#chestoftheages

[ofrevas-a]

♡

Party banter: ♡ — my muse and yours + a special guest

Fen: Well?Lana: You–you don’t really want to know, do you? It was stupid–Fen: More reason to tell me then, yeah? Ow! *laughs*Lana: Fine! Fine, yeah, it was a halla bite. I’m not saying anything else in front of Varric.Varric: *grunts*Lana: You’ve already been telling stories about me! I don’t need more!

[brightflight]

@chestoftheages

          “So, this is Skyhold. I like what they’ve done with the place. Very... stony.”

Hawke leaned her elbows on the wide stone railing, a goblet filled with raw-tasting Marcher wine clasped loosely in one hand. She watched the Inquisitor’s retreating back far below as it vanished into the moving throngs of people in the courtyard. Scouts and nobles, merchants and soldiers. She saw dwarves, elves, humans, and more than one qunari out there, people wearing the garb of five nations she could pick out easily and a half-dozen more she couldn’t. A more disparate collection would be hard to imagine, and yet they’d all flocked to the banner rising here. 

She cast a glance over at Varric, wondering all over again just what had kept him here, after that Seeker had let him go. He’d never been much of a one for religion, but the way he talked about the Inquisitor.... She shook her head and took a drink.

          “I never thought I’d actually be nostalgic for those first couple of years           in Kirkwall. But really, I mean – my biggest problem back then was that           all my friends were just far too attractive. Well… that and the, you know,           crushing, desperate poverty and all. But mostly the first thing.”

[aedanthiir-blog]

chestoftheages replied to your post “       Gifts— Gifts are his specialty. Whether it’s simply...”

this thread should be called " communist flirting goes awry due to capitalism "

Fuck I ng s h it

[boobsandbootstraps]

@chestoftheages

         “-Did you see what Hawke wore today? What is the appeal with dresses for mages?”

[thesxmmersword]

Just wanted to let you know that that staff post is from 2008, so it's a change that's already happened. It's going around a lot, and I hate seeing people worry. We're still waiting for official ' what the hell happened ' from tumblr, but it's not that at the very least.

!!!

VERY IMPORTANT INFORMATION 

Thank you bee you’re a good sunflower person!

[sorrowedvigil]

So, hey. There is a lot to say - too much to fit into one ask. First of all @you - an amazing friend who saved my hide in so many ways. You are a strong, bright influence on those around you. DARP is a lucky community to have you. And now from the dearest host to other adorable people who are all inspiring in their own ways and make my day a little better: @zennaphobia, @dalishfreckles, @theharellan, @hoboblaidd, @theeternalsun, @warxborn. Dumps cute them and their children on you. Yes. You. <3

POSITIVITY MEME | ALWAYS ACCEPTING

@me, @chestoftheages, @dalishfreckles, @theharellan, @hoboblaidd, @theeternalsun, @warxborn

HELIG, UNFAIR! I’d say nice things about you, too, but this is really about the people you listed here and tbh rightly so.  I’m so honored and delighted to consider all of these people such dear friends.  Although there are many factors that have led to varrying levels of activity in recent months between them all, the impact they’ve had on both me and this community really lingers.  Each one of these people has a wholly distinct style of writing that I admire so much -- if I could, I would integrate some of their voice into my own. I appreciate their perspectives on the world and what they can bring to it. 

It’s always the hardest to talk to these people, in some ways -- I always want to give them my best. I want to interact with them on the level that they challenge me to reach for - whether as a writer or an individual, I feel I always have something to learn from them, simply because they all have so much to give.

[somniari-hawke]

“Who we are and who we need to be in order to survive are very different things.”

Sometimes. I rather feel I lost the distinction some time ago; you’ll recall I’ve been an apostate all my life. [grunts] What’s on your mind, Varric? Is the flower of your true self wilting under the weight of Kirkwall’s slow degeneration?

[fadedforthem]

@makerbound, @chestoftheages.

Green breaks through the sky like a whiplash. He freezes, watches heaven as it bends underneath the weight of pure chaos, his own power he recognises dragged to such unrefined, terrifying depths–- there is a moment where time stills. There is a moment where he is lucid, outside himself, hanging in the air above his own body thrown back by the shockwave, and he thinks-- and he thinks, with all the desperation, the bitterness, the disappointment he can conjure to coat his thoughts, caught in the surprise of what is happening,

Why can nothing ever go according to plan?

And then the breach opens for good, and his back hits a wall, and for a few moments there is little but sweet silence.

Why can nothing ever go according to plan, indeed?

Solas feels the suspicion of the woman in front of him slice his face in perfect, precise triangles, dissecting this quiet apostate’s eyes and his lips and his cheeks and his throat and his ears, plumbing the mapping of his face for reasons to fuel her own animosity. She is strong-jawed, fierce-eyed, a scar that runs along her cheek like it were following the path left behind by a lover’s kisses, a smaller one beneath her eye, the face of a woman to whom the world has told to move countless times before and who has only ever planted her feet and let it come against her, again, and again, and again. They are so easy to define, these creatures of flesh and blood and little else. 

The redhead woman, the dark-haired one’s... colleague, he assumes, had left them alone with each other. He’s still trying to decide whether she left them alone so that he could make his demands (a chance to study the prisoner he’s heard about, the possibility to investigate a smaller rift) or whether she did so the other woman could properly study him. 

As things stand, he is nursing a mug of tea he will not drink, and he is waiting to be given a chance to speak. He wonders, briefly, about all the countless others who must have been interrogated by her.

Not a fun experience, he’s certain.