#I don’t know how the inquisitor got back to the team

[telanadasvhenan]

Slaps my lavellan this bad boy can fit so many abandonment issues

edit: uploaded the right picture lol

[evanhereonearth]

I hurt my own feelings with this fic. VEILGUARD SPOILERS!

This is the prologue of Veilguard from the POV of my Inquisitor, Ilaana Lavellan, who has spent the time since Trespasser working tirelessly to change the world. Her work with the Dalish and Rivaini seers and the Avvar augurs inspired the Veil Jumpers’ formation. She is a Dreamer and she is so endlessly tired.

Now betrayed by one of her dearest friends when it matteres the most.

I stare at the letters side by side. One from a beloved friend. One from my most trusted agent, which I have just decrypted. And one…

One I have had for a week and have been expecting. If not today, soon. It’s time. And I’m already too late to make a difference.

Varric’s letter fills me with cold. Cold like the Elfsblood River in Emprise du Lion spiked with red lyrium, its rage hot against the frigid ice that has settled over my skin.

He is too smart to think I will buy it, too canny to believe I don’t have my own methods of tracking Solas—yet still, here it is, another spun tale from the man who once told me I should have lied to the Right Hand of the Divine herself when I woke in Haven with a hole in the sky and a hole in my head and a hole in my hand that could heal all three.

I read it again, my body past reacting outwardly but my ribs screaming to hold back the fury in my heart.

Inquisitor,

Greetings from miserable, rainy Minrathous! (Don't tell Dorian I called it that.) The rotten weather here is making me nostalgic for Skyhold. The mountains were freezing, but at least the air didn't smell like wet garbage.

We'll have to get in another game of Wicked Grace soon.

Harding picked up the trail again. I'd tell you not to worry, but I know how useless that is. Instead, I'll just say: I've got a great team on this. Neve could stare down the Maker, and wait until you meet Rook. They're a natural: Smart, resourceful, completely unpredictable. You'd like them, as long as you don't try to beat them at cards. Chuckles'll never know what hit him.

I'll write again once we have something solid for you. Drinks at the Hanged Man are on me when this is over. Take care of yourself.

Varric

Then I read Charter’s. Charter is Leliana’s agent and also mine, one of the few who has come face to face with Solas since the events of the Qunari Dragon’s Breath plot. I trust Leliana implicitly—she’s earned that from me, my truest friend aside from Dorian and my most steadfast partner in all my intricate work for the past decade, by my side by choice as I walk my own din’an shiral—and until five minutes ago when I got Charter’s, I also trusted Varric Tethras.

Charter’s words are brief, using only my code name and seven others she pulsed through the sending crystal only minutes ago.

Lathi,

Our Lady of Victory. Looking glass. Haste.

I’m already too late. Haste means immediately. Even if I have an eluvian directly into the centre of Minrathous, I cannot run fast enough to beat Varric to Our Lady of Victory. Morrigan cannot fly fast enough.

Varric told me not to come to Minrathous yet.

And I know, without any doubt, that he sent his message barely an hour ago; Irelin must have been holding on to it until he told her to send it.

I am frozen like that horrid river, my own Elvhen blood a block of ice in every vein. How many times have I tried to explain to Varric the stakes here? How many hours have I spent begging him to listen to anything beyond his own narrative?

Something cracks within me, and my body begins to vibrate like a hummingbird’s wings as I force myself to reread the final letter.

Vhenan, I do not know if you will see these words. My ritual is ready and will soon be set in motion. Perhaps when you read this the world will be as it once was, and you will see why all I did was necessary. I cannot ask your forgiveness, but I hope you come to understand. That night in Crestwood, when I shared the truth about your vallaslin…you do not know how close I came to breaking. I could have shared the truth, or even put my plans aside and simply stayed with you as Solas…as I wanted.

I regret the pain I caused you.

What I feel for you will never change.

This, I have read a thousand times in the days since I found it in the Crossroads. I knew he sensed me close to his Lighthouse, knew he felt as I always do when we enter each other’s orbits.

It is the closest thing to an invitation he will ever send me; Solas once pushed me from his own din’an shiral out of fear I would come to regret loving him, that his steps would poison our love and the safety we built in each other’s hearts. He knew, when he sent this letter, that he had been wrong then about my motivations—or at least that my motivations have had the time to reveal to him my truth. He remembers how I said, “Let me help you, Solas.” And he is no fool. He knows every threat to his course, every passing breeze, and he knows every deliberate step I have taken on the journey I chose for myself these last ten years. He knows it’s not for him alone; he knows my mind is my own. He also knows I am free to choose and have chosen.

And now in my own foolish trust of an old friend, I will be too late to help him after all this time. Because Varric knows if I show up at Solas’s ritual, the Void take me, it will not be to stop my love at all costs.

I take a single steadying breath. Too late or not, I have to try. He will feel me coming to him. Perhaps that will be enough.

I summon a trio of wisps as I turn and sprint for my eluvian, whispering, begging, imbuing them with all the love in my heart and praying it is enough to stall whatever Varric has set in motion with this betrayal.

***

Varric’s letter and Charter’s, I drop into the warded message box I share with Leliana and Morrigan. Morrigan is deep in Arlathan Forest with Strife and Irelin, and Leliana—Divine Victoria—is leading the entire Chantry of Southern Thedas. They will both know soon enough.

Slipping through the mirror buzzes against the surface of my skin, enveloping me in the magic of the Fade, of the in-between place that is the Crossroads. We do not have Solas’s Vi’Revas, and our small section of the eluvian network is ours at his sufferance, unacknowledged for the sake of our plausible deniability—something we are all well aware of. The wisps I summoned are already gone, whirring through the Fade to find my love with as much haste as they can muster.

Time moves differently here. My feet pound over its ancient paths, rainbows glimmering and shimmering in the raw magic that surrounds me, but I still cannot move fast enough. With a thought, I slip into wolf form; I may not truly be faster this way, but I feel faster.

The mental boost gives me strength. It is not far to the Minrathous eluvian, but what lies on the other side is the true terror in my soul. Dorian’s manor is across the city from Our Lady of Victory. Even with all the magic in Thedas, I cannot simply appear where I want to appear.

When I reach the eluvian, I launch myself through, transforming myself back into the shape of Ilaana Lavellan that the world knows as the Inquisitor.

And what I hear makes me almost trip and sprawl out onto my face.

“Citizens of Minrathous!” The voice booms through the air from the Archon’s Palace.

I don’t hear the rest of the message, because Dorian throws open the door to the warded eluvian room, pinged by the wards that recognise my mana.

“It’s started,” he says. “Ilaana—”

“Varric lied,” I tell him shortly. “Did you know?”

I’ve never heard the razor-sharp edge to my voice that slices through the air between me and my dearest friend. He gapes at me, piecing together what I’m saying as horror twists his expression before he can answer.

“Dorian, did you know?”

My voice cracks the second time, and he flinches at my anguish.

“No, Lathi. I trust you above all else in this Maker-forsaken world. Into the Fade and Beyond.”

The weary smile he gives me is enough; Dorian cannot lie to my face.

That last bit is a joke, one I didn’t know I needed in this moment. Humans call it the Fade, elves call it the Beyond, and right now, the veil between our world and the spirit world, regardless of what anyone calls it, is about to vanish. My love is trying to heal the wound he inflicted upon this world to save it so long ago. The immense trust Dorian has in me, to believe the veil falling is survivable?

I can return that trust. I will return that trust.

“I need to get to Our Lady of Victory,” I tell him, forcing the mask back on—if I am going to survive tonight, that mask will be my lifeline.

I am too late already. But I have to try. I am too late already. But for Solas, for all of us and everyone we love on both sides of the veil, I have to try.

***

It is the quiet that tells me I’m too late.

Dorian and I burst through the eluvian into the wilds of Arlathan to find it over—but the Veil still stands. In the shellshocked broken statues, in the stink of blight that stings at my nostrils in a whiff on the wind, we are late enough that the scene has grown quiet.

Not silent. The storm of magic that fills the air with the familiar feel of the Fade—Solas’s mana, so known to me, permeating every pore—remains an echo.

An argument with Varric from last month springs back into my mind.

“Varric, the veil is already failing. It will fall whether you want it or not, and only Solas knows how to do this in a way that will not release the entire reason he created it in the first place.” My temples bloomed with the headache I was nursing at the time, circular arguments that could find no purchase on the smooth, blunted surface of Varric’s stubbornness. “It’s the Blight. The blighted Evanuris, whoever of them remains. If we find him, we cannot risk their escape.”

“We don’t know that,” Varric insisted for the hundredth time. “He’s trying to drown the world in demons—we can’t just let him because you believe his propaganda.”

“I believe the decade of my own studies! Everything I have found independently on both sides of the veil confirms it, that the Evanuris created or unleashed the Blight and weaponised it. And that the veil kept them from using it to destroy the entire world. Every living being in Thedas owes Solas their very existence.”

“And he’s taking the veil down and will let the blight out again—”

“He will do no such thing! It would defeat the purpose of everything he has done so far, and you are not listening to me. You have decided, wrongly, that you understand this better than I do, better than he does, better than the Veil Jumpers and the seers, better than Morrigan, who holds the memories of Mythal herself.”

“Look, Ilaana, I know you and Chuckles were in love, but he lied to you all that time. You’re too close to this to be objective. He’s the literal god of lies.”

“Or none of the rest of you bothered to truly know him. If you had, you might have been forced to accept that he is right. You see only the version of him you wish to see; I at least can differentiate between the man and the mask he wears.”

That was it, I realise, as Dorian and I warily pick our way towards the ritual site.

That was the moment Varric decided he would keep me from this. He has always believed me to be delusional. He has always been unable to accept that he is wrong. Wrong about Cole’s personhood, wrong about Bianca. I can see him projecting that upon me; he trusted Bianca, a woman who married someone else instead of him, a woman who leaked red lyrium into the world to Corypheus, a woman who deluded him, kept him begging for scraps for years. A woman more delighted by her own cleverness than any willingness to take responsibility for her actions. He thinks my relationship with Solas is the same.

It is not and never was.

In the past decade, much of the Inquisition has fallen away. Bull hasn’t much stayed in touch since he and Dorian ended things; Tevinter became too large for Bull to deal with. He returned to the Chargers, and as far as I know is somewhere in Antiva fighting the Antaam.

Some, I know still only to keep an eye on. Like Thom and Vivienne and Sera. Others are friends I keep close but not too close, like Cass and Josie and Cullen. Varric and Lace, I have trusted until now, if not to the degree I trust Dorian and Leliana and Merrill and Morrigan, enough to trust they would listen to me and my hard-won expertise.

Folly. The folly of my too-tender heart that gave me my nickname. Da’lath’in. Lathi.

Beside me, Dorian makes a small noise. I’m so caught up in my rampaging thoughts that I stop only when he throws out an arm across my chest

“What in the blazes is that?”

I smell the Blight before my eyes process the lumpen mass I’m seeing. My first thought is that it is a womb torn out and left pulsing on the ground, its umbilical cord winding away to attach to…something worse.

My second thought is that this impression is all too correct.

I incinerate it with a thought, Dorian’s barrier protecting us from any spray of the explosion, and fire races along the umbilical cord to the larger mass, lighting it up with a gurgling pulse that makes every pore on my body raise itself into gooseflesh.

“The veil remains, but the blight got out,” I say, my voice hollow, numb.

“Lathi, if you don’t want to see this—”

“I have to.”

It comes out almost as a gasp. I take three slow breaths, trying to build myself a cocoon of calm even as something deep within my spirit begins to shriek.

Dorian burns through the barrier, and I cast about for any threats that could remain. The blight here—this is unlike any blight I have encountered. My skin crawls like it’s trying to escape from my body.

Thom alerted me some time ago to a report from Wardens who seem to have encountered an ancient elven lab beneath a mountain that birthed horrors unlike any they’d encountered. Darkspawn twisted enough to make the usual hurlocks and genlocks and shrieks look downright friendly.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.

What has Varric done?

We see no actual darkspawn as we wind through the path, but that does nothing to settle my spirit. The entire place is hushed with creeping wrongness, echoes of magic like a tempest barely calmed. Or cut off abruptly.

I see footprints in the dirt. Dorian is no tracker, but I am still Dalish. Two dwarves—that’ll be Varric and Harding. One set is a boot and a hard imprint of something not a foot. Neve Gallus, most likely. She is known for having lost part of a leg much like I have lost part of an arm, though in entirely different circumstances.

One set that must be Rook’s. Grier Aldwir, a Veil Jumper who I encountered long ago in Rivain before the Veil Jumpers even existed. Not long after Dragon’s Breath, when I first ventured out to the those I thought might meet me with open minds.

Varric seems to have somehow thought I wouldn’t find out about the people he intended to take to disrupt my love’s ritual, but I admit surprise at Rook’s identity.

I would have thought Grier would have more sense.

Not that my first impression of them was anything more than passing; Grier was starstruck to be in the presence of the Inquisitor, and I noted the way they asked stupid questions that others seemed to expect of them as much as I noted the sharp intelligence behind those blue-green eyes. I recognised something of myself in that; it has often behooved me to allow others to make assumptions about my own capacity. Better people underestimate you, especially as an elf in Thedas.

The thoughts are as much distraction as anything. That shrieking part of my soul has not ceased its panicked noise.

Dorian and I pick our ways forwards still, combing the path for evidence. Some residue of demons, more blight, though the blight seems to be leading away from here, almost like tracks in and of itself. It veers off into Arlathan Forest, which is something I am likely to hear about sooner rather than later. I will get word to Irelin and Strife after we discover what happened here at this ritual.

I don’t let myself wonder about Solas. I cannot.

If I do, I will break.

We come to an old ruin, and even from where I stand, I can see the evidence of cataclysm. I have been here once before when tracking Solas, so I know that the enormous statues of the ancient Evanuris were standing not long ago.

Now only a few still stand upright; the rest have toppled like bookshelves in a library when one is pushed to fall upon the others in a cascade of destruction.

My skin grows cold even as my analytical mind puts together pieces of what must have happened.

“Surely even dwarves could not be so foolish as to drop a statue on a ritual of that magnitude of volatility,” Dorian says, his own mind making the same connection as mine. “One does not need magical acuity to understand that such a thing would—”

I waggle my prosthetic hand at him. “Have unintended consequences?”

“My dear, you are far more gracious than I.”

I am, of course, referring to my own inadvertent interruption of a ritual of a tenth this size: Corypheus sacrificing Divine Justinia to tear open the Fade. The moment I tripped and landed in the role of Herald of Andraste, later Inquisitor. The moment I fell into the Fade in the flesh and tumbled back out of it a miracle. The moment my fate became irrevocably bound to Solas’s.

“They had two mages with them, as well,” I murmur. “Dock Town’s Neve Gallus and a Veil Jumper called Grier Aldwir. Rook, as Varric calls them. Either one of them ought to have known better.”

“Neve certainly should have,” Dorian murmurs. “I don’t know her well, but enough to know she doesn’t take chances. That said, she has not had the benefit of knowing someone who lives and breathes the Fade, let alone two someones. Three if we count Cole.”

“Even so,” I say shakily. My ability to compartmentalise is cracking along its fault lines.

“Even so,” Dorian agrees.

I can feel spirits pressing against the veil, drawn to me as always. Especially when there has been enormous magic brought to bear, and there has been more enormous magic brought to bear here than any time in history since the day Solas made the veil itself.

“Dorian.”

He pulls his gaze from the toppled statues to look at me, his own demeanour showing he’s as aware of the activity in the Fade as much as I am.

“Don’t worry,” he says, a sardonic smile quirking his lips without reaching his eyes as he quotes a line he once said to me when we were torn out of time in a red lyrium nightmare of Redcliffe. “I’ll protect you.”

He knows I need to see.

We both know I may not be able to bear it.

***

A decade of practice has made slipping across the veil into the Fade as simple as lighting a candle with my magic.

It feels like home here, and that thought wrenches a yearning sob from me at my decade-long hope crushed.

“Imagine a world where the Fade is not somewhere you go, but a state of nature, like the wind. Where spirits are as common as trees or grass.”

Solas’s words to me, a lifetime ago in Haven.

My first wild glimmer of possibility.

The spirits around me reflect my sorrow, my fear, but they know me. They know me or know of me, and they do not turn into demons when my emotions are stormy; instead, they pull close around me. Compassion and Valour and Courage and Determination.

“Show me,” I whisper to my friends.

The world of now falls away.

I feel the germination of Solas’s ritual, feel his magic grow, spreading in undulating waves from where he stands atop a ritual platform raised on a flight of stone-hewn stairs.

The sight of him wrenches at my heart. Oh, I have had glimpses of him over the years; we are ghosts of the wolves I carved for him in Skyhold so long ago, always circling each other, never without each other’s scents. I have seen him echoed in memories in the Fade, regrets and tears, his and my own both, seen him in truth, from afar, gazing upon me and allowing for scattered moments of longing we both knew must be brief. Whether as a wolf or a man, I know him always, as he knows me. He has never hidden from me, nor I from him.

But seeing him in this memory, only a bare hour or two ago, is different.

His name means both Pride and One Who Stands Tall, and in this moment, it is only the latter the spirits see. Thus it is only the latter I see. The spirits are here, and they are ready, because he has prepared them for this. Pride blooms in me—pride that my love has not an army, but a tribe thousands strong of spirits ready to help—spirit self seeing self—ready to heal the wound he inflicted on the world, ready to help the bone knit back together after it has been re-broken and reset.

They know the risks. They know what lies beyond the door.

Corruption and death.

For all of us.

Still, they are here, and they are ready.

The scope of Solas’s power staggers me as it grows. It eclipses the ritual site, so much raw magic it is as if the veil already does not exist. This—this is what remained of a fragment of Mythal?

My own power is not negligible; my connection to the Fade has grown to the point that I am virtually untouchable to anyone who tries to harm me.

But this?

No wonder the Evanuris convinced the ancient Elvhen that they were gods.

I can also feel that it reaches the limits of his strength.

He has been counted among them, but he has never been their peer.

Yet he bested them anyway.

Magic, raw and awe-inspiring, pours out of the Fade, permeating the earth, the ritual site, the air, everything for miles around. It is a beacon of pure power to anything with an awareness, anything with a connection to the Fade and, I suspect, even to anything without.

I’m so caught up in the torrent of energies that I almost miss Varric’s approach.

Not all spirits have the fortitude to resist change in the face of such enormous magical shifts; some few, so desperate to reunite with the physical world the veil sundered them from, tear their way through the tattered veil, the violence of it twisting them into demons on the way. Like with the rifts I spent years closing with the Anchor. Like the Breach.

Varric and his team fight their way through. Neve is an adept ice mage, her mana elegant and efficient. Rook is electric, using the newly emerged orb-and-dagger fighting style rather than a staff like I prefer, and their attacks seem fitting to what Varric said in his letter about the eponymous chess piece: thinking in straight lines.

The observation fills me with dread.

I don’t want to see this. I do not want to witness.

I have no choice.

I owe him this, because Varric fooled me, and I was too late to stop it. If I allow myself to freeze in inaction with my own regrets now, I will never leave this place.

Even as I think it, I hear Varric’s voice.

“All right,” he says to Rook. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Are you sure?” Neve asks after blasting away a demon who ventured too close.

“Positive. You three just keep the demons off me while I talk to him.”

“Varric,” a breathless Lace Harding cuts in, “Solas isn’t going to stop just because an old friend asks nicely.”

“Solas needs someone to sell him another option, to justify him changing his mind.” Varric sounds so sure of himself, and the sheer weight of knowledge that he left me behind on purpose threatens to capsize me.

I miss what Rook says in the flash of fury that nearly blinds me, but Grier must be encouraging Varric, because Varric’s answer adds fuel to my fire.

“Thanks, Rook. Whatever else he is, he’s my friend. And if he won’t listen to me, he’ll hear from Bianca.”

No. No, no, no, no, no-no-no.

I cannot think of a worse way to approach Solas at this moment, but I cannot stop it from happening.

It has already happened. Already brought this night to ruin.

“Hey, Chuckles! Hope I’m not interrupting!”

Visions in the Fade shift perspective, and I’m suddenly between Varric and Solas, looking up at my love when he turns to face the fool of a dwarf. I have not seen Solas this close since Dragon’s Breath, and all the air leaves my lungs as his face shifts through a hundred micro expressions from one heartbeat to the next.

Weariness. Genuine surprise. A glance behind Varric—looking for me and not seeing me—turning to anger as my instincts scream that my love, my vhen’an’ara, has correctly deduced in that moment that Varric is why I am not with him.

And finally, rage, quickly pushed down.

My ears ring as their fragmented conversation continues, as Varric barrels ahead with Bianca levelled at Solas’s heart.

At my heart. My heart. My heart.

Vhenan.

Bianca shatters as Solas destroys the unique crossbow with a thought, leaving Varric untouched. Solas lifts his ritual dagger once more to the ritual.

“People are always dying, Varric,” Solas says in answer to something I did not hear, the weight of an eternity on every word, “it is what they do.”

The spirits around me wrap me in what comfort they can, soothing Compassion and stalwart Courage tethering me to my own existence so I don’t shatter like that fucking crossbow.

Worse is coming. If Varric is here, he didn’t bring down the statues.

Even as I think it, I hear Rook’s voice.

“We need a better plan.”

Then Harding: “Do you want me to take the shot?”

I cannot allow myself to feel this additional betrayal. No part of me cares that they genuinely think they are the good guys here; they are wrong, so deeply wrong and will never know it.

“Won’t work,” Neve is saying. “He’s too powerful.”

“What if we disrupt the ritual?” Rook says, pointing…at the statues.

I cannot listen to them, to this asinine stupidity, this mockery of heroism. “Please,” I beg the spirits. “Don’t make me hear them.”

I already know what they are going to do; I only don’t know how it ends.

One more message, says a spirit of Valour. Be brave.

Solas’s voice. “We shared a journey years ago. Do you think I would do this if there were some other, better option? You came a long way and made a valiant effort, but this story does not end with my downfall.”

Some part of me unclenches. A wave of gratitude encompasses Valour; the spirit would not have echoed those words except to bolster me.

Banal nadas, whispers Possibility in my ear. Banal nadas.

Nothing is inevitable. The lesson Possibility came to teach me so long ago.

I see the first statue begin to fall.

It cracks through the air, breaking stone shattering, stone that has stood for millennia. The statue crashes into the next one, then the next.

I don’t have to hear Solas to know he is screaming, “No. No, no!”

He catches the closest statue with pure will, hefting it backwards from where it is about to crash down upon him. Resolute, implacable. He raises his dagger once more—and Varric throws himself at Solas.

I watch them tussle, Varric with his mere few decades of experience against the Dread Wolf, who has commanded armies and outwitted would-be gods for ages untold.

It is only ever going to end one way, and Varric has reached the final boundary of Solas’s forbearance and patience.

The dagger plunges into Varric’s chest, above the heart but a mortal wound nonetheless.

My body is shaking, shuddering with the sight of it, but my emotions are too numb, too jumbled; this isn’t over. This isn’t the end.

Then I see it.

Behind Solas.

A tear in the veil, like that rift into the Fade at Adamant, and like that rift, horror waits on the other side.

One form I immediately recognise from his iconography, and if I didn’t recognise that, I would know the sheer force of his presence.

Elgar’nan, first of the Evanuris.

His power is a force that cannot be contained or reckoned with; the weight of it has density, the enormity of his will threaded with something I only just tasted.

Blight.

Beside him is…a monster. My first thought is that perhaps it is Andruil, whose Void-touched armour drove her insane. This gangly, long-limbed creature dangling tentacles—but no.

No.

This is Ghilan’nain.

Mother of the fucking halla, my Dalish arse. Mother of monsters. Mother of nightmares.

A cataclysmic concussion rends the air. Dimly, I am aware of Rook soaring into a pillar with the sheer force of it.

I cannot see Solas. I cannot see Solas. I cannot see Solas.

Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are out.

The blighted gods are out.

Varric, what have you done?

I don’t realise I’m screaming myself hoarse until hands shake my shoulders. Human hands. Dorian’s hands.

He pulls me back to the present, out of the Fade. I taste blood where I have chewed through the inner flesh of my cheek.

Through the Fade, the spirits push one more message through to me. It is a message for me, from them. To tell me my love lives. I feel with it a sense of terror beyond anything I have imagined. Beyond the lair of the Nightmare at Adamant, beyond the mind-breaking horrors of seeing a blighted Solas tossed dead on the floor in a future that never came to pass, beyond the pitiful ploy for godhood that was Corypheus, beyond anything I’ve faced since.

The message comes from within the prison he built to contain the blighted gods.

It comes with the force of my love’s voice resonant with terrible calm in every word—words meant not for me, but for someone else.

For Rook.

“You have no idea what you have done.”
















[veilkeeper]

Sorry this is gonna be a long one for second round Rook questions buttt:

3 + 4 + 7 + 17 + 34 + 46

(questions from here)

3. What are Rook’s first impressions of Solas?

talked a bit about this in breaking the cycle, but basically he was... more or less neutral when they first met. morally opposed to his plan and prepared to stop him, but on an individual level he didn't have ill-will or any strong negative feelings. he knew he couldn't trust anything solas said at face value, and in that first encounter solas came across as bitter and judgmental and better-than-thou, but it was overall fine.

4. What does Solas think of Rook?

funnily enough i think solas likes corentin before corentin likes him. as pissed as he is that some random kid interrupted his ritual and released the remaining gods, corentin also proved he has a lot of drive and is willing to do what it takes to achieve his goals. at first, this is convenient and creates an opportunity to mould corentin into a pawn, but eventually i think there is some genuine fondness. solas is sentimental, and i think he starts thinking "in another life, we might have gotten along" far sooner than corentin does.

7. How does their romance start?

corentin sees emmrich and is heart eyes on sight. he's tall, he's lanky, he's got this handsome silver fox thing going on, but more importantly, he's wildly enthusiastic about his work, and it's all shit corentin has never seen before. and he's nice to spirits! and he's nice to everyone. corentin was a goner immediately, trust me. a part of his brain that had never been used before activated and he had a genuine actual crush for the first time. he actually does a good job of flirting at first, but emmrich doesn't come across as receptive (in hindsight, this is because his initial response to corentin's flirtation is "there is NO WAY i'm reading that right"), so he's about to do the whole "if i'm making you uncomfortable i need you to tell me" spiel when emmrich beats him to the punch with the "if your attentions go beyond charming flattery, that would interest me, indeed" and the rest is history.

17. Any companions they don’t get along with? How does Rook navigate this?

he gets along with everyone! corentin is very affable, and his grandmother emphasized conflict resolution and empathy when he was growing up. the only people he doesn't get along with are people who refuse to make an effort to get along with him, and none of the people on the team are like that.

34. What’s Rook’s opinion of the Inquisitor? What’s it like, working together?

i've said before that corentin is basically allergic to putting anyone on a pedestal, and that's true. he admires ghila, he heard stories of the inquisitor when he was a kid and he heard better, more humanizing ones once he met varric. they definitely aren't people who would hang out under normal circumstances, but i think they get along and corentin finds its... comforting? to know that he's not the only person in the world who's fighting back right now.

46. What does Rook think of being the leader of the Veilguard?

he's neutral to it. he didn't join in hopes of becoming a leader, but he's confident in his ability to do it and knows that someone has to. when varric was "injured", there wasn't any question in his mind that he could step up and make it happen, and so far he's been proven right.

[thats-it-im-fallingdown]

I’ve posted my first time viewing thoughts on season 1 of rebels, now here’s the same for the first half of the second season!

first of all: @intrepidmare commented that the reason why rebels animation gets a lot of flack compared to tcw is because it had a smaller team and budget and less production time, but that it improves in later seasons (hablo un poquito español, lo siento!). i should clarify, i don’t think the animation for rebels is all bad, I’m actually very fond of how much more fluid it is! familiar stuff looks really off to me right now (stormtroopers, lando, obi wan, lightsabers), newer stuff looks better (the grand inquisitor, hera). i didn’t like tcw style at first either. it took me time to get used to it, but i did. i bet that by the end of season 4, I’ll have stopped complaining about it.

Siege of Lothal duology

-they’ve stopped translating karabast into caramba in the captions. huh.

-tua seems more frightened by tarkin than vader? politicians are strange creatures no matter what galaxy you’re in I guess

-it makes sense that kanan doesn’t want to get involved in a wider scale conflict, as a Jedi he probably had more direct experience fighting in the clone wars, so he’s more disillusioned with armies and wars than hera is. of course the small scale Robin Hood stuff is more his speed. also, i love how they feel like real adults with different outlooks on life. sabine and ezra are great, but i can’t stand most teenagers (and i literally am one!)

-alright, I’m at the 10:39 mark and I’m betting now that the secret other reason for lothal’s importance is kaiburr mining. it would explain why a seeming backwater planet is so important to the empire to justify sending vader and tarkin, why there’s a Jedi temple there, and ezra finding a crystal in said temple. maybe I’m right, maybe I’m wrong.

-all this about what zeb smells like, even from himself, and i still have no idea what he smells like. bad like a wet space dog? something else?

-vader baby! i know it’s a departure from live action, but i like the red eye pieces, they seem more realistic for looking out of

-damn Vader’s tall. i keep forgetting that

-“if that doesn’t kill him what will?” “not us” kanan, you have no idea how true that is

-burning the refugee camp to the ground.. we’re pretty far away from stealing fruit noe

-the way they all go with Hera to fight vader, Hera straight up saying “alright kids do mom and dad proud”… this show was literally designed for me to vicariously experience a unified family. fellow “my dad went to get milk and never came back” kids, children of divorce, and/or people who have been disowned by their families how are we feeling. this show definitely isn’t perfect but it’s some of the best escapism for me in particular. screw that team as family but they’re just close friends, team as family found family is where it’s at

-oooo, ahsoka and anakin back in each other’s orbits. i can’t wait! this is shaping up to be a great season already

The lost commanders, relics of the old republic

-ahh, so this is where filoni gets his reputation for cameos. i can’t really blame him, since as a Star Wars fan and writer myself, i couldn’t say i wouldn’t want to write stuff with my favorite characters. since this is an ensemble show (unlike andor, per se, which benefits from focusing on andor with others in the periphery), my opinion is that it’ll work out as long as our original cast doesn’t get crowded out. aladdin bridger and the rest of his family are who I’m interested in watching at the end of the day after all!

-(I saw that rex was in this one from the episode description) I’m curious as to how/why rex and ahsoka got separated?

-I’m digging Sabine’s new hairstyle, it works for her

-i get that it’s for dramatic tension, but i don’t see why ahsoka isn’t just. telling them who they’re looking for, especially since she’s not going along with them. they don’t know him! if you don’t tell them rex is a clone at least how would they know who they’re looking for?

-sweet walker they’ve got, really reminiscent of the republic walkers. heck, that’s what it is under years of homemaking

-I really like how kanan still doesn’t trust them completely by the end of the arc. he’s moving in that direction, but order 66 is not something that can be forgiven in a day, even taking the chips into account. not being something that’s neatly resolved in an episode it gives it more weight, and kanan feels like a deeper character for it.

Always two there are

-commander fruit. I’m reminded that this show is a gold mine for expanding the worldbuilding in the produce aisle

-the grand inquisitor isn’t dead, is he. no body, cryptic final message, he’s gonna show up again.

-i like how these inquisitors are kind of incompetent. they aren’t getting a full sith course load, and they dropped out of Jedi college. of course they aren’t the best and brightest!

-i may be. unreasonably fond of zeb. i can’t really say why? he’s big. he’s purple. his older brother energy is off the charts. he survived a genocide. he’s comic relief. he smells bad. he’s literally me. he reminds me of one of my uncles. what more can i say?

Brothers of the broken horn

-man this hits a little too close to what being fifteen years old is like. ezra, you have got to get a day planner, they’re silly but they work! that’s also my advice to my ten followers. if you keep forgetting stuff, planner planner planner. no writing it down on scratch paper or making a “mental note.”

-the classic ship in distress trap. very familiar to a Trekkie such as myself, but is less common in the gffa.

-first he’s Jabba the Hutt, now he’s lando Calrissian. forget Jedi training or blaster practice ezra needs to learn how to make up fake names on the fly

-why is the empire shooting at them? they’re bad guys, but i don’t think they’re fire on broken vessels even if they happen to be on one of their checkpoints bad guys

-hondo’s jaw horns have grown with age. makes sense, but looks both strange and inconvenient

-chopper’s homicidal tendencies make him great backup

-how have none of them hit red guy? he’s enormous! he’s bigger than the broad side of a barn and moves just as slow

-fun episode, but i think they could have focused more on how ezra has changed since getting involved with the rebels. the last lines he has with kanan feel like they’re hastily trying to clean up the flaws in the writing at the last minute mark

Wings of the master

-a blockade episode, classic star wars. there aren’t as many distinct episode conventions like there are for Star Trek, but there are a few. the blockade mission is one of them.

-Hera backstory! Hera backstory! I repeat, we have a hera episode incoming!

-i hope we learn more about her childhood on ryloth during the clone wars. I’ve always been interested by the bits and pieces of Twi’lek world building I’ve read, and the ryloth liberation arc from tcw was one i liked. also, i really like hera’s character.

-kanan asks ezra “are you in” about the supply run in the phantom but the Spanish subtitle is closer to “are you with me” (i think. i think that’s how best to translate conmigo)

-quarrie’s a fun character for a one off. biased because I’m an engineering student and he’s an engineer character who actually acts similar to a real one (yes, this is a tony stark callout. we don’t act like that) also, he’s just plain charming

-now that’s a funky ship. i like it!

-why don’t the rebels divide the supplies up on multiple ships? then it would have the same flaws as a video game payload mission

-okay, so it wasn’t a full Hera Episode, but I’ll take it anyways

Blood Sisters

-sabine, the brightly painted mandalorian… selected for a mission which needs a low profile

-and the way they’re finding this courier is by asking a bunch of people in the port an unusual code? that seems like the opposite of low profile too

-ketsu’s haircut is… hilariously bad. good lord, what’s wrong with a buzz cut if you want to keep it practical?

-i like the backstory we’re getting with sabine a lot

-I’m also noticing that basically all of the human characters who aren’t imperial are poc. Star Wars is still allergic to brown eyes, which is kind of colorist (featurist? is there a term for colorism that includes physical attributes that aren’t skin tone?), but credit where it’s due. kallus is the white person who shows up the most. (I’m not including non human characters in this assessment, since coding is more finicky for them when in animation) i only noticed when ketsu took off her helmet

Stealth strike

-“gravity well projectors” look don’t take this the wrong way but this is what i mean when I say Star Wars doesn’t feel like science fiction. Star Trek would have pretended to explain it and dune would meticulously plot out how this changes warfare

-i see that this episode was set up to put Rex and kanan in a Situation. and i am totally on board this conflict is so juicy

-i had almost forgotten how much I like rex, but him knowing the emergency codes brought back memories of his clone wars version.

-i wonder if he ever met luke or leia knowing that they were padme and anakin’s children

-holy shit ezra really did sound like hera for a second when he was breaking up rex and kanans squabbling

-they keep calling ezra jabba even after they learn his real name i feel like my brain is leaking out of my ears

-Ezra’s really gotten good at using a lightsaber

-well. guess ezra shouldn’t have told that stormtrooper he wouldnt die in his escape. seeing as the ship was blown to smithereens

The future of the force

-oh there is something wrong with that baby’s face

-“if i never see one of those things again it’ll be too soon” was translated as “espero no ver otra de cosas por toda la eternidad” which directly (if I’m not mistaken) translates to “I hope to never see one of those things again for all eternity” interesting! i wonder if that means Spanish doesn’t have a more direct equivalent to the English phrase “if I never [x] it’ll be too soon?”

-I’ll remember this show as the one that taught me ayudar (to help)

-chopper the baby exploding pile of bolts

-aww, the ithorian baby is so cute. heck, the ithorians just look way cuter in the rebels style. in live action they’re much slimier (which isn’t bad either!)

-also lugar, which means place. this show is pretty good for picking stuff up since I’ve already taken a class on the basics plus growing up with it in my home, even though I was never allowed to actually acquire it

-ahsoka ex machina

-this is shaping up to be a multi part thing, so I expect that some of my questions will be answered: the empire’s presence isn’t as strong in the outer rim, same as the republic, so how are they tracking these force sensitive infants down, especially after the Jedi (and to a lesser extent the force itself) were wiped from memory? and if they’re taking babies, how many have been partially inducted into the dark side by the fall of the empire? are some of them running around, ripe for stories in which they’re villains with potential for redemption after the fall of the empire? there’s so much potential

Legacy

-no room in the budget for pajamas or blankets i see. aren’t you guys the opposite of cozy

-and this show is responsible for teaching me ghost (fantasma)! i can’t believe i forgot. and fleet (flota), and message (mensaje). don’t worry, this won’t turn into a Spanish vocab lesson!

-I was almost certain Ezra’s parents were dead, or if not would die shortly after because.. well, the same reason beru and lars had to die, it’s the classic story move. but that doesn’t diminish the emotional weight of the reveal that his parents are dead because of how excited he gets when there’s hope, and how he openly cries when it’s left him

-the shot of the plain on Lothal after the scene where Ryder is introduced is beautiful visually. natural land and skyscapes is where rebels really shines

-what a lovely episode! sad, but lovely

And this is where I’m wrapping up for now! I’m halfway through season 2, and legacy is a natural midpoint. Thank you for reading this far, making these posts is pretty fun for me :)

[energeticknight1993]

Restarting Inquisition again since I’m preparing myself for Dreadwolf. So met my Ex-Templar Two Handed Warrior, Hell!

Name: “Hell” Trevelyan (Traitor name given to him by the Templar Order so no one knows his real name)

Age: 28 (30 in Trespasser)

LI: Iron Bull

Weapon style: Two Handed

Specialization: Once a Templar always a Templar

Job: Inquisitor (Former Templar)

A-Team (Usual allies he brings): Iron Bull, Sera and Dorian

B-Team (The weird ones): Varric, Blackwall and Vivienne

Nickname(s): Kadan and Iris

Meaning behind them: His relationship with Iron Bull and the flower symbolize his role as Inquisitor (Wisdom and Power/ Message and Promise/ Faith and Hope) and just as a cruel joke that Hell is the girl in his and Bull’s relationship from Varric

What happened to him after Trespasser?

Hell was last spotted with the Chargers. Wanting to continuing helping the weak, he became the second in command and being the teams mage disrupting force with his Templar skills. He only wore a cloak, some heavy armor and a sword to defend himself but he knows his new family got his back. Within a couple of months after everything is at peace, both he and Iron Bull were married. No one knows where but both enjoyed it as he’ll never have to leave Bill’s side again.

Codex (Just a made up one for him)

—— Trevelyan was once in the order of the finest Templar. Slew abominations, send mages to their towers and even was above the order. I said was because he became a traitor to the order. He was spotted with apostates near Kirkwall saving them from the Templars of his group. When he slayed them, the Knight-Commander branded him a traitor. And since no one asked him for his real name, they branded him the name Hell. He wore the Templar armor made in black ore and red leather to call himself the Blackguard of the Order. Since then, Hell been traveling around Thedas saving every mage he could find until the events of the Conclave which he was the last survivor. —A Templar scout during the events of the Conclave—

Now he dawns the title Inquisitor to protect everyone, even those who hated him, from a bigger threat. Rifts closing from left and right. The Rebel mages sided with him as allies. Grey Wardens in the ranks. The Red Templar order being slain by his blade. No matter what odds that is faced in front of him, he’ll be prepared. And ladies, don’t bother flirting with Hell (I guess the name is stuck to him). He’s taken by the leader of the Bull Chargers, the Iron Bull. The high heavens acting like his sword (literally his blade’s name) and shield, he sworn in to defend Thedas until the end. —Varric after the events of Inquisition—

Random Party Banter I made up

Varric: So Hell I got a great nickname for you!

Hell: Oh boy wonder what’s mine is going to be? Hope something that isn’t vulgar.

Varric: Heck no! My mind never goes that dirty. How about Iris?

Hell: Eh? A…feminine nickname? You do realize I’m a dude right?

Varric: I know but the flower really speaks to you. It symbolize the faith, power and even promise to be the Inquisitor, the leader of the Inquisition.

Hell: Ok I see what your doing there, Varric. I think I’ll take it. Better than Ruffles and Curly…

Iron Bull: Uh…Kadan…I think Varric is calling you the girl in the relationship…

Hell: Ugh, VARRIC!!

Varric: (Laughs) Got you, and it’s sticking, Iris.

Hell: Maker give me strength…to not smite the dwarf.

Varric: It’s not my fault you were the dress in the relationship.

End Credits joke

Cassandra: Let see what you wrote about our Inquisitor, Hell; Varric. A blade shines like a brilliant light. Rainbow of colors before you see your death. A former Templar armor coated in red and black. Hell has come to defend anyone who threats him. Starting with the Red Templars who was foolish to stand against him. ‘Hear the words of the Maker as I smite you all into the deeps of the Deep Roads! For help me that I’m the Inquisitor!’ That’s…scarily accurate.

Yes, Hell became First Thaw and makes a bear joke lol

(I also played as a Mage Qunari so I’ll add info about Sordidus Adaar)

[portmantaur]

Veilguard spoilers, general critical/negativity about BioWare, u kno how it is

I know some ppl are upset about the Major Story Beats and I am too for various reasons, but I don’t agree that this wasn’t where the story was headed — particularly, I see people complaining about the mythal/solas dynamic and im like?? Did y’all never drink of that fuckin pool of knowledge as the inquisitor? The way solas opines, “you are mythal’s creature, now” — baby that was foreshadowing that wasn’t even subtle!!! I don’t LIKE where the story has gone necessarily, especially given how the elves/dalish have been framed throughout the games, but this is DEFINITELY the story outline that was laid out by the time inquisition was over. The writing and pacing are just really bad, so these beats feel even LESS fulfilling than they otherwise would have.

Its interesting bc I’m having fun being back in the dragon age setting, but the writing/structure/pacing is such a distinct falloff, even from DAI — which I still liked, a lot even, with my main Dalish-based caveats still withstanding.

But Gaider and Weekes were ALWAYS like this re: marginalization/oppression. They ALWAYS have been. And I see some ppl being like “this wouldn’t have gone this way if daddy Gaider was here” and I’m like??? Y’all remember the Dalish origin from DAO? Remember how that ENTIRE origin revolves around the blighted eluvian that kills your best friend with the actual literal blight??? This was the plan from jump!! The writing teams were still invested and not unskilled or untalented, so it was a little less opaquely shitty, but not by much. It was ALWAYS going to be a story by white people trying to make analogous statements about real-world oppression, particularly racial oppression, that was ALWAYS going to hit with the twist of “but what if they deserved it/come from Bad People” — because, again, Weekes and Gaider are cut from the same cloth. And they’ve been very transparent about that with their behavior towards fans.

like sorry but this was always going to be the “endgame” so to speak, and my gut feeling/reading of the situation is that mostly what we got with Veilguard is a game that was originally intended to be a live-service game, and the story structure and writing and pacing were never revamped from that intention even after supposedly “rebuilding” the game from the ground up after that decision was nixed (like twice or something, no?). I mean that’s also obviously why the stylistic redesign choice is so obviously Fortnite-y — there were clear clashes with higher ups/execs on what the game was materially supposed to be (fully fledged franchise installment vs eternal cash cow), and BW has been hemorrhaging employees for a while now likely at least in part as a result of that.

Veilguard was always going to be this re: major story beats, but because of the particular development hell it went through, we’ve got a much more obvious case of enshittification across the board. as a live service game, the story structure got incredibly flattened, and no one bothered to make the decision to redo -that- aspect of the game, so we’re getting a peek behind the curtain that hasn’t been as accessible before. But I mean look at it even in comparison to Andromeda — BW has come out and said, afaik, that there are no plans for DLC or expansions at all. They’ve fully thrown in the towel on the franchise, and it would have gone this way regardless of who was in charge of writing, because the story outline, IMO, has very obviously NOT changed that much in many years. The biggest changes came at the executive level of decision making, and someone up top seems to have come to the conclusion that DA isn’t a money-making franchise anymore. Which, yeah, that’s stupid for sure, but that decision is borne of the same frame of mind that thought structuring Veilguard as a live service game in the first place was a good idea.

anyway, I do believe we’re at a crossroads where we are either witnessing BW’s uncomfortable swan song, OR there is going to be a changing of the (executive) guard again in an attempt to revitalize the company. But to revitalize DA as a franchise — while I see it as perfectly doable, even after this mess — would require such dedication and humility on the part of BW that I just don’t see it as likely.

I think the next ME is going to be what really allows us to call it, but I’m putting my bet in now that it’s the nail in the coffin. RIP BioWare, you were a beautiful and awful mess while you lasted.

[kenobi-source]

More news from the EW article

What kind of Obi-Wan Kenobi will we meet in Obi-Wan Kenobi? Says star Ewan McGregor: "We find Obi-Wan at the beginning of our story rather broken, and faithless, and beaten, somewhat given up."

As the force-sensitive Inquisitor Reva, Moses Ingram will prove a formidable new foe as she seeks out Jedi-in-hiding for the Empire. Director Deborah Chow and writer Joby Harold describe the character as ruthlessly ambitious.

McGregor's Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Master Jedi and a master of decluttering, as evidenced by his sparse dwelling on Tatooine, where he has set up shop to watch over a young Luke Skywalker.

"They share a common dark-side goal," Ingram says about the villainous trio of Reva, the Grand Inquisitor, and Darth Vader. "They're on the same team." As for what stands out most to Ingram about her big bad: "It's all heart."

We all know how Obi-Wan feels about flying. This Jedi prefers to travel by more primitive means (like this eopie) whenever possible.

Joel Edgerton is back as Uncle Owen… and we don't necessarily like his odds in a face-off with Reva. (But as a wise smuggler once noted, never tell me the odds.) "Thank you, George, for casting Joel Edgerton as Uncle Owen," laughs director Deborah Chow. "That's all I can say."

McGregor is all cloaked up again as Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he's got places to go... like the new planet of Daiyu, which "sort of has a Hong Kong feel to it," says writer Joby Harold. "It's got a graffiti-ridden nightlife, and is kind of edgy. It's just got a different lane and a different feeling."

[youralwaysandforever]

his darling girl

Fred Weasley x Female!Reader

disclaimer; English is not my first language, I am sorry for any mistakes!

summary: he had been so much more than a jokester and a prankster; Fred Weasley had been exactly what you’ve wanted, someone to consume you, to fight for you. As Dolores Umbridge had taken over the school, what this year needed had been some good rebellion. (set during the Order of the Phoenix)

warning: strong language, graphic sexual scenes.

“I don’t know”, I looked back towards the cloudy sky, and I heard them both sighing at the same time. “It’s not such an easy decision! You morons!”

“Yeah, it is”, George replied smirking.

“Oh, really? Then you should do it yourselves”, I said and had been about to walk away from them but his hand grabbed my wrist. “Let me go, George, I won’t help you”

“You have to make such a big deal about it, Emma?!”, Fred chuckled, “Just tell us the bloody password”

“Fred”, I hissed and glanced around us but thankfully no one else had been in the courtyard at that time. “You’ve asked me for the password to High Inquisitor’s office, I’ll be in serious trouble if”

“I thought that you Slytherins would die for some mischief; what happened to you?!”, Fred then joked, I punched him hard in the arm. “Are you crazy, woman?!”

“We Slytherins are cautious and unlike you dorks not careless”, I snapped and eyed them both. “You could get expelled on your last year! Please, at least tell me what on Merlin are you planning this time”

“No, can’t do”, George said and crossed his arms, “It would be stupid of us to tell you, even we’re not that stupid”

“Is something really bad, isn’t it?”, they both avoided looking at me and that’s how I got my answer. “Look, I understand you don’t like Umbridge, nobody does, I just don’t think that getting expelled is worth it”

“Come here”, Fred hugged me tightly, unconsciously, I wrapped my hands around him, burying my face on his chest, while he placed his chin on top of my head, “We’re going to be fine”, he whispered to my ear.

Everyone in Slytherin, especially those of pureblood families, referred to the Weasleys as "blood traitors", I had never cared about blood status or blood purity. I had been a halfblood, muggleborn mother, and my father had been pureblood, they both had been killed, during the First Wizarding War. George and Fred Weasley had been my first friends in Hogwarts and they had never been bothered about me being in Slytherin.

I had been aware that they have been both members of the secret team Harry Potter had established but I hadn’t wanted to take part, because if anyone on my house suspected something, they would be done for. I also happened to be Head Girl, which had been one more reason why I had been super worried about my best friends being on top of Umbridge’s expelling list.

“Don’t leave”, I murmured against Fred’s chest, I felt him losing his arms around me, and I glanced up at him.

“Emma”, I had never asked them for anything, ever, I just didn’t want them to go. But George and Fred, mostly Fred, had always said that being a rebel came before anything. I lowered my head and walked away.

“Teaspoon”, I said the password to Umbridge’s office.

“Em, wait-”, Fred let out but I ignored him and rushed back into the castle.

It had been Sunday evening, I had been patrolling the fifth floor, I had not talked to Fred, or George, in over a week, I had been extremely mad and worried about what they have been planning to do. This silence had been even more frustrated, because usually it didn’t last.

“You’re thinking of me, aren’t you?!”, I had been sure that my scream had echoed through the entire castle while Fred just stood in front of me, smiling.

“Where-How- You!”, he had been about to approach me but I pushed him away, “You don’t speak to me! You avoid me in classes! And you show up after a week and”, but before I could say more, he wrapped his arms around me and smashed his lips on mine, I had been shocked, not because of the kiss, we have kissed before in numerous occasions, but that time, it just felt different.

“Merlin, I missed you”, he exhaled and I pushed him again harder and slapped him hard across the face. I had been heavy breathing while he chuckled, “I owe George ten Galleons, I bet that you would kick me in the balls”

“I would gladly”, he raised his hands up in surrender, and slowly moved closer to me.

“I’m so sorry, I’m really sorry, Em”, he dragged me to his arms, while I tried to look anywhere else but him. “I know you don’t agree with what we’re planning for Umbridge, which is why I distanced myself from you for a couple of days”

“I might not agree, but you know that I wouldn’t stop you”, Fred stared at me with his beautiful brown eyes and pressed a warm kiss on my forehead, I embraced him and he sighed. “I missed you too, idiot”

“Of course you did”, he said smirking while his lips ghosted over mine.

“Fuck you, Freddie”, I answered and he smiled before he hoisted me up, making me wrap my ankles behind his back, as he pinned me against the nearest wall.

“Your wish is my command”, he replied, and crushed his mouth on mine, and started harassing my mouth with his tongue, his fingers had been traveling under my shirt, massaging my chest, while my hands had vanished into his red curls. “Ms. Marley, do tell the password to the Prefects’ Bathroom, please”, he asked while nibbling my neck.

“Shampoo Fairy”, I uttered and Fred placed me down and gave another kiss before grabbing my hand, and hurriedly leading us to the Prefects’ Bathroom.

While we have been walking, more like running, down the empty corridor, Fred would shove me sometimes against the wall and snog the life out of me. Once we had been in the bathroom, we began ripping off each other’s clothes, until we had been completely naked. Fred carried me in the bathtub and placed me down, it would be the first time we would be together again in weeks. I had missed him being inside of me so much.

We slowly entered the warm water, wrapped around one another, kissing, feeling each other’s bodies. He squeezed my bum roughly, and I let out a low moan, that he took advantage of as he bit down on my lips hard. His veiny hands wandered downward, towards my private section, he pressed three fingers inside, I cried out in pleasure. Fred had taken action, moving us closer to the stairs of the bathtub, his other hand had been rubbing my right breast while his lips have closed around my left nipple.

“Freddie”, I shuttered, actually moaned as I had been very close to my release, he looked up at me with his mouth still around my nipple, his eyes had darkened so much that they seemed like black. “Please, Fred”

He released my nipple and kissed me in a demanding way that nearly had me orgasming at that moment. I felt him withdrawing his fingers from inside me, then I watched him testing me in his fingers. Once he had finished cleaning his fingers, he pulled us up and laid me on the floor, on top of some towels, he continued to trace my body with his fingers and tongue. When I felt him getting on position, I unconsciously wrapped my legs around his waist and he thrust in me without a single warning, I threw my head against the floor as I screamed my lungs out for him, his teeth grazed my nipples, his fingers have been stimulating me, and he proceeded on pounding in me.

“Fred”, I groaned out while my hands roamed around his beautiful freckled back muscles. “GOSH”, I yelled, and I reached my climax, I have freaking missed him.

He started leaving kisses all over my face, and neck, I sighed satisfied and looked at him with clouded eyes. I kissed him hungrily my fingernails even scraping his skull, then I managed to switch our positions, getting on top of him. His eyes shined with desire, as I slowly lowered myself on his hard and huge length, Fred let out a hoarse moan, and I caught his lips with mine to silence him. He sat up, his strong arms clenching my ass as I have been moving dangerously slowly for his liking, I watched his eyes boring on me, studying me. He couldn’t have looked hotter at this moment or any other moment, his muscular chest had been pressed against my breasts, our arms around each other, and our hot breaths tickling each other’s skins.

“You having fun?”, he asked in a dominating tone, his hand pinching my ass, while his other hard forced my head backwards by my hair and he started to assault my neck. “Shouldn’t we have fun together, darling?!”, I have been torturing him with my rhythm and I have been fucking enjoying it.

He pushed me against the floor again and moved my legs over his shoulders, making me to take him even deeper than before. I cried out in satisfaction, he had been so harsh, and I had been enjoying it, after just a couple of thrusts, he came inside me, thank Salazar I had been on potion. While I thought we had finished, he lifted me off the ground and settled us back in the water, his arms clasped around me, his hard member still very much inside of me. He then slowly began to move his hips and I moaned, my eyes wide open and staring at him. I could feel my orgasm building again, he roughly shoved his tongue into my mouth, a hand cupping my face gently, how he could dominant and sweet at the same time. I shouted his name loudly as the second wave of pleasure washed over me, then I dropped my head on his shoulder and sighed happily.

We dried ourselves using our wands and got dressed in silence, we stepped out of the Prefects’ Bathroom and moved toward the seventh floor, where we found a nice window seat and sat together hugging. He has been stroking my hair, pressing kisses on my cheeks, and never letting go of our intertwined hands.

“We should probably cross out Prefects’ Bathroom of our to do list”, he whispered against my ear, I scoffed.

“Well done on ruining the moment”, I turned to look at him and he grinned before breathtakingly kissing me.

“Better?”, he asked with a proud smile.

“Much”, I answered, “What else you got on your list”

“Firstly, it’s ours, and you don’t want to know, just let a man have fantasies, my darling”, he said and kissed my forehead and I giggled.

“Fred”, he only hummed in response, I looked at him, he had been already dreamingly staring at me, with a wide smile. “You plan to leave tomorrow, don’t you?”

“I’m not leaving you, Em, I’m leaving school and that horrid woman”, he breathed out against my lips and I couldn’t stop myself and kissed him hard on the lips.

“Why you had to be such a rebel, love”, I said and he smiled. “Your parents know?”, of course, they would not. “I’m not mad at you, or George you know that, I just want you to be safe that’s all”

“You’ve been worried that You-Know-Who is really back”, he hadn’t been asking, we have known each other long time to understand how each other felt.

“I don’t think Umbridge has been put here because they wanted to keep an eye on Dumbledore, but on Harry, they actually fear that You-Know-Who might be back”, I sighed and stared away from Fred, “You do the right thing leaving”

“I want you to come with me, Emma, but I would not ask that from you”, I smiled and kissed him softly, he smiled back. “We should get going, I’ll walk you back to your dorm”

It had been, as George had commented in his letters; “their best act so far” and it truly had been. After our night with Fred at Prefects’ Bathroom, the twins had, quite literally, blown up Umbridge’s ass and they fled from the school.

Once I had graduated, thank Merlin Professor Snape helped me, I walked out of Hogwarts with very mixed feelings as I have wanted my final year to be special, I have needed some normal but it has been to much to ask. The Ministry declared Voldemort’s return, while I had hoped for a quite summer, it seemed I would not get that either. My grandmother, my mother’s mom who had also raised me, had wanted us to move back to her home country, Greece, in order for me to be safe, and I had promised to join her, after I spent the summer at the Burrow.

“Darling?”, I had just apparated in front of the house, facing the beautiful fields, I immediately turned my head to face him. He had been looking erotic, simple blue jeans, a white shirt, his veiny arms in full display.

I jumped up to him and pressed my lips on his, I have longed to see him. He held me up by my ass and then he twirled me around, earning a giggle from me.

“Ready for the summer of your dreams?”

“Only if we cross out some places of my to do list”, I replied smirking and he smirked back.

“Of course, my darling girl”

Kindly, Emma Marley.

(dedicated to @extraordinaryambitious. love you, buddy! enjoy! ♥︎)

[c-is-for-circinate]

Episode 125

Gosh what a great episode.  We have hit such a good run lately, folks.  I am so utterly pleased to be Back In It like this.

Just.  Alura!! and Kima!!!  And Emon, god, the way everybody’s faces lit up with shock and joy and wonder at the idea that, even for a brief period of time, even just to visit a tower, they would set foot in Emon again, for the first time in their characters’ lives, it was so good.  I never love this show so much as when the players are full of love and joy, and this was very very good.

Other thoughts:

If I recall correctly, Kima’s sword was given to her not because nobody else could use a two-handed broadsword (Grog at least could’ve taken it up, and I don’t think he was currently bonded to an evil talking sword at the moment when they found it), but because it could only be attuned by a paladin.  I was super surprised at Kima giving it to Yasha on that front, since theoretically, all joking aside, Fjord is actually the only  member of the team who could actually use it!  I’d wondered if Matt was walking back the rule on his own item, or making an aasimar/zealot exception, but after that dream now I’m wondering a whole bunch of other things.  Is Yasha going to multiclass in paladin too? Is there going to be a whole NEW line of aasimar dream quests now that she’s got her wings and all?  Inquiring minds want to know!

So I like everybody else have a hundred thousand feelings about Beau and Zenoth and the Cobalt Soul right now (I spent that whole conversation with Yudala just staring at the screen going “Holy FUCK”).  I think the thing I haven’t seen said yet, the thing that’s sticking with me, is the moment between Yudala saying “Zenoth is under arrest”, and Yudala explaining why. Because, in that moment?  I would lay real good odds on Beau’s brain churning through, ‘shit, is that our fault?  Is he on the hook for something we did at some point and maybe implicated him or just forgot about completely?  Do we have to find a way to get him out of this too?’  After all, since Beau’s promotion to Inquisitor, Zenoth became something like a vaguely grudging ally.  He’s done research on the team’s behalf.  They are assholes to him only on the level that they’re assholes to people who’re basically their allies but they wouldn’t bend over backwards to really actually like.  Before this conversation, I’d put money on Beau ranking him above several other technical allies on a list of ‘people we have to work with sometimes in spite of our vaguely antagonistic relationship that we created by being reflexive dicks to literally everyone around us’. And that context just...it makes everything about this just so much more.  It’s not just that Beau was resigned to never getting justice or validation or being free of her abuser(s).  She’d normalized everything so hard it was a shock to get acknowledgement that said abuser even existed. And like...Idk.  There’s a difference between ‘this person hurt me and is still actively trying to hurt me’ (hi Trent Ikithon), vs, ‘this person hurt me and I cut them out of my life and that’s fine and all but they sure don’t seem to feel any remorse’ (hello Beau’s dad), vs, ‘yeah this person hurt me back then but I guess it’s all just sort of fine now? like, I didn’t get an apology or anything, but they don’t seem interested in hurting me any more either, sooooooooo...guess that’s good?’  The third situation is such a weird place to be in.  It’s such a confusing place to be.  It’s so rarely something that gets brought up as a situation where the abuser/aggressor still deserves to be held culpable.  And shit, but seeing it play out this way means a lot.

With their second eye each on the way at the start of next episode, I sure am going to need Beau and Caleb to start working out how to use those fuckers.  C’mon, Caleb, where is your Identify spell when we need it?  When do our characters start getting infinite at-will scrying slots and antimagic cones?  Get on it, Mighty Nein!!!

I feel like I trimmed like 3/4 of the Critrole blogs off my dash between everyone going various different ways during hiatus, and then the shipping mess circa Rumblecusp when we all came back.  I need more good CR follows.  This may have to be a quest for tomorrow morning.

[ickle-ronniekins]

it was all yellow

request from nonnie!!! “hi love, wanted to throw out this request before camping ;u; only if you're up for it, for either of the twins: i'd love something fluffy inspired by one of my favorite text posts on this site: she guessed my favorite color first try.. but between me and u.. i didnt even have a favorite color until she yelled out yellow! she was hella excited n smiling like a little kid, so i told her she was right and i havent seen yellow the same since, its in everything. i could probably live in it now. 🌻”

pairing: fred x hufflepuff!reader

word count: 3k

A/N: love me a good cheeky fred. also this prompt was FUCKING adorable and i did try to incorporate the actual quote into my writing but some of it didn’t flow.. so i hope it’s still as good as you’d imagined?? also def listened to coldplay’s “yellow” whilst writing this x

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic | message me to be added, loves!

“Mr. Weasley!”

Umbridge’s voice is shrill, and it immediately pulls Fred out of his daydream-like state, but not quickly enough for him to turn his attention toward his professor and avoid making incredibly embarrassing eye contact with you. The entire class, much to his dismay, turns to glance at him -- you included. It’s unlike him to feel so insecure, so embarrassed, but alas -- here he is.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Is there a reason,” Umbridge hisses, the edges of her lips curling into a rather evil smirk, “that you’ve chosen to completely ignore me during the lesson?”

Fred considers this for a moment. He could take this opportunity to explain to his professor that yes, now that you mention is, there is a reason. A huge reason. He could then proceed to tell you about all of the overwhelming feelings that have seemed to take over him the last few weeks. It could be a grand gesture, couldn’t it? Scooping you up into his arms, sliding a hand around the back of your neck, telling you just exactly what keeps him up at night -- that adorable smile of yours, and the pineapple scent in your hair. It’d be all the castle would be able to talk about, wouldn’t it? Plus, to be able to ignore Umbridge even more and do something so utterly abysmal in the middle of her lesson and have the rest of the students cheer him on, well -- it’s something Fred’s always dreamt of.

“I’d love to see the look on Umbridge’s face if I ever chose to cause mayhem in the middle of one of her lessons,”

“Easy there, Freddie. Don’t want to go getting any more detentions, do we?”

“Darling, mischief is my middle name. I need to prank. My life depends on it.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it? Just trying to look out for you, is all.”

“You’ve really got that Hufflepuff stereotype of ‘loyal’ down -- you know that, right?”

He supposes, when he thinks about it now, that you were right. You’re always right. He reckons it wouldn’t be such a good thing to cause such an uproar, especially since Umbridge is nearly always on his tail, and is one step closer to knocking Dumbledore out of his post as Headmaster. Fred doesn’t want to give her any more of an edge, does he?

Next to him, George brings Fred back, yet again, from another daydream with a quick kick to his knee. He grips the desk tightly and hopes that his face isn’t flushing bright red. Umbridge’s smirk grows even deeper, and Fred, ignoring his instincts to grab you and run out of the lesson right this instant, merely clears his throat. “No. There isn’t.”

“Good,” Umbridge hisses again, turning her attention back toward the board. “Now, to continue..” Fred relaxes a bit and slumps in his seat, feeling rather grumpy, but his spirits lift almost immediately, and his insides seemingly twist into a tight knot when you send him a soft smile from across the room.

-- -

Fred is shaken awake, only to be face to face with a very cheeky looking George, who then proceeds to throw a notebook straight into Fred’s cheek.

“Oi!” Fred shouts, coming to, bringing his hand to his jaw. “What the bloody hell was that for?”

“You do realize it’s the middle of the day and you’ve fallen asleep directly in the middle of the courtyard, yes?”

Fred kicks the younger twin with his foot, and George and Lee begin to laugh. Fred had been having quite a lovely sleep, thank you very much, and is now annoyed that his brother and friend had chosen to wake him. As he sits up from the bench, adjusting his loose tie and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Lee offers, “You talk a hell of a lot in your sleep, mate.”

Much to his horror, Fred freezes. This whole talking-in-his-sleep thing is relatively new -- he’d never, ever done that before. It seemed to have happened to him a couple of weeks ago, when he began repeating the days’ events -- ones that included you -- over and over in his mind before falling into a peaceful, and rather deep, slumber. It seemed to have happened when he started to look at you in a new light.

“And what exactly was I saying?” Fred asks, trying to shrug off his nervousness.

George and Lee both suppress a laugh and share a cheeky exchange, and Fred feels his heart leap into his throat. “Oh, you know.. mumbling on about lessons, and things. Bits of parchment you need to finish. Normal musings.”

Fred sighs rather dramatically before relaxing again. He hates this whole being-on-edge thing that comes with having a massive, over-the-top crush on you. “Oh,” George continues, his grin only growing larger, “and something about Y/N being the colour of sunshine, or something?”

As Fred’s eyes widen with embarrassment, George and Lee’s laughter only seems to grow louder and it echoes across the courtyard. This grabs your attention from across the way, and you smirk at Fred. You seem to be working on a bit of homework -- you’re leant against a large tree with your bag and robe next to you on the ground. Your hair is pulled back and you’ve got the end of your quill in your mouth, as if you had been pondering something right before you met Fred’s gaze.

“Thank Merlin she wasn’t over here, or you would’ve scared the poor girl away,” Lee says in a mocking sort of voice, which only seems to intensify Fred’s nerves.

Fred can’t help but fall into a bit of laughter with his friends too, even though the mere fact that he’d been talking in his sleep, about you, in the middle of the courtyard, makes his entire body hurt. ‘Thank Merlin’ is right.

-- -

The colour of sunshine. Ugh. How could he have been so painfully cheesy? Fred thinks about this all day long -- through every lesson, through every stroll down the corridors, through every bite of the evening feast. He can’t simply believe he’s said this out loud, even though it’s true. The truest words that have ever come out of his mouth, even. You are the colour of sunshine.

Simply bright and beamingly so -- the most beautiful of yellows.

You, he reckons, are pure warmth -- enough to soothe him on even the coldest of days.

“You know,” your voice, now closer than it seems, makes Fred jump and snap out of his own thoughts, much to George’s amusement, “this whole not-being-able-to-eat-with-your-mates-from-other-houses thing is simply stupid.”

“Why don’t you go and give Umbridge a piece of your mind, eh?” George asks you.

Your grin deepens, but you shake your head and begin to shovel dessert onto your plate. “It’s her own fault if she doesn’t notice a Hufflepuff amongst a group of Gryffindors. She’s supposed to be the Hogwarts High Inquisitor,” you say a bit stuffily, as if to imitate the woman in question, “is she not?”

“Brilliant,” Fred replies as he finds his voice. “An uncanny impersonation.”

You flip your hair over your shoulder and Fred notices a dimple appear on your cheek. He finds himself lost in your eyes as you peer at him softly over the top of your teacup, which you’ve brought slowly to your lips.

Fred’s happy to hear when you bring his all time favorite thing about the magical world into conversation and does his very best to hide his ever-obvious feelings. “Rumor has it McGonagall and Dumbledore have been pleading with Umbridge to let Gryffindor play Quidditch this year,” you tell the twins.

They peer at you with confusion. “What?” they ask together. Fred continues, “Why? What’s she going to do -- ban all teams except Slytherin? Then they’ve got nobody to verse,” he lets a laugh escape his lips.

George huffs a bit before sipping his tea. “She’s such a bloody idiot. No, I will say it louder, Ron,” George shoots his younger brother a look as Ron closes in on himself a bit, “she’s a power-hungry, egotistical toad who has no business running a bloody school.”

“The truest statement,” you point at him and then bite into your cauldron cake, “but no worry -- she’s apparently agreed to the whole Quidditch thing. Now you two’ve just got to smack the bludgers straight at Crabbe and Goyle’s heads. They’re certainly large enough -- should be easy targets.”

Fred cannot help the enormous laugh that escapes him due to your joke; in fact, he’s sort of surprised it’s only gotten the attention of half of the Great Hall, because it seems to have echoed throughout the entirety of the large room, reverberating off of the walls. Unfortunately, though, Umbridge notices and makes a beeline right toward the Gryffindor table. You turn to Fred and George, shrug your shoulders a bit and proceed to roll your eyes at the very pompous “hem-hem” that is too disturbingly sweet and high-pitched in your ears. “Miss Y/L/N,” she says in her most mocking tone of voice, “please correct me if I am mistaken but I’ve assumed by the yellow color on your robes that you are a Hufflepuff and not, in fact, a Gryffindor, as you’ve so decidedly claimed yourself.”

You turn toward her, a very large grin painted across your face, and simply reply, “No need for corrections here, ma’am.”

“Good,” Umbridge says curtly before turning on her heel. “Best return to your house table, then, before we slip you lot into detention, yes? I do hope it was worth the embarrassment, Miss.”

Embarrassment? Please. You stand up from your seat and chug the rest of your tea and pop the rest of your cauldron cake back into your mouth. You lean against the table, reaching across to the other end to grab yourself another pastry, and get as close to Fred as you possibly can. He notices a bit of a twinkle in your eye, something that’s suddenly driving him absolutely mad, when you say to him and only him, “Definitely worth it.”

A very cozy feeling sweeps itself through Fred’s bones.

-- -

The Gryffindors are lucky to have such two stealthy beaters on their team, because Fred and George know the ins and outs of the castle like nobody else. This comes in handy after a playful, late night match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, when the twins are able to sneak the entire Hufflepuff team, and even a few spectators, into the Gryffindor Common Room.

And as if he isn’t excited enough already at the pure theatrics of this entire thing, Fred finds himself smiling even more so at the sight of you, nestled in a corner with a few others, a Butterbeer clutched tightly in your hands, your cheeks rosy and flushed.

He’s reminded of a few weeks ago when he snuck into the Hufflepuff Common Room with you -- very late at night --

“Don’t you trust me?” you’d asked, taking his hand in yours.

His heart had skipped a few beats, if he was being honest.

“Merlin, it’s bright in here!” Fred had exclaimed when you’d both entered. The inviting colours had swirled around him. “How you people get any work done is beyond me. I’d never be able to focus --”

You’d laughed and shoved him. “Fred, you can’t focus, regardless.”

He’d just shrugged and sat down next to you near the fire. The entire room was empty except for the two of you. “I’ll give you that one. It’s just -- it’s so much different from our common room.”

“Well, it’s bright yellow. Plus, it feeds to all of the ‘Puffs' personalities. What did you expect, silly?”

He’d smiled at you, nestling himself comfortably against the edge of the couch. I haven’t seen yellow the same since, he’d wanted to tell you, especially because of the golden colour of your hair. “Nothing more, nothing less. Besides, I’ve got to say -- I’m rather fond of it, actually.”

His heart had nearly constricted at the feeling of you placing your head onto his shoulder. He’d been happy you couldn’t see the shock rising on his face in that of a crimson red colour, since you’d been so focused on staring into the flames. He’d suddenly felt warm -- incredibly warm. He’d willed himself to believe it was the fire, and not the feeling of your soft hair brushing against his neck. “Oh yeah? Yellow your favourite colour, and all?”

I could get lost in it, actually. Fred had to force himself to swallow over his own nerves a few times before he’d been able to say, “You could say that.”

Now, in the Gryffindor Common Room, he darts past a very confused looking Neville and plops himself down next to you, completely ignoring the fact that he’s interrupting your conversation with the others. “Hey,”

“Well hi,” you say, turning your attention toward him. He can smell the pineapple scent of your shampoo and is nearly sent into a dizzying overdrive, but he does his best to focus on the feeling of the cold glass in his fingers. “Great match.”

“Even if we did beat you guys?”

“Yeah,” you reply tersely, “Hufflepuff’s saving their strength for your actual match so they can kick your arses.”

Fred laughs haughtily and scoots a little closer to you on the steps as the others around you both disperse and head off in their respective directions. He can hear the steady pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears and decides to take a leap of faith. “Maybe. Although I will say -- you’ve got to be more careful with your leering, love.”

“Meaning?”

“Pretty sure you didn’t take your eyes off of me the entire time. You were full-on staring.”

Fred notices the pink on your cheeks seemingly deepen a bit, but you don’t let on to any embarrassment. He grins at you. “Perhaps I was. And if you’ve noticed, it means you were watching me back,”

His smile only grows at your mock voice. He replies with the same tone, “Perhaps I was.”

“You can’t do that during an actual match though, sir,” you tell him, bringing your goblet to your lips and sipping significantly, “otherwise you’re going to be distracted and I reckon you’ll be hit with a bludger, don’t you?”

Fred twirls his goblet in his hands, desperately trying to read your face and your tone. He’s having a hard time deciphering. “You do make a good point.”

“Besides,” you continue, a small smirk making the edges of your lips curl, “we can’t have you getting distracted. Although, I understand how difficult it can be -- considering I’m the colour of sunshine, and all.”

It takes a moment and a laugh before Fred’s registered what you’ve said, and you glance back down at your goblet, giggling into it a bit, and he shakes his head before turning to look at George and Lee, who seemingly have been watching you two this entire time, because they immediately glance away and immerse themselves in conversation with others around them.

“And we know how brilliantly blinding sunshine can be, don’t we, Fred?”

Someone’s playing very loud music and Fred wonders how Umbridge hasn’t caught you all yet. Or perhaps, he thinks, maybe the booming just sounds louder in his own ears.

“Almost as blinding as love, d’you reckon?”

Fred feels that warm, homely feeling take him over yet again -- but this time, he knows it’s not from the butterbeer, or the raging fire. He doesn’t even try to pretend. It’s all from you.

“Yeah, yeah -- tease all you want,” he says as confidence engulfs him. He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

You place your goblet down on the step next to you. “I wasn’t teasing,” you say very matter of factly, “so much as I was trying to get you to kiss me, actually.”

He purses his mouth into a very smug smirk and watches as your eyes dart down to his lips, and you bite down on your own. He leans in, the rest of the music and chatter surrounding you both seemingly drowned out by the steady pounding of his own heart, when --

“Oi, Freddie! C’mere, mate!”

Clearly Ron’s incapable of seeing that we’re in the middle of something, Fred wants to tell you. Instead, he pulls away slightly and whispers to you. “Want to sneak up to the Astronomy tower?”

“So late at night? How very scandalous of you.”

“Well it’s why you fancy me in the first place, isn’t it?”

He grabs your hand as you paint a very mischievous look on your face, and is about to stand up before you tug on the collar of his shirt with your free hand, pulling him back to you and pressing your lips to his in an electrified climax.

You try to part, but he pulls you closer to him and slides his hand down your leg. A soft moan emits your lips, and Fred wonders if he’d be able to sneak a Hufflepuff girl up to his own dormitory this evening. “Sorry,” you reply, biting down on your lip again, sending him into a complete tizzy. You whisper cheekily, “Just couldn’t wait.”

He smirks at you, hoping his giddiness isn’t blatantly evident in his exuberance, and pulls you to your feet. “Actually..” you say, playing again with his collar, “instead of the Astronomy tower, how about we head to the Room of Requirement?”

“No? Don’t want to look up at the stars, be all mushy, fall asleep in my arms?”

You actually snort through your laughter, rolling your eyes at him. “Yes, yes, of course I do, you sap. But I reckon we should save that for an actual date. Right now, I’d kind of just like to snog you for a few hours, if you don’t mind.”

He shakes his head at you with admiration. “What has gotten into you?”

Another hair flip from you sends warmth through Fred’s veins. “C’mon, Weasley,” you say, tugging his hand, the yellow fire reflecting in the light of your eyes, “don’t you trust me?”

[sleepy-sunlight]

Hey have you been busy or have you not been getting many requests? I miss your writing! If you have the time could you write something where the inquisitor has a child (around 5 years old) and the child stays with Cullen and the others at Skyhold whenever the Inquisitor is away? Thanks, I hope you've been doing well 💞💞

I’m a mix of busy and living for the next time I sleep so it’s been a bit messy life-wise but I’m trying to start things back up! Ideally, I’m trying to set up a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule where I post a prompt on one of my three blogs each day because I should be totally free during those days!  

Anyways, thank you for your patience, and have a fantastic day!

———————————————————————————————————–

Cullen grew up the second oldest of four. Most of his early childhood was spent parceling out responsibilities for watching over Branson and Rosalie with Mia.  

Branson was the epitome of what his mother had liked to call a ‘wild child’. He’d climb up to the tallest trees in Honnleath and when he found himself too high to properly come back down his solution was to swing from the branches until they broke. One could only guess how well that turned out.  

Rosalie on the other hand was a fan of collecting every insect or small animal that crossed her way. Cullen could still remember the yelps his mother would try to hide at the sight of Rosalie holding a long, winding centipede in her palms. The worst was a feral fox cub that’d subsequently became loose in the house. That’d been an eventful evening.  

Neither sibling was ‘ideal’, but he supposed even he had his own faults.  

Nevertheless, it made Cullen oddly ideal with children. For all his military abilities and fighting talent, most were astonished at how in the snap of one’s fingers, Cullen could stop even the worst wailing from a child. Josephine once said she’d “pay him double his Inquisition salary to babysit her siblings.”  

Cullen had responded with “what salary?”  

Considering money was Josephine’s department, the subject was swiftly dropped.  

However, that didn’t take away from the actual babysitting Cullen found himself in.  

Very few, after all, expected the Inquisitor to have a child.  

Your child’s name was Olivia – just five years old and more of a firecracker than you were. Her hair was often in braids, so for all her running and scrambling about, she wouldn’t get caught on anything. For her birthday Varric had given her a little yellow ribbon, and she’d wear it to sleep if you didn’t insist otherwise.

She was a troublesome little thing, but she was one of the few bright things in your world, and you clearly treasured her. She’d race to you as fast as her legs could carry her when you’d return to Skyhold and every time you’d scoop her up in your arms and swing her until you both were left dizzy and stumbling throughout the courtyard. No matter where you went you always came back with something for her, and whether a fanciful toy or simply a flower, Olivia adored it.

She even had a secret hiding place for all the presents you brought her. She’d shown Cullen one evening and despite knowing just about every detail of the gifts, he’d still ask like it was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on them.  

Curiously enough, Olivia had a fondness for the Commander. Often times when you and Cullen would take walks along the barracks Olivia would follow behind, holding loosely onto the end of his shroud. She liked it especially when each of you would hold one of her hands and swing her back and forth. It was… domestic in a sense. Far more than Cullen ever expected for himself.  

He’d hardly even expected to meet someone like you – so full of life and passion for all that you did. You were a breath of fresh air in the coldness he’d so well known. Cullen hoped Olivia hadn’t noticed how he stared but she was nosy – she took that from you.  

She’d been given plenty of opportunities to be nosy since you’d left, asking Cullen specifically to watch over her.  

“I won’t be long,” You’d told him the evening before you left. “But there are reports of red templars making advancements towards a village and I-”  

“I know,” Cullen hesitated but set a hand on your shoulder. He didn’t know if his smiles helped you at all, but he offered one anyway. “You don’t need to explain. I’ll help however I can, including taking care of Olivia.”  

You let out a sigh of relief and laughed. “Thank you I-” You couldn’t figure the words and so instead hugged him, winding your arms around his neck. “You’re the best.”  

He was left stunned for a moment. It wasn’t like he’d experienced much affection in his life once he’d left for the Templar order – so much as a hug was almost foreign to him.  However hesitantly, he managed to return the gesture. His hovering hands shifting to hold you tight.

He forgot how much he missed such a simple thing as a hug.  

You left shortly thereafter both of you a little sheepish but warmhearted, nonetheless. Olivia followed you to Skyhold’s gates, holding your hand but still stumbling to keep up despite her best efforts. When you knelt to meet her, she nearly ran right into you, only caught by your grip shifting to her shoulders.  

“Woah there, soldier!” You laughed softly. “You know you can’t come with me.”  

Olivia immediately began to pout. “But I’ll be good! I promise!”  

“It’s not a matter of being good, it’s dangerous.” You smiled warmly, squeezing her shoulders. “Even for the toughest kid around! You got to stay here, keep everyone safe.”  

Before Olivia could object you spoke once more, lowering your voice to a whisper. “In fact, I’ve got a super-secret mission for you. I need you to personally look after Commander Cullen – keep him out of trouble.”  

Olivia shot a quick glance to Cullen who stood a little way off, pretending to look at a set of reports.  

“Okay! I know you like him!”  

Cullen had to work very hard not to look up and see your expression in that moment. But he supposed he wouldn’t want you to see how red he’d become either. At the very least, he heard a gasp.

“I-It’s ah – it’s our little secret though! Don’t forget, okay?”  

Olivia nodded. “I won’t!”  

“Promise?”  

Olivia huffed. “I promise!”  

You chuckled. “Alright, alright. I love you, Olivia.”  

Cullen looked up to see Olivia jump up to hug you, burying her head in the crook of your neck and failing to hide the tiniest sniffle. She always hated seeing you go.  

“I love you too.”  

With a wave of your hand, you and the rest of your team left. Olivia refused to budge an inch before you disappeared beyond sight. Even then she only moved a few steps forward, perhaps in hopes to catch one last glimpse of you.  

“Miss them already, do you?” Cullen approached the child steadily, making his heavy boots clearly known to not startle her. He even spoke quietly.  

Olivia gave a meek nod, wiping at her eyes quickly.

Cullen pretended not to see – if she was anything like you it’d only make her more embarrassed.  

“I miss them too.” Cullen said. “But while they’re gone… would you want to sneak a few extra treats from the kitchen? I won’t tell if you don’t.”  

Olivia perked up just a tad. Cullen offered his hand that practically swallowed Olivia’s when she accepted it. But she smiled.  

“Okay.”  

She hid an entire extra loaf of cinnamon bread in Cullen’s shroud. It was awful, thinking of the sugar and sticky cinnamon that was sure to attract insects of all sort, but worth it. She giggled the whole time, and still considered it an ‘extreme scheme’ even though no one cared and at least three kitchen-maids watched them the entire time – pretending to hide little Olivia from everyone else.  

She didn’t even bother to have the bread cut into slices, sitting in his office breaking it apart in chunks and pieces.  

“I can cut it if you want, you know.” Cullen told her, his brows furrowed.  

“No, I like it this way. It’s a surprise every time!” Olivia raised her head to the Commander, swinging her legs in the seat across his desk. “Do you want some? I’ll share, but you can’t tell Varric! He’ll get jealous.”  

“Why would he-” Cullen immediately remembered Varric’s proud title as Olivia’s ‘partner in crime’ and found the answer for himself.  

Admittedly Cullen would’ve said no. He never had much of a sweet tooth. However, Olivia clearly wanted to give him a piece and already had two corners of the bread pinched between her fingers to give him. It was just something a person couldn’t say no to.  

“I’d love a piece.”  

It was just as sugary and sappy as he’d imagined.  

“Oi, metal britches!”  

The yelling came a few hours later, when evening started to paint the sky overhead and the sun dripped in through his windows. It didn’t take a genius to recognize Sera.  

She nearly kicked the door in, and as if that wasn’t enough, slammed her firsts against his desk with enough ferocity to shake the very earth. The mischievous glint in her eyes was anything but good.  

“As appealing as the name ‘metal britches’ is, could we try another name next time?” Cullen frowned. “Perhaps my real one?”  

“Nah, I like this one better. Listen, I’ve got this great idea for an ambush on this Orlesian snobs – and I know you hate Orlesians just as much so I was thinking I could get your head of your ar-”  

Cullen nearly jumped out of his seat trying to stop Sera. “Reserve the language for when children aren’t around?”  

“Wha-” Sera wrinkled her nose only to twist her head and see little Olivia, watching Sera with the utmost awe. Olivia happened to look up to Sera with her ‘fun-loving’ pranks. It brought comfort when you were gone. “Oh! Pipsqueak! I was wondering where you’d run off to!”  

She peered over to see the last bits of the cinnamon bread. “Mind if I swipe a piece?”  

“Mm!” Olivia eagerly gave Sera the rest. Of all the people Sera loved to torment, Olivia was never one of them. If anything, she had a soft spot for the child.  

“Oh no that ain’t necessary but you’re a sweet thing for offering.” Sera leaned in to Olivia, pretending to whisper, but only brought her voice louder for Cullen to clearly hear. “See, I was trying to get Mr. Boring over here to have some fun for once, but I don’t think he’s gonna budge.”  

“Cullen!” Olivia exclaimed, puffing out her cheeks.  

Sera stopped her further protests. “I know, what a bore! But I’m thinking if he won’t have some fun – why don’t we?”  

“Now Sera-” Cullen rose from his seat. “The Inquisitor asked me specifically to look after Olivia while they were gone-”  

“We’re not going to Halamshiraal get your knickers out of a twist!” Sera snorted. “I’ll bring her back in one piece, but a kid can’t sit around all day!”

“I…”  

Olivia was gripping excitedly at the edge of her seat, and if her toes could reach the floor they would’ve been tapping too. Anyone could see she desperately wanted to spend time with the ‘fun rogue’. Cullen could be fun too – it just didn’t include putting buckets of water over their ambassador’s door. Less dangerous fun.  

“Nothing reckless,” Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I see so much as a scratch on Olivia, I’ll have your quarters repurposed to a storage closet.”  

“If I get a hair on the squirt’s head out of place, I’ll banish myself, does that make you feel better? I won’t get in the way of your crush on the boss.”  

“I do not-”

Sera and Olivia were already gone before he could even finish, giggling as the elf lifted the girl onto her shoulders and scrambled out. It was almost fascinating how quickly he could come to regret a decision.  

They were gone for a few hours, when night arrived and a chill soaked into the floor Cullen began to pace, anxious and ready to go searching top to bottom for Olivia.  

He only made it to the grand hall when he found the two of them. Sera, snoring with her head fallen back in her ornate seat with Olivia, sleeping sound in Sera’s lap. A blanket was slipped over the two of them, and just a few feet away in another chair was Varric, watching the fireplace crackle.  

“Don’t you worry Curly, I kept them distracted.” Varric laughed and took a sip of his wine. “You’d be surprised how much Buttercup loves a good story.”  

Cullen let out a sigh of relief as he made his way to Olivia. She was clutching onto to Sera and her head was laid lazily on her stomach, a slow rise and fall lifting her up and down. She looked so comfortable; it was almost hard to wake her up.  

“Was she a handful?” Cullen asked.  

“Olivia or Buttercup?”  

“Either one.” Cullen scoffed.  

“Buttercup is a given, but Olivia is always a pleasure. It’s nice to have someone actually enjoy my rough drafts – they’re just what put Sera to sleep.” Varric laughed to himself. “Everyone’s a critic.”  

“I’m surprised the Inquisitor didn’t take you with them,” Cullen remarked. “Dorian, Blackwall, and you are typically their regular party.”  

Varric simpered. “As old as Blackwall looks, I’m older – and you’ve got to give the elderly a break.”

“You can’t be beyond your late thirties.”  

Varric raised a glass amusedly. “Or maybe I just age that good. Either way, mentally, I’m in my sixties. I like to have the occasional night in!”  

“Does that mean Olivia could call you ‘grandfather’?”  

“Don’t you dare put that idea in her head Curly.”

Cullen turned his attention back to Olivia with a laugh. He gently scooped her up in his arms, and Sera only mildly objected in the form of halfhearted tugs at his gauntlets. The second Olivia felt the fur of his cloak she sank against it; even attempting to wrap herself up like a blanket.  

“Thank you for watching over her, Varric – even if only for a short time.”  

The dwarf shook his head. “No trouble. You just make sure that one gets some shut-eye.”  

Cullen took Olivia to your quarters – It had a grand enough bed that you shared with your parent when they were here anyhow. The few times Cullen had entered early, Olivia would be snuggled up among the silk sheets like a burrowed rabbit. She’d never get out if you didn’t make her.  

He pulled back the blankets and set her down gently. The second she recognized just where she was, Olivia grappled at the sheets and pull them up to her chin – even her cheeks were smothered against her pillow.  

Cullen would’ve left to return to his own room when Olivia reached out for his hand and ruined that plan.

“Can you stay, Mr. Rutherford?”  

She only used that name when she wanted something out of him. It worked every time.  

Cullen paused briefly, relenting as he sat down at the foot of the bed. “Of course, Olivia.”  

“Can I ask you something?” She mumbled, eyes only a tiny bit open and words slurring.  

He smiled softly. “Of course.”  

“Do you… do you like them?” She clearly peeked one eye open at this point. Olivia was far from subtle.  

“Like who?”  

“You know… my… parent…” Olivia sat up, rubbing at her face groggily but far too curious to sleep just yet.

Cullen’s heart jumped into his throat. He swallowed hard, and even then, his chest heaved like a drum. “Why ah – why would you ask that?”  

“I see how you stare – and how they stare. And I…” Olivia brought her knees up to her chin. “I want you to be a part of our family.”  

The rapid beating of Cullen’s heart stopped, his fidgeting fingers stopped, and his panicking brain stopped. All that remained was a warmth, gentle, and protective like a lantern in a dark night. It never felt so easy to say exactly what he meant.  

“I think I’d like that too. But I’ll have to be a bit braver before I can tell them.”  

Olivia saw his faint, nervous smile and leaned over so that she drooped over his shoulder. She did her best to drape a bit of the blanket over him but even at her best, she only managed to cover his knee. A valiant effort.  

“I’ll cheer for you then,” Olivia yawned. “so, you can get brave. Would that help?”  

Olivia truly was just like you. Maybe that was why he found himself adoring her just so much. You were always so encouraging and supportive – even at your worst, you found a way to brighten someone else’s day. You passed the kindness in your heart down to Olivia, and it showed.  

Perhaps when you returned Cullen would finally tell you all the things that’d be brimming inside of him. How he cared for you like he’d never known before and wanted nothing more than to simply do the same for you. For the first time, he felt like he could.

“I think it already is.”  

Cullen would’ve thought Olivia already fallen fast asleep were it not for the little grin spread across her face.

[felassan]

Insights into DAI’s development from Blood, Sweat, and Pixels

The book is by game industry journalist Jason Schreier (it’s an interesting read and well-written, I recommend it). This is the cliff notes version of the DAI chapter. This info isn’t new as the book is from 2017 (I finally got around to buying it). Some insight into DAO, DA2 and cancelled DA projects is also given. Cut for length.

BW hoped that DA would become the LotR of video games. DAO’s development was “a hellish seven-year slog”

The DAI team are compared to a chaotic “pirate ship”, which is what they called themselves internally. “It’ll get where it needs to go, but it’s going to go all over the place. Sail over here. Drink some rum. Go over here. Do something else. That’s how Mark Darrah likes to run his team.” An alternative take from someone else who worked on the game: “It was compared to a pirate ship because it was chaotic and the loudest voice in the room usually set the direction. I think they smartly adopted the name and morphed it into something better.”

A game about the Inquisition and the large-scale political conflicts it solves across Thedas, where the PC was the Inquisitor, was originally the vision for ‘DA2′. Plans had to change when SW:TOR’s development kept stalling and slipping. Frustrated EA execs wanted a new product from BW to bolster quarterly sales targets, and decided that DA would have to fill the gap. BW agreed to deliver DA2 within 16 months. “Basically, DA2 exists to fill that hole. That was the inception. It was always intended to be a game made to fit in that”

BW wanted to call it DA: Exodus, but EA’s marketing execs insisted on DA2, no matter what that name implied

DAO’s scope (Origin stories, that amount of big areas, variables, reactivity) was just not doable in a year, even if everyone worked overtime. To solve this problem, BW shelved the Inquisition idea and made a risky call: DA2 would be set in one city over time, allowing locations to be recycled and months to be shaved off dev time. They also axed DAO features like customizing party members’ equipment. These were the best calls they were able to make on a tight line

Many at BW are still proud of DA2. Those that worked on it grew closer from all being in it together

In certain dark accounting corners of EA, despite fan response to DA2 and its lower sales compared to DAO, DA2 is considered a wild success

By summer 2011 BW decided to cancel DA2′s expansion Exalted March in favor of a totally new game. They needed to get away from the stigma of DA2, reboot the franchise and show they could make triple-A quality good games. 

DAI was going to be the most ambitious game BW had ever made and had a lot to prove (that BW could return to form, that EA wasn’t crippling the studio, that BW could make an ‘open-world’ RPG with big environments). There was a bit of a tone around the industry that there were essentially 2 tiers of BW, the ME team and then everyone else, and the DA team had a scrappy desire to fight back against that

DAI was behind schedule early on due to unfamiliar new technology; the new engine Frostbite was very technically challenging and required more work than anyone had expected. Even before finishing DA2 BW were looking for a new engine for the next game. Eclipse was creaky, obsolete, not fully-featured, graphically lacking. The ME team used Unreal, which made inter-team collab difficult. “Our tech strategy was just a mess. Every time we’d start a new game, people would say, ‘Oh, we should just pick a new engine’.”

After meeting with an EA exec BW decided on Frostbite. Nobody had ever used it to make an RPG, but EA owned FB dev studio DICE, and the engine was powerful and had good graphic capabilities & visual effects. If BW started making all its games on FB, it could share tech with sister studios and borrow tools when they learned cool new tricks. 

For a while they worked on a prototype called Blackfoot, to get a feel for FB and to make a free-to-play DA MP game. It fizzled as the team was too small, which doesn’t lend itself well to working with FB, and was cancelled

BW resurfaced the old Inquisition idea. What might a DA3 look like on FB? Their plan by 2012 was to make an open-world RPG heavily inspired by Skyrim that hit all the beats DA2 couldn’t. “My secret mission was to shock and awe the players with the massive amounts of content.” People complained there wasn’t enough in DA2. “At the end of DAI, I actually want people to go, ‘Oh god, not [another] level’.”

It was originally called Dragon Age 3: Inquisition

BW wanted to launch on next-gen consoles only but EA’s profit forecasters were caught up in the rise of iPad and iPhone gaming and were worried the next-gen consoles wouldn’t sell well. As a safeguard EA insist it also ship on current-gen. Most games at that time followed this strategy. Shipping on 5 platforms at once would be a first for BW

Ambitions were piling up. This was to be BW’s first 3D open-world game, and their first game on Frostbite, an engine that had never been used to make RPGs. It needed to be made in roughly two years, it needed to ship on 5 platforms, and, oh yeah, it needed to restore the reputation of a studio that had been beaten up pretty badly. “Basically we had to do new consoles, a new engine, new gameplay, build the hugest game that we’ve ever made, and build it to a higher standard than we ever did. With tools that don’t exist.”

FB didn’t have RPG stats, a visible PC, spells, save systems, a party of 4 people, the same kind of cutscenes etc and couldn’t create any of those things. BW had to create these on top of it. BW initially underestimated how much work this would be. BW were the FB guinea pigs. Early on in DAI’s development, even the most basic tasks were excruciating, and this impacted even fundamental aspects of game design and dev. When FB’s tools did function they were finicky and difficult. DICE’s team supported them but had limited resources and were 8 hours ahead. Since creating new content in FB was so difficult, trying to evaluate its quality became impossible. FB engine updates made things even more challenging. After every one, BW had to manually merge and test it; this was debilitating, and there were times when the build didn’t work for a month or was really unstable.

Meanwhile the art department were having a blast. FB was great for big beautiful environments. For months they made as much as possible, taking educated guesses when they didn’t know yet what the designers needed. “For a long time there was a joke on the project that we’d made a fantastic-looking screenshot generator, because you could walk around these levels with nothing to do. You could take great pictures.”

The concept of DAI as open-world was stymying the story/writers and gameplay/designers teams. What were players going to do in these big landscapes? How could BW ensure exploring remained fun after many hours? Their teams didn’t have time for system designers to envision, iterate and test a good “core gameplay loop” (quests, encounters, activities etc). FB wouldn’t allow it. Designers couldn’t test new ideas or answer questions because basic features were missing or didn’t exist yet. 

EA’s CEO told BW they should have the ability to ride dragons and that this would make DAI sell 10 million copies. BW didn’t take this idea very seriously

BW had an abstract idea that the player would roam the world solving problems and building up power or influence they could use. But how would that look/work like in-game? This could have used refinement and testing but instead they decided to build some levels and hope they could figure it out as they went.

One day in late 2012, after a year of strained development on DAI, Mark Darrah asked Mike Laidlaw to go to lunch. “We’re walking out to his car,” Laidlaw said, “and I think he might have had a bit of a script in his head. [Darrah] said, ‘All right, I don’t actually know how to approach this, so I’m just going to say it. On a scale of one to apocalyptic... how upset would you be if I said [the player] could be, I dunno, a Qunari Inquisitor?’” 

Laidlaw was baffled. They’d decided that the player could be only a human in DAI. Adding other playable races like Darrah was asking for would mean they’d need to quadruple their budget for animation, voice acting, and scripting.

“I went, ‘I think we could make that work’,” Laidlaw said, asking Darrah if he could have more budget for dialogue. 

Darrah answered that if Laidlaw could make playable races happen, he couldn’t just have more dialogue. He could have an entire year of production.

Laidlaw was thrilled. “Fuck yeah, OK,” he recalled saying.

MD had actually already realized at this point it’d be impossible to finish DAI in 2013. They needed at least a year’s delay and adding the other playable races was part of a plan/planned pitch to secure this. He was in the process of putting together a pitch to EA: let BW delay the game, and in exchange it’d be bigger and better that anyone at EA had envisioned. These new marketing points included playable races, mounts and a new tactical camera. If EA wouldn’t let them delay, they would have had to cut things. Going into that BW were confident but nervous, especially in the wake of EA’s recent turmoil where they’d just parted ways with their CEO and had recruited a new board member while they hunted for a new one. They didn’t know how the new board member would react, and the delay would affect EA’s projections for that fiscal year. Maybe it was the convincing pitch, or the exec turmoil, or the specter of DA2, or maybe EA didn’t like being called “The Worst Company in America”. Winning that award 2 years in a row had had a tangible impact on the execs and led to feisty internal meetings on how to repair EA’s image. Whatever the reasons, EA greenlit the delay.

The PAX Crestwood demo was beautiful but almost entirely fake. By fall 2013, BW had implemented many of FB’s ‘parts’, but still didn’t know what kind of ‘car’ they were making. ML and team scripted the PAX demo by hand, entirely based on what BW thought would be in the game. The level & art assets were real but the gameplay wasn’t. “Part of what we had to do is go out early and try to be transparent because of DA2. And just say, ‘Look, here, it’s the game, it’s running live, it’s at PAX.’ Because we wanted to make that statement that we’re here for fans.”

DA2 hung on the team like a shadow. There was insecurity, uncertainty, they had trouble sticking to one vision. Which DA2 things were due to the short dev time and which were bad calls? What stuff should they reinvent? There were debates over combat (DAO-style vs DA2-style) and arguments over how to populate the wilderness.

In the months after that demo, BW cut much of what they’d shown in it. Even small features went through many permutations. DAI had no proper preproduction phase (important for testing and discarding things), so leads were stretched thin and had to make impulsive decisions.

By the end of 2013, DAI had 200+ people working on it, and dozens of additional outsourced artists in Russia and China. Coordinating all the work across various departments was challenging and a full-time job for several people. At this sheer scale of game dev, there are many complexities and inter-dependencies. Work finally became significantly less tedious and more doable when BW and DICE added more features to FB. Time was running out though, and another delay was a no.

The team spent many hours in November and December piecing together a “narrative playable” version of the game to be the holiday period’s game build for BW staff to test that year. Feedback on the demo was bad. There were big complaints on story, that it didn’t make sense and was illogical. Originally the PC became Inquisitor and sealed the breach in the prologue, which removed a sense of urgency. In response the writers embarked on Operation Sledgehammer (breaking a bone to set it right), radically revising the entire first act.

The other big piece of negative feedback was that battles weren’t fun. Daniel Kading, who had recently joined BW and brought with him a rigorous new method for testing combat in games, went to BW leadership with a proposal: give him authority to open his own little lab with the other designers and call up the entire team for mandatory play sessions for test purposes. They agreed and he used this experiment to get test feedback and specifically pinpoint where problems were. Morale took a turn for the better that week, DK’s team made several tweaks, and through these sessions feedback ratings went from 1.2 to 8.8 four weeks later.

Many on the team wished they didn’t have to ship for old consoles (clunky, less powerful). BW leadership decided not to add features to the next-gen versions that wouldn’t be possible on the older ones, so that both versions of the game played the same. This limited things and meant the team had to find creative solutions. “I probably should’ve tried harder to kill [the last-gen] version of the game”, said Aaryn Flynn. In the end the next-gen consoles sold very well and only 10% of DAI sales were on last-gen.

“A lot of what we do is well-intentioned fakery,” said Patrick Weekes, pointing to a late quest called “Here Lies The Abyss”. “When you assault the fortress, you have a big cut scene that has a lot of Inquisition soldiers and a lot of Grey Wardens on the walls. And then anyone paying attention or looking for it as you’re fighting through the fortress will go, ‘Wow, I’m only actually fighting three to four guys at a time.’ Because in order for that to work [on old gen], you couldn’t have too many different character types on screen.”

Parts of DAI were still way behind schedule because it was so big and complex, and because some tools hadn’t started functioning until late on. Some basic features weren’t able to be implemented til the last minute (they were 8 months from ship before they could get all party members in the squad. At one point PW was playtesting to check if Iron Bull’s banter was firing, and realized there was no way to even recruit IB) and some flaws couldn’t be identified til the last few months. Trying to determine flow and pacing was rough.

They couldn’t disappoint fans again. They needed to take the time to revise and polish every aspect of DAI. “I think DAI is a direct response to DA2,” said Cameron Lee. “DAI was bigger than it needed to be. It had everything but the kitchen sink in it, to the point that we went too far... I think that having to deal with DA2 and the negative feedback we got on some parts of that was driving the team to want to put everything in and try to address every little problem or perceived problem.”

At this point they had 2 options: settle for an incomplete game, which would disappoint fans especially post-DA2, or crunch. They opted to crunch. It was the worst period of extended overtime in DAI’s development yet and was really rough: late nights, weekends, lost family time, 12-14 hour days, stress, mental health impacts.

During 2014′s crunch, they finally finished off features they wished they’d nailed down in year 1. They completed the Power (influence) system and added side quests, hidden treasures and puzzles. Things that weren’t working like destructible environments were promptly removed. The writers rewrote the prologue at least 6 times, but didn’t have enough time to pay such attention to the ending. Just a few months before launch pivotal features like jumping were added.

By summer BW had bumped back release by another 6 weeks for polish. DAI had about 99,000 bugs in it (qualitative and quantitative; things like “I was bored here” are a bug). “The number of bugs on an open-world game, I’ve never seen anything like it. But they’re all so easy to fix, so keep filing these bugs and we’ll keep fixing them.” For BW it was harder to discover them, and the QA team had to do creative experimentation and spend endless late nights testing things. PW would take builds home to let their 9 year old son play around. Their son was obsessed with mounting and dismounting the horse and accidentally discovered a bug where if you dismounted in the wrong place, all your companions’ gear would vanish. “It was because my son liked the horse so much more than anyone else ever had or will ever like the horse.”

MD had a knack for prioritizing which bugs should be fixed, like the one where you could get to inaccessible areas by jumping on Varric’s head. “Muscle memory is incredibly influential at this point. Through the hellfire which is game development, we’re forged into a unit, in that we know what everyone’s thinking and we understand everyone’s expectations.”

At launch they still didn’t have all their tools working, they only had their tools working enough.

DAI became the best-selling DA game, beating EA’s sales expectations in just a few weeks. If you look closely you can see the lingering remnants of its chaotic development, like the “garbage quests” in the Hinterlands. Some players didn’t realize they could leave the area and others got caught in a “weird, compulsive gratification loop”. Internet commentators rushed to blame “those damn lazy devs” but really, these were the natural consequences of DAI’s struggles. Maybe things would have been different if they’d miraculously received another year of dev time, or if they’d had years before starting development to build FB’s tools first.

“The challenge of the Hinterlands and what it represented to the opening 10 hours of DAI is exactly the struggle of learning to build open-world gameplay and mechanisms when you are a linear narrative story studio,” said Aaryn Flynn.

“DA2 was the product of a remarkable time-line challenge,” said Mike Laidlaw, “DAI was the product of a remarkable technical challenge. But it had enough time to cook, and as a result it was a much better game.”

Read the chapter for full details of course!

[nightwingshero]

WIP Sunday

I was tagged by @chyrstis @fadedjacket @minilev and @redreart. Thank you, lovelies!!! Sorry this is a little late!!!

Tagging: @strafethesesinners @simonxriley @xbaebsae @dieguzguz @water-writings @shellibisshe @smithandrogers @johnsrevelation @playstationmademe @chuckhansen @tommymillers and anyone else who wants to share! 

I’ve been jumping between MHA and Dragon Age, writing out scenes to connect for the main stories I have going on. 

Here’s some Mayumi and Suzume with Hawks at a pro hero gala:

“Well, clearly they would all be doomed without us.”

“Of course they would be!” Someone called with a laugh. “Who wouldn’t be all doom and gloom without my favorite goddess, am I right?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I muttered just as Hawks appeared out of what seemed like nowhere, and I wondered if maybe he was waiting on the other side of the damn column just to make an entrance. Something I wouldn’t put past him.

Mayumi’s eyes narrowed as her grip on the glass tightened. “I am not—"

“Asui, is that you?” Hawks asked, looking over at me with a smile. “Long time, no see. I sent a request to team up a few months back, but you’re impossible to reach for some reason.”

“Gee, it’s almost like its on purpose, Chicken Nugget.”

His smug smile only widened, his gold eyes dancing a bit before he glanced back at Mayumi and gave a fake pout. “Awww, no red this year? You didn’t want to match again? But we looked so good last year, Hirano.” Hawks made a show of his suit, a red and black one that was similar to the one he had worn the year before, and I thought for sure the glass in Mayumi’s hand would shatter to pieces. It was amusing to a lot of people when they had unintentionally color coordinated at last year’s event, much to Mayumi’s chagrin and frustration.

Then we have a team up with Suzume and Fatgum as they protect a few kids from MHA (Kirishima is loving how manly it is):

It always seemed that the skeletons came crawling at the worst possible moments.

“Suzume…” Tsu called, her voice laced with concern and fear, making my heart race as my own worry grew.

“Oh, Suzume…already using your tattoos.” Aiya clicked her tongue as her voice dripped with condescension. “Not even using your pitiful doodles you waste time on…well, guess I can’t blame you for that.” She cocked her head tauntingly, eyeing me carefully. “I heard they gave you special permission for that in your third year.”

The webbing fell and my arm dropped, fists still clenched as I glared at her. “Aiya…stop this.” Her mask broke then, the teasing look twisting into rage and spite as she looked down at me.

“No.”

I leaned forward as she spat again, balls of web coming at us. The cherry blossoms surrounding my samurai moved from my skin, twirling before shooting forward and cutting through the balls quickly. They didn’t stop there, however, and she threw her arms up as they ripped by her—cutting the purple skin-tight ensemble she dawned.  Once that was over, she dropped her arms and glared, hardly shaken by it. “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.” I mumbled as Fatgum took a step forward, standing with me. “You don’t have to do this—"

Aaaaand Athera having a heart to heart with Evune. I might have shared this before, but I can’t remember:

“I…I don’t know what you want me to say.” I murmured, glancing behind me at the others. Blackwall carving something with his knife as Varric lounged next to the fire, watching it as he lowly spoke of stories of his travels. Solas, only a little further from the fire than Blackwall, sat quietly, stoically as he listened, whether to Varric or us, I wasn’t sure. “Being the First is…” I glanced back down below us, the moon full and lighting the plains in front of us as the creek ran not far from our camp. “I didn’t think I’d have to do it; I didn’t think for a moment that Isha would…”

“Die?” Evune offered as she watched me carefully, her sharp eyes taking in everything and reminding me of the hunter she became once she joined our clan. Andruil’s vallaslin was more than fitting for her, as she almost seemed to befome one with her bow at times. It was moments like this that made me more grateful to have my cousin by my side.

“I went to the Conclave because I needed time to think, I…I didn’t want the responsibility that came with being a First. I don’t know if I want to be Keeper when Deshanna steps down.”

If I was expecting a shocked reaction from her, I would have been disappointed. It was as if I had just told her the sky was blue, the only movement from her was the slight arch in her brow as I glanced over her. “I hope you’re not expecting me to overly surprised by this, Athera. You jumped at the opportunity when everyone was ready to let me scout it out.”

“And ended up with more responsibility than before.” I laughed humorlessly. “Just think Evune, if Isha hadn’t died, if I hadn’t jumped at the opportunity to run from the weight of being the First, you could be Inquisitor right now.”

“In what world would that be reassuring, Little Fawn? Me and Fen’an leading this little pack of warriors? You and I both know that the right person was there for that. Don’t haunt yourself with those kinds of thoughts, you’re the leader because you’re meant to be.”  

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Watchers in the Shadows

Another plot important story, with the what I am terming the Shadowed Lords.  I have also found a solution to the very important question of “How to make sure the Inquisition just doesn’t murder everyone.”  I own none of these characters.  Enjoy.

“History requires two parties - the historian and their audience.  Without that, one is just talking to oneself.  So kindly stop screaming and you might learn something.” - Trazyn the Infinite, guiding human guests through the Prismatic Gallery

“It is our duty to protect those who are important to future events, those who might save the face of the galaxy, those chosen by prophecy - blah blah blah.  I’m just here to kill things.”  -Revenant

Aboard the Novus Galactica

The Watch Fortress was a miracle of human technology and ingenuity.  This particular one was mobile, a great boon for its occupants.  As soon as diplomats and Inquisitors were dispatched to these strange, newly found galaxies, it had been deemed by the High Lords of Terra that a permanent force of Throne Agents should be stationed in each.  Unfortunately for the Imperium of Man, and, perhaps fortunately for everyone else, they were currently only able to transfer a small amount of the resources they wanted to one singular galaxy.  At the moment.  The time would come when they would fully operate there, the agents of the Imperium hiding in every shadow, behind every crevice, always watching, always waiting.  The fight against the xeno, mutaint, and heretic never ended, after all, and these new galaxies provided ample examples of each.  

The newly anointed Lady Inquisitor Amberley Vail stood on the tiled stone floor of the Watch Fortress, looking out high cathedral windows into the black void of space.  Inquisitors were all technically equals, though in practice some were more equal than others.  Senior and powerful Inquisitors were given the honorary prefix Lord or Lady to denote that they were, in fact, just a little more equal than their peers.  Since she had been the first to discover, and make contact with these eight new galaxies, it would be her duty to oversee all investigations in them.  A great honor.  

At the time, though, Vail would just be investigating each one in turn until more Inquisitors could be spared.  Already she was given her choice in team, and her retinue was here, with more hand-picked agents to come.  And, of course, the operatives the High Lords and Ordo Xenos had seen fit to give her.  With the technology found in these new places, she could now contact the High Lords directly, if necessary, and they could monitor her progress.  As such, they had seen it fit to grant the Watch Fortress a cadre of Officio Assassinorum operatives, one from each Temple.  They were in cryo storage below, except the Vanus operative, currently hard at work gathering every scrap of data she could.  

Should she require pure power instead of singular agents, a Kill Team of the dreaded Deathwatch was on hand.  They were newly formed and called up, but each member was hand-chosen by the Inquisition, and, if rumors were to be believed, the Custodian Guard themselves.  Right now, they were settling into their new home, their weapons drills already ringing through the training spaces.  The Kill Team also served a second, more sinister purpose: if Vail was to go rogue for whatever reason, they had orders to hunt her down and destroy her.  She harbored no illusions of their ability, and, of course, had no intention of turning traitor.  Better had fallen than her, though, so she did appreciate the contingency.  

At the moment, more Marine heavy weaponry and armored vehicles were on the way, along with a regiment of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers.  More things to be added to the armory of the Imperium in this new galaxy.  

Vail paced, then went to her cognator, located next to the Vanus operative, still absorbed in her work.  She sat down, and began to type.  Secrets would be revealed, and the Inquisition would act upon them.

Unknown Location

The room was dark, as it always was, only illuminated by the blinding glory of a nearby star.  No one came here, no one knew of its existence except two organizations.  Two organizations that almost none knew of.  A massive man, power armored bulk hidden by a simple white robe, sword strapped on to his chest, stood side by side with another individual clad in black armor and greatcoat.  A tight fitting black helmet with glowing red lenses covered the second’s face, and as it spoke, the voice that emanated from within was corrupted and rendered untraceable.

“We must begin.  Our list is complete.”

“Unorthodox, yes, but it must be this way,” spoke the second, a reverberating deep base echoing from beneath he white hood.  “What of Inquisitor Vail?  Should she find… certain things, it would not bode well for our plans.” 

“I am handling it as we speak.  Drake shows promise.  It was good to act that quickly, but in the end, the Shadow Broker, the Mechanicus, the Inquisition, the Scoundrels, ONI, the ISB… none of them are good enough to face us.  Vail will hear no word of it.  Stability will be preserved.  Just as we must preserve the Scoundrels themselves.”

“Indeed.  It must be restated: they are key to future events.  I suggest we get moving.”  With a nod to each other, the two figures disappeared into the shadows.

Unknown Planet

The ground was icy and cold, some dead world in the middle of nowhere.  It didn’t even have a name, so remote it had never been discovered.  Of course, there were those who could find it, should they really wish to.  One such individual stood here, examining strange patterns in the snow.  Well-groomed black hair tumbled down to his shoulders, held in place by a circlet of gold.  Despite the bone-numbing cold, the man did not shiver, black and green tunic still in the frigid air.   A heavy crack of displaced air sounded behind him, and the black haired man turned around, smiling softly to himself. 

“Ah.  Can I help you?” he said in a polite and cultured voice.  The two figures, one massive and wearing a white robe, the other of medium height and wearing a black coat, stepped forward.  The black haired man stood, noting the weapons, the size, the strangeness of these newcomers.

“Loki of Asgard.  We have need of your skills,” responded a metallic and synthesized voice from the black coated silhouette’s mask.  This elicited a small, oh-so-sly smile from the black haired man.  

“Yes.  I’m sure a great many people do.  What’s in it for me?”

“Name your price,” came a deep, reverberating voice.  Loki thought quietly to himself, then spoke.

“Done,” replied the tall figure.  

“Now, what do you need me for?” asked Loki.

Hammond Robotics Lab-77431

A metallic abomination of red and grey stood above Dr. Marshall.  It was humanoid, but all metal; unnaturally tall and spindly.  He squirmed quietly, inching away from it on the cold surface of the laboratory floor.  Blood was splattered messily over the surface of computer banks and grey plastic workstations.  Marshall silently prayed that the guards were on their way.  He had just enough time to press the panic button as the… thing slaughtered the two guards and his three colleagues.  Now it stood over him, head tilted at an unnatural angle.  

“No one is coming to save you.  No one ever was.”  It’s voice was horrible, gravely, and grating.  Marshall whimpered.  It spoke again.  “You can beg for mercy.  It won’t help, but go on.”

“Please… please.  I don’t even know what you are!  Why would you want to kill me?”  The thing snarled and pinned Marshall to the wall with one metallic hand.  

“You made me a killing machine.  Who am I to argue with programming?”  The abomination’s synthetic eyes seemed to glow.  “Look into my eyes.  I want to remember this.”  

“No!  NO!  No-”  The begging cut out with a horrifying, gurgling scream as the thing ripped out his throat.  It gave a malicious laugh.  A new voice spoke.  

“Revenant.”  It was a statement.  “We have need of your services.”  Revenant turned around with a snarl, only to find himself face to face with three of the most odd individuals he’d ever seen.  A smooth faced, black haired man in a green and black surcoat, smirking at him.  A figure in a black coat and black armor, it’s face hidden behind a mask with glowing red lenses.  A giant, wearing a white robe, with a sword strapped to its back, its face hidden behind the robe’s cowl.  

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand?” sneered Revenant.  

“If you can, which I doubt,” replied the black haired man.  The figure in the coat held up a gauntleted hand.  

“We have need of your services,” it repeated.  “As payment, we can fix you or kill you.  Your choice.  But you must do as we say.”  Revenant seemed to consider the deal.  

“Done,” he replied eventually.  

“Good.  Now, there’s work to be done.”  

Star Wars Galaxy

Belsavis

Imperial Outpost Planet

The New Republic had, in its infinite wisdom, sent a team of commandos to capture a small Imperial outpost planet in the middle of smack-dab nowhere.  Sargent Underwilth was quite displeased by this, as had the entirety of the rest of her commando group, from Private Nikeer all the way up to the Captain.  It would be a long, boring, and completely useless mission, and for what purpose?  Grab a completely insignificant Imperial fort that could house a battalion and a group of shuttles at the absolute maximum?  Why?  Send soldiers to die for that?  She hated High Command for it.  Hate-d.  Past tense.  At the present moment, she was cursing the name of every single New Republic official she could remember, from the major who had briefed them to Princess Leia herself.  Saying things had gotten a bit out of hand would be the understatement of the millenia.  

“I need fire at 1-2-7-4!  Immediate effect, whatever you’ve got!” screamed the comms chatter.  The Imperial stormtroopers crouched next to her looked warily in the direction of the lieutenant whose scream was cut short over the comms.  Captain Pai, the commando leader, was dead.  Major Vekk, commander of the Imperial garrison, was now in charge of both the stormtrooper and commando contingent.  Underwilth had never thought she would be fighting side by side with stormtroopers.  They were terrible shots and propaganda-fueled idiots, holding on to the crumbling remnants of a tyrant.  Desperate times, though, called for desperate measures.  She nodded at her mixed group of Republic and Imperial soldiery, and, as one, they stepped over the ledge of the wall they were crouched behind.  A withering storm of blaster bolts rent the air, many going wide as their users panicked.  It was enough though.  

The bolts slammed into the metal abomination, many ricocheting harmlessly off its bones with high pitched pings!  Underwilth had no idea what these things were, or why they were here.  The commando team had landed, everything going well, and had infiltrated the fortress, only for an army of metal skeletons to show up.  They were spindly and humanoid in appearance, with elongated skulls and arms much thinner than a human.  Their odd appearance didn’t matter, though.  Horrible weapons had rotated, spitting sickly green beams of light at the now combined defenders.  Everything that was touched by those beams died.  Captain Pai was disintegrated where he stood.  Atomized without a sound.  

The defenders had fought back with everything in their arsenal.  Blasters didn’t work.  Grenades didn’t work.  Cryo bombs didn’t work.  Only massive, coordinated firepower would stop these undying invaders. 

Scorch marks appeared on the metal skeleton that Underwilth’s group drowned in fire.  More and more blaster bolts found their mark, staggering it.  Underwilth screamed at them to keep firing.  Eventually, slowly, it toppled into the dirt.  Underwilth’s group let out a great cheer.  It died in their throats when they saw what was happening.  The metal abomination, light faded from its eyes and limbs blown off, glowed with the same sickly green light as its eyes and weapons.  Limbs reattached themselves.  Blaster pockmarks faded.  Internal wiring affixed itself.  It stood, and glowing green eyes snapped on once more.  

Beneath the Surface of Belsavis

Trazyn the Infinite, Overlord of the Nihilakh Dynasty, Archoevist of Solomance, and Curator of the Prismatic Galleries walked through the underground tomb complex covered by the Imperial outpost.  He had come to... acquire the artifacts, weapons, and species in the tomb underneath.  Unfortunately, a group of the idiotic humans that inhabited this galaxy had decided to build a fortress right on top of it.  He didn’t even spend the processing power wondering about the humans.  Mere insects.  His soldiers were there to defend his archaeological expedition, and if the humans wanted to attack them, well, that was their problem.  

Trazyn was, quite frankly, disappointed over this particular galaxy.  It wasn’t that there weren’t ancient and important treasures to plunder: no, far from it.  The things he could find here almost rivaled his own galaxy.  Almost.  It wasn’t that.  

It was that the people of this place had absolutely zero appreciation for history.  It was utterly infuriating.  Trazyn was the historian.  The lives of entire species meant nothing to him.  He was as old as the stars themselves, able to see eons as they stretched out in front of him.  The reason he did any of this in the first place was to preserve history before time or battle erased it.  His entire planet was one massive museum, with exhibits stretching back some 60 billion years before the planet Earth even existed.  But these people?  They didn’t teach history.  Didn’t preserve history.  To borrow a human expression, didn’t give one singular, flying fuck about it.  His mind frowned in distaste over the crude word.  It was nevertheless true.  The inhabitants of this place had merely forgotten the Old Republic, the government that ruled the galaxy only thirty years ago.  The Jedi Knights were myths.  The Clone Wars were bedtime legends.  Trazyn ground his metal teeth in frustration.  Thirty years.  That was a microsecond.  That was about the time a standard Necron court case lasted.  Even the humans, short-lived insects that they were, should remember that long.  After all, they usually lived between sixty to a hundred, did they not?  Simply no respect for the past here.  

The other galaxies were not like this.  The humans of one galaxy even remembered events some two thousand years prior.  That galaxy was the one with the Makers.  A battle between gods and demons.  He had already been to a Maker lab, and taken the dark artifact from the homeworld of the Celzex.  Along with half the guard on duty at the time.  And the throne.  They wouldn’t miss it.  Probably.  

He was getting off track.  Despite the idiots of this place not knowing what it was, this place was magnificent.  The architecture, the stone, the instriptions and technology… oh, yes.  If Trazyn had still possessed a mortal body, he would be grinning like a buffoon now.  He wanted everything.  

The tomb had once belonged to the Rakata Infinite Empire.  He sneered at the name. 

“There can only be one Infinite, and only one Infinite Empire.  And you, my friends, are no longer among the living,” he told a statue.  The Empire had, at its apex, controlled a great deal of the galaxy and possessed technologies and ancient wonders not seen since.  An entire species, called the Esh-Ka, had been trapped here in status for nigh thirty millenia by the ancient Rakata.  Nothing compared to Trazyn, but he appreciated the gesture of the long dead civilization nonetheless.  Ancient Rakata warlords, soldiers, status, glyphs, tablets, weapons, enemies, technology… everything.  This was a prison world, and the Rakata built it to last.  Now, though… now it was Trazyn’s time to shine.  He took everything he could, the walls and massive scripts cut away by his personal bodyguard.  Everything went into tesseract labyrinths.  These were small black cubes, about the size of Trazyn’s fist.  They pulsed with darkness, ever wishing to suck things into their voids.  These cubes were gateways to pocket dimensions, and Trazyn had long used them to capture specimens from his museum.  

He hummed as he worked, nearly giddy with excitement.  If there had been any watchers, they would have found the sight of the ancient necron lord almost dancing with exhilaration to be quite funny.  As he loaded the last of the Rakata imprisoned within the tomb, there was a flash of green light behind him.  It’s coloration was similar to the eyes and weaponry of the necrons, yet only the discharge of his bodyguards’ gauss flayers could have made such a sight, and Trazyn knew for a fact none of them had.  He whirled around, only to be met with a very strange sight.  

Four individuals stood between him and his guards.  One was obviously a synthetic, tall and spindly with red and grey limbs.  This one glowered mechnicgly at Trazyn, but he laughed it off.  You didn’t know a good glower until you’ve stood on the wrong side of a Star God.  The second was human, smirking from behind shoulder length black hair and a black and green tunic.  The third waas masked, armored, and coated, and stood at simple attention, unbothered by the necrons that lowered their gauss flayers at its back.  The last, though…

“Lord Cypher,” said Trazyn with a bow.  The massive man in white noticeably stiffened.  “A pleasure to have you here.  Ah, yes.  I know who you are, of course.  Don’t be surprised.  You would make a fine addition to my collection,” he mused.  Trazyn looked up, noticeably more perky.  “Is that why you’re here?  Have you come to give yourself up?  Ready to be a part of history?”  The massive man, Cypher, glared at him.  

“We have need of your help, Lord Trazyn.  After you are…” he looked around, noticing the completely empty walls of the tomb, “Done here, we wish to speak with you.  Your… expertise is necessary.”  Trazyn grinned, the necrodermis teeth of his death mask coming together.  A necron grinning was a very bizarre sight.  

“Ah, you flatter me, Lord Cypher.  And from one who has bedeviled the Imperium for ten thousand years and fought the Deceiver himself, such flattery is most appreciated.  However,” Trazyn gestured around, “As you can see, my work consumes me.  I’m afraid history stops for no one.  Except you.”  He held out a tesseract labyrinth, his voice flowing with mischief.

“Wait!” replied Cypher.  “We have need of your help,” he repeated.  “If you do not join us, then events will transpire that will result in the eventual destruction of reality,” he stated calmly, as if he were simply talking about the weather.  “It might not happen now, or later, or even in a century, or millenia, but I know for certain it will happen.  Everything you hold dear, everything you have worked so hard for over these billions of years, will be gone.  If you help us, we will most likely succeed, and in payment we will offer to you the greatest treasures in the universe.”  Cypher held out a hand.  “So what say you, Trazyn the Infinite?  Are you ready to change history for once, instead of just cataloging it?”  Trazyn pondered a moment, his neural circuitries firing faster than any mortal could keep up.  Eventually, he took the hand.

“I accept.”

And there we are.  I hope you enjoyed it, and if you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, questions, or requests, feel free to contact me!  Wherever you are, have a great day!

[teknicianwrites]

Welcome to DADWC! How about "I’m tired…I’ll nap. Destroy the universe later" for Sera and Inky?

Thanks for the prompt! Here is some Sera/Adaar, with a small side of Adoribull. Had a lot of fun writing team Chaotic Gay. A little fluff, a little h/c.

@dadrunkwriting

Akeelah rolled out from beneath the falling dragon, the leather of her coat nearly catching in the monster's claws as it crashed into the ground. Hot blood sprayed across her vitaar as she let out a wild cry of triumph.

"That's what I'm fucking talking about!" Bull crowed, whooping out a deep laugh that Akeelah joined with a victorious shout to the sky. Bull bounded to her side and grabbed her shoulder. "Boss. Boss. That was incredible. Tell me we're going to do it again. You feel it too, right? It was amazing."

"That was- it- that-" she tried, utterly incapable of finding words in Common or Qunlat to express the absolute feral joy pumping through her veins.

"That was the hottest friggin' thing I've ever seen!" Sera leapt on her back, nearly making Akeelah overbalance as legs wrapped around her waist and hands gripped her shoulders. Bull steadied her with a knowing grin before stepping back to give them space. Sera gave a light tug at her horns, and Akeelah ignored the pulse of pain from the bruises she'd earned when she'd been too slow with a fade step. "Get that shit off your face so I can kiss you," Sera murmured in her ear.

"Yes, ma'am." Akeelah let Sera pull her head back, shivering at the command and the hungry look in Sera's eyes. She righted herself to search through the pack at her hip and pulled out a clean rag she soaked from her canteen.

Cleaning the poison from her face took an eternity as Sera whispered suggestions of all the things she wanted to do once they were alone at camp. Akeelah whined when Sera proposed sending the others back ahead of them and not waiting for a tent, and firmly reminded herself that Sera would not appreciate surprise hallucinations if she wasn't thorough and kissed her with deathroot on her lips.

"Savages, the lot of you," Dorian called as he picked his way carefully out of the treeline, regarding their display with amusement. Sera broke her litany of lurid fantasies to stick her tongue out at him, and Akeelah used the reprieve to dry her face with a clean cloth, satisfied when it came away with no lingering traces of vitaar.

Bull grinned and strode to Dorian, tugging him by the belt and resting a hand on his ass. "You love it."

"Hm, hardly," Dorian sniffed. Akeelah smiled when he rolled his eyes fondly as Bull pulled him closer. "Ah, no, Sera is quite right. Paint comes off before you get your mouth near me," he tutted, a firm hand to Bull's pauldron. Bull moved in a playful threat like he might try anyway, and chuckled as Dorian slipped free from his grasp.

It made Akeelah feel warm, watching them. She still wanted to beat Halward's face in for the shame he'd instilled in his son. It had taken long months before Dorian had stopped tensing anytime Bull expressed his affection publicly, and though Dorian was still cautious in unfamiliar company, it was gratifying that he felt comfortable around her.

Sera broke her train of thought when she swung around to Akeelah's front and pulled her in for a desperate kiss. Akeelah moaned into her mouth, tasting the bittersweet hint of elfroot that lingered on her lips. Sera gripped her horns for purchase and Akeelah winced.

She broke from the kiss, giving Sera a reassuring smile at her confusion. Normally Akeelah enjoyed Sera's fascination with her horns, which Sera had quickly learned to take advantage of. She tilted her head to the side so Sera could see the bruising above her ear and gently repositioned Sera's hands to her neck.

"You're getting quite skilled with that sword, dear Herald," Dorian said conversationally. Sera made a grumpy sound against her jaw when she turned to him to grimace at the title. He smiled winningly at the reaction to his teasing. Any other man might have looked awkward, standing in a clearing watching two women tangle together shamelessly while waiting for his own lover to finish washing up, but Dorian stood regal as ever. "Soon you'll be giving our Madame de Fer a run for her money."

Sera looked up from where she'd moved to Akeelah's throat. "Oh, piss on Vivvy," she sneered. "Coryphenus better be shaking in his knickers, Buckles can take the whole friggin' world."

Akeelah's vision swam as Sera's animated gestures moved too fast for her eyes to follow. She blinked, trying to focus, and gripped Sera tighter to keep her from falling as she completely let go of her neck to make rude gestures at an imaginary Vivienne.

"Aiming too low there, Sera," a deep voice said from behind her. Akeelah jumped, heart racing at finding a Qunari at her side… but it was Bull. Of course it was Bull. She knew Bull. Bull was her friend. Bull was safe. "With us at her side, I think she can take the universe."

"And destroy it as she does so, with you two at her back," Dorian quipped, twirling his staff lazily. It made Akeelah's stomach turn as it spun, sparking with idle lightning.

Akeelah didn't understand whatever Sera said back. It was too loud, right in her ear. She tried to step back, but Sera came with her. That's right. Sera was wrapped around her. Can't step away. Gotta put her down.

She glanced around for a spot free of dragon blood, and the sunlight glinting off the creature's scales hit her like daggers through her eyes. She snapped them shut and tried to breathe.

Everything was so bright. Everything was so loud. Everything was too much. It all made her dizzy. It was exhausting. She was exhausted.

"I’m tired," she whispered, trying to remember what they were talking about. "I'll nap. Destroy the universe later."

Hands suddenly gripped her coat tight. "Buckles? Hey, woah, Buckles!"

She whined at the voice and opened her eyes. Things looked different. Sera was taller than her. How had that happened?

Oh. Because she was kneeling. She remembered wanting to sit down. She wondered if she'd done it on purpose.

"Boss, you ok?" Bull crouched next to Sera in front of her, his good eye looking at her in concern.

Akeelah tensed at the Ben Hassrath being so close. She felt behind for her staff, panic mounting when she couldn't find it. How did she end up unarmed this close to him?

"M'fine," she lied, fighting back dizziness, unwilling to show weakness to a Qunari.

No. Not Qunari. Not Ben Hassrath. Tal Vashoth. Bull was Tal Vashoth. Why did she keep forgetting? She was fine. She was safe. "Sleepy," she slurred, lowering herself gracelessly into the grass.

"No, no, no, none of that." Warm hands were on her face and she whined when fingertips pulled her eyelids open. Dorian gazed intently into her eyes. "Well, hopefully the universe doesn't hit as hard as a dragon's tail. I do believe our Inquisitor has a concussion."

"Well, fix it!" Sera shouted. Why was she shouting? Shouting made her stomach turn. Akeelah tried to shush her and was ignored. "Wave your magic fingers or whatever and get rid of the concoction!"

Dorian snorted and cupped her cheeks. Warm hands got warmer, and she sighed contentedly at the feeling of his magic against her scalp.

Sera dropped to her knees and stared intently at Akeelah's face, ears twitching as Dorian's fingers prodded gently along her skull. She looked scared. Akeelah didn't want her to be scared.

"You make the best concoctions," Akeelah told her, brushing uneven golden hair from her eyes. "I like it when you throw bees."

Sera's face softened and she caught Akeelah's hand to press a kiss into her palm. "Hey, you're cute like this and all, but you're freaking me out," she said into her skin. "Come on, Dorian, do something!"

"Sera, this thing I'm doing right now?" he asked through gritted teeth. "This is me doing something. I am 'waving my magic fingers' as we speak. Head trauma is not my specialty."

Sera looked ready to yell at him. Akeelah pressed her hand more firmly on Sera's mouth to stop her. "Shhh. Head hurts. Quiet is nice."

Sera bit her lip and resumed her silent vigil, gripping her hand tight. Bull squeezed her shoulder. "It's ok, Sera. Concussions aren't that bad. I've had dozens."

"That explains so much about you," Dorian muttered as his fingers prodded near her left horn. Akeelah winced and he focused his magic there.

Something eased in her head, relieving a pounding tightness she hadn't fully processed until it was eased back. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

Gradually the pain faded to slight pressure. Nausea and dizziness receded, and when she opened her eyes the light no longer felt like an enemy combatant. She let out a breath of relief.

"Ok, I've done what I can," Dorian announced after a last sweep around her head. He stood, brushing leaves and dirt from his knees. "Varric's friend should still be at Skyhold, yes? We'll have him take a look at her when we get back, but I think she'll be fine."

"What do you mean, you think?" Sera demanded as Bull helped Akeelah to her feet.

"I'm a necromancer, not a spirit healer," Dorian explained impatiently. "I'll be of more use after she's dead."

Sera whirled on him, murder in her eyes, and Bull stepped between them.

"She's not going to die, Sera," he placated. "He's being facetious."

Sera halted her advance as her face scrunched in confusion. "There's fish?"

Bull chuckled, and Akeelah was gratified the deep rumble didn't set her ears ringing. "He thinks he's cute."

"Well, it's not! Her maybe dying isn't friggin' cute!" Sera glared at Dorian, who raised his arms in apology or surrender. Akeelah gently pulled her back against her chest.

"You're cute," she told her, kissing her hair. "The cutest. Prettiest woman I know."

Tension melted out of Sera as she leaned into her. "... you're not too bad yourself," she said, turning to wrap Akeelah's waist in a fierce hug. "Don't you die on me, yeah? I'll be real mad if you die on me," she mumbled into her shirt.

Akeelah smiled and bent to give her a proper kiss. "Ok. I won't. I promise. Still got the universe to fight, remember?"

Sera giggled and pulled back, quickly wiping at her eyes. "I'll hold you to that."

"I would advise not holding her horns until Hawke looks at her," Dorian called over. "She still has a head wound. Don't undo all my hard work in a fit of passion."

Akeelah grinned when color rose to Dorian's cheeks as Bull whispered something in his ear. She would put all her money on it being filthy and related to his own affinity for horns, judging by the flustered way Dorian smoothed out his tunic.

She smiled down at Sera and was surprised to see she looked stricken. "What's wrong?"

"I made you worse," Sera told the ground. "You were fine and then I just started grabbing your horns after you got hit in the head and then you fell-"

"Hey, no." Akeelah tilted her chin up and Sera met her gaze reluctantly. "I thought I was fine too. Now we know. No horns after a dragon to the face."

Sera huffed, the corner of her mouth quirking. Akeelah kissed her twitching lips until they stopped fighting to frown. She caressed her cheeks, and Sera grabbed her coat, and Dorian cleared his throat.

"I do hate to interrupt a good time, but I'm not comfortable leaving you behind until you've seen a proper healer, so unless you have a thing for exhibitionism…"

"Spoilsport," Bull laughed. "I wanted to see how long it took them to remember we're here."

Sera made a face. "Pfft, fine. Let's head back to camp," she said grumpily. Akeelah took her hand and Sera squeezed it as they started walking.

Bull put an arm over Dorian's shoulders and pulled him in; Dorian sighed and allowed it. "Come on, the sooner we get back, the sooner we can celebrate. And we've all got a lot of celebrating to do."

[corseque]

Okay I’ve been solidly reading all your amazing critiques/posts on Solas and I’m curious; what’s your thoughts on the development team running out of time to create other romance options for Solas? I adore what we got, but I can’t help but think a human noble romance would’ve been just as interesting in a different way.

(spoilers for inquisition)

They’ve talked about this a couple times, and they said the only ONLY reason why they could even entertain the idea of including it was that it cost SO few resources while being so extremely thematically rich. “That’s thematic AND price-affordable!” I’m direct quoting exactly what they joke about it. They couldn’t shoot the idea down because it was so good and so easy to say yes to.

That said, trickster gods are pansexual as a rule, beings who cross boundaries and are not hemmed in by labels or distance or time or barriers or gender, so like, the only thing I really would change about Solas’ writing is this part. I don’t think it’s mythologically sound unless he’s pansexual. So it makes sense to me that everyone would be thinking about how strong the writing would be in a romance with the other Inquisitors, because it makes sense on a deep and mythological level that he’d be capable of that. 

That said THAT SAID, I do incredibly appreciate how SPECIFIC this romance gets in elven stuff, and I think it’s the strongest romance because it’s so specific. So I would hope that if he had romances with Cadash or Trevelyan or Adaar, it would be as specific. Though I’m not sure how you could write that and have it come near the strength of Solavellan, just in terms of it being SO SPECIFIC and gutting. He’s a god in LAVELLAN’S religion. He knows LAVELLAN’S history. It’s about elves, and it’s strong because it’s about elves. The other ones, in terms of Inquisition, I imagine would kind of be like “you’re a god in a religion I’d never paid any attention to at all” which is not as strong, and the betrayal is a little removed. It would have to be a whole different track than that, and maybe even different thematic writing. So it kind of comes back to why they made the decision the way they did. It was thematic AND price-affordable. It still doesn’t make sense to me personally unless he’s pan.