❛ we are drifters; shapeshifters.
indie multimuse. star wars, dragon age, fallout, until dawn. ( muses. )
todays bird
Jules of Nature
One Nice Bug Per Day
$LAYYYTER
Cosimo Galluzzi
cherry valley forever
Sweet Seals For You, Always
KIROKAZE
occasionally subtle
Show & Tell
Three Goblin Art
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Not today Justin
Game of Thrones Daily
trying on a metaphor

⁂

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AnasAbdin

izzy's playlists!
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@clanculum
❛ we are drifters; shapeshifters.
indie multimuse. star wars, dragon age, fallout, until dawn. ( muses. )
I try to inhabit that person and have their thoughts. I don’t try to patronize the time. I think human nature is eternal and constant. I don’t think it does fluctuate hugely. There are simply different pressures on people. I think character and impulses are the same. Desires are the same. Once you’re playing them, you shouldn’t be judging them in any way. That’s what being an actor is - it’s having empathy for people that are different from yourself. Once you’re committed to that person, your responsibility is to tell that story.
She’d lost her arm. That was something… quite astonishing to him. She’d left; a war in a land unknown to him, soldiers passing through a mirror, elven artifacts scattered about these lands that hummed with magic in a way that made his pulse erratic, his jaw clench and his entire being stand on edge. He hadn’t found her– though qunari, after qunari, but then it’d ended, and there was a dragon… freed, from what he’d gathered from the whispering among him. And they’d all returned, soldiers and spies alike, the inquisitors party– somewhere, to save Josephine from what seemed like social literal suicide. And the inquisitor… armless. He’d remembered his panic at the time, how he’d cracked the wood of the table before him in his fight not to run and take her into his arms, how he’d listened to the power in her voice as she’d made her decision– as she tore down those god forsaken nobles, and wanted to strangle them all with his bare hands when they snapped back at her like vipers. Anyone near him had slipped away, leaving him a space to himself– he looked ready to kill, he was ready to kill. One wrong move and he may have done just so, started a murder spree in that wretched court room, tunnel-vision stuck on his wife and her missing fucking arm, did anyone notice this? Did anyone care what she’d sacrificed? And weeks later, he was still furious. She was broken– she spoke briefly of what happened and even he knew barely more than what she’d written ( a shaking hand, near illegible scrawl ) in reports, and she never seemed to look at him. Gaze through him, perhaps, the only time he saw a genuine smile was when that maker-damned puppy pissed on his leg, but even that died in seconds. He wanted to beat the whole world in, everything that’d caused her to lose that spark in her eye, wanted to hit it like a hammer against a nail– hitting these people enough times would soothe her hurt, right? They deserved this– they deserved what they’d done to her, a torment he had been well aware of years ago, a mental exhaustion that had cost her nearly everything, and him, the health of the love of his life. He had decided, earlier, that if he so had the chance, he would set the whole of Orlais on fire– and Ferelden, for that matter. But for now, that would do nothing. For now, he would sit gingerly near the elf– who had made some noise of distress earlier (acting now like she hadn’t) the stub of her arm hanging uselessly, bandage coming undone (it was almost healed but not quite there, and they couldn’t risk infection). From the way she was grabbing her waist he assumed she had tried to tie it up again herself, a book laying open, pages flitting in the candlelight beside her, and he was hesitant to touch her. She looked, acted, perhaps was; at this moment, akin to a deer caught in a trap, unpredictable, and he didn’t want to upset her. “…My love,” a soft voice, he sits and turns to her, rough, calloused hands half-held out near her bandaged arm, “do you want me to fix that?”
It’s rather difficult to tie a bandage when changing a look at the stub where one’s arm once was causes you to feel physically sick. A little challenging to tie an efficient knot when you’re vehemently looking the other way. Not to mention that she’s not exactly gentle -- in fact, one might suspect that she’s being a a bit rougher than necessary with the intent to hurt her remaining limb, as though the pain will remind herself that part of her arm is still there. To others, it may look like the infection has stopped with the removal of the magical infection, but to her, it feels just as encompassing. As though her flesh will continue to erode, removing her bicep, her shoulder, into her neck. Not the green light, but the flesh and bone itself.
At Cullen’s achingly soft words, too patient, she stops her hand in her effort and stares down, her eyes filling with the moisture they seem to constantly carry these days, silently accepting his help. In the back of her mind, she knows that she owes Cullen her thanks, that his help is all that keeps her mind from snapping, but she cannot bring herself to speak. Nor seek him out, nor kiss him or hug him like she used to.
Oh, she loved to hug. She loved to run at him and jump onto him, her thin but oddly strong arms wrapped around his shoulders for a tight squeeze, hugging him as firmly as she could. And he would laugh and hold her up, like a little child hanging around his neck, and every inch of their bodies would touch in their embrace.
She cannot hug now.
As Cullen comes forward to help, she rests her forehead against his shoulder, not speaking, not moving, almost not breathing, unless one looked closely enough.
.
You care and that’s what kills you.
Skins UK (via psychonom)
Chalet Girl (2011)
This account ships only with dirthalama‘s Solas. Other ships are acceptable, but hers is the only Solas Enya will ship with.
Felicity Jones for Vogue Italia
alright guys, i’m going to be working on a DARP masterlist. it will be sorted by game && characters. if you are a rper in the DARP fandom, please reblog this post so i can add you xx
Felicity
I don’t want to go into the gory details of my love life but I was with this person and it was so awkward because you know what it’s like when you are so nervous you don’t know what to say to each other but you really like the person? And it’s always when you like someone that you never know what to say. Why is that? It’s so annoying. But when you don’t like someone you feel so cool and you say all these wonderful things.
We are all but FORGOTTEN, yet we still LIVE.
Felicity Jones - Toronto International Film Festival 2014 Portraits
chalet girl (2011)