thesis before the thesis

India, 326 BCE.  Macedonian War Council.

Alexander: So talk to me, commanders, how are we looking? 

Hephaistion: Sexy, but not like we’re trying too hard. Like, sure, we’re trying, but it’s almost effortless.

Just got home from jits to find this wonderful package from @lovelikesummer on my doorstep! That is literally the one John Green novel that I don’t own but have been meaning to buy for ages so thank you so much! Also I kind of went 😍😍😍 when I saw the language book not gonna lie. And hells to the yeah to the socks (I’m totally rocking them right now). Low key also jelly of your radical stamps right now 😀😀

Originally posted by giphygiff

ladyvehk  asked:

Prompt: Ellana and Solas during Inquisition, taking a happy moment to dance goofily with each other :) or any other instance of them just being silly and enjoying each other's company.

The ball at the Winter Palace approaches, and there isn’t a soul in the keep who feels it as keenly the Inquisitor – it’s clear to Solas from the nervous wringing of her hands, and how she can’t seem to focus on the conversation in front of her, her answers brief and her attention fleeting.At first he thinks it’s the impending assassination that’s got her so consumed – the thought of Corypheus’ ever-tightening grip around the South, and the future their failure will herald.

But then – “It’s the dancing,” Ellana admits, slender fingers interlaced and knuckles pressed to the small of her back, a familiar gesture of nervousness, and her expression is endearingly woeful. “I might be a little…rusty. Josie was joking about arranging for a tutor.” But then she pauses, expression contorting with something akin to horror. “On second thought, I think she might have been serious.”

The idea is impulsive, lightly teasing, but he’s damned by the sight of her – the nervous purse of her lips, and the way she keeps shifting her weight, as though digging through her memories for old steps and older songs – and, “There is no need for that,” Solas hears himself saying, hearing tunes older still, and a hundred steps to a hundred different dances sitting like an itch in his legs.

He’s offering his hand before he’s had time to question the desire, and for a split second he’s afraid she’ll see all the years implied in the gesture – the slight bend of his shoulders and the question that sits in the very tips of his fingers, his palm open and held before her.

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