mala suledin nadas.

indie dragon age oc dual-muse rp blog. written by fern. 21+.

[songsofsylaise]

TO LOVE SOMEONE IS FIRSTLY TO CONFESS: "I AM PREPARED TO BE DEVASTATED BY YOU".

indie, dragon age OC, dual-muse RP blog. multiverse. 21+. written by fern.

rules || muses || verses || meme call || permanent plotting call || permanent shipping call || meme/prompt tag (always accepting)

[eviefyres]

PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME 0.2

over a year ago, i made this meme & since then, it’s blown up. so, over a year later — i thought i would make a new one. so here it is, after several requests & a pile of brains,  THE PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME 0.2 send me a  ✿  and i’ll fill out the template below. bold for things i could definitely see or want, italics for things i could see or am unsure of and striked out for things i don’t want or cannot see.

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other 

FAMILIAL.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other 

[songsofsylaise]

@taleswritten

THUD.

The damp, cold stone floor rushes up to meet her faster than she expects. Fiorelle's breath comes in ragged gasps. The pain, the punishment, the consequences of her insubordination-- it all erupts through her bones like wildfire. She stretches her trembling arms in front of her, muscles aching in protest as she forces her head to lift. In the dim light she can see silhouettes of jagged shards littering the floor, and she knows without examining further that those are bones. The place reeks of it, of fear and pain and death.

With a shaky breath, she attempts to push herself up off the floor. But just as she does so, the air is punched from her lungs as another body is tossed her way. Her arms collapse beneath her, and the subsequent flare of pain would have caused her to cry out completely if she had not bitten it down.

" ...Get...off... "

[taleswritten]

The last thing Fenris expects is to be thrown in with someone. Normally, when he gets locked up, it’s alone. Isolating and lonely enough to make drive him insane. Instead, he’s tossed in and lands on top of someone. 

He quickly scrambles to get off of them even before they manage to get the words out. Touching someone often feels like being burned, and lyrium marks colliding with fabric causes pain that he, too, bites back. 

He scrambles backwards as fast as he can until he’s backed up into a corner. He turns his head to see bones, but he’s not worried about dying in here. Not when he’s his Master’s greatest weapon. 

His eyes return to the woman, but he says nothing, silent and eying her cautiously like she, too, is his enemy. 

[songsofsylaise]

A choked groan leaves her as she rolls toward the opposite wall, putting as much distance between them as possible in this narrow space. Finally, she props herself up, her back leaning against the stone, the cold biting through the thin fabric of her stained shirt.

Fiorelle stares at him just as cautiously. She, too, is silent as she holds him in a calculating gaze. She recognizes him, of course. It is hard not to--the brands, the hair. He is all Danarius boasts about these days, his magnum opus. Her hands tremble, but it is unclear even to herself whether it is from fear or from pain. Perhaps both.

Unlike Fenris, she does not look at him as if he is an enemy, but neither does she look at him like an ally. Instead, the calculation in her eyes stems from her mind trying to figure out what kind of depraved plans their Master has for them by putting them in here together. Danarius never did such unexpected things without reason, even if the reason is merely sport.

"...did he tell you why you are here?" she asks at last, quiet and careful. She does not risk openly speaking against Danarius, unsure of who might be listening, uncertain of where Fenris' loyalties lie.

[songsofsylaise]

"Who are you running from?" for Fiorelle from Lancelot

questions only sentence starters // @skyfiresmuses // accepting

Fiorelle holds a finger to her own lips, a call for silence. She then hurriedly gestures for him to get out of the open and instead into the underbrush, where she has squeezed herself between a large tree and a dense shrub.

"Them," she whispers, her eyes drifting toward the sounds of distant, armored footsteps. Her trembling fingers curl tightly against the hem of her sleeve as she forces herself to still. "Slavers. Ma halani. Help me."

[songsofsylaise]

@inevitableking

The late afternoon sun hangs high over the Brecilian, its golden light filtering through the gaps of the upper canopy’s leaves. It is quiet, contrary to the maelstrom occupying Fiorelle’s mind. She curses under her breath, pacing back and forth, her eyes darting to and from the wounded stranger laying in the grass just a few yards away. Unconscious, by the looks of it. It would be easier, safer to just leave him to die. So she does.

Or, she tries. She walks about ten paces before cursing again, turning around with a heavy sigh. Despite her unease, her guilt is greater. She steps lightly on the forest floor, her bare feet making almost no sound as she carefully approaches. A sharp exhale punches through her teeth. That looks bad, she thinks. He must have been fighting for hours. 

Fiorelle is afraid, but neither can she ignore someone suffering. Her eyes fall on the man’s armor. A Grey Warden. She had heard the stories, of course, but never had she seen one in person. Just to be safe, she slowly pushes the hilt of his sword away with her foot, until it is just beyond his reach.

“Um…” she mumbles to herself, uncertain, her fingers fumbling at her dagger as she crouches down. Fiorelle examines the wound, carefully removing pieces of damaged armor. Her movements are gentle despite the tension visible in her expression. Focused on her task, she hardly registers the moment the stranger begins to wake.

[inevitableking]

Alistair comes to consciousness slowly and cautiously. First it's the sounds of the Brecilian Forest around him - the distant call of something in the distance, the brushing of leaves in the wind. Then the light through his eyelids, warm like late evening. Then the pain, which shoots through him fast and hard and reminds him instantly of the danger he's in here all alone.

His eyes fly open, and somebody is crouching over him with a dagger.

He moves before he's fully awake, rolling just enough to catch one of their arms by the wrist and to get one hand up to at least protect his vitals from any potential attack they're planning. Pain shoots through his side badly enough that his vision whites out and he grunts but manages to keep hanging on to their arm while he bears through the worst of the pain with a clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

It takes a moment for him to be able to look up at them, but when he does so he takes stock the best he can as quickly as possible. If there's something he has learned in his time as a Grey Warden, it's that the faster you act the better you have a chance of surviving. But this is no Darkspawn - on the contrary, it seems to be a young woman with bare feet, her dagger hand hardly pushing against him. His sword lays nearby, unreachable but close, and his armor is just to the side, carefully removed rather than in haste like a bandit might have done.

Of course, a bandit would have skewered him first, anyway, so this must be something different. He still maintains his grip on her arm and his caution, but speaks slowly. "I'm only going to ask once," he tells her through his teeth, knowing he's at a disadvantage. "So think very carefully, because I've had a very bad day. But I'd like to know what exactly you think you're doing."

[songsofsylaise]

"Ah--!" A frightened yelp escapes her before she can stop it as the Warden surges awake far faster than she would have expected for a man bleeding into the grass. Her mind races, and for one terrible instant she is back in a marble hall in Tevinter with silverite restraints clamped over her wrists. Something beneath her skin answers to the sudden fear. It is her magic, that Danarius had broken and remade a hundred times over, clawing at the edges of her control.

Her body aches with a familiar pressure, as though something larger is trying to force its way outward, the magic wild and directionless. Her pupils narrow, and for the briefest moment, her nails lengthen into dark, hooked points. Fiorelle's free hand flies to her chest. No, she thinks. No. No. No. She forces herself to breathe, to focus on the forest around her, anything to anchor herself before the shift can gain momentum.

Slowly, agonizingly, it all recedes. Her composure is restored. What felt like an eternity of panic was, in reality, a few seconds. He might not have even noticed it if he weren't looking at her so closely. Fiorelle's eyes dart wildly between Alistair and the firm grip in which he holds her wrist, and it is only then that she realizes he is speaking. She can manage only silence for a moment, unable to form words from her certainly trembling lips.

Fiorelle does not want to seem threatening, but neither does she want to render herself defenseless. The hand that Alistair holds captive releases the dagger, and the blade falls into her free hand. She does not fully point the blade toward him, but holds it firm, ready to defend herself if necessary. But that is all she does--she could probably manage to wrench her arm from his grip if she wanted to, but doesn't. She lets it remain there instead, a small, silent offering of control so he does not feel entirely threatened.

"I--you--" she begins, her words shaky. "I was not trying to hurt you. You--you are wounded, I...I only wanted to help."

[songsofsylaise]

Fiorelle tilted her head slightly, watching him approach through the dim light of her campfire. There was no immediate fear in her expression, only caution sharpened by long habit. Something about him felt… off, but not dangerous. Like a dream standing where a man should have been. Her answer is quiet, wary.

“ You make less sound than the wind. Yet the forest changed around you the moment you arrived. ”

Her fingers loosened from where they rested near her dagger, and she rose to her feet, the grass beneath her rustling with the movement.

“ Why do you skulk about? Have you come to hurt me? ” She took a single step forward as she considered the stranger before her. “ No…no, I do not think you have,” she murmured, more to herself than him.

[bushelofmuses]

He kept his eyelids lowered, to dampen the faint, blue light of them. Cole didn't want to spook her more than he probably had.

Cole tilted his head to listen to the spirits that kept close to the trees and, after a moment, grimaced.

"I'll ask the trees to keep a better secret next time," he mumbled in apology. More to himself than her. It eased his mind a little , however, and some of the tension in his body released.

He was curious, not wanting to startle her but wanting to know who was so close to their camp. Cole wasn't on watch yet, but he didn't sleep much; adventuring out on his own was usually safe if he kept to the shadows. Being found out was new.

His head shook vigorously at the question. Why would he hurt her? She hadn't attacked him or his companions; he had no reason to draw a blade against her.

"No...no, you're close to our camp. I wanted to see if you were a threat to them." She didn't seem to be, not when she was unaware of them to begin with; he could rest easy.

[songsofsylaise]

Fiorelle froze, her gaze moving past him, searching the darkness between the trees as if expecting armed men to emerge from every shadow. Men with ropes, collars. Men with orders.

"Your…camp?" she echoed, the words leaving her quietly, too quickly. Her shoulders stiffened, and the cautious curiosity in her eyes was replaced by something more fearful. She took a half-step backward, her hand drifting unconsciously toward the dagger on her belt. A camp meant more people, more strangers, more unknown threats.

For a moment she looked ready to run before she caught herself. The dagger remained sheathed, but her hands folded tightly together before her as if to stop them trembling.

"How many?" she asked, her voice a whisper. Then she hesitated, suddenly aware of her prying. "I… Forgive me. That is not my concern. I do not seek trouble. I only wanted a place to rest for the night." Her voice softened, becoming apologetic. "If I have wandered too close, I will leave."

[songsofsylaise]

hehehe....my verses are up.....can yall let me know if theyre easy to access/read or if i need to fix anything

also lmk if u wanna cook something up with any of the new verses.... >:)))

[songsofsylaise]

working on......verses....today..... >:)

[songsofsylaise]

Fiorelle's lips twitch just slightly at the humor. Just slightly. Her mouth opens as if to quip, but then abandons the effort when she can't think of anything funny. Ah, damn. Instead, she clears her throat awkwardly, casting her gaze at the ground near the mabari, as if the grasses there were suddenly very interesting. "It is... a beautiful beast."

She continues to listen, her eyes narrowing when Mei mentions the werewolves' ability to speak.

" Speak? That is...hm. " She can't seem to find the words. " As far as I was taught, werewolves manifest from wolves possessed by rage demons, though there are instances where they can originate from human hosts. If these beasts can truly speak, then it is my guess that they, too, were people before they became werewolves. Perhaps Zathrian only encountered those who had been already overcome by their bestial nature. Although..."

Her words trail, and her face grows uneasy. Fiorelle looks down at her hands, then back up at Mei. " ...although, I wonder how Zathrian knows so much about this Witherfang. Keepers naturally carry many secrets, this is true, but he never...when I was...he... " Her words trail again, as if she realizes that she might be disclosing too much. She does not finish, leaving her thoughts hanging in the air, heavy with implication. She shifts focus.

" Tell me, Warden. Do you have anything from these werewolves you have encountered? Something with their scent--fur, blood? The Brecilian is vast, but I can assist if we have a way to track them, of sorts. "

[sylvansmercy]

       “you only think that because we bathed him recently,” mei quips, “he's a sight to behold when taking down a darkspawn; it's a different story when he starts to stink like one.” on cue, the mabari drops his stick and gives a loud bark. mei pats him on the head; the hound comes up nearly to her hip in height, build all muscle and war dog despite how she babies him.

        gaze lifting again to the fiorelle's, mei shrugs. “maybe there are stories of this curse that keepers know?” admittedly, she doesn't know very much about how it all works for the dalish; she knows that keepers are called such in part because they keep the lost lore of their people. how much of that remains secreted away from the rest of their clans, mei wouldn't know.

        alternatively, zathrian would have to have some personal stake or experience with it to know so much, wouldn't he? this, she doesn't say.

        when asked if she has anything they might use to scent the werewolves, mei hesitates. she thinks immediately of the bloodied scarf tucked neatly into her robes where it would be mostly safe from further soiling. slowly, she pulls it from its pocket, but doesn't extend it for fiorelle to take just yet.

       “this belonged to an elf named danyla who was turned and...she died.” mei pauses, sighing. she's not proud of the part she played in danyla's death, even if dying was danyla's only wish. “i promised i would bring it back to her husband in camp, but...she had it on her. as a wolf.” it's clear she doesn't want anything done that might damage it.

[songsofsylaise]

Fiorelle's gaze settles on the scarf the moment it appears. For a long moment, she says nothing. Then, slowly, she reaches out, but only just to hover her hand near the stained fabric. "I will not damage it," she assures gently. "You have my word."

Carefully, she leans forward and inhales. The scent hits her harder than expected: blood, wet earth, moss, werewolf. The world seems to sharpen around the edges. She can almost feel the shape waiting beneath her skin, the magical pull of muscle and bone eager to rearrange themselves, eager to answer, reaching toward the scent, urging her to open herself to it. Just a little. Just enough to follow the trail.

Her stomach twists as the memory of the iron restraints of slavery surfaces. 'Push harder, Fiorelle. Push harder. Again. Again. Again--'

No. The thought is immediate, firm. Never again. The vow echoes through her mind with painful clarity. Fiorelle swallows hard, her jaw clenching as she forces herself to breathe through it.

The sensation does not vanish completely. It never truly does. It lingers at the edges of her awareness like a half-forgotten song, tempting and terrible all at once. For the briefest instant, her pupils narrow into slits before she drags them back into place. Fiorelle lowers her gaze, pretending to study the scarf while she wrestles the urge back into its cage.

Slowly, the pressure recedes. Only then does she realize her shoulders have gone rigid. "…I can find them," she says at last, her voice quiet, almost strained. Her eyes are fixed on some distant point in the forest. "The scent is still strong enough. They traveled through the western portion of the forest recently." Her brow furrows. "Not all together. Several passed this way, but they are converging somewhere farther ahead."

For a brief moment, uncertainty flickers across her features. Not uncertainty in the trail, but in herself.

"...If we leave soon, I can lead us there." She pauses, looking downward as her voice becomes softer, more somber. "I am sorry about Danyla."

[songsofsylaise]

♡ permanent shipping call ♡

open to all mutuals regardless of whether or not we've interacted, and any relationship (romantic, sexual, platonic, enemies, familial, etc.)

give this post a like and i'll head to your DMs or discord if i have it!

this does not mean insta-ship, this is simply an invitation for a discussion! it will serve as a guide for me so i know what u are interested in exploring and plotting together <3

[songsofsylaise]

@skyheld

Thick smoke smothers the Alienage in a sour, choking haze.

The Qunari attack has left the city in turmoil. Refugees flood the narrow streets in frantic waves—bleeding men dragged over shoulders, children crying for parents that will never answer, carts overturned and abandoned where panic had seized the crowds. Inside Vora’s apothecary, the chaos is somehow worse.

She kneels on the floorboards, sleeves soaked through to the elbows with blood that is not her own. The front room has long since ceased to resemble an apothecary. Bodies cover every available surface—cots, tables, blankets dragged onto the floor. Some groan in pain, some cry out for Andraste or for their Creators. Others have gone frighteningly quiet.

“Do not scream,” she commands sharply, hunching over a wounded elf laid across her table. “You will waste your energy.” Her hands are slick with blood as she threads a needle through torn flesh. She works with brutal efficiency, jaw tight with concentration.

Vora only looks up slightly when she sees Merrill, slight recognition passing through her eyes before she looks back down to her work.

“You are standing on two legs,” she says flatly, not looking up, never pausing in her stitching. “Wash your hands and help me.”

[skyheld]

She was so focused on reaching the Viscount's palace, she didn't allow herself to think about the people she ran past, or the ones she had to fight through to move forward. Merrill didn't want to kill the elves, but they'd have killed her without second thought if she wasn't first. She didn't want to kill the qunari either, but she could see in their eyes they wouldn't stand down. She didn't want to run past burning buildings with people climbing out of narrow windows, or barricades where the soldiers lay groaning in their own blood—but she forced those sights to the back of her mind, because this would not end until the Arishok was dead. Someone had to go there. Hawke was leading, and she followed.

The Arishok is dead now, but it isn't over. But now it's over, and she has made her way back through the streets to the Alienage. Only she isn't entirely sure why she made it here when she could have stopped at any place in the city to help. Lowtown will always be worse off than Hightown, and the elven quarters will always be worse off than the rest of Lowtown—and though Darktown may have been spared from the attack, wounded will be pouring in, beggars and homeless labourers fleeing back to the only place they feel safe. It would have made sense, perhaps, for Merrill to stay close to where she was, to help with the first thing she saw. But she wants to be here.

The fires seem under control, there are enough people working on smothering the last flames. Someone is rounding up the lost children to keep them out of the way. So Merrill turns her attention to the wounded. The ones sitting or half-standing outside the apothecary seem to have gotten off lightly, so she steps past them, inside.

The smell of blood and guts and burnt flesh hits her. The apothecary—she's never been sure what her relationship with the old one was, they don't look like a mother and daughter, and she's never spoken enough to either to wonder until now—briefly looks up, barks a command, then returns to her work.

Obedience comes easily to Merrill when she herself feels lost. She looks around for a wash basin and cleans the gore and mud and ashes and her own blood from her hands, then approaches the healer. Vora, was it?

"Tell me what to do. I know a little bit of healing." She can stitch a wound close, at least, set a dislocated joint, tie a bandage. If she can do it without Vora noticing, she may be able to use blood magic to piece someone together. But she will have to be most careful about that. "I have some herbs and potions at home, if we run out", she adds, eager to be of help.

[songsofsylaise]

Vora does not thank her. “Hold him still.” She nods toward the elf beneath her hands, whose trembling has worsened as she digs through the supplies beside her. There is no gentleness in the command, no comforting words offered to the injured man, only the firm press of her palm against his shoulder.

“You move, I stitch crooked,” she tells him plainly. “I stitch crooked, you limp for the rest of your life.” Her words are blunt, almost harsh, but the man stops moving.

She completes the rest of her stitch in silence until it's nearly done. Only then does Vora glance briefly toward Merrill. “A little bit of healing?” Vora echoes quietly, not quite a question, briefly studying Merrill's face. There is something strange about this woman, the way she looks as if she should have been swallowed whole by Kirkwall years ago and somehow has not been. Her eyes narrow slightly, but she does not press, turning back to her work. "Good."

She ties off the stitch and reaches for the next cloth. “Your herbs will be needed. Later.” Then she grabs Merrill’s wrist—not harshly, but without warning—and turns her palm upward, inspecting her hands. “Steady enough.” As she releases her, she moves to point at the far wall. “There. The boy by the wall. The wound on his leg is bleeding too quickly. Pressure first. Clean it. Pack it with the elfroot paste on the adjacent cart."

Vora turns back to her own patient. “And do not waste poultices on the ones who are speaking clearly until after you have time to retrieve your herbs. The loud ones are frightened. The quiet ones are dying. If someone stops answering you, you call me.”

[aurorarpresources]

reblog this if you're fine with your mutuals sending you asks unprompted

[songsofsylaise]

nightjar’s time surviving on sundermount allowed her to become skilled in working with plants and herbs. part of the reason why she’s such a good herbalist/healer. she definitely has a specialized herb mix that she perfected, its sole purpose being to block her from the Fade before she goes to sleep. it tastes absolutely atrocious, but it’s a far better alternative than risking a repeat of what she did to her clan

[songsofsylaise]

"You might want to start running, this place is going to explode soon." Fiorelle from Myrna @bushelofmuses

For the last few days, Fiorelle had been taking refuge in an abandoned ruin, deep in the forests of the Arbor Wilds. She thought it isolated enough to avoid encountering people. It seems she thought wrong, especially when this elven woman is suddenly standing before her, telling her that the whole place is about to come down.

Fiorelle's eyes narrow as she takes a deliberate step backward.

"....what...? What are you ta--"

A frightened yelp leaves her lips as the stone around them suddenly begins to violently tremble. Out of pure reflex alone, she grabs onto Myrna's wrist, pulling her along as she makes a panicked run toward the exit.

[raesource]

questions only sentence starters

if you are sending to a multi-muse, remember to specify the muse that the sentence starters are being sent for .

who . . .

“ Who are you? ”

“ Who do you serve? ”

“ Who taught you that? ”

“ Who’s really in control here? ”

“ Who are you running from? ”

“ Who did this to you? ”

“ Who’s coming for us? ”

“ Who do you think I am? ”

“ Who else knows about this? ”

“ Who are you trying to protect? ”

what . . .

“ What are you? ”

“ What do you want from me? ”

“ What are you hiding? ”

“ What were you planning to do? ”

“ What just happened? ”

“ What did you see back there? ”

“ What did you promise them? ”

“ What happens if I don’t let you go? ”

“ What are the rules I’m not supposed to break? ”

“ What happens after the portal closes? ”

where . . .

“ Where did you come from? ”

“ Where are we? ”

“ Where are you going? ”

“ Where were you when it happened? ”

“ Where does this path lead? ”

“ Where did you get that scar? ”

“ Where is everyone else? ”

“ Where should I stand? ”

“ Where did you put the body? ”

“ Where were you hiding all this time? ”

when . . .

“ When did this start? ”

“ When were you going to tell me? ”

“ When was the last time you felt safe? ”

“ When do we leave? ”

“ When did you stop trusting me? ”

“ When does this end? ”

“ When did you realise the truth? ”

“ When do things go wrong? ”

“ When did you choose this path? ”

“ When will you look at me and be honest? ”

how . . .

“ How long have you been watching me? ”

“ How did you survive? ”

“ How much do you remember? ”

“ How are you this calm right now? ”

“ How bad is it? ”

“ How did you know my name? ”

“ How far are you willing to go? ”

“ How many lies have you told me? ”

“ How do you live with this? ”

“ How are we supposed to fix this? ”

are . . .

“ Are you human? ”

“ Are you okay? ”

“ Are you lying to me right now? ”

“ Are you scared? ”

“ Are you tired? ”

“ Are you hiding something? ”

“ Are you bound by oath or by magic? ”

“ Are you trying to start a fight? ”

“ Are you always this dramatic? ”

“ Are you going to explain or just stare? ”

do . . .

“ Do you trust me? ”

“ Do you remember your name? ”

“ Do you remember me? ”

“ Do you miss them? ”

“ Do you always talk this much? ”

“ Do you have any idea what you just did? ”

“ Do you ever sleep? ”

“ Do you want me to stay? ”

“ Do you think I’m stupid? ”

“ Do you believe in fate? ”

have . . .

“ Have you eaten yet? ”

“ Have we met before? ”

“ Have you been here long? ”

“ Have you done this before? ”

“ Have you ever killed someone? ”

“ Have you been lying to me? ”

“ Have you lost anyone? ”

“ Have you forgiven yourself? ”

“ Have you always been like this? ”

“ Have you already chosen a side? ”

is . . .

“ Is this place real? ”

“ Is something bothering you? ”

“ Is that weapon even legal here? ”

“ Is this your idea of a joke? ”

“ Is this your way of flirting? ”

“ Is someone watching us? ”

“ Is it supposed to hurt like this? ”

“ Is there a way out? ”

“ Is this what you wanted? ”

“ Is it too late to turn back? ”

can . . .

“ Can I ask you a weird question? ”

“ Can you hear that? ”

“ Can I trust you? ”

“ Can you keep a secret? ”

“ Can we slow down? ”

“ Can you help me bury a body? ”

“ Can you look at me? ”

“ Can we talk about what happened? ”

“ Can you stop pretending? ”

“ Can you promise me something? ”

will . . .

“ Will you stay with me? ”

“ Will you tell me the truth? ”

“ Will this ever end? ”

“ Will you protect me? ”

“ Will they come back for us? ”

“ Will you remember me? ”

“ Will you choose a side? ”

“ Will you regret this? ”

“ Will you still look at me the same way? ”

“ Will you stop me if I’m wrong? ”

should . . .

“ Should I be worried? ”

“ Should we be running? ”

“ Should I follow you? ”

“ Should I be afraid of you? ”

“ Should we pretend this never happened? ”

“ Should I stay or go? ”

“ Should I believe you? ”

“ Should I be honest with you? ”

“ Should we trust them? ”

“ Should I have come here? ”

would . . .

“ Would you do it again? ”

“ Would you lie to protect me? ”

“ Would this have been different if I had stayed? ”

“ Would you really let me die? ”

“ Would you have saved them instead? ”

“ Would you still care if you knew the truth? ”

“ Would you leave if I asked? ”

“ Would this hurt less if I understood? ”

“ Would you forgive me? ”

“ Would you choose me this time? ”

could . . .

“ Could you survive without me? ”

“ Could this world exist without you? ”

“ Could this get any worse? ”

“ Could you teach me how to do that? ”

“ Could you be wrong? ”

“ Could you be lying to yourself? ”

“ Could you forgive them? ”

“ Could this be a trap? ”

“ Could you handle the truth if I told you? ”

“ Could you live with the consequences? ”

[songsofsylaise]

IMO nightjar has a high libido and has a lot of casual sex for the ~Illusion of Closeness~, but she strictly limits them to ONS. attachment? no thanks. and yes The Mask Stays On During Sex. if it ever slips during an encounter her sexual partner weirdly goes missing after aha thats so weird i wonder how that happens ahaha

[songsofsylaise]

conversely fiorelle has a very warped view of sex. unfortunately during her time under danarius she learned that desirability could be weaponized against her. BUT also that it could sometimes buy safety, lessen punishment, or give her small moments of leverage. as a result, she often views sex less as vulnerability or affection and more as something transactional.

also, affection given without expectation, coercion, or hidden motive can leave her more frightened than overt desire ever does because she no longer fully knows how to separate intimacy from obligation. compliments about her beauty may trigger discomfort or suspicion. basically she will need a lot of healing and trust built to change the way she thinks about sex, esp when shipping is involved.

[songsofsylaise]

IMO nightjar has a high libido and has a lot of casual sex for the ~Illusion of Closeness~, but she strictly limits them to ONS. attachment? no thanks. and yes The Mask Stays On During Sex. if it ever slips during an encounter her sexual partner weirdly goes missing after aha thats so weird i wonder how that happens ahaha