Reblogs are the lifeblood of writers on Tumblr. Thank you to everyone who likes and/or shares my work.
New!
My work is not to be posted to other blogs or used without my permission. Please do not follow or interact with this blog if you are under the age of 18.
So, "okay" is a word that doesn't appear much in DA dialogue through the first three installments, though it's become quite common by Veilguard.
Likely not an intentional evolution, but a symptom of the fact that the language used in DAV is generally more contemporary than the other installments. Still. Let's play in the space. Because it's not that no one uses "okay" before then. It's actually a relatively common Varric word -- he says it in both DA2 and DAI.
Obvious conclusion: "Okay" is dwarven slang.
(Corollary headcanon: Increased contact with the surface has spread dwarven slang more widely. Perhaps even helped by the popularity of Varric's books...)
Over my breakfast this morning I stared into space wondering what the origins of "OK" could be in the dwarven context. Orzammar is the obvious O. So... Orzammar Kingdom? Orzammar King?
Of course. "OK" is the seal that Orzammar's king uses to express that a document has his approval.
“The medieval warrior, realizing the consequences of his impulsive act, immediately approached the owner of the drone and offered to pay for the damage.
The owner of the drone was so impressed by the brilliant attack that he suggested organizing a competition for bringing down “dragons” with short spears next year.
Drone owners have another year to develop a unique “dragon-like” design for their flying machines.” (x)
I am 100% cooler with this knowing that the spear-thrower realized “oops maybe I shouldn’t have done that” and tried to make it right, and that the guy who the drone belonged to was cool with it
Umberto Eco, who owned 50,000 books, had this to say about home libraries:
"It is foolish to think that you have to read all the books you buy, as it is foolish to criticize those who buy more books than they will ever be able to read. It would be like saying that you should use all the cutlery or glasses or screwdrivers or drill bits you bought before buying new ones.
"There are things in life that we need to always have plenty of supplies, even if we will only use a small portion.
"If, for example, we consider books as medicine, we understand that it is good to have many at home rather than a few: when you want to feel better, then you go to the 'medicine closet' and choose a book. Not a random one, but the right book for that moment. That's why you should always have a nutrition choice!
"Those who buy only one book, read only that one and then get rid of it. They simply apply the consumer mentality to books, that is, they consider them a consumer product, a good. Those who love books know that a book is anything but a commodity."
“Think not of the books you’ve bought as a ‘to be read’ pile. Instead, think of your bookcase as a wine cellar. You collect books to be read at the right time, the right place, and the right mood.”
the #1 thing I want IRL from video games is that RPG thing where you click on a bed and it's like "how many hours do you want to sleep for?" and there's a little slider and you pick how many hours and then you instantly go to sleep and stay asleep until the time is up and all your healthpoints come back
maybe something quick? like a 'you awake?’ w/ alistair? our local lovable beef cake?
; THE FINER POINTS OF FRIENDSHIP —
summary: you’ll admit, you’re not a big fan of the dark. alistair thinks it’s cute. you just have to pee.
pairing: alistair theirin / warden!reader
word count: 1k
a/n: me, watching alistair’s romance again on youtube: ah this is the good shit huh whew!!! anyways please enjoy!!!
“Alistair?”
It’s a hiss of a whisper that jolts the tawny-haired Grey Warden out of his sleep. Alistair can’t help but reflexively uncurl himself from the scratchy woolen throw that he’d been unceremoniously having a cuddle with; he can’t help the way his eyes flick about in sleep-laden panic. Alistair is quick to throw himself straight up at the waist, head snapping towards the direction of the sound, all with his eyes half-open.
The cowlick in his hair seems just about as startled as him.
The light is dying from the fire in the center of camp and he can see the dimming light bounce and bobble through the crack in his tent’s linen door. Alistair goes still, wondering if what he heard was just a product of those increasingly more pesky lil’ night-terrors or —
Again, the call of his name.
“Alistair!”
This time, the whisper is followed by a shadow (a stumbling one, at that, who looks more like a half-drunk, new-born baby deer from this angle) that yanks the flap to his tent’s entrance open.
Oh.
It’s you.
His hands tighten in his woolen blanket as he tries his hardest to ignore the poke of your bare legs from beneath your sleeping tunic — and the way your hair sways as you duck down and under the flap... and the knock of your knees as you crawl half-way into the tent and gawk up at him with this horrifically adorable pleading look.
Maker help him. You are beautiful.
Cousland. You’re a noble — it shows, still, despite all else. And yet, you are your father’s daughter, Fergus’ sister... The daughter of the ruling house of Highever and an unabashedly talented woman with a dagger and bow. You’d said you got that little skill set from your mother, but...
Well, Alistair didn’t pry. That wound was still awfully fresh.
Despite being a Warden, despite being a roguish devil on the battlefield...
“Are you awake?” you ask, eyes a bit wide as Alistair just blinks back at you in the darkness.
You feel stupid the moment the question even leaves your mouth, but you can’t help it. Alistair is clearly awake, though the low timbre of his voice begs to differ. You watch as the Grey Warden pushes his hand through the firey mop of hair on his head and groans quietly. The freckles that smatter his warm skin are distracting. You watch as his arm bows, and realize there are more along his forearms and poking out from his tunic’s sleeve.
This tent seems too small for the ex-Templar — though in travel and in battle, Alistair is a force of his own, you find yourself forgetting just how... big he is. And now, it’s slapping you in the face in these small quarters. Well over six feet and strong enough to wear heavy plate with not a single complaint, Alistair Theirin is a warrior.
... Okay, maybe a few complaints. But, that was all a part of his charm, wasn’t it? Right?
Maker help you.
You shift uselessly in all fours and avert your eyes.
“Well, if I wasn’t before,” he says mid-yawn, “I am now... What has you crawling into my tent at this hour, my lady?”
You flick his ear. He yelps. He should have anticipated that.
This ‘friendship’ (if that’s what he can even call it) is still new, taking shape, becoming something solid. But, he’s learned what sort of buttons to press to get a good little reaction out of you already. It’s cute.
Someone doesn’t take too kindly to being reminded of her near royal status.
(Alistair can’t really say he blames her.)
“I need to pee,” you suddenly blurt.
Alistair’s thoughts come to a rather abrupt halt as he sits there and blinks at you. Big, warm, honey-colored eyes quirk with a sudden burst of amusement. Regret instantly bubbles in your throat.
“...And?” he waves his hands along, “Am I supposed to... carry the chamberpot out for you, my grace?”
“And,” you groan, head dropping as your hair swims around you. Free from its war-born stylings, its tangled tresses scream of sleep, “And I keep hearing these noises from the woods —”
“Maker,” Alistair cracks a smirk, “Is the lady a bit scared of the dark?”
Another flick. This time his nose.
“Quit calling me that, will you?” you huff, eyes shifting over your shoulder and towards the inky black darkness that has swallowed up the camp. The campfire has dwindled, now mere coals flitting in ash, “I just... Will you just make sure some darkspawn doesn’t eat me while I pee? I’ve had to go for an hour now.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“...Murder?”
“Usually,” he chirps, moving to stand and bend half-way just to slip out the tent’s flaps, “But I’m referencing the other magic word. Starts with a ‘puh’ and ends with a ‘lease, Alistair?’”
As you move to stand, his voice dips into a mocking swoon. You’re sure that if you turn around, you’ll see him batting those eyelashes and knotting his fingers together... Your dignity crumples when you do and even more so when he doesn’t budge when he’s met with your stubborn silence.
Behind you, in the woods, there’s a distant snarl of some animal and a pained yip. You cringe and knock your knees together a bit tighter.
"Please?” you grit out, frowning solidly.
“Please, who?”
“Maker give me strength,” you groan, “Please, Alistair?”
Alistair, in all his midnight chipperness, grins. “Lead the way, my lady. I prefer that big oak tree to the right... good support, nice coverage, far enough away that no one can hear the steady stream...”
You’re already walking away — wondering if maybe getting eaten by hungry wolves would be easier to stomach than dealing with Alistair’s sudden pride at being picked for this intimate display of trust. But... This is what friends do, right? They look out for one another.
You are a human in world were all of the cryptic creatures you’ve ever known are real, every year there is a reunion where all of the local cryptics reunite and have a chance to talk with the humans.
This year for some reason you received an invitation to be the host of the ceremony, however, this is a position that only cryptids can have. Your neighbors all have the same invitations, that’s were you notice, you are the only human in a neighborhood of shape-shifters.
The envelope is addressed to me, from the Society of Cryptids in the Earthly Plane.
My first thought, naturally, is that it’s a fundraising letter.
I get them, about once a season- sometimes more often, sometimes less. You know how it is, you give once and you’re on the mailing list forever, right? Anyway, SoCEP, among other things, helps cryptids deal with territorial encroachment and adjust to, like, living indoors and so on.
I threw the letter on the table to be Dealt With Later, as is standard operating procedure for non-urgent mail. (Come to think, when was the last time I got something in the mail that was literally actually urgent? Most of my bills are email or text-messages…)
About a week later, I got an odd phone call. It went to voice mail, so I just got the voice mail. “Miss Harris, I’m calling about your RSVP? We haven’t heard back from you, and we’d really urgently like to hear from you. If you can’t make it, of course, we understand, but we’ll need to line up a replacement.” It was from SoCEP, and so I finally opened the damn letter.
Once a little boy went to school.
One morning
The teacher said:
“Today we are going to make a picture.”
“Good!” thought the little boy.
He liked to make all kinds;
Lions and tigers,
Chickens and cows,
Trains and boats;
And he took out his box of crayons
And began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”
“It is not time to begin!”
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
“Now,” said the teacher,
“We are going to make flowers.”
“Good!” thought the little boy,
He liked to make beautiful ones
With his pink and orange and blue crayons.
But the teacher said “Wait!”
“And I will show you how.”
And it was red, with a green stem.
“There,” said the teacher,
“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower
Then he looked at his own flower.
He liked his flower better than the teacher’s
But he did not say this.
He just turned his paper over,
And made a flower like the teacher’s.
It was red, with a green stem.
On another day
The teacher said:
“Today we are going to make something with clay.”
“Good!” thought the little boy;
He liked clay.
He could make all kinds of things with clay:
Snakes and snowmen,
Elephants and mice,
Cars and trucks
And he began to pull and pinch
His ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”
“It is not time to begin!”
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
“Now,” said the teacher,
“We are going to make a dish.”
“Good!” thought the little boy,
He liked to make dishes.
And he began to make some
That were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!”
“And I will show you how.”
And she showed everyone how to make
One deep dish.
“There,” said the teacher,
“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;
Then he looked at his own.
He liked his better than the teacher’s
But he did not say this.
He just rolled his clay into a big ball again
And made a dish like the teacher’s.
It was a deep dish.
And pretty soon
The little boy learned to wait,
And to watch
And to make things just like the teacher.
And pretty soon
He didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened
That the little boy and his family
Moved to another house,
In another city,
And the little boy
Had to go to another school.
The teacher said:
“Today we are going to make a picture.”
“Good!” thought the little boy.
And he waited for the teacher
To tell what to do.
But the teacher didn’t say anything.
She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy
She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”
“Yes,” said the little boy.
“What are we going to make?”
“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.
“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.
“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.
“And any color?” asked the little boy.
“Any color,” said the teacher.
And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
I hate that I hesitated to reblog this just because I expect people to think it’s pretentious or melodramatic when it’s seriously real as fuck and I’ve witnessed it
Reblog if you’d rather give yourself papercuts between each of your fingers and then rub hand sanitizer all over your hands than use generative AI to write or draw anything ever
The Rockies are new, young and virile and fresh from the Laramide orogeny, tall and lanky teenagers on the geological scale.
the Appalachian mountains are old, formed hundreds of millions of years ago before dinosaurs walked the Earth. They are ancients, elders, witnesses to half a billion years of life coming and going.
To be tall is not a virtue. To be small is not a sin. The Appalachians are eroding under the weight of time, slowly shrinking and returning to the Earth from which they sprang.
Appreciate them while they are still here.
I do want to say real quick again about the age of the Appalachians…
They said “before dinosaurs,” but we have a cave here that began forming between 450 million to 550 million years ago.
There are no bones in that cave. No fossils. No nothing.
That’s because this cave began forming before bones existed on land, and had only just started to exist in the ocean. Shellfish hadn’t evolved yet. Limestone, which forms many caves, was just starting to become a more prevalent rock.
The mountains aren’t older than dinosaurs. They are older than bones.
see that little lump up at the top of minnesota? the sawtooth mountains? so small most places would just call them hills?
those are over a billion years old.
that’s why they’re so small. they’re the last ancient remnants of a lava flow 5 miles thick. the lava didn’t kill any dinosaurs. or any fish. or any animals at all. because there were no animals. you know what there was?
algae.
those mountains were 5 miles tall when the most advanced life on earth was algae.
so i’m just gonna go ahead and keep calling them mountains, even though all you need to climb them is hiking shoes and a nice afternoon. because a place where you can crouch down and touch basalt that was lava before leaves were invented deserves some respect.
not only that, the Appalachians predate the Atlantic Ocean and were fragmented. they stretch across three continents, as Atlas in Africa and Caledonians in Europe as you can see here:
the Appalachians are way way old. the fossils that ARE found in these ranges are ancient marine beings, whose fossil remains predate the anatomical structures of beings migrating to land for the first time. THAT’S how old the Appalachians are.
show the elders some respect, they have witnessed eons and are returning to the land from which they grew, it’s the kind of the passage of time on a scale that our human lives could not even begin to comprehend.
annaxmalina
baratheonpilled
pixelskylines
dededos
blakekathryn
stormborns
