#dalishunter

is big dumb qunari actually a thing????

It takes every ounce of her strength to unravel herself. She tries to stand but these shaking, foreign limbs fail her and she drops to hands and knees. She is reminded of past prey. Their young struggle to stand after their birth and if they fail, then they may fall into the jaws of a predator. I was a hunter, she thinks. Her hands push. I am the hunter.

A strong branch serves as support. Her legs shake but steps are being made, and it isn’t long before she finds herself abandoning the altar.

No, this is not abandonment. This is the goddess’s wish, and one that will be fulfilled. It matters not that she has lost her wings, or that her body aches and burns with unfamiliar pain. 

It was uncommon to find people so high in the mountains. The area was practically abandoned. The only man made structure that should have been nearby was Visenya’s ancestral home. Which even she had struggled to find after days of searching. She wondered what it was the small party could be after.

It wasn’t long before one noticed her, she did her best not to hide. She was out numbered and for the moment had no reason to fear them. They turned to a soul figure, and Elf, their leader perhaps?

was your muse ever in denial about the matter? do you have any examples of specific instances where it was particularly obvious?

Not in canon verses, where he had the privilege of a) not going through puberty and b) literally being able to say ‘Eru made this way so stfu’

In modern verses, he definitely went through a period in his early teens were he tried really hard to deny that he liked men, though more out of a fear of the reaction of his peers and a lack of confidence than feeling that it was ‘wrong’.

do they consider to ‘always have been’, or do they see the phases in their life before coming out as ‘back when i was [cis/straight/allo]’?

we're all valid here

Princess Bride Meme | Not Accepting | @dalishunter

Solas tenses, shoulders pulling tighter together, silhouette shrinking against the sky. “Your sarcasm is noted,” he says, each word clipped, shorter than they ought to sound, “but ultimately fruitless. Trade barbs with me all you like, it will bring us no closer to our goal.”

His gaze remains trained upon the ground where tracks of cloven hooves dance circles around them, gamboling aimlessly over green Fereldan hills. With his naked eyes he can see they are fresh, cut into the mud no more than an hour ago, anything more eludes him. Awake, there is no palpable intent left in their stride. When he reaches out to touch the center, he feels wet mud beneath his fingertips and little else. What little he does feel he is hesitant to name, wary of what his companion might think.

She could feel the warmth of her loves hand pulling at the stiff hem of the cloth around her neck, then the quick peck on the bramble like blood magic scar around her neck. Sophia can feel heat rising to her face.