Time's Up @bliightcd - Tumblr Blog

Anyone else ever wanna just… make pre-established connections between characters without having to RP it out cuz you’re a tired busy adult?

Like just hit each other up with shenanigans and tomfoolery and ‘they would totally do this’ sorta bs.

#( * &. policies )#[me af]

collection of prompts / starter sentences - @lucernimaevaris asked: “ you are either a fool or a genius or maybe both ”

“Amazing how often those two things coincide."

One might hope for the best of both words, yet which would prove true in this instance remains to be seen. Whichever the case, it hardly matters, at least where his sake is concerned. Either things go smoothly and his plea is not only heard but heeded without intervention from those he intends to sneak past, or it would prove a foolish endeavor for which he may pay dearly. But again, it doesn’t matter, as standing idly by would accomplish nothing, and if no one else was willing to spill the beans (to whom makes no difference, so long as they’re willing to listen and lend a hand), it may as well be him. And why not? His father trusts him, and his father’s associates trust the magister himself -- or, so it seems. If he pulls this off, they’ll all be none the wiser until the aftermath rains down upon them.

In theory, it is indeed a good plan; genius may be a bit excessive, but it’s at least good enough to work. That said, plans on paper often sound better than those in practice, so time would tell. “I’ll keep you informed. If not me, I’m sure Dorian will -- I can promise you that.”

#v; tbn #( * &. answered )#lucernimaevaris #[ yooooooooooou i have missed youuuuuuuuuu]

dragonsmemesandrpchelp-a

Reblog if your inbox is always open to:

Memeless Asks

Headcanon Asks

IC Anons

OOC Anons

Anything and everything pertaining to your muse and how you depict them.

#( * &. out of character )#[i take 3000 years to answer things BUT they're always welcome!]

misc prompts for your feels (accepting) - @faelissa said: “ don’t you realize you deserve more than this?” u_u

A thoughtful, perhaps amused hum precedes, and a soft smile touches his lips. “So I’ve heard before.”

If only it were theirs to decide. Were that the case, his father would have long ago seen to it that no single woe would befall his son for, as the magister proclaimed, Felix deserved more than the cards dealt. A shame he does not entirely agree. Does he wish things were different? Oh, of course he does, but all in all, with his assigned path, things could be so much worse. He has found a sort of contentment, forced though it may be; he hasn’t much choice, after all. It is either that or wallow in pity and sorrow, and he’s well above that. Others may not understand it. In fact, it appears most do not, but that’s alright. When the topic comes up, they generally mean well, and that does count for something.

“Thank you. I appreciate the thought.”

#v; tbn #faelissa #( * &. answered )

misc prompts for your feels (accepting) - @altusmage said: “ just rest, i’m here. ”

On days such as this, to be left alone is, dare he say, a preference.

No doubt, concern is touching. In a way, he is grateful to have others around who cared enough to grant him that, but truthfully, as much as it is appreciated, it is also grating. The looks of worry, pity, and helplessness turned his direction on bad days are often worse to bear than the blight ravaging his body, thus it is much simpler to deal with it on his own until the worst passed. That way, there is no need to hide, no need to muffle sounds of pain or downplay the way his stomach pitched and his joints ached, no need to trouble hearts already aching with thoughts of his condition and fate. Suffering in solitude is better than that. Alas, such a luxury escapes him today, as it seems hiding is necessary, for there is one concern he cannot seem to dodge, no matter the protest, and Felix cannot deny the fact he understands why. Were their situations reversed, and it was he who saw Dorian’s near collapse in the hallway, he would have been right there at his friend’s side.

But, that is not the case, and it is him dealing with this, therefore he has every right to object, however fruitlessly.

"You don’t have to be, Dorian.” His voice, so quiet now, would waver at its usual volume and tone. So often had that given him away that he’d learned to counter, to speak as if passing along sensitive information meant only for the other party. True, it is a poor counter, but it is the best he can offer, though he’s sure others -- his father and the man now seated there at his bedside, specifically -- have noticed. They do seem to know him best. Were that not the case, neither is blind or stupid, so surely they had noticed something at least.

And, if he’s honest...Dorian’s presence is a comfort all on its own. Under normal circumstances, that would be met with enthusiasm, with bright grins and stolen treats and ramblings of studies and research, curiosities and discoveries, people crossing their paths, and this and that; not so today. Today he speaks with a clenched jaw to keep his voice in check. Today, he swallows hard against the aftermath of a thought regarding food and lies back against the headboard of his bed, yet still comes a last-ditch effort to save face.

“I know you have more important things to do, so go.” Still it’s spoken on a low breath, gentle to the core, and as he looks upon Dorian, he’s forcing a little flash of a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

#v; tbn #( * &. answered )#altusmage

memetaped

nonverbal starters prompts featuring nonverbal scenarios.

guide take them by the hand, arm, or shoulder to guide them.

shelter protect them.

shove push them.

loop drape an arm around their shoulders.

touch a gentle touch like rubbing their back, hugging them, holding their hand.

kiss a kiss on the cheek, knuckles, forehead, in their hair.

palm smack them upside the head.

bed rest gently push them back down when they try getting out of bed.

aid help them with a task.

note pass a note to them.

cry wipe away their tears.

wash wipe something off their forehead, cheek, so on.

bandage patch them up when they get hurt.

heal take care of them when they get sick.

book silently read a story with them.

carry pick them up.

scrap punch them.

cherry find blood on them.

sit help them sit down.

medical wake up in the hospital and find them holding their hand.

steer place a hand under their chin to make them look up.

beat dance with them.

stare stare them down.

off track get lost with them.

no shaking their head in disagreement.

yes nodding their head in agreement.

rush tackle them to the ground.

open hold the door open for them.

#( * &. prompts )

darpcm

REBLOG IF YOU ARE A PART OF THE DRAGON AGE RPC.

Please include any of these in the tags to be included in the masterlist:

single / mumu / sb > canon > name > companion / advisor / misc single / mumu / sb > pc > warden / hawke / inquisitor > name single / mumu / sb > oc > oc warden / oc inquisitor single / mumu / sb > oc > oc companion / oc misc single / mumu / sb > au > warden / hawke / inquisitor / companion / misc

ex: single > canon > cullen > advisor mumu > pc > warden > cousland mumu sb > canon > fenris > companion

pc = playable character. oc warden / inquisitor = not an amell / cousland / tabris / etc or adaar / cadash / lavellan / trevelyan. au = your character is not originally of dragon age, but has an au for it. mumu = multimuse. / sb = sideblog. ► alternate post, if you find this confusing.

#single > canon > felix alexius > misc #( * &. masterlist )

Eventually Everyone runs out Of time.

#darp #da rp #dragon age roleplay #da roleplay #dragon age rp

MUSE’S HANDWRITING ! go ( here ) & pick out a font which resembles your muse’s handwriting the closest.

#( * & headcanon )#( * &. hbt hc )

Character Traits Headcanon Prompt Repost or Reblog & bold what applies to your muse

#( * & headcanon )#( * & mntl )

TOUGH SHELL

bruised knuckles. bloody noses. eye-rolling. empty bottles. messy hair. sarcasm. lip biting. unwashed jeans. coffee breath. loud music. broken neon signs. chipped nail polish. leather jackets. always wearing headphones. swearing. sneaking out at 3 am. dark lipstick. frown creases. burning cigarettes. plaid shirts. under eye circles. dark colors.

SOFT INSIDE

honey tea. flower crowns. giggling. blowing kisses. dancing without worries. white lace. soft textures. fluffy throw pillows. using too many heart emojis. empathy. constant daydreaming. handwritten letters. fairy lights. bullet journals. designated driver. warm hugs. garden picnics. quiet. smile lines. optimism. flowy clothes. pastel colors.

#( * & dash games )

#( * & playlist )#[ well spotify continues to be ugly on here but whatever i guess ]

Focus. Focus, you can do this.

The notion settles firmly in his mind, and still remains a lingering doubt. Since the early morning he’d felt it, the telltale burn in his joints, the steady throb behind his eyes, the distance he felt from himself that signal the start of another bad day. The sharpened mind for which he’s known is dull, hazy at best, scarcely able to stay on topic before it’s drawn to the ailments plaguing the rest of him. In two days time he’s not touched the food placed before him, despite a hunger he cannot sate for the mere thought of food is nauseating, nor has he, in his sheer exhaustion, slept beneath the mound of pillows he covets so. Too much pain, too many distant whispers in his ears and fleeting shadows darting through the corners of his vision.

But all this, no one knows. No one needs to know, as it gains him nothing more than their pity, and that he does not need. It’s nothing new, this daily struggle with which he has learned to cope. Some days are worse than others – and it’s those days that find him locked away in his chambers, hidden from troubled eyes with a ruse in place to keep them at bay. It’s those days where agony finds victory – and still he tries. Perhaps he should have realized how bad things would come to be. In a way he did, and still he chose to forsake the safety and solitude of his room in favor of accompanying his current companion in the library. As usual. The quiet would be alright, he’d told himself. It would soothe the brewing sickness with the promised calm, ease the pounding in his head and allow a moment’s peace on a particularly trying day. No such luck, as he should have assumed. In times like this, no relief came, no matter what he tried – and he was a fool to think otherwise.

Before him Dorian stood, speaking about – ah, he’d forgotten. His train of thought had fallen upon a different course all together, with little hope of dragging it back on track. When their eyes meet, it is a weak smile he offers as encouragement, paling in comparison to the grin of excitement he’d usually offer in response to Dorian’s ramblings. It’s heavy eyes, the faintest flash of teeth, a waver in his stance…Maker, he can’t do this. The final thread snaps, and he has to escape, has to get away and hide before his pain is forced on display for the mage before him. He can’t allow that. Dorian cannot see him that way; sick, his mind reeling in agony and feeling every bit the dying man he is. But the vow comes a moment too late.

A choked breath escapes. He nearly doubles over in his seat, the throb behind his eyes growing worse by the second. It spreads in a mere heartbeat, trailing downward with agonizing vigor that his stomach pitches in protest. It’s a losing battle he’s fighting here – but with that realization comes another; that he is not fighting it alone. There is warmth on his cheeks, a warmth he hadn’t noticed lacking until then. Close, so close now comes a voice, low in tone and crackling with worry. Fear, perhaps; that is one thing they shared. He’s afraid this time. Terrified. The mask he’s crafted so carefully is cracking at the seams, and he’s powerless to stop it.

All he can muster is lifting both trembling hands, fingers finding a weak grip on heavy fabric and curling as tight as he can manage. Eyes squeeze shut; he shakes his head, his defeat admitted in a mere murmur under his hitched breath – but the gentle hold on his face never falters, nor does the string spoken to him in a voice that breaks his heart. Dorian was never meant to see this; he shouldn’t see this, shouldn’t worry over him any more than he has to…yet here he remains.

And finally, with far more effort than the action should require, he hears a portion of the words spilling from his friend’s lips, gradually drawing his frantic mind back where it belonged. Grounding him, as Dorian’s mere presence was often prone to doing.

" — eyes on me, Felix. Keep your eyes on me.”

#( * &. drabble )

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Time's Up