the sheikah in an examination.  of course he’d be curious about it -- everyone was.  link just  ....  never let anyone see it until now.  

he notes the way the light flickers along his white hair,  how it dances in his eyes,  illuminating just enough of the prince to be seen  --  &  just not enough for link.  as much as he’s staring at the other,  he misses the way sheik’s gaze flicks to his.  but he doesn’t miss the way sheik leans in, still holding onto his hand,  he doesn’t miss the way he can see the mask pressed against the inner wrist of his prosthetic. 

gods,  he prays,  let me feel this.  

his head dips down slightly in embarrassment,  watching sheik through his bangs.  his hand raises  &  tugs down the mask that’s always blocked links view of his face  (  there have been times he’s felt tempted to just pull it down himself,  but knows well that it’d only earn himself a punch or worse. )  then those lips that he finds himself staring at press against that spot again,  &  he prays harder.  

his eyes close tightly,  deciding he can’t watch anymore. 

[whocanretell]

How does Rivka feel, shouldering the burden of Inquisitor? Is there a moment where Rivka wishes to give it up entirely? How does being inquisitor change or effect Rivka's views, if at all?

I've sat on this question for a while because Rivka has essentially been trained and conditioned to be a community leader their whole life. They've been influenced and mentored by leaders of their respective communities (Deshanna, Aban and Adaar, Alha, etc.) as long as they can remember and they do genuinely enjoy it! They get a lot out of being the bridge between Dalish clans and building community in Wycome between the Tal Vashoth and the Vashoth, the Dalish, the city elves, and surface dwarves to act as a coalition for non-humans. It's a significant part of their work for the Creators.

It's not the burden of the leadership of being Inquisitor that is painful for them so much as it is all of the Chantry trappings and militarized Andrastrianism that comes with it. The lack of control around their status as a figurehead and how little power they have over their own story, no matter how much she pushes back or asserts herself. It's something that she openly resents and makes no secret of. She's also never experienced that level of fame/infamy before and would like to give that up very much, though she will absolutely capitalize on it post-Inquisition to push for and demand wider social change. It's daunting.

Being Inquisitor does actually confirm a lot of her thoughts on the Chantry as an institution and how it is failing its people, but her watching the grand clerics just roll over and die at Val Royeaux with a whimper and not a bang drastically increases her sympathy for the humans subject to their whims. Rivka has always grown up in community, even when it has failed her, even when times have been rough, and to not have that support network by any other means and for it to be ripped away so easily is devastating. As Herald and then Inquisitor, she gets a front row seat to the inner workings of the southern Chantry and to what degree the institution of the Chantry harms the human, non-mage subjects it claims so much to care about.

[freedomscall-aaa]

@sunlilted | 😊

There is a certain aspect of their blossoming life together that Anders adores, one that melts through the uncertainty of adjusting to a home that he still sometimes feels like a visitor in and fills him with a type of contentment he hasn't felt in a very long time. It is such a simple thing, really, in comparison to the degree of joy that it brings him. And it is almost laughable, to think that this is what he enjoys most:

They're at least five feet apart; Anders curled up in an armchair that rests beside the fireplace of their now shared bedroom, Waylan at his desk working on something that the blond imagines pertains to work. Quietly existing together, immersed in their own devices without the need to force a conversation. There is an immense comfort to it, a calmness that Anders strangely adores as he thumbs through the pages of his book: to know that the other is there, just steps away, after years and years of living alone.

After another moment he's finished reading for the time, marking his place with a dog-eared page before closing the hardback book and setting it aside. He rises from his seat, curiosity getting the better of him more than any need to fill the silence with some type of noise.

" What are you writing? " The doctor asked, slowly making his way over to the other side of the room. " Poetry? A passionate love letter, maybe? Or just work? "

[lucifernevergoesaway]

[dragcnlxrd]

is there a quirk of lys' speech or mannerisms that you find endearing to write? something like a tic or unconscious way of wording things he does, that you very much enjoy?

Hmm... I dunno honestly. Like between his FFXV verse and his Modern verse to that of like say his ASoIaF/GoT verse his speech is very different so I've been told. I mean he smirks a lot and is kinda flirty with his latter verse and in his other verses he's got like NO filter sometimes.

I know when I write his ASoIaF/GoT verse his mannerisms are more I'd say eloquent there's like a grace with him in both speech and movements? I honestly don't really see much difference when I write him as I just write him how he sounds in my head for any particular verse but @ravusnightblossom has told me theres a difference with him in his verses and she explains it better lol.

[flameleadsarc]

@sunlilted​ asked: what is roy's favorite part of being a parent? what has been the most difficult part of him being the guardian of the elric boys?

"Favorite part?” Roy put a hand to his chin as his eyes glanced upward. “Hard to pick just one thing. Parenting isn’t something I expected to do, but I’m glad I found those boys and took them in. I guess, if I had to pick something, it’d be coming home to them. Just seeing them, listening to them talk about their day, or being near them, is more than enough for me. The two of them existing are my favorite parts of being a parent.”

Without realizing it, he donned a smile. His hand left his chin and sat in his lap, his other hand joining it. Those two turned him into a sap---almost as bad as Hughes. At least he had the kindness not to show off pictures of Edward and Alphonse to every innocent bystander. No, he just bragged about them when in the mess hall or visiting Chris.

Most difficult part? That answer came much easier as he frowned and folded his arms over his chest. He let out a sigh, and he continued speaking.

“I worry about them a lot---not just as their Commanding Officer, but their guardian too. Whether or not they’re safe, sleeping and eating enough, staying out of trouble... but it always seems to find them. That’s the hardest part.” He looked to the floor and shook his head. “I’ve almost lost them too many times. I do everything I can to protect them, but the hardest part is knowing that, one day, that might not be enough.”

[pcsitivibee]

positivity for sunlilted : some love for @sunlilted ! Em is a great writer and full of creativity! All their OCs are just total delights to see and learn more about! And Em is always so positive and thoughtful too, the whole package really. I'm really glad we're buddies. Much love!

[faetyd]

      his suspicions of peter ransom were well known; while he did trust him to some degree, he also understood that there were certain complications that could likely arise if he placed too much faith into a man that prided himself such a capable thief. he was certain that ransom understood the dangerous implications of harming any member of their family — as jet ( and buddy and vespa ) had made that inherently clear, but it didn't hurt to remain somewhat cautious.

      that being said, he also did not go out of his way to avoid the other man. in passing, he would nod his head in greeting — though they often remained on opposite sides of the ship. jet preferred to tinker with the ruby-7 and a small collection of old, rusted vehicles that they'd salvaged. ransom did whatever it was that ransom did. to jet's knowledge, he was probably spending time with juno.

      and so, when he spots the other man nearby, he calls out to him. ❝ ransom, ❞ he greets, followed immediately by a request that wasn't really phrased as a question, ❝ you're familiar with the ruby-7. come here, i will need an extra hand in a moment. ❞

@sunlilted liked for a starter from jet!

[battleshot]

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝:    @sunlilted​​ 「 Nyx Ulric 」

                                      𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝 : Reunion. 

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 ?      no    ➤ yes

    𝘼    𝙝𝙪𝙛𝙛    𝙤𝙛    𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧    𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙙    𝙝𝙞𝙢      as  he  caught  reflections  from  a  once  vibrant  shop  window.  Initially,  he  wondered  whether  this  shop  would    ever    reopen. In  simpler  times,  when  the  sun  shone  on  the  population,  when  street  musicians  made  a  living,  when      𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒔    𝒐𝒇    𝒕𝒉𝒆    𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒕      would  stimulate  his  senses,  when  Prompto,  really  only  had  one  concern:      '  What  herb  did  Ignis  say  he  was  buying?  '      --  Just  as  clueless  as  ever.   He  was  all  set  for  a  return  to  the  past.    To  learn,    in  order  to  prevent    today.    The  thought  of  exploring  such  a  possibility,  however,  would  lead  him  down  a  rocky  path,  in  which  his  heart  began  to  ache  over  the  man  he  assumed  dead.    𝐍𝐲𝐱    𝐔𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐜.   His  second  thought  was  the  surprise  at  the  apparent  facial  hair,  which  induced  his  laughter.           ❝    Getting    old    prom...      ❞        What  was  he  now,  twenty-five,    nearing    twenty-six?  Knowing  that  so  many  lives  were  lost,  and  without  a  doubt,  that  wasn't  the  end  of  the  slaughter,  he  thanked  the  Astrals  for  having  even    made  it    to  this  age  --  each  day  was  nothing    short    of  a  blessing.  Unfortunately,  even  the  most  courageous  of  hunters  still  fall  victim  to  the  lifeless,  soulless  grasp  of  the  daemons.   Nevertheless,  as  time  moved  forward,  they  persisted;    they    adapted.  Mapping  out  the  enemy's  offensive,  defensive,  and  tactical  actions.  Prompto  would  be  on  the  frontlines,  of  course.  As  a  member  of  the  Crownsguard,  he  was  aware  of  what  he  was  signing  up  for,  but  was  the  thought  of  being  in  combat  alongside  his  best  friend  what    sold  him    on  the  idea?  Although  he  wanted  to  be  more  than  just  a  lone  photographer,  he  was  confronted  with  the  realization  that  this  was  maybe  more  than  he  could  chew.  But  who  could  ever  really  know  how  something  like  this  would  unfold?   Detracted  from  his  aging  features,  attention  was  drawn  to  voices  behind  him,  azureous  optics  following  the  noise  that    reverberated    along  the  walls  of  cobbled  alleyways.  

        ❝    Some    '  hero  '  ,  showing  up  after  all  this  time.          ❞  

A  heartbeat  was  instantly  skipped  in  his  chest.  He  knew  only  one  man  with  that  reference,  but  these  hunters  may  not  have  known  that.  Their  connection  could  have  been  just  about  anybody.  However,  his  ears  perk,  and  the  well-worn  leather  boots  of  his  uniform      (    note,  wash  later,  Gurangatch  spit  is  not  attractive.    )      pull  him  towards,  keeping  a  distance  behind,  the  hunters.

        ❝  Well,  more  hands  are  always  welcome.  Ulric  will  be  a  valuable  asset,  no  doubt.        ❞  

The  sharpshooter's  voice  surprised  the  hunters.      ❝      Nyx  ??    ❞      He  asked.      ❝      Uh,  Nyx...  Ulric  ?    ❞  

[deathleadsarc]

@sunlilted​ asked: Does Chrissy believe in the afterlife? if so, does she have a concept of heaven & hell?

     She’s a MATTER OF FACT kind of person, and being an alchemist who has studied Human Transmutation and actually knows how to do it ( but never has performed it, mind you, only knows the theory ) she understands that not only is death permanent it’s also an ‘end’. Nothing will happen to her after her death and there is no afterlife for her. I would say there is probably the fleeting thought of her soul being held in a ‘place’ where the souls of her few loved ones will gather and rest for all eternity, but she mostly, doesn’t think anything will happen! 

As for Heaven and Hell, it’s the same thing. On occasion, she will reference the two places from time to time but never really allude to believing in it at all. She likes the idea of them in general, but wouldn’t think that she’d end up in either place.

[whocanretell]

21) for sender to playfully nip at receiver’s fingers. or even 1) for sender to gently bite receiver’s shoulder while they embrace. for bulldesh <3

"Stop it. I'm working." The response is rote, but the fingers working their way through Desh's curls tell a different story. Desh rolls his eyes and turns his head, teeth clamping around the heel of The Iron Bull's thumb. It's more of a firm clasp than a bite, holding it in place while his tongue flicks wildly over the rough skin. It's worth the fond snort he gets. "Hope you like the taste of coconut oil, then. I'm not done yet."

[I like your taste.] Desh signs slowly and deliberately, mouth inching up to pop Bull’s thumb in his mouth. His teeth scrape the pad and Bull pauses, left hand fisting tight in his hair. Desh yelps around his thumb, then sighs sweetly. Damn it.

“If you want something, use your words.” He lets him go and in the blink of an eye, Desh is straddling his lap. He looks meaningfully at Bull, arms wrapping around his neck. “Hello,” Bull drawls, hands slipping under his tunic to stroke his sides. He’s about to steal a kiss when Desh jerks to the side and sinks his teeth into his bare, well muscled shoulder, eliciting a startled grunt from Bull. “You call that hard? That was a love bite. I barely felt that.” He’s protesting a bit too much.

Desh’s grin is unbearably smug. [I know.] He huffs against Bull’s shoulder, settling in. [Someone has to teach you these things. Who better than your wife?]

[lucifernevergoesaway]

[gentledeaths-arc]

@sunlilted​ : Hypnos yawns, reaching up to retrieve another of the dreams from Thanatos' shoulder. "I wondered where this one wandered off to, normally they're content to nap with me." Hypnos shrugs, depositing the disgruntled dream into the bundle he's made out of his blanket. "Morph seems particularly attached to you as well, brother."

DEATH APPROACHES.    uncle death laughs loosely, a careful and off-key thing that leaves his lips. he never minded when his brother’s children found themselves attached to his cloak, to his coat, to his clothes. the little dreamlings are held carefully in thanatos’ hands as he passes them back over to their father, the taller of the two shrugging just a touch and then continuing his hover ever-so-slightly off the ground.  ‘ i don’t mind, hypnos, really. i figured i should drop him back off before i returned to the surface. the last thing the mortals need is dreams about their loved ones dying.  ’   he offers a pointed glare at his twin that bleeds into an almost affectionate smile.  ‘  after all, we know a great deal about that one happening, yes?  ’

[okckent]

Morning at leadership

[despairforme]

🎨 - what color or color(s) do you feel describes you? why?

ASK MEME | accepting!

     ❝ My favorite color 's yellow. ❞ There was a snort, because he highly doubted anyone who knew him would associate him with such a bright color. People probably thought that black was more his color. He mostly dressed in dark colors, and especially black - and also his hair was black so yeah. It really fit his dark personality too. Nnoitra was a gloomy person. He sometimes wondered if that was why he liked yellow so much. Because it was simply the exact opposite of him. Apparently it was the color of hope too. He had hardly ever felt hopeful in his life. 

     ❝ But, I guess black, or grey, or maybe red. Ya know, like blood. ❞ A gesture was made towards his knuckles, which, as always, were a little torn. Not currently bleeding, but all he needed to do was scratch off the layer of dried blood. At least today he wasn't wearing black. He was wearing a light green t-shirt, one of the only clean non-dark t-shirts he had. He really needed some clothes in more lighter colors to wear in summer. Wearing black like he did the rest of the year was just too much. Even for him who enjoyed being warm.