
ellievsbear
Show & Tell
d e v o n
will byers stan first human second
occasionally subtle

Love Begins
Game of Thrones Daily

Kiana Khansmith
h
Jules of Nature

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wallacepolsom
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
RMH
Claire Keane
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oozey mess
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Three Goblin Art
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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@maidenofnanelmoth
@Frumoasa means
Moriquendë she calls herself and there is no shame coloring her words, merely the pride of one who took a name meant for scorn and twisted it around her till it became a shield. A shield she carried with pride, as those who mocked her heritage crashed and burned, despite their light and noble lineage. Úmanyar she has also been called, before the Calaquendi had all but disappeared and such terms became obsolete; but Moriquendi she will ever consider herself, a child of the darkness before the light.
Moriquendë she calls herself and there is no shame coloring her words, merely the pride of one who took a name meant for scorn and twisted it around her till it became a shield. A shield she carried with pride, as those who mocked her heritage crashed and burned, despite their light and noble lineage. Úmanyar she has also been called, before the Calaquendi had all but disappeared and such terms became obsolete; but Moriquendi she will ever consider herself, a child of the darkness before the light.
Wind of Change
Hey guys! After a long ( very long deliberation ) and a week taken off from all my account to work on this project, I’ve decided to move Naeriel to a new blog and a new URL. It’s been an idea in the works for some time and I feel like she needs a breath of fresh air, a new start to keep things going. Her Tolkien legendarium verse and about hasn’t changed much, but I am expanding her to the Dragon Age fandom as well, and perhaps if she stops being finicky to the Arthurian legends world.
This being said, my new url will be @mornedhel.
Moriquendë she calls herself and there is no shame coloring her words, merely the pride of one who took a name meant for scorn and twisted it around her till it became a shield. A shield she carried with pride, as those who mocked her heritage crashed and burned, despite their light and noble lineage. Úmanyar she has also been called, before the Calaquendi had all but disappeared and such terms became obsolete; but Moriquendi she will ever consider herself, a child of the darkness before the light.
Wind of Change
Hey guys! After a long ( very long deliberation ) and a week taken off from all my account to work on this project, I’ve decided to move Naeriel to a new blog and a new URL. It’s been an idea in the works for some time and I feel like she needs a breath of fresh air, a new start to keep things going. Her Tolkien legendarium verse and about hasn’t changed much, but I am expanding her to the Dragon Age fandom as well, and perhaps if she stops being finicky to the Arthurian legends world.
This being said, my new url will be @mornedhel.
I’d love to continue all our interactions there. @aureasadrisit, @battlemother, @martyrxdking, @ursinh please let me know if it’s ok if I move our threads there.
@maidenofnanelmoth
“You’re not from Mirkwood are you?”
“I am, indeed, from Eryn Galen. Mirkwood as it is now called.”
1000 Picspams Challenge | #170 - Modern Nyx
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night
So many things separate the two of them, but in this they understand each other: home means the same thing, even though Ashabela’s home will never stay in one place, and Shianni’s home will never move. Her eyes light up with excitement. “EXACTLY like that. Always there. There was nothing like a venadhal where I was born, but now I couldn’t imagine to live without one.”
She listens attentively, a smile on her lips, then repeats the words — slowly, carefully, imitating the melody as she heard it. “…arla. Home — oh, as in Arlathan, right? That’s the same word! Banal’halam…”
Memory. That’s all they have, all they are. Fragments and relics of something long gone. The Dalish, it seems, would remain so — would collect as many fragments as they could and make, piece by piece, a mosaic of all the things they remembered. But the city-elves, their memories have faded — they would rather make new ones, would rather be their own, one foot in the past and the other in some uncertain future. Still, they haven’t forgotten it all.
The last one is simple. “Falon — friend. That word I’ll make sure to remember.”
“Yes, just like that.” The smile lingers on her face, pride at being able to share even this with the other. Standing in the courtyard of the Alienage, breathing the same air as the city elves, seeing them with her own eyes and not through the warped stories of her kin, Ashabelas wondered if they were truly all that different, if nothing but chance took them on such separate fates. For the Dalish mage had vowed to never leave her clan, to never step foot in the settlements of shemlen, yet here she was, bereft of kin and home, sheltered in the one place she had been sworn to hate. And there was a vein of steel in such a place, of strength and determination she could not have anticipated. Were they so different after all?
“Banal’halam,” she nodded, a frown marring her features. Memories, fragments of the past, the lore of her people, all lost to her in such new dwellings. And yet, did it matter? The memories were in her heart and soul, in the very essence of her being. And perhaps, until she was reunited with her clan, she could discover anew, forge new memories to add to the knowledge the clan had gathered so far.
Falon. Friend is what she will consider Shianni, if only for the brief period of time she will rest in the Alienage. A friend found where she had thought to encounter none, a helping hand offered in perilous times. Perhaps, the opportunity would come to repay the kindness shown to her.
Using the new GIF function, search your faceclaim and post the first gif that shows up
Originally posted by fuckyeahkeira
·· ·· “I’ll forgive you if we go out for ice cream.” a small half smile forms on her lips as her fingers tap on the other’s desk before moving to her shoulders and squeezing them softly before moving her own face to the same level as the other “Come now, you’ve been cooked up here for far too long and I’m sure that if I don’t drag you to get a break for a couple of minutes, you won’t do it yourself!” Maxima gives a small kiss on the other’s cheek before turning on her heels to go put some shoes on, long brown hair falls on her shoulders as she ties them “Tell me more about that forge maiden, while you get ready.”
“Ice cream. Sounds good! I want to try that new parlor that opened down the street.” The writer rises from her desk, bones popping as she stretches once more, the notebook remaining abandoned behind her. How long had it been since she had lost track of time, engrossed in her writing? “Break? What’s that? I have no recollection of such a word.” She quipped, stepping in a pair of canvas shoes and stuffing the laces inside, instead of tying them. “Well, she was born in a forest whose name means Starlit Valley to an artist mother and a forge master father, during a time when there was no Sun or Moon, merely the stars on the sky,” Ariel started explaining as she tied her hair in a messy bun and grabbed her purse.
“That was actually impressive!” Maxima laughs moving from behind the couch and curtains to where she was, the weapon ( piece of paper half torn ) still in hand as she approached the desk and hovered her papers. As someone that was in Quantico she knew plenty about focus and running and working hard, but if she was to be honest, she did miss going out and dancing and just having a good ( no responsibility for a moment ) time. Her eyes moved to the watch on her wrist and then back up with a large smile “A bit more and it would be two hours of me trying to get your attention! What are you doing that is so interesting?”
A sheepish smile crosses her features, the writer putting away her pen and stretching like a cat, trying to get rid of the knots and tension in her arms. “I’m trying to write about the ruin of a great kingdom. My forge maiden gets imprisoned there and witnesses the entire event while trying to escape with her life.” The last words are punctured by a yawn, an apologetic look crossing her features as she admits. “I can’t seem to find the right words. And I totally did not hear you calling my name. Sorry about that.”
MY MUSE CAN:
bake a cake from scratch | ride a horse | drive a submarine | speak a second language | dance | catch a fish | play an instrument | throw a punch | build a deck | ice skate | unclog a drain | program a computer [modern] | change a flat tire | fire a gun[modern] | sew | juggle | play poker | paint | fly a kite | sculpt | write poetry | change a diaper | sing | shoot a bow and arrow | ride a bike | swim | sail a boat | do a back flip | play chess | give cpr | pitch a tent | flirt | stitch a wound | read palms | use chopsticks | write in cursive calligraphy | use an electric drill | braid hair | make a campfire | make a mixed drink | do sudoku puzzles | wrap a gift | give a good massage | jump-start a car | roll their tongue | do magic tricks | do yoga | tie a tie | skip a rock | shuffle a deck of cards | read morse code | pick a lock[modern]
Tagged by @ursinh
Tagging: whoever wants it :)
·· ·· “Ariel.” it had been at least a couple of hours since Maxima had decided to plant herself on the side of Ariel’s writing table. In the last five minutes she had decided to grab an A4 white piece of paper and ripping small bits from time to time. When speaking her name, she would throw the small bit to the other’s open notebook “Ariel.”
starter for @maidenofnanelmoth
Her hand scribbled furiously, words striken mercilessly before having the chance to be even finished, events half shaped refusing to take form. The writer nibbled on her pen, a persisting buzz in her ear growing louder and louder though she had yet to understand what it was. Pieces of white paper started flowing in front of her eyes, settling down like snowflakes on her notebook, persisting even as she blinked at them in confusion. Finally, words breached her creative bubble and she realized her name was being called. “Huh?” came the very eloquent answer, attention turning to her roommate.
Fire, Delicate fire, in the flesh. Blind, stunned, the sound Of thunder, in my ears.
Sappho, excerpt of He’s Equal With The Gods (tr. by A. S. Kline)