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Love without Sex






I’m doing a Philosophy paper on Asexuality. Please reblog if you think Love without Sex is possible! I really need the data. Like if you think love has to have sex.

As an asexual, I KNOW you don’t need sex to love.

I think it fairly possible.

If it’s not possible then I’m a unicorn.

Sex is not essential in love but love is essential in sex.


[DRAGON AGE]: What can you tell us about Solas?

[PATRICK WEEKES]:He’s pretty straightforward, honestly. Just your average elven apostate who voluntarily joins the Inquisition in the middle of the mage rebellion to lend his expertise with the Fade.

[DA]: “Average,” huh?

[PW]: I like to keep it simple.

[DA]: There’s a lot of ground to cover with Solas, so let’s start with him as an apostate—meaning he practices magic outside the Circle of Magi. Did he escape with the rest of the rebel mages?

[PW]: Actually, he was never in one of the Circles to begin with.

[DA]: Interesting.

[PW]: Thedas is a pretty big place, and unless you go around burninating the peasants, you may never come to the attention of the templars.

[DA]: Without the Circle to provide training, how did he learn to control his power?

[PW]: Solas is largely self-taught; while he can comfortably defend himself, he cares more about exploring the Fade than he does about hurling fireballs.

[DA]: What makes the Fade so interesting?

[PW]: Okay, so, the Fade—bear with me, this gets a little weird—the Fade is the spirit side of the Dragon Age universe. It’s this incredible place full of dreams and memories, imprints left behind by powerful emotions or events in our world. Solas has trained himself to do something a lot like lucid-dreaming. He goes to ancient ruins where the Veil is thin, goes to sleep, and actually experiences the history of places no one else has seen in centuries.

[DA]: Is that sort of vision accurate?

[PW]: Absolutely not. It’s based off people’s memories, right? Ask ten different witnesses at a crime scene to describe what happened, and you’ll get all kinds of conflicting information. Solas knows that everything he sees in the Fade is subjective and imperfect. It’s like a gigantic Wikipedia entry full of “[citation needed]” notes, but still, Solas has found some amazing things.

[DA]: In past games, the Fade has been a dangerous place, full of demons.

[PW]: Yes. Most people in Thedas think of the Fade as demon-land… and Solas believes this is part of the problem. If you go into a realm that by its very naturereflects the thoughts and fears of living people, and if all you’re ever taught in the Chantry is that the Fade is this terrible place that wants to kill or possess you, then when you get there, of course it’s like that.

[DA]: Solas doesn’t fear the Fade?

[PW]: I’d say he respects it. It’s still dangerous, but because Solas found the Fade on his own, he went in without preconceptions, letting him explore the area and befriend spirits without the black-and-white mentality that holds back mages trained in the Circle. While everyone else guards themselves, assuming everything in the Fade is a threat, Solas will find a brilliant unimaginable light, smile delightedly, and move in for a closer look.

[DA]: Does that extensive knowledge aid him in combat?

[PW]: On the battlefield, Solas’s expertise with the Fade lets him manipulate magic in ways that would never occur to most mages.

Off the battlefield, when Solas sees a giant hole open up in the sky with demons pouring out of it, he knows that he can help where Circle mages cannot. As a result, although there is no guarantee they won’t locked him up as just another apostate, Solas comes voluntarily to the Inquisition.

[DA]: Did you find his character challenging to write?

[PW]: Writing Solas had its moments, yes. I personally love characters who are intelligent, characters who don’t necessarily breakthe universe they’re in, but who make players reexamine their own assumptions and look at that world in a new way. It’ll be interesting to see who thinks he’s fascinating and who thinks he’s out of his ever-Fade-loving mind.

[DA]: One would assume that opinions vary among his fellow companions as well.

[PW]:Absolutely. Vivienne is as loyal a Circle mage as you’ll find, so having this scruffy little hedge mage pop in and say, “You’re all close-minded, you should be making friends with spirits,” causes her to get icily disdainful as only Vivienne can. Solas and the Iron Bull also spar over Qunari beliefs, as Solas believes in freedom of thought more than anything else, and the Qunari tend to be pretty rigid there. On the other hand, Solas and Cole get along rather wonderfully.

[DA]: Because Cole is a spirit?

[PW]: Yes; Cole is trying to figure out what that means, and Solas can answer a lot of Cole’s questions. The two of them have fascinating talks about what it means to be a spirit, usually with the rest of the party watching the two with these narrow-eyed “What the what?” looks.

[DA]: In addition to dealing with the world’s perception of mages, he’s also elven. How does he deal with that much adversity?

[PW]:Honestly, Solas hates people who look at him and justsee an elf. He considers that kind of attitude part of the black-and-white dichotomy that has led to so much tragedy in theDragon Age world. Templars versus mages, demons versus spirits, elves versus humans… it’s more complicated than that. Come to think of it, “It’s more complicated than that,” may actually be Solas’s battle cry.



I’m pretty sure I just cried rainbows onto my keyboard for you guys. Enjoy the further fluffy adventures of asexual!Sten/Mahariel 


           Saoirse was her given name, but Sten never spoke it. He had said “Mahariel” only once, apparently deciding, she thought, that the elven way of names was distasteful to his tongue. Now that she understood, however, Mahariel knew he’d favored “Warden” because it was a comfort to him; the name he assigned was her role, given with all respect, as Sten was both name and role for him.

            When “Kadan” replaced “Warden,” the change was permanent, and Mahariel happily gave up all hope of hearing her given name on his lips, even as they boarded a ship bound for Par Vollen, and most especially when Sten finally told her what her new name meant.

            And now, she called him “Kadan” as they continued on the road to deliver Sten’s report to the Salasari—a triumvirate, as Mahariel understood it: the Qunari government, not unlike the Keeper, Craftsman, and Hahren, in a clan. What she had trouble grasping was the idea that they held so much power over others. Even the Keeper could not make a decision if the clan was against it. She learned more each day about the country through which she moved, about its inhabitants.

            Tonight, they shared a small room at a roadside inn, rather cleaner than anything she had seen in Ferelden.  There was a low cot, a table, and a single mat, now unrolled in the center of the room where Sten was seated, cross-legged—though it did little to make him seem smaller. If anything, as he carefully put a brush to the parchment on the table settled over his lap, he looked even larger, looming over the undersized furniture. Mahariel watched, stretched out along the cot, head pillowed on her arms; she had not asked what he wrote. If it became relevant, he would speak.  For now, she was content.

Each stroke of the brush was delicate—calculated and beautiful as the patterns Sten danced with his blade. Yet, it was… different. The raw energy, the force focused behind each controlled swing of Asaala was missing here; in each curve and stroke of the brush was gentleness, a peace that few would associate with the warrior.

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I’m just too pleased with this. I don’t remember when I first started shipping them, but I think they are perfect.


god, you think about blackwall, though.

what it’s like to live his good years, the best years, his strongest years full of heart and pain and laughter, in unwavering service on hell’s molten edge.

unlike some, he’s CHOSEN this life. like it wasn’t a choice at all, but a sort of inborn nobility, as real as blood.

and to do it, to choose it, knowing death will be his bride and closest companion. she’s there outside the window, on the faces of his comrades at meals, in the sulfur breath of the cracks in the earth. 

so here’s a man with more weight on his shoulders than a hundred kings in a hundred lifetimes could ever bear, but he does it without complaint because…well, it’s always that anonymous someone who HAS to, isn’t it? it’s a song everyone sings as children, yet no one remembers who wrote it. it’s the shape of No-One filling the ranks. it’s his calling. and perhaps, from beginning to end, that’s why they name it so.


what if here, at the final hour, when his body’s flagging and all the smiles are hard ones and his will is iron even if his back is not, his calling is answered by someone else? and not the Calling, the descent into the Deep Roads. not the impolite subject of an endless darkness. no, what happens when his life’s work is denied is something sweeter, soaked in melancholy, and infinitely more unfathomable.

to die so the world may live. to preserve all the good things spinning ‘round, and all the shit, too. that’s been his bread for as long as he’s had teeth. but, what if death never consummates their marriage? what if he’s left behind to do the hardest thing, more painful, more unfair than never taking another breath? what if, in the last ashfall of battle, when the wailing stops, he has to go on living? 

because death is wayward, favors none, yet loves all in turn. she turns her placid face to another No One, instead. to a bright, unbroken light, simple as a candleglow. to the one person he’d dared to hope would remain, and honor him in memory. the one person who might think of him as more. and for no reason he will ever know, death takes her hand instead.


Images by aimo

Words by bossuary

Good lord I just burst into tears! I’m literally crying so hard right now.

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