#ingllvar

+ that's still auron from ffx, but i will say my second ever muse ever ever was gippal from ffx-2.  i should have known then and there i was headed down a slippery slope because i feel like the gippal to tony stark pipeline is real.

+ i don't, honestly.  i've idly played with the idea here and there and i could probably npc him again in a pinch, but honestly the kinds of characters baby me favored and adiult me writes now are…similar but not so much so that i think i'd wander back in the ff direction.

+ final fantasy, in ye olden days before ff mmorpgs were even a twinkle in anyone's eye.  i honestly haven't played a ff game in literal years at this point, i think xii was my last one?  but sometimes i get the urge to go back to vi and revisit because locke and shadow my beloveds.  and maybe ix because vivi is my everything.

+ rarepair shoutout because i'm a dummy. but if i don't mention buckytony for @anecdotist, he might actually combust but let me tell you i love tony and bucky so, so much. and not that mcu thing no we're talking short king bucky barnes with his big, deceitful brown eyes and tall king tony stark with his disney princess baby blues and their cursed as fuck marriage over on @transistorized where they do cursed shit and make my life miserable. i love them so fucking much, so much more than i would have ever, ever thought possible and the fact that there's! canon! evidence! they're at least attracted to each other! amazing. the other is also @anecdotist because i pester dean relentlessly and annoyingly, and i swear i suggested zev romance emmrich as a joke but i'm in trouble, i'm in deep, they really are shaping up to be something, manfred and zevran have my whole ass heart being adorable in a way they have no right to be, i swear to god you could put a picture of zevran in front of emmrich and his little heart starts going doki doki in the worst way, they're a menace and i have regrets.

+ not necessarily a trend but i would like to reach out and personally thank anyone that's ever received a 500-1500 word reply from me and hasn't blocked me immediately.  (seriously, i've had people tell me i write to much and then bounce like what?  sorry i am feeding you delicious food you ungrateful ass?)  i didn't know there was even a term for it until i moved from dw to here i just thought it was because i can't shut up but here we are.

the witcher, the last wish // accepting // @ingllvar

Yes, he had made his choice.

He had said his piece; the thought crosses his mind for a moment as his eyes narrow and head tilts upwards, the amount of information they must have been privy to. The thought that the Lighthouse was so exposed made his chest rattle, his hands tighten behind his back.

Solas had managed to keep it protected from interlopers for millenia and it was a bitter taste that tainted his tongue to the thought that the person that had destroyed and brought the two living nightmares he had sought to keep locked away forever into this world now found themselves in what had once been the guiding light of the Rebellion.

It hardly mattered. The Lighthouse would keep itself as a symbol of rebellion, it would seem, even if that rebellion was against him. It made some sort of terrible, twisted sense, but then, perhaps it was the prison working itself on him too.

Why do you ask this? It is a thought that snakes itself from the tightly held palms, working itself into the tension of his muscles, strangling the air, crackling it in soft clicks against the shell of his ear.

The lift of the tone at the question about the Inquisition and about Asharen specifically gave him pause, especially as she followed up with the question. He feels his chest sink and though his body does not move. In the dim light of this awful space, his eyes narrow on Rook's figure.

Is she there? The thought appears in his mind and it stills the rest of his mind, stills the noise. In this vacuum where the stage set was between himself and Rook; where no colour is allowed he could close his eyes and in the dim light that cast long shadows above them both, to see a soft orange glow of a late, warm afternoon.

It is a bitter thought. A thought he had unfolded open and folded once more to safekeep far away from what needed to be done. He now folded that same thought along the same worn edges, careful to not let it rip. It seemed that this too Rook was willing to grab and drag into the open.

These bones too she would crack open. One more thing, what was one more broken thing when the world around you was made of shattered pieces of something else?

Is she there? Likely.

His brows arch for but a moment, and he keeps them from breaking. When his eyes return to Rook, eyes narrowed and growing darker, he inhales through gritted teeth, keeping his voice leveled, a distant cry from the lighter tone with which he had answered her first question about Inquisitor Lavellan.

I do not know if they were ever someone else.

It was perhaps her lack of knowledge, given the understanding they now had to the nature of Mythal, Elgar'nan, Solas. But truthfully, she didn't know. She felt that Solas had always been himself, it would have been a disservice, a justification perhaps to think that it was anything else. Asharen would not justify his actions. The Lighthouse held his regrets, Solas' still beating, bleeding heart open for all to see. Like a corpse being studied, dissected for all its parts - and for that too she felt a bitterness in the back of her mouth. This too felt like a betrayal, not towards her but towards him.

To remove the agency, the full weight of the choice they had made, from them. It felt cowardly. And she may flinch, she may, she did, but she would not turn her gaze from every mistake she saw them commit.

   "I once believed that having a long life made people braver, wiser." it made sense, much like the thought that having a house of her own with a couple of orange trees made sense in her dreams as a child. The world was open and full of opportunity, the limitations were just blurred lines shaped like the sounds of armour clanking in the distance and in stranger's faces that she couldn't even picture.

As an adult, she saw what the fear that lead to decisions to extend one life and there was nothing but a deep pang of pity that clung to her lungs. Asharen's light eyes lift from her own brass hand to Valeria, brows arched "I thought of what I might do if I were to have the power at my fingertips and all that time."

The stories told by the fire, about the Gods and about how Arlathan had once been. The gifts and blessings the People once had before it was all torn from her. This magic that was so intrinsic in their blood and that while it might be lost, it was still something they should prize, that they should be proud of. She could almost laugh, laugh to not cry, at how naive they had been. How she understood why so many had refused to listen. And why they had reacted so violentely to when Solas had attempted to tell them the truth.

The truth was that the Dalish and the elves that had split from them into the cities had spent years clinging into any and all semblance of hope. Of a past that that held them as real people, people worthy of respect.

   "I see now that our short lives are a blessing." she whispers, closing her eyes for the moment, placing both hands within the pockets of her robes.

How else could they react to the knowledge that the Gods that they had been taught had protected them and made them someone of importance to this world had treated them no better than the world did now? Worse, perhaps?

   "For what is worth, Valeria," the Inquisitor finally speaks, turning to the other with a small, soft smile. Her warm, flesh hand touches hers, holding it softly but firmly "I am so sorry that you should bear the pain of the choice he has made. And that he is so deeply blind to it."

Of all people, I know what it is like to watch the love of your life make choices that they will ultimately regret, choices that they think will fix wahtever they feel is lacking while being fully aware that it is a mistake. Ultimately, it is their choice to make, and that no one can take that from them. All they could do was try to stop them, to try and to stop them. Until their very last breath.

EXHUMATION: A Web Weave for Following After Your Sister Even When You're Afraid @ingllvar

Stand by Me, Cover by Florence + the Machine

the night will cover what we've done, Anna Marie Ottaviano

Definition of Exhumation, Cambridge Dictionary

Antigone

Fiona Finnegan - Sisters, 2015.

     “You sound like my late wife.”

The comment is made with affection, the archer’s lips curling slightly upwards with amusement as he regards the younger Mourn Watcher. Rook, they call them. Hand-picked by Varric, he’s been told. 

it is munday! send ‘♡’ for a pointless fact about the mun. / NOT ACCEPTING

I'm getting my MFA in screenwriting for film and tv but I also want to try my hand at video games

@ingllvar asked: Unfortunately,  we're  all  out  of  'bitter  revenge'  at  the  moment,  so  it's  either  tea  or  nothing.

she chuckles quietly. had she really been that forward with her thoughts?

"a shame, really. revenge can often be sweeter than tea."

still, she takes the cup and brings it to her lips, the warm drink is somewhat comforting, given the situation.

It'd be a romp, he told her, drowned in costly wine that would stun a gawping convent. It's a yearly sort of gathering, an excuse for the Watchers to amass and gab or laugh in leisure. In truth, it's but parts a night of posturing, some egos with their rivals trading daggers through grins; however, the grand, vast majority with their stimulating genius? Well, were he not so rotting, he'd have waltzed there, too. Sure, Rook's on a 'sabbatical' of sorts, but perhaps saving the bloody world has paled their ire somewhat. Thoughtfully, he rummages through his jewelry, a tiny, dainty box with twinkly, pearly inlays. When he turns back again, his smile spreads infectious -- and up his blighted vein, his eye gleams lavender.