he made and ate of me

minimum activity. mutuals only rp blog

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Indie Followers Only MuMu by Ala

intertwined with: @bolyde @idolbound @cheatdeaths @chanticle @freedomscall

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found my log in

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Morrigan va: I need to rail my wife

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what they don't tell you about being your own boss is that guy sucks

[zendayacolemann]

EWAN MCGREGOR as Obi-Wan Kenobi STAR WARS: REVENGE OF THE SITH | 2005

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unfortunately I've chosen an fc for Bael

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🧍‍♂️

[chanticle-deactivated20260310]

the tips of her fingers sometimes went numb. buzzing instead of feeling, too used to a world where everything slipped through them. too many times since her return as they’d taken to calling it, a definitive and conclusive statement, she had woken gasping and grasping for something, anything. and blessedly, there had been something, anything there. morrigan’s hand, or her body, winding around her to keep her still and steady, or sometimes kieran - so big, now - there with a cool compress and a comforting word. she couldn’t remember much, in those moments. just warmth. love. and then, blackness as she sunk into sleep.

her lucid moments were more often now and she could keep her food down, and so they’d taken to walking about the small area of the forest in which morrigan had taken up residence. she was not as she once had been, and they had to stop and sit on this stump or that rock. kieran often joined them, or took her out himself.

he was the one who told her. but there was only so much sons could understand about their mothers. perhaps - perhaps he was mistaken. for the first time in a decade, cait considered prayer. instead, she requested a walk with morrigan some ways away from their spot.

lowering herself slowly onto a rock, cait’s scarred face turned upwards and her eyes narrowed, as if searching for something in the new lines of morrigan’s face, in the curl of her hair. at length, she spoke up:

“ how did you do it? ” an innocent question. inevitable, perhaps, in the asking. cait cleared her throat and clarified. “ get me out? ”

@bonetoss, let’s get fucked up.

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It is an act of Hubris, to think that drinking from the Well would have somehow protected her. Protected Keiran. If she had all the pieces she could certainly control them? Couldn't she? It was a decision made with boundless grief too. She had just lost Cait, and far too quickly was Corypheus laying siege to the vir'abelasan. Thus a choice to made. A shackle to don. A fate is never avoided, but simply postponed. She would accept the full breadth of her fate her Mother wanted for her eventually... the promise of what she would get just had to be high enough.

The knowledge to save Cait was that final offer. Of all the life times available to her, the promise of being able to pull out her again... Morrigan paused from where she is taking the opportunity to forage mushrooms feeling her lover's eyes searching rather than just admiring. The Witch approaches, pulling the shawl further over her wife's shoulders, hands coming to cup her cheeks and smoothing thumbs along cheek bones.

"You would make me say it myself?" She had told Keiran when he was older what had happened, that he had not just dreamed all that had occured. "That I asked you to murder an aging woman now for no reason? That everything I sought to change of my fate had found me once more?" There is a bitter laugh at the end of it that is stifling the feeling of being sick if she thinks too long about if she's lost herself or not. Morrigan pushes Cait's hair back from her eyes before sitting down beside her on the rock, clasping her own hand as if it would perhaps move on its own if she did nit have some sort of control and grip on herself.

"I suppose tis not enough explanation that I simply figured it out, or through force of will I made it so?"

Voicing her choice made it real. Gave her fate breath and heartbeat once more. Struck a chord of fear she thought was long severed with Cait reassuring her that her mother was dead.

Morrigan's next inhale shook the fear loose. Struck the chord and with the song of fear that hollowed her chest out she turned her gaze towards her wife's hand. The ring upon it and then all her glory.

"I accepted what was offered in order to save you. Would I have had it another way? perhaps... we both know that I am not one to turn from knowledge easily when it can serve me, even if in this case I also serve It. Her."

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4am business call.

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work event tonight pleeeeeease wish me luck

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missed an incredibly obvious codex during my first play through and wow. the one that makes me lose my marbles and I MISSED it? The one that confirms long held canon on my blog?

oh I'm going to be insufferable about the amount of things I was right about once I finish replaying vg

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'You look terrible.' Is not the appropriate thing to say in response to seeing Cian for the first time in... in forever, so he pulls his lips taut and instead Alistair bows in return. The action was slow and unsure as well. Almost jerky. He can feel Anora giving him a judgemental look a few paces away.

Cian didn't need to bow to him, surely... surely he knew that? Or was he humoring the scene they found themselves in? The party. The finery. Void... even Alistair wore a mask.

'If they want a Dog Lord I'll play the part.'

Carefully, Alistair put a hand to the mask and lifted it from his face and stared back with overly honest eyes, as even he could feel the longing settle at home on his features.

Just say my name. Please say my name.

"Warden-Commander. I didn't think such events were your speed  since you never came yourself to festivities in Denerim."

I am too cowardly to say yours.

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Oh, Maker. He’d thought he could handle it all. The mask helped, but without it, Cian found himself slipping into the dark, ready warmth of Alistair's eyes with no hope of reaching the shore. He drank.

❝ Just plain old Warden, sire. ❞ Cian scratched at his whiskers, the only remnant of facial hair that survived when Leliana had called for him to ‘get cleaned up’ prior to joining the Inquisition’s showing here. ❝ They saw fit to, ah . . . free me of the burden, so to speak. ❞ They were glad to have him go, he knew that. What use was a living legend? He ought to have died, as was right and proper, and spared everyone the awkwardness.

❝ I - have been traveling. Until Leliana wrote me and invited me to join the Inquisition's cause. ❞ He paused, and the Song that lingered for months now in the back of his head crescendoed. Could he hear it, too? Why hadn't he said anything? Cian cleared his throat. ❝ You look - well. ❞

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Leliana has written Alistair as well, prior to the formation of the Inquisition. It's why he was able to offer Redcliffe as a haven to the Circle Mages... for Wynne's memory if nothing else.

And then his hand was forced by politics and... well he couldn't make a sound argument for the Mages to stay if they were working with a Tevinter Magister. There was no way to spin it, and he tried to with Anora for far long than he believed possible.

"Ah. Warden, then." Alistair corrects with another half bow, this one is more measured as he's found not looking directly at Cian he is able to regain some balance.

He doesn't mention the fact that when all the Wardens up and vanished in Ferelden that Alistair begged Arlessa Howe for information until she relented that they were alive, and she would do her best to see if Cian too was fine when she saw her brother next. How it had been a small relief, but not enough. Nothing over the past decade had been enough.

Alistair can feel Teagan's worried look on him now that he's spotted it from his periphery.

HE WAS FINE. (And that was a lie)

"Oh-" the King touched a bit of gray that was more prominent at his temples and finally looked over again "You... you as well."

Oh Sweet Maker he needed a drink.

"Where have you gone?" Alistair wonders. Had this not been his fate would Cian have taken him along? What sights could they have seen?

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continued for @idolbound

An amused hum passes through closed lips. "Perhaps I will. Perhaps I won't." There were more familiar names to call the older woman.

Layers of cascading silks pool about the floor where she sits, hand donned in iron claw tightening slightly upon the hardwood of her chair. It creaks beneath the strength of her shifting her entire weight using that firm grip.

"That is not a title I use much anymore," Shepard moves again, chair protesting further as she leaves the seat to stand, "Magister will do." Pride having found new roots in her own posture.

The mage crooks her finger motioning Meredith forward.

Shepard moves slowly, layers dragging along the floors and towards a door of the courtyard garden. The edge of her dress crawl higher with soot that has found its way inside despite the closed windows. Minrathous was burning after all, not nearly as bad of an aftermath as Treviso from the early words.

Shepard remains quiet as she walks, not looking back to make sure Meredith follows or not, she wasn't even worried about listening for her footfalls. The air is not as acrid with the burning here, the shimmer of an enchanted dome encasing the courtyard.

"You know I was there when the Darkspawn took Ferelden." Shepard begins, footfalls slowing to meander the path created in the courtyard. "What happened here in Minrathous... this is different, isn't it?" Shepard wondered. Even though she worked with the Shadow Dragons, both Maevaris and Dorian were hesitant to trust still and she did not blame them in the slightest. Her moral standing should be judged harshly, especially the ease in which she had settled into Imperium politics.

They'd be stupid not to withhold information. So would Meredith, but-

Shepard slows to a stop in a quieter part of the garden hidden away to where it'd be difficult for unwanted ears to be and she finally looked at Meredith in the eyes properly.

"I want to know what we should be preparing for, Meredith."

[idolbound]

"Mm."

A brief hum reverberates from the back of her throat; piercing blue eyes watch as Shepard rises, donning silks that seem so unlike her, but then, there have been so, so many years between before and now. She almost wants to scoff - as if both of them are somehow playing pretend, as if the current situation that has brought them here is but a fictional tale written by a familiar friend.

When summoned, Meredith steps forward. Her knees ache as does the rest of her in her age, following the younger woman from a respectable distance with gloved hands still clasped behind her back. Gaze follows, watching Shepard move still effortlessly — there is almost an elegance paired with the silks that does not go unnoticed.

"It... it is," She answers in kind with a sigh slipping past parted lips; while no longer a woman of the Templar Order, she has taken up an oath all the same, with many already slain by her hand. In these years, ascending to Senior Warden, has been different and yet — in an ironic spin of fate - or perhaps, by the Maker's own cruelty — still remains something all too familiar.

Within the garden, tucked and hidden away by foliage, she finds Shepard's gaze. Kirkwall feels as if it was once just a dream, but the real story of a failed Knight-Commander lives on in the scars that adorn her ageing face, between the crow's feet and creases; yet, that dark-eyed gaze remains familiar, bringing with it an underlying dormant desire to remember and to relive memories of nights spent with limbs intertwined, lips and tongue twisted in dance, and teeth sinking into flesh...

Meredith clears her throat quietly.

"These Darkspawn are not like their predecessors," She begins, carefully choosing each word, and speaking quietly - now laden with an always present rasp. From what Wardens with boots on the ground have seen, rumours have already spread among the ranks; with it, comes with an unshakeable feeling of doubt in all she has ever known, resonating to the very core.

"They've been..." A pause follows, and she visibly swallows. Her voice remains quiet, yet cold. "Modified. By an elven god."

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Shepard looked at Meredith now... really looked at her. There were scars she did not know the taste of, but worse:

There was a weariness. An exhaustion that was so unlike Meredith.

"Ah." Shepard took the information in stride, knowing a little of Varric's team and their goal to stop The Dread Wolf.

"So-" she canted her head to the stone bench for Meredith to sit and take a rest, "just another Thursday then?"

[firefox-official]

whats wrong with you

whatever you want

[chanticle-deactivated20260310]

Cian had never been particularly good at sums. That said, stranded in the sea of perfume and plumage that was the gathering at Halamshiral, he was beginning to put two and two together. And the result, just as soon as he sobered up a bit more, would be a stern chat with Leliana. He looked around and found that she had seemingly disappeared into the crowd after oh-so-subtley guiding him over to the side of the room he’d been avoiding.

Why the hell would he be here anyway? There was diplomacy, of course, but this hardly necessitated the attendance of the King. Then again, who asked Cian for his leadership advice? The Grey Wardens had made it very clear that it was . . . not his area of expertise, to say the least. Cian curled his hand a bit tighter around his glass, as if it was keeping him aloft. He felt a bit like it must be as Alistair’s eyes fell on him at last.

A beat late, he bowed.

❝ Your Majesty. ❞

@bonetoss didn’t ask for this, i just thought about it.

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'You look terrible.' Is not the appropriate thing to say in response to seeing Cian for the first time in... in forever, so he pulls his lips taut and instead Alistair bows in return. The action was slow and unsure as well. Almost jerky. He can feel Anora giving him a judgemental look a few paces away.

Cian didn't need to bow to him, surely... surely he knew that? Or was he humoring the scene they found themselves in? The party. The finery. Void... even Alistair wore a mask.

'If they want a Dog Lord I'll play the part.'

Carefully, Alistair put a hand to the mask and lifted it from his face and stared back with overly honest eyes, as even he could feel the longing settle at home on his features.

Just say my name. Please say my name.

"Warden-Commander. I didn't think such events were your speed  since you never came yourself to festivities in Denerim."

I am too cowardly to say yours.

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proof of life check 🫶

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you would not believe I slept most of the day

client confirmed we can ship this package and i may just go buy some cheap drinks and celebrate nearly 18 months of work