bloodied  knuckles | tear stained cheeks | rust |  a  busted  lip | claws |  fangs | a  bloody nose  |  chattering  teeth  |  a  dark  space  underneath  the  bed  | scratching on the walls  | creaking metal  |  fog | dancing  under  moonlight |  blood dripping lips |  heavy breathing in the dark | a feeling of unexplained dread |  a figure in a dark corner  |  dirty peeling wallpaper |  a  bloody hand print on the wall | sobbing in the dark |  bite marks on the skin  | eerie  whispers | a  hood  covering  a  stranger’s  eyes | the  growl  of  a  hidden  animal  | the sound of a blade being sharpened | a deep, dark forest |  walking  on  the  streets  alone at  night | a cobweb-filled, abandoned building  |  eyes darting in paranoia | a heavy-beating pulse  |  the  feeling  of  being  trapped | boards covering broken windows  | a  quiet  graveyard |  a  gas  station  in  the  middle  of  nowhere  |  a  road  that never  ends |  heavy  fog  rolling  in | the scent of blood in the air | eerie old photographs  | walking  along  train  tracks  at  night | a  chill  going  up  the  spine | gathering  crows | a dusty, dimly-lit study | mist over a deserted cobblestone street | ghost  towns | shadows  around  a  campfire | the  sound  of  chanting  | church  bells  tolling |  an  orange  harvest  moon  |  a  broken - down  carnival  | a dirty stuffed animal abandoned  | wiping bloody hands on fabric | nightmares | waking up in a panic |  a power outage  | heavy  lightning  storms  |  a secret trap door |  the feeling of being watched | fear from trauma | a  ouija  board  set  out  on  a  table  |  an  eerie  doll  |  a scream of anguish and pain |  withered  plants | a room that’s been forgotten and gathered dust  | owl  eyes  in  the  dark  |  curled,  dead  tree  branches |  a  ritual  altar  | flickering candles | a lantern held up in the dark | fear of being followed  | creaking floorboards | repressed, horrible memories | clenched teeth |  soft,  echoing  piano  keys | an  old  book  covered  in  dust | many  pairs of  glaring  eyes  |  stumbling  in  pitch - black  darkness |  being stranded in the middle of nowhere  | tarot  cards  on  a  table  |  a trail of blood

Tagged by: @ghost--dragon​

Alistair & Anora — king and queen of Ferelden

In the months that followed their wedding, Alistair and Anora proved themselves a surprisingly effective pair. Alistair spent a great deal of time at court, showing willingness to learn the art of governing from Anora and often deferring to her judgment--and no one was more surprised by this than Anora herself.

RELATIONSHIP MEME┊⟨ accepting ⟩

RELATIONSHIP MEME┊⟨ accepting ⟩

What kind of relationship does your muse want with mine?

inner-muse‌:

I was just struck by the mental image of King Alistair sitting in the royal library with a book in one hand and a wedge of cheese in the other, taking a bite out of the book and putting it back on his plate before looking at the cheese like 😨

LETTERS MEME┊⟨ accepting ⟩

A forgotten piece of parchment, stuck to the underneath of a cot in the monastery at Bournshire, yellow with age and worn so thin it’s illegible in places: 

𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃’𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒! 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒹𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝐸𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃’𝓈. 𝐻𝑒’𝓈 𝒶 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓂𝒶𝓃, 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝐻𝒜𝒯𝐸 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓅 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒.

𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝓈𝑜 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉. 𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒. 𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓊𝓈𝓊𝒶𝓁 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉 𝑒𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇, 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒𝓁𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓊𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈. 𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝒹𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔! 𝐼𝒻 𝐼 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝐼 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝐼 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝑔𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝒹.

𝒮𝑜 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓈. 𝑀𝓎 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒. 𝑀𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓈.....𝒟𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇, 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝓃𝑜𝓌. 𝒟𝑜 𝐼 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓇? 𝒲𝒽𝓎 𝒶𝓂 𝐼 𝒶𝓇𝑒? 𝒲𝐻𝒴 𝒜𝑀 𝐼 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸?

𝒩𝑜 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑜 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝐼 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝑅𝑒𝒹𝒸𝓁𝒾𝒻𝒻𝑒. 𝐼’𝓂 𝓊𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝑒𝓍𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒶𝓂, 𝑒𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎’𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝒶 𝓃𝑜𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 ‘𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝓊𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑜𝑜𝓉𝓈’. 𝐸𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇, 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉.

𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝐼’𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒. 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉? 𝐼’𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼’𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝑒𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓇𝓎. 𝐼’𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓉𝑒𝓂𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓇, 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑜 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒. 𝐵𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒’𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝓇𝑒𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀. 𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓉𝓌𝑜 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉. 𝐼 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓌 𝓊𝓅 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓁𝑒. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝓂𝑜𝓂 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒹𝒶𝒹.

SEND IN A  ❝❞ ┊⟨ no longer accepting ⟩

“Look, I know I had a hand in saving your life once and we’re connected through the joining and all that wonderful stuff, but you’re asking too much of me. It would send a dangerous message—” Alistair came to a sudden halt, holding his hand up for silence.   “Wait — did-did you hear that? What sort of noise was that?” 

He took a long glance around the room, ears straining to pick up the sound again. He wasn’t proud that he jumped a bit when he did hear it a second time.

THE BORGIAS STARTER MEME ┊⟨ no longer accepting ⟩

Alistair let out an exaggerated groan, “I can’t be the only royal bastard, can I?”

The growing pit in his stomach sank further. He knew his protests where for naught and ultimately taking responsibility and fulfilling ones’ duties meant a great deal to him, but that didn’t stop the words from flying past his lips.