Art Commission for @enoughofabastardtobeworthknowing
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Monterey Bay Aquarium

ellievsbear

roma★
occasionally subtle
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
🪼

tannertan36
tumblr dot com
we're not kids anymore.
Claire Keane
ojovivo
Jules of Nature
No title available
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
taylor price
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Origami Around
hello vonnie
Misplaced Lens Cap
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@dirtharaxma
Art Commission for @enoughofabastardtobeworthknowing
✨Commission Info✨Twitter✨Instagram
Febuwhump Day 2: “i can’t take this anymore” Fandom: Dragon Age Characters/Ship: Briala mentions of: Celene, Felassan. former Celene/Briala Triggers/Content warnings: none really?
Enough was enough. Briala wasn’t sure when, exactly, she realized that. Didn’t know where on her journey her allegiance had shift away from Celene, but she knew it was. And she knew learning the truth of her parents’ death was the final straw. She couldn’t go back to the Palace, not now, not with Celene. She couldn’t pretend things would be fine, couldn’t pretend her or her people were still a priority to Celene. Not when she, too, used them as pawns. Not when she had played Briala like a cheap fiddle all this time.
Briala was disgusted with herself.
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me: I want to be present here, Falon’Din’s been Active also me: bitch you have NO focus for fuck all
we all deserve to know I just call Solas worse than Falon’Din in a round about way
Autolatry for Falon'Din
Autolatry - The worship of one’s self.
He was always destined to rule. Even as children he felt it in his veins, that he deserved to own and control, that he deserved so much more than he could even imagine given the meager scraps he was given to define his world by. Dirthamen had always said that Elgar’nan treated him as he did from fear; fear of his own son doing as he had to his father. Falon’Din still wasn’t sure how much of it came from his own hatred of losing, but neither mattered now as he stood before a full length mirror looking at himself.
He looked every bit the part of a god king, a crown forged of bone china and light, it’s shimmering creating a dance upon the walls, his clothes loose but fitted, swaying as he moved and walked, trailing after him when he commanded his servants to let it. Why should he care if the train got dirty? It was good for one use anyway, the deep purple satin in stark contrast to his pale skin and bringing out his eyes, while the silver embroidery danced with movement and magic. He stood at his full height, and it felt right.
“You were made for this,” Dirthamen says from his pile of pillows in the corner, a plate of sweets nearby as he studied Falon’Din as deeply as he studied himself.
“I was made for more,” Falon’Din responds and he feels the sheer pride rush through the link in their minds, watches the twinkle in Dirthamen’s eyes, the ever so slight turn of his lips. “This is merely a step towards it all. I deserve the world and will not stop until I have it, through gift or through blood.”
His eyes slide back towards the mirror, lifting one arm, to watch the draped sleeve dance, searching for any imperfections, studies his hair, in a simple braid pulled over his shoulder, but with purple stands and gems woven in. Lifts his long and delicate fingers to his crown to make sure it was secure upon his head, stands of light hung from it, framing his face, causing the jewels in his ears to sparkle and shine.
Truly, he was the most beautiful of the Evanuris, save, perhaps, for Dirthamen, however his twin did not show his face to any save him. Dirthamen’s beauty was a gift for Falon’Din’s consumption alone and he valued and guarded it highly. But Falon’Din was made to flaunt, to parade and be seen. He was not gifted with his complexion to hide it away, he was not born with ambition to settle for anything less than he deserved. And he deserved people falling to their knees as much for his beauty and his power.
After long inspection of himself in the mirror, he steps around it and stops before Dirthamen, head high, shoulders square, and hands apart, presenting himself to his twin. “Do you approve?” he asks. It’s needless; he can feel the love and approval in quiet and steady waves in his mind, but sometimes he wished to ask all the same. Perhaps it was a holdover from their childhood, but he deserved every ounce of validation he could get.
Dirthamen looks him up and down, and a smile spreads across his face as he nods. Carefully, Falon’Din bends over to kiss him on the forehead, one hand on his crown to keep it steady.. “Thank you, vhenan.”
when taylor swift asked “can i go where you go?” and when death cab for cutie sang “when your soul embarks, i will follow you into the dark” and when orpheus promised “wait for me, i’m coming - wait, i’m coming with you” and when ruth begged “don’t force me to leave you; don’t make me go home. where you go, i go” and when samwise gamgee cried “don’t leave me here alone. don’t go where i can’t follow”
@raichoose
Reblog if you are willing to plot/RP via Discord/Skype, etc!
surprise tiny snippet from chapter two of the Falon’Din twoshot
[Athim] had seen other children with chains of flowers and other plants, but he’d never learned how to do it himself. He was too destructive and impatient for such a delicate task but, as in all things, Renan was his opposite, his better half. He feels the soft petals as he looks at Renan’s face- yet another gift, like his voice, that few others received. In that moment, Athim was all but certain Renan knew the future, certain he would do whatever it took to achieve this wild fantasy of Athim’s, and it warmed him. No one else had ever been willing to defy his father, no one else had risked anything to help Athim. But Renan had.
Athim had been told their births were a contest, that Mythal had won by birthing Renan mere minutes before Elgar’nan’s consort birthed him. He had been told that, for this reason, everything would be given to Renan and nothing to him. They were meant to be rivals in all things and Athim had already lost. If Renan had ever been told the same, he didn’t seem to care. Athim wished he could be more like him.
“…..You would take the world for me? You would take everything you’ve been given and hand it to me?” Athim asks at length, searching Renan’s eyes, but for what he could not say.
A slow smile spreads across his face, deliberate, as all his expressions seemed, but no less warm for it. “Yes,” he replies, hand trailing through Athim’s pale hair. “Brother.”
anyway, I’m two scenes into chapter two of that Falon’Din fic so Soon (hopefully)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
After infringing “too far” on Mythal’s lands, she unites the rest of the Evanuris (sans Dirthamen) to teach Falon'Din a hard lesson. It is then up to Dirthamen to help him recover.
Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Additional Tags:
References to parental neglect and abuse
Established Relationship (Familial)
Pre-Canon
Hey remember when I said Tuesday? I lied. Have fic
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
After infringing “too far” on Mythal’s lands, she unites the rest of the Evanuris (sans Dirthamen) to teach Falon'Din a hard lesson. It is then up to Dirthamen to help him recover.
Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Additional Tags:
References to parental neglect and abuse
Established Relationship (Familial)
Pre-Canon
Hey remember when I said Tuesday? I lied. Have fic
Thought this might help
NWOFHSKS NO WONDER WHEN I SEND HEARYS THINGS GET EATEN TUMBKR IM JIST TRYING TO SHOW MY LOVE SMH
I THOUGHT THIS CAN’T BE TRUE SO I DID IT AND WHAT THE HELL IS THIS WEBSITE, I’ve never got this ‘...’ ask!
some of yall were asking about asks that i never answered and this may have been what happened!
there are numerous bodies you’ve left in your wake: let them rot. they no longer need nor deserve your time. you are still alive.
rewrite of x twin to x
He had always been the least tolerated and liked among the Evanuris- followed fairly closely by Elgar’nan but at least he had Mythal. Falon’Din had Dirthamen who never tried to hold him back from anything, who he loved dearly. Dirthamen who was currently in his throne room in the temple and worriedly conveying that the others were coming.
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This is a man very comfortable on dragonback
@felandaristhorns asked: bandage - Darcy fussing over some injury ( @yelonelysouls )
nonverbal starters
Thren had gotten used to tending to his own wounds. He had traveled solo far longer than he had traveled with Darcy and the habits stuck. He tended the injuries that needed it, whether it was a joint that needed wrapped, or an open wound that was bleeding, and if it didn’t need tending he left it alone. He had gathered many scars due to this but he had never taken much stock in his physical appearance anyway. Scars meant little to him.
The cut on his arm this time was deep, foolishly he hadn’t been wearing all of the armor that Mi’Enasalin had tossed his way and he’d left his forearms exposed. It was better than most they ambushed, however, as few shems traveled in full armor unless they were templars or chevaliers, and he wouldn’t have gone into a fight with either of those unprepared if he could help it. But this minor lordling’s son had had a sword on him. Likely more for show than use, but it had made it’s mark before Thren made his own. A mark deep enough to still be bleeding as Thren wrapped it in a scrap of cloth, using one hand and his teeth to tie it tightly.
“Probably needs stitches,” Darcy comments a few feet away, watching Thren clumsily try to tend the injury.
Reflexively, Thren looks at them and frowns, one of the cloth edges still in his teeth as he tries to speak around it. “What’s that?”
“When you sew the skin back together. Helps it stop bleeding.”
Thren frowns harder, looking back at his arm, already bleeding through the untied cloth. sewing skin sounded like it hurt. But he was also bleeding plenty and they only had so many things he could wrap it in for now. “Fine. If you’ve got the fucking needle, fine.” he relents, unwrapping the makeshift bandage and offering his arm out to Darcy.
" you... you just killed them for me? " Godtwins, Secondborn; Renan's mystified.
send in " you... you just killed them for me? " for your muse to witness my muse killing someone for them in order to protect or save their life.
Standing over the freshly dead man, Falon’Din all but freezes. He had just reacted, had moved on instinct, on emotion. He thought he was in better control of that these days, Mythal had always said it would be the death of him. That he’d show his hand too soon, too early. That he had to be more subtle.
And here he was, doing just that. He hadn’t meant for Renan to know just how far he’d go for him yet. It was too much, Renan was still trying to adjust to what freedom was and meant. And now he’d seen Falon’Din kill a man for merely suggesting that not only was Renan a slave, but Falon’Din’s bed slave. The idea repulsed him. Renan was his own being and he had already declared as much, but Renan was always by his side in simpler clothing and people simply assumed it was because of slavery as opposed to Renan’s preference.
And so the man had been slain for the assumption. Before Falon’Din had even had time to think about his own actions. He swallows thickly and takes a deep breath. He didn’t regret it, he stood by his decision. He merely hoped it would not overwhelm Renan. The last thing he wanted was to drive the other off by too much too fast.
“I did,” he answers, turning to face Renan and studying his face. “You are not a slave. And all who are intent to see you as such deserve their punishments. Do you wish I hadn’t?”