#Woven Rook

[crowtoed]

What if instead of an age difference argument Mourn Watch!Rook and Emmrich cut locks of one anothers' hair the night before the Big Battle.

[inquisimer]

the rook/lucanis is sneaking into this viago & rook fic which, considering how often the reverse has happened, is only fair I suppose

[midnightwind]

oh, 10 Year's Just Can't Win is like perfectly made for Rook and Solas huh lmao

[witchypandamonium]

I get to info-dump about all my headcanons for my Rooks? Hell yeah!

Evelyn Ingellvar:

• Daughter of a (human) Mourn Watch Mortalitasi (F) & an escaped elven slave (M), not that she ever really knew them--they met during a rare expedition her mother took, but shortly after Evie's birth her father's master tracked them down and sadly killed both parents as they fled to Nevarra; her mother managed to make it to the Necropolis before she died, and the spirits, hearing her mother's last wish, kept the baby alive until the Lich Lords found her and entrusted her to the Mourn Watch. • A mage talented in fire magic (Veilfire was her first spell and comes most naturally to her, as she is a bit like Cole--Fade-touched), she also has a unique rapport with most of the spirits of the Necropolis, though she lacks Emmrich's corpse-whispering ability. Having trained in sword-and-shield tactics by a reanimated skeleton tutor, she fights very similar to the Crow spell-blades with a Dr. Strange-esque shield buckler on her off-hand, though she keeps her first shield--a fractured piece of a coffin lid--as a good luck charm. • After being asked to step away from Nevarra thanks to her handling of the undead rebellion, she found her way to Tevinter, almost immediately stumbling upon a Shadow Dragon unit ferrying escaped slaves, and happily--unprompted--acted as a distraction and misdirection for the pursuing Magister's cronies. • Allowed into the ranks by the Viper after a small vetting period, she voraciously absorbed all knowledge of the wider world in her downtime, with a passion for history and at least a passing ability in most other magic schools. Her cover identity allowed her to do a lot of intel-gathering and sabotage of many Venatori nobility, though she became the mysterious thorn in the side of one particularly nasty Magister (who I've yet to name). She was forced to reveal herself when one job went bad, but fortunately that was when she met Varric and was hired on as part of his team to search for Solas. • Never truly felt as though she belonged, being a half-elf, until she was adopted into Varric's family of misfits, she quickly became the front-man of the group, donning many disguises and applying the occasional muscle to further their search. • Is in a poly relationship with Emmrich and Lucanis (and Spite).

Marco de Riva:

• Child of two Tal-Vashoth, Antaam defectors who, similarly to the Butcher, fell in love with Antiva, its bas, and its culture. When the Antaam returned to occupy Antiva, they were unfortunately recognized and executed for their defection. • Getting by as nonbinary Qunari urchin, they were adopted by Viago for their ability to hide in plain sight and tanky fortitude (they may have been witnessed surviving eating a few poisonous fish). • Typical Himbo sans the "him", they usually are passing as a simple dock laborer with a massive hammer--they'll find their opportunity to snap a target's neck in a secluded spot and then go right back to working, disappearing into the crowd. • Right horn was snapped off in a nasty clash with an Antaam patrol when they disobeyed orders to save a handful of people from being shipped off and sold as slaves to Tevinter--one of which happened to be Varric. They rushed in alone, surviving the overwhelming odds by the skin of their teeth, culminating in a desperate unarmed brawl with the commander. • Has a Grog & Pike friendship dynamic with Harding. • Secretly loving someone who can overpower them, they quickly fell--and fell hard--for Taash.

Viktor Thorn:

• Basically Viktor from Arcane, but-what-if-ftmtrans-and-Warden. • Born to two simple toolsmiths in the largest town in the Anderfels, he was a troubled youth that stole and picked fights, eventually running away to join a small thieves gang where they continued to turn their misunderstood dysphoria into crime and violence. • A blight surge unfortunately hit the town, most of his thief compatriots dying to the darkspawn--he was horribly wounded and blighted saving one of his last friends, only surviving thanks to the intervention of the Grey Wardens (though he lost most of his right leg). • It was thanks to his new comrades that he finally learned the source of his discomfort and transitioned, as well as found his strengths in creating his own weapons and tools to compensate for his disability (using what knowledge of his parents' trade he could remember). He will be forever grateful for the Wardens saving his life in more ways than one and giving him purpose. • Don't let his leg prosthesis and slight frame fool you--he is a dangerous rogue with an abundance of tricks, gadgets, a rapid-reload crossbow, and several very sharp knives. • Finds love and camaraderie with Davrin--they have each other to thank for recovering after the fall of Weisshaupt.

I'm still working on the other origins.

...I realize this was mostly just a fun flavor post that I turned into a whole backstory dump post. Whoops.

I need a distraction from thinking today, please tell me the weird things about your Rook.

You'll have my eternal gratitude and love <3 Edit: Please check the comments and reblogs for excellent weird facts about people's Rooks. They're a really good time and I have a deep appreciation for the thought that went into their answers.

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Neve (and Tevinter) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Neve:

General:

Neve isn’t rich, and her best coat is a gift from a grateful tailor after she saved his warehouse from an arsonist

Neve’s coat is woven with enchantments to resist fire and lighting 

Neve has never done blood magic. She is against it on principle and judges those who use it 

Neve doesn’t seem to like entertaining extreme hypotheticals since she reacts to Harding’s questions like “What would you take with you to a deserted island?” with asking why she would end up in such situations in the first place 

Neve wouldn’t want gems on her leg, because she thinks they would get stolen within a day of working in Minrathous, and she generally prefers to keep a low profile while on the job

However, she still considers saving up for a new, fancier leg to have more fashion choices. She likes Taash’s idea of getting a ruby inlay for it

Neve never visited Rivain before joining the Veilguard, though she now finds its beaches charming

Ever since she was a baby, Neve was stubborn and asked too many questions (and hated unanswered questions as well)

Neve likes Qunari food but thinks it’s very spicy

Neve likes seafood 

Neve doesn't drink tea

Neve isn’t really close with her family

Neve once tried to use a wisp-repelling artefact the Veil Jumpers found to get rid of the wisps in her room, but it only attracted wisps from the entire Lighthouse

Neve isn’t interested in exploring the mysteries of the Lighthouse because she has enough mysteries on this side of the Veil

(If Rook chooses to save Minrathous) Neve sends civil engineers to assist in Treviso 

On work: 

Neve didn’t want to be a detective when she was a child (not as if in she didn’t like the idea, she just didn’t consider it), though she didn’t have any dream career either 

Neve got into detective work by picking up odd jobs and building a reputation of being good at finding things. Eventually, she was hired to find someone’s brother, a case nobody else wanted to pick up, and her career took off 

Neve agrees that she is cynical and married to her job, but doesn’t consider herself ‘serious’  

Neve allegedly has a system for sorting her papers (Emmrich and Rana are sceptical about its existence) 

(If Neve becomes Dock Town's protector) Elek is implied to visit the Lighthouse again multiple times. Taash mentions seeing him poking around the library. Neve explained that he thought he could grab some fade-touched items to sell, and told him to run the plan by the Caretaker (one would think they did not approve)

On life in Minrathous: 

Neve was born and raised in Minrathous

Neve has never been inside the Archon’s Palace

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve doesn’t regret letting Aelia live because she got information on Venatori out of her, and her death wouldn’t change the past

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve gets to take a break for once in her life because Rana keeping an eye on the Dock Town actually helps

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) People gossip about Neve and Rana after they start their agency :)

Neve describes the rain of Minrathous as "cold fingers down your neck", but she misses it now that she's away from the city. The sound helps her fall asleep 

Neve’s entire apartment could fit inside villa Dellamorte’s dining room 

One of Tevinter papers referred to Neve as "Dock Town dirt-chaser," and to Emmrich as "sinister foreign necromancer”

A Tevinter paper called The Minrathous Herald once wrote that Neve should be exiled. The same paper called Shadow Dragons “traitors to the Empire” 

Neve never runs out of ink because she's on good terms with Minrathous ink sellers 

There is however one banter where she runs out of ink (I think it was with Davrin). Make of that what you will. 

On the Shadow Dragons: 

Neve didn't know Dorian personally until she joined the Shadow Dragons

Neve figured out the Viper's identity even before joining the Dragons. Her not revealing it to the public is one of the reasons he recruited her

Tarquin calls Neve a pain in the ass 

Relationships with companions: 

Neve calls Manfred ‘Fred’ (he seems to like that)

Manfred learns to say Neve's name (likely only happens if you revive him at the Necropolis, though I am not sure)

Neve introduces Lucanis to a spice shop in Dock Town

Harding describes Neve’s tastes in coffee as “made of gutter water filtered through an old sock”

Lucanis once showed Neve’s coffee to Viago. He found it “unsettling” 

Davrin thinks drinking Neve's coffee is worse than the Joining

Neve spoils Assan (but denies that accusation)

Neve is rather quick to consider questioning corpses with Emmrich’s help for her cases 

Neve is very apprehensive about lichdom and the perspective of Emmrich eventually turning evil (just like Emmrich isn't thrilled about her taking over the Threads for similar reasons)

Lucanis is concerned about Neve taking over the Threads. Mainly, about how much they are paying her

Neve has multiple banters with Taash discussing her relationship with Lucanis. Taash initially thinks of it as some sort of predator-prey dynamic, but Neve says she is not into that and explains that they are taking it slow and cautious. They both went through a lot of pain in their lines, which they tend not to show for different reasons

Neve's relationship with Lucanis is also more than she usually looks for with people

Neve takes Taash to Hal’s fish fry stand. Taash loved it :)

Taash offers Neve help on ladders in case she may need it/it gets stuck on steps due to being hook-shaped, mentioning they knew a Lord of Fortune who lost a hand and whose shoulders hurt while climbing because of it. Neve seems to appreciate the gesture, even though she can handle herself

Neve thinks Taash is nice to work with, offering help without being overbearing like some people are

Neve asks Taash to teach her Gold Thief (a Lord of Fortune dice game), so she can play it with the Shadow Dragons, and then subsequently gets beaten by the Viper

On Tevinter: 

Fashion is important in Tevinter because a good outfit lets people know you are under the protection of someone powerful

There aren’t many mages in Docktown, which is one of the reasons the government doesn’t care about it 

The big red cat near Halos’s stand is named Ferdinand

Stains on clothes can be cleaned with magic

You can get pineapples anywhere in Minrathous 

Neve calls the magic used for the lights in Minrathous a party trick, but Emmrich considers it a high-level enchantment because of its quality and duration

Tevinter doesn’t regulate the charms sold in the market (which is why there are a lot of scammers who sell fakes) 

[hattedhedgehog]

My (spoiler-free) thoughts on Dragon Age: The Veilguard

The review embargo has lifted and I can officially say that I've played through Dragon Age: The Veilguard early! 

Here are my spoiler-free thoughts and personal opinions on the overall gameplay experience: 

Narrative:

Rook's dialogue and decisions impact SO MUCH of the game, and come into play later on. From companions remembering your beverage preferences, to whether someone you spared shows up later to help or harm you, it feels like the game is paying attention and that you matter.

The stakes are unbelievably high. The Evanuris are utterly terrifying villains, in ways that Corypheus wasn’t. You really feel the magnitude of their power on a personal level as well as a worldwide level.

Whatever your thoughts on him, Solas is FUN as a character. He’s fun to talk to, fun to talk strategy with, fun to rile up and verbally spar with and fun to grudgingly ally with. Now that he can drop his former act and appear to you as the Dread Wolf, and you get to see his memories, you and he team get to decide how to utilise his knowledge and how far your trust extends.

The setup and payoff of the story beats are absolutely superb. The emotional turmoil as a player of being ensnared by things that was foreshadowed earlier in the game is utterly exquisite. Every thread of the larger tapestry has been woven with so much love by the writing team, and every character’s arc tie into the larger story in interesting ways.

The characters feel like they have full lives outside of the player character. You frequently go exploring their home turf and can meet their friends and family. They interact with each other on their own and move about the Lighthouse to spend time together, leave notes for each other, and talk about each other even when the other isn’t there. The team feels like they all really care about each other as well as you. 

You can tell what your approval rating is with characters, but if you want to romance them you have to put some thought into it. Interactions and world events besides the heart on the dialogue wheel influence their attraction to you.

Gameplay:

The combat is very engaging, and I enjoyed how unique all the enemies were.

Abilities in the skill tree can be refunded so you can redirect to a different specialization, which is really handy if you’re indecisive and overwhelmed at first (like I get when choosing abilities).  Most companions can get healing abilities no matter what class, so you don’t have to worry about balancing your rogues/mages/warriors (most of the time).

Climbing, balancing on ledges, using ziplines and sliding down slopes made environments feel more immersive. Additionally I like how each companion has unique abilities that let them interact with the world (fixing mechanisms, breathing fire, summoning bridges from the Fade, etc), and learning their abilities alongside them helps you grow closer.

The wayfinder light makes everything feel streamlined, so it's way harder to get lost while exploring an area. I hardly had to look at the mini map at all, and usually I’m glued to it! This meant I could actually look around at the beautiful environments and appreciate how lively they were, even without NPCs.

The upgrade system is far less overwhelming than in Inquisition; there are a finite amount of weapons/armour/accessories to be found, which are designed for each specific character like in DA:O and DA:2. There's also no longer crafting from scratch. If you loot an item you already have, it automatically upgrades the single item rather than giving you duplicates.

You know that frustration of coming across higher-level armour that just isn’t as flattering as your current one? Not to worry, you can collect “appearances” which you can toggle on as the visual for the armour while still retaining the benefits of the original.

I cannot stress enough how simple and easy to use the inventory is. It's heavenly. 

Using the shops of specific cities increases your reputation within those cities, which is a good incentive to explore and use the shops. I usually hate in-world shopping but here it was simple, and thinking about it tactically worked pretty well.

Quests sometimes reach a point where you can't continue at your current place in the story, and must return to in later acts. When re-exploring familiar areas, everything feeling big enough to be fresh with each visit, and new loot and codex entires appear.

Edit: something I forgot to mention. In character creator, you get to make your Inquisitor after you make Rook. The build menus are all the same, so manage your energy accordingly for doing it all again immediately after for your Inky. I spent an hour and a half building my Rook and wanted to get right to playing, and had to re-wire my brain a bit to be patient and keep going with the CC. (Seeing my Inquisitor with new graphics was awesome though).

A couple little things I appreciated:

The control sounds are very pleasing. From the whoosh of opening the combat wheel to the clinking of upgrades to the subtle whir of holding the decision button, they're a nice touch.

If companions are interrupted in conversation by combat, they resume it afterwards with a "what were you saying before?".

Photo mode is so fun to play with, and you can adjust blur/brightness/lens/depth within the scene. You can also toggle on and off the visibility of your Rook, your party, NPCs and enemies!

Assan learns new interaction tricks at the Lighthouse as the game goes on.

Nitpicks:

Overall I had an incredibly positive experience. The gripes I had were tiny things like:

I genuinely like the new art style of the game as a whole. However, the blurriness of some of the features in contrast with some elements being very crisp was distracting.

When trying to sell valuables for faction points without using Sell All, it takes quite a long time to count up all the individual sales, and it isn't a live counter. So it's kind of annoying if you get +3 points for each item you sell, need 150 points to get the next tier of items, and over 10K worth of valuables that you want to sell to other factions. 

If you do lots of quests without returning to the Lighthouse often, occasionally companions at the Lighthouse will have dialogue pertaining to the quests you've just finished as if you haven't done them.

You can pet the dogs and cats in the cities, but Rook turns their back to the camera to do it and it blocks most of the action unless you rotate quickly.

Gender stuff:

I was incredibly moved that not only can Rook be trans/nonbinary in the character creator if you so choose, but they get options to feel differently about their identity and journey, and it impacts their dialogue and how they relate to other characters! To access this make sure to interact with Varric's Mirror in your room in the Lighthouse. There are many conversation options throughout the game to discuss your identity with other characters, or relate your change of self to other situations. Crucially, it comes up when entering a romance and you have to communicate with your partner about it, which I never even THOUGHT of including in a game because it seemed impossible to even allow trans main characters to begin with.

There are also multiple trans and nonbinary characters throughout Thedas. What I found the most realistic was that just like in life, it is a consistent presence in any character's life, and comes up in conversation more than once. I have never seen a game this forthcoming and open about the topic of transitioning, and it was so validating. 

Final thoughts:

I adore the other games in the franchise. Something about The Veilguard affected me in a way no other game has. I cried multiple times while playing this game, both from joy and sadness. What struck me most is that the people who worked on this game REALLY listened to feedback from previous games, and were very set on making a piece of art that meant something to people. Even during the last few years of me testing the game, things have been adjusted and changed in direct response to our reactions and suggestions. It's surreal and quite touching.

Mileage will vary, but my playthrough was 70 hours on very low difficulty and I haven't done every side quest yet. I could easily have spent more than 100 hours in the game if I wasn't pressed for time.

I hope you enjoy this game as much as I have. See you in Thedas.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ When you are his arch-nemesis

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia

(Slight tw: mentions of violence and scheming)

✧ The black rook captures the pawn, putting the white king in check. 

For Pierro, 500 years of strife do not compare to the centuries of toil between you and him. Your dissension against the Fatui has swathed the organization in a bigger tribulation than any Heavenly Principles or centuries-old feud could. Yet to comprehend your tactics, it left The Jester to spend innumerable evenings in his office, hands clasped as his pondering ends to further frustration. 

Two enigmatic masterminds, one of the Fatui Harbingers and the other of the Abyss Order. Like opponents of a cunning chess match, you and Pierro quarreled over each piece and pawn, the cool chessboard transforming into your mutual battlefield.  

The white queen moves closer, allowing for the exchange of queens, and placing the black king in check.

To the inexperienced gaze, your whereabouts are unknown, and your moves even more indecipherable. However, to the Jester, whose sharp eye learned to seek nothing but your trail, he learned to dissect your every move like a jeweler appreciating a rare cut gem. He does not shy away from using his pawns wisely, sending out more powerful Harbingers against your Abyssal Heralds. 

And just like him, your hand doesn’t shy to strike his pawns. If he sent the Doctor, you’d retaliate with Rhinedottir. And if he dared to dispatch The Captain, your next knight piece, Surtalogi, would respond. You were no simple competitor, you were the rightful opponent to the Director’s scheming mind, his own talents put to the test as you used the Sinners of his homeland against him. He may sacrifice all his chess pieces, yet to reach you is a most stifling feat. 

Perhaps the longing for a single glance of you is worth the weight of centuries spent plotting. Whenever Pierro pushes the gnosis piece against the familiar chessboard, he imagines your piercing gaze in the shadows of the Zapolyarny Palace. Is your smile one of derision or provocation? Whatever it is, your hand emerges from the shadows, and the opposing pieces shift. The queenside pawns are traded, a rook stands on a 3 vs. 3 on the kingside, and as ever, the futile waltz of trading and jettisoning pawns continues between you and Pierro.

Yet, for over five centuries, this dance has been his greatest anticipation. Even if he must sacrifice everything to reach you, your elusive nature keeps rendering him motionless in awed admiration.

Draw agreed, neither side can make progress. 

✧ The only mutual language between you and Il Capitano has always been the clangorous clash of swords. The sound of steel against steel would reverberate throughout the plains in a tempest of precision, each strike a measured step in your relentless contest. But while the Captain respected you as a rival whenever a duel is foreseen between you two, you abhorred the Harbinger with simmering disdain.

The Captain wore the weight of people's admiration like a cloak woven from responsibility and honor, each accolade another thread in his solemn mantle. You, however, cradled the world’s fear as one might clutch a bouquet of thorn-laden roses. You were not a warrior basked in glory, but a defier of Teyvat’s natural order, remaining in the periphery of shadows as you carried out your tasks. Until he'd show up. The Fatuus would bow to you, knowing soon you two would duel once more, while you stared at him like he's an irksome inevitability one must deal with in their job. 

“Do you have to be present everywhere I go? Please make yourself scarce.” 

“Then we do not have to clash. Our confrontations can avoid bloodshed.” 

But you never heeded him. You despised his calm attitude, how he was cautious with you, how he sidestepped the storm of your onslaught rather than meeting it head-on. Even if his fighting spirit told him to linger closer, to know what it's like to let you dig your fingernails across his back, it was a silent pull he refused to indulge. Instead, he concealed his ambition, his lingering gaze tracing your form behind that pitch-black helmet. 

When you fought, Capitano knew you’d accomplish everything to overwhelm your opponent. You would sooner shatter your own bones than concede an inch. The force you exhibit in a single strike leaves an inhuman impact that crushes mountains into rubble, yet the agony that ripples through your limbs remains buried beneath practiced silence. Never once did you step back when you felt the strain of your legs when Capitano retaliated against you.

It took the Captain a while to find you after your ‘tactical retreat’. As he suspected, each battle leaves you in lonesome dishevelment, clutching your sprained limbs, barely able to drag yourself from your secluded refuge. 

“Do not lecture me on the fragility of life, Captain. Your words would be hypocrisy against your goal to pursue death from the Shade.”

You hissed, stifling your cry of pain when ice was applied to your sprained ankle. Il Capitano listened gravely to you, his hand gently holding your leg while spreading careful doses of cryo against your skin. His armored fingers gently glided across your skin, careful even when you reluctantly allowed him this close.   

“So you knew of my intentions…” 

He sighed. It seems the 1st Fatui Harbinger wasn’t the only one clawing toward the leylines, seeking passage beyond the veil. Or perhaps you always noticed how he clutched his chest. Either way, whether you despised him as an enemy or not - he hoped he’d never meet you in the Leylines of the Night Kingdom. He hoped that, at the very least, once all was said and done, you would find solace in never having to see him again.

✧ Il Dottore loathed you. Immensely. The moment he unearthed the truth of your rare blood and unnatural constitution, his obsession took root. He pursued you with relentless precision, weaving elaborate schemes to ensnare you within his grasp. In his usually imperious tone, he introduced himself at last as the 2nd Fatui Harbinger, his title laced with the weight of infamy. Your first response?

“...Who? Never heard of ‘em.” 

He gritted his teeth silently. Pursuing knowledge requires finding rare specimens as a test subject, but in his hunt for you, his patience and sanity became the test subjects instead. Due to gratuitously absurd circumstances, The Doctor never managed to capture you. You always slipped past his trail, as if casually waltzing off his snares and several ambushes that revolved around Fatui subordinates capturing you. You don’t even break a sweat, forever conveniently escaping his grasp when the 2nd arrives on site. No fights, no arguments, not even a courtesy of a glance. 

…How he wishes to just grip your wrists and cuff you to an operation table to- 

Yet the battle of wits must be omitted and instead, a more physical approach shall be initiated. If you deem yourself so highly that you won't spare the Harbinger a word, then it is time he calls you on a proper fight. 

“I have waited for far too long. If you continue to be a coward, you'll leave me with no choice but to seize you by force.”

You blinked at him, unfazed by the favorably advanced claymore he materialized within his grasp. Your response?

“...ok?” 

Except when you arrived prepared for the fight, you didn't come unattended. A Khaenri'ahn woman stood beside you, far from pleased to be in this confrontation as suddenly this wasn't a private reckoning between you and Dottore. Rhinedottir — "Gold” was now entangled into this. 

“What? Did you assume you were the only visionary scholar out there, trying to sample me? You mad scientist folk are all too boisterous. Rhinedottir, you can beat this Fatuus to a pulp and I will rightfully give you a drop of my blood as a sample. If the Harbinger wins, he shall receive it instead.” 

Why, you smart little- Dottore felt a vein throb at his temple, your audacity driving him to grit his teeth and lash every curse word in 20 languages available in the Akademiya's archives. You dare all this because you couldn't even bother to fight him head-on, utilizing one of the Five Sinners against him out of malignancy. Yet his time of rebuttals was cut short; the Harbinger found himself now fighting one of the most dangerous inventors of a fallen kingdom. And unfortunately for him, the old hag was as cunning as he is. 

Il Dottore swore an oath to do the unimaginable once he wins this competition and captures you. To yank you by the hair and drag you to the deepest part of his lab. You, however, sat there, leisurely at ease, as if indulging in an afternoon picnic while watching the chaos unfold. Young Blood vs Old Blood. The truth is, you know these two would rather annihilate each other to ashes before either of them concedes. 

How convenient for you – killing two birds with one stone. 

✧ Scaramouche's Inazuman origins are known to many throughout the Fatui Organization. However, few are aware of his keen hatred for the holy Narukami Shrine of Inazuma. Alas, who would be better to oversee the illegal distribution of delusions under the nose of the Shogun than the 6th of the Fatui Harbinger?

Thus, here he was, sent to a formal negotiation to alleviate the tension between the Fatui operating in Yashiori Island and the vigilant Narukami Shrine maids. Formal meetings like these are prevalent in the discourse of politics, and unfortunately, the Harbinger was to represent this operation. Luckily for him (or unluckily), it wasn't Guuji Yae who was dispatched from the Grand Shrine. The Balladeer was met with a different high maiden, sitting elegantly by the tatami mat when he arrived. 

“Hm? Just some lowly shrine maiden to bid the fox’s bidding? Let’s hope we’re not wasting each other’s time.”

“And the Ichimatsu doll has returned to its homeland after wandering the foreign theater. Fret not, Harbinger; this is but a formal meeting.” 

Oh, so that's how you want to play this. Clutching his fists against his lap, the Harbinger continued:

“The Fatui are just conducting international trade business with the Kanjou Commission to ship local resources like Crystal Marrow from Tataratsuna. Surely the people of Narukami can comprehend that? Unless the Sakoku Decree shut off not only borders but people’s minds too?”

You showed no discontent at Scaramouche’s tone. Instead, you delicately reached for a parchment paper and ink brush - “We have a rare saying in the Grand Narukami Shrine that aids in dispelling unpleasantries in the presence of evil,”

“Spare me your blessings and ofuda talismans, I do not wish to hear your prayers to the “almighty” Shogun fo-”

“We say “screw off” and the bane of all evil shuts its mouth,” - you lifted the talisman with your handwriting, presenting it with an austere smile. The ink is still fresh in the words 'screw off' you just scribed. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He sees why they sent you specifically.  

This went on for months. Each time the Harbinger oversaw the discreet operations between the islands, you were there - convenient as ever. Wasting the Balladeer’s time about how it was a shrine maiden’s duty to “perform cleansing rituals around the infested land of Yashiori” or “to ensure the well-being of all common folk, even if they were Snezhnayan soldiers”. Scaramouche was not blind. He knew you were handily posted there under the innocent pretense of a meek maiden - in truth, you were gathering intel, prying into every shadow where the Fatui’s misdeeds festered. 

He couldn’t afford the Shogunate to uncover the truth; that the Fatui were siphoning the wrath of old gods to forge delusions. And you concealed what you knew. Thus, forced to play by your game, the two would end up with passive-aggressive “business talks” 

“Surely the Grand Narukami Shrine doesn’t send lonesome shrine maidens so far off? Unless you are as blind as you are horrible with navigation to wind up all the way here.” 

“Ah, your concern flatters me. But do not mind me, maybe I am not the only one lost here. Maybe a wandering puppet is also somewhere he ought not to be.” 

“Hmph. Watch your insolent mouth. Your Archon will not save you once your pretty face gets decimated. 

“Oh? Is that part of your Kabuki theater performance? I do love performances. What’s the name of your role? Is it still the “6th of the Fatui Harbingers” or the previous name?” 

You were truly more insolent than that pink fox. This is why Scaramouche abhorred low-profile missions. The most demanding aspect of running an undercover operation is stopping himself from striking thunder into your whole body and putting you in place. Perhaps then you will no longer smile so slyly at him. Even if it fueled his fixation to bicker more with you behind a polite cup of sencha. 

✧ “Ancient Moon fragment shard, an inestimable gem, setting for 30 million by Lord Harbinger Pantalone. 30 million mora, Do we have a higher bid than 30 million?”

The auctioneer’s voice rang out in a poised yet urgent cadence, addressing a room brimming with influential faces. Amidst them, Pantalone sat with effortless elegance, a composed fixture among the eager bidders, his assistant sitting nearby as they took note of the ongoing bidding progress. The rare silver debris sat in an enclosed glass casing, displayed in all of its glory to future buyers. They say it was unearthed from the outskirts of Nod-krai. However, tense silence soon settled in the auction hall, for it was clear who the highest bidder was.

“Seems this was faster than I anticipated,” – The Regrator smiled, whispering to his assistants “Get ready to send invoices to the auction staff, we will be leaving so-” 

Suddenly, an unwavering voice rang out from the back – “50 million.”

A wave of hushed murmurs rippled through the grand halls, bustle returning to the room. Pantalone didn’t even register the number at first, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion when the auctioneer announced: 

“50 million, a giant sum! Now against you, sir. 50 million. Do we have a higher bid than 50 million?”

Pantalone's composed demeanor shifted into uncertainty. He cleared his throat and raised his number – “51 million”

“51 million, do we have a-”

“60 million.” – that same voice called out. More gasps of disbelief ensued.

“75 million!”

“110 million.” 

An entourage of ridiculous numbers volleyballed back and forth between the Harbinger and an unknown new bidder. The audience of businessmen and former contenders shot their glances from you to the Regrator. What had begun as an easy acquisition had spiraled into a staggering war of hundreds of millions. All for a single fragment of celestial stone. At last, the auctioneer brought the gavel down for the final closing in your favor – 170 million mora for the Ancient Moon fragment shard, and for the first time in ages, someone outbid Pantalone. 

“Find out who this newcomer is,” – Pantalone whispered sternly to his assistant, adjusting his shirt cuffs to conceal his simmering frustration. How does a first-time bidder easily swoop in with hundreds of millions when none have heard of them? When he stood up under the pretense of making light conversation with his “new opponent” he was surprised to see you wasting no time with trivialities with fellow noblefolk. You just came in, received your auctioned item, and left silently just as you came in. 

"You see, ever since that auction, I had difficulties reaching out to you. And I couldn't leave such a rare mystery escape me with no introduction," - he spoke when you two met at last, his smile suave as he handed you a glass of champagne "Pantalone, the Regrator. With pleasure, dear."

You looked unimpressed but obliged - "Perhaps you mean a rare luxury getting bought right under your nose, mister Harbinger? No need for introductions. Everyone knows your name."

It was a rare crack in his impenetrable veneer. One minute he is smiling politely at you, but beneath that polished exterior, his mind reeled. Negotiations with you were a lost cause. You never entertained his offers, never indulged in polite courtesies, never once left room for cooperation. Instead, you outbid him: on assets, on stocks, and, on rare occasions, even in exclusive dealerships.

An endless struggle of one-upping the other, a silent war waged in wealth and influence; especially when he sought your company whenever you were present. Yet what deal cannot be sweetened by Mora? As a sign of peace, he sent out gifts of gold and luxuries to you. You would respond with an appreciative nod, stepping closer until you could whisper alluringly in his ear:

“I have no need for such cheap trinkets. Save your pocket change next time. You might need it once I bankrupt you.” 

✧ In the days of old, when Tartaglia was a mere merry child in kindergarten - you and him were childhood “friends”. Well, friends, according to his parents. In truth, on the first day of kindergarten when little Ajax greeted you with a big toothy grin - you silently blinked at him and threw a ball in his face.

“Hey! What was that for, you big meanie?!”

“You’re too loud. You could’ve caught my ball instead of standing.” 

When Ajax was still a schoolboy, he had the misfortune of being in the same school and class as you. Probably the misfortune of growing up in a small, Snezhnayan town. Now in elementary, recess was a fleeting paradise of snow angels and playful battles, children laughing as they hurled snowballs at one another. Amidst the flurry of winter playtime, he spotted you peacefully building your snowman nearby. So naturally, he scooped up a small lump of snow and threw the ball at your back, a camaraderie way to invite for play.

What you did is run full speed at the boy and tackle him. It was a good thing that the teachers were nearby when they heard Ajax scream as you two almost rolled off a snowy hill.

“They tackled me first!”

“No, he attacked me first.” 

These were the fond memories of the 11th Fatui Harbinger, filled with mischief and boyish adventure. Occasionally, he sighs with nostalgia whenever he sees children playing in the snow. He wondered how life had shaped you, now that time had pulled you both onto separate paths, adulthood sweeping away the reckless days of youth. Perhaps he could say he even misses those childish fights with y-

Nope, never mind, you are standing right in front of him now.

“Huh? What… what are you doing here?” - he pointed at you in utter bafflement, seeing you in a unique Fatui uniform.

“Hm? Haven’t you received the news? I am your supervisor from now on.”

He took his words back, he absolutely didn’t miss you. He didn’t miss how calm and collected you were, from childhood to current adulthood, as if nothing fazed you. Most absurdly, how in Tsaritsa’s name does a Fatui Harbinger get someone like you as a training supervisor? He is the 11th; associates such as yourself work under him, even if Tartaglia would never enforce such principles.

“Hold that thought, is this a crude joke?! Who even assigned you?”

You reached for the clipboard in your hands – “Uh, someone by the name… Punella… Pulcinella? Chicken?”

“You don’t even know the name of the Harbinger that employed you?!!!” 

This was outrageous. A cruel jest of fate. Why would The Fatui even accept someone for the likes of you in their ranks? Judging by the fact you are sent by the Rooster, you weren’t some lackey either, but one who overlooked formal matters and ensured strict adherence to Fatui standards. Noticing his aghast tone of denial, you crossed your arms.

“Watch your tone, young man. From now on, all your progress as the 11th will be delegated to me. You better show some respect.”

“We are literally the same age!”

Perhaps those two little kids had never truly disappeared, only their playground had changed. Where there were once snowy schoolyards, there were now cold, disciplined Fatui training halls. Whenever you and Childe were in each other’s presence, any semblance of civility or maturity was promptly discarded. Bickering comments and familiar acts of physical nagging always remained. Only Pulcinella, the 5th Fatui Harbinger, stood by the hallway from afar, chuckling with parental mirth.

“Ah, childhood sweethearts. How delightful.”

I am back! Requests are back, feel free to chat or just share your headcanons with me. Otherwise, you may check my art or masterlist with the rest of the fanfics. Thank you for reading.

[lotuswish]

˗ˏˋ what they gift you for valentine’s day 𐙚 .ᐟ

synopsis: valentine’s day means something different to each of them—some treat it like a grand romantic event, others act like it’s just another friday, and a few are probably panicking last-minute. but whatever they give you, one thing’s for sure: it’s undeniably them, for better or worse.

featured character(s): lilia vanrouge, malleus draconia, silver, sebek zigvolt, leona kingscholar, ruggie bucchi, jack howl, vil schoenheit, rook hunt, epel felmier, jamil viper, kalim al-asim, riddle rosehearts, cater diamond, trey clover, ace trappola, deuce spade, azul ashengrotto, jade leech, floyd leech, idia shroud, no ortho shroud

content warning(s): none!

a/n: happy valentine’s day! ❤️

link(s): (masterlist)

an overly extravagant display of affection

why settle for one gift when he could give everything? a sea of roses flooding your dorm, an entire box—no, several boxes—of gold-wrapped chocolates, or even fireworks painting your name across the night sky. to him, valentine’s day isn’t just about romance—it’s a stage, a perfect excuse to turn his feelings into something grand. love, in his eyes, should be seen, felt, and impossible to ignore. he doesn’t believe in halfway gestures; if he adores you, the world will know it.

⤷ kalim, malleus, rook

a single, meaningful item that shows they know you

this isn’t just a generic valentine’s day gift—it’s something that proves he listens. something small you once mentioned in passing, something he went out of his way to track down, something that perfectly aligns with your tastes in a way that leaves you wondering just how long he’s been paying attention. maybe it’s a first-edition book from your favorite author, a piece of jewelry that fits your aesthetic so well it feels like he had to have spent time picking it out, or a limited-edition item from a brand you once mentioned offhandedly. it’s not about extravagance—it’s about thoughtfulness, about making sure you know he sees you.

⤷ idia, jade, jamil, leona, ruggie, vil

a carefully crafted, handwritten letter

it's more than just a few words hastily jotted down onto a card—this is a letter, deliberate and meticulously composed. every word is chosen with purpose, every stroke of ink placed with careful intent, as if he agonized over each line, rewriting certain sentences more times than he’d ever admit. it feels less like a simple valentine's note and more like a confession woven into ink, every phrase carrying the weight of emotions he might struggle to voice aloud. this gift is more than a simple gesture—it’s a glimpse into the feelings he’s likely held onto far longer than he ever intended.

⤷ malleus, riddle, rook

a bouquet, but with intention

it’s not just about flowers—it’s about what they mean. this isn’t some store-bought, last-minute bouquet; every bloom has been deliberately chosen, each one carrying a message. roses for love, lilacs for first emotions, camellias for admiration—there’s no need for him to say anything outright because the meaning is woven into every petal. whether he expects you to recognize the symbolism or not, the sentiment is there, tucked between soft petals and carefully arranged stems. and if you do look up the meanings? you’ll see everything he couldn’t quite put into words.

⤷ cater, epel, trey,

jewelry, meant to be worn always

it’s not flashy or excessive, but it’s meant to last. a necklace, a bracelet, a ring—something simple but chosen with care, something that feels right for you. the weight of it is subtle but constant, a quiet reminder of him no matter where you are. he won’t say it outright, but the thought of you wearing something from him every day pleases him. and if anyone asks where you got it? well, he wouldn’t mind hearing you say his name in response.

⤷ floyd, jamil, leona, lilia, ruggie, sebek

a luxurious experience rather than an object

he sees no reason to limit valentine’s day to just a material gift—not when he could give you a memory. a private dinner under candlelight, an exclusive event, a perfect evening where every little thing has been arranged so you don’t have to lift a finger. it’s not just about extravagance (well, maybe partially); it’s about making sure you feel special, about ensuring this night is one you won’t forget. to him, valentine’s day isn’t about what you receive—it’s about how he can make you feel.

⤷ azul, jade, kalim, malleus, rook, vil

handmade, because it means more that way

he could have just bought something, but that wouldn’t have meant enough. instead, he put in the time and effort himself. maybe it’s a home-cooked meal, carefully prepared with your favorite flavors in mind, or a bouquet he arranged by hand rather than picking something up from a florist. maybe it’s a small carved trinket, a handcrafted piece of jewelry, or even a carefully stitched charm meant to bring you luck. perfection isn’t the goal—it’s the sincerity, the intention behind giving you something that holds a part of him.

⤷ deuce, epel, jack, jamil, silver, trey

something playful, because love should be fun

who says valentine’s day has to be serious? he doesn’t just want to give you a gift—he wants to make you laugh. maybe it’s a ridiculously oversized plushie, one so big you practically have to wrestle it through your door. maybe it’s a scavenger hunt, little notes leading you to the actual gift just to watch you figure it out. maybe it’s a box of chocolates with one secretly filled with something spicy, just to see your reaction. love doesn’t always have to be grand or serious—sometimes, it’s just about enjoying each other’s company.

⤷ ace, cater, epel, floyd, lilia, ruggie

something simple, but given with genuine care

he doesn’t make a big deal out of valentine’s day, and he doesn’t see the point in overcomplicating things. what matters is that he thought of you. a warm cup of your favorite drink waiting for you in the morning, a carefully wrapped box of chocolates, a small charm for luck. he won’t make a scene about it, but there’s something undeniably sweet about how naturally he makes sure you’re taken care of.

⤷ deuce, idia, jack, jamil, sebek, silver

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

[solxamber]

HEHEHGIGUGI ITS ME AGAIN THE SERAPHIM AND THE CAT ONE

Can i request a witch reader with Vil, Rook, Trey, and Malleus!! (I forgot if its 4 limits or 5, whoops but only that) You can write however you like if its headcannon or how you write it!! Also can you do it on Romantic shshsh‼️‼️🫶🫶

Rook, Trey, Malleus, Vil with a Witch! Reader

hi! thank you for waiting and i hope you like it <3 (also there aren't limits for number of characters)

Rook Hunt

Rook, a true romantic and ever-curious soul, is constantly mesmerized by your craft. He adores watching you work, fascinated by every detail, and often appears just as you’re about to cast a spell, like he knows exactly when something extraordinary is about to happen.

One evening, he surprises you mid-ritual, leaning in to whisper, “Ah, the witch at work, casting beauty into the world.”

“Rook!” you laugh, a little flustered. “Aren’t you supposed to give me space to concentrate?”

“On the contrary,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Watching you brings me closer to the divine. It’s as if each spell you cast is an invitation to witness your heart.”

As he speaks, he presses a kiss to your hand, his words a spell of their own. You find yourself captivated by the unique magic only Rook can create—a blend of curiosity, charm, and unshakable devotion.

Trey Clover

Trey is both grounded and warm, and he respects your magical abilities without a hint of fear. Whenever you experiment with potion-making, he’s your quiet supporter, ready with any ingredient you need.

One evening, you’re preparing a special love potion—just for fun—and Trey chuckles as you explain the recipe.

“What, you don’t believe in love potions?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I believe,” he replies, pulling a stray leaf from your hair, “but I don’t think you need one. You’ve already cast your spell on me.”

You feel your face heat up, but Trey simply smiles, his gaze gentle and warm. He reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "Let’s skip the potions,” he says softly. “You and I don’t need magic for this.”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is captivated by your magic, drawn to you as if he’s known you for centuries. He’s endlessly curious about your spells, often standing nearby as you perform them, his eyes watching with reverence.

One misty evening, he finds you crafting a charm under the moonlight. As you finish, Malleus steps forward, his expression unusually soft. “Your magic… it has a warmth that even my fae spells lack.”

“You flatter me, Malleus,” you reply, smiling up at him. “I’m honored to have caught the attention of someone so powerful.”

He takes your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles with an old-world elegance. “Power means little to me if it cannot protect what is precious.” His gaze is intense, holding yours. “And you, my dear witch, are precious indeed.”

Under the stars, Malleus’s words hang in the air, leaving a warmth that feels like it could last an eternity.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil has always been enchanted by beauty in its many forms, but there's something about your magic that captivates him in a way he never expected. He watches you as you work, studying your movements as if each one were part of an intricate dance. One evening, he finds you under the warm glow of candlelight, carefully crafting an enchantment, your hands moving gracefully over the ingredients.

He steps closer, his voice smooth and gentle. “Do you realize the spell you’ve woven on me without even trying?” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on you.

You smile, slightly flustered but intrigued. “I could say the same about you, Vil.”

Vil reaches for your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Then perhaps I’ve found the magic that surpasses any potion, any spell.” His gaze is intense, unwavering, as if he’s seeing right through to your soul. “Stay close to me, won’t you?” he asks softly, the hint of vulnerability in his words surprising but endearing.

With a smile, you nod, finding comfort in his presence. Vil leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, his touch gentle and reverent. “You’re more captivating than any beauty I’ve ever known,” he whispers, his voice filled with a sincerity that leaves your heart racing.

In that quiet moment, it’s clear that he isn’t just drawn to your magic—he’s drawn to you.

Masterlist

[thevulturesquadron]

I've seen a couple of takes on what Varric is in Veilguard, what Solas's role is in 'keeping Varric alive' and I love to read people's interpretation of it, so I thought I'd throw my own two cents on the table.

I never saw Varric as a spirit or something Solas created/ manipulated through the blood connection. Varric was something Rook constructed. The only thing Solas did was to make Rook completely forget he was dead. Turn their confusion into denial, both through the use of blood magic (literally reshape their memory) and through lies. The rest was Rook. This is very important to me because it's a key element of the story: a story about guilt, about the strength you need to overcome it lest it cripples you. Varric's presence for Rook is about traumatic events that you just push out of your conscious mind because guilt and grief, and emotions in general, can be strong enough to take you out of commission. It's a recurring theme in the game - as an example, Lucanis in his quest is literally paralyzed because he doesn't want to face the outcomes of the choices he needs to make. It feels well woven into the story how Varric's presence is something Rook made up.

He's the voice in their head that they talk to when they panic and don't know what to do. As an aside, the absolute contrast between the fact that the dialogue options when dealing with the companions' problems are always reassuring vs. the doubt and exhaustion in Rook's voice when they're talking to Varric is striking! Varric is the conviction that keeps them going. It's what Rook thinks Varric would have said. So in a way EVERYTHING that Varric says to Rook is what Rook says to themselves. It's why the last thing you tell Varric, at the end of the proper goodbye, is 'I know where to find you when I need you': because it shows acceptance, and it shows that Varric will always be the voice in Rook's head that will provide reassurance. It's what people go through: grief, doubt, and finding answers within themselves. It's not uncommon for throughs in your head (both negative and positive) to take on the voices of people in your life. For me, in this bittersweet instance, it's all Rook. Moving on to Solas and how he plays into all of this. I don't think there was any good intent behind Solas's manipulation. There was no benevolence, there was just selfishness, but in the most painful way. The only heartfelt thing Solas did was when he said to Rook 'Tell Varric I am sorry'. That line was so twisted and beautiful because it had two edges: on one side it was manipulative, to check that Rook still believed the lie and to continue building on it, and on the other, it was pity and selfishness. He didn't say that for Rook or Varric. Not really. He said it for himself. Because the only Varric that was still alive was in Rook's head. So if Rook's version of Varric accepts his apology, it gives him a bit of comfort, forgiveness, and absolves him of murdering his friend. That line is SO, SO selfish and intricate. It's beautiful! Such fantastic writing.

The only reason Solas played with Rook's mind in this manner is because he thought it could chain Rook to his prison through their own grief and guilt. That was his plan because his own shortcomings meant that he could only perceive Rook as a mirror of himself. Pridefully, he couldn't see Rook through any other lens. As a result, he is fully convinced that once Rook realizes Varric is dead, after so much time spent in denial, it will break them and keep them trapped in there forever. He allowed Rook to forget his death so he could drown them in so much guilt that his prison would mold itself to them. Solas thought Rook is just like him. That his pain, grief and loneliness are justified punishments, that they are absolutes. He was convinced there was no way of interacting with these emotions other than his. And Rook proved him wrong. I can go as far as saying it's the proof that Solas has been looking for for the past 10 years. That he is wrong and that there IS another way. Rook outgrowing their guilt and self-pity for the benefit of others: that is the first real crack in Solas's own prison.

I could talk endlessly about how the game deals so fantastically with the motifs of guilt, grief, and choice, with the ideas of using others as mirrors of ourselves, but I think this at least sums up how I feel about the whole Rook - Varric - Solas dynamic.

[novaursa]

The Blood We Choose

- Summary: Gwayne brings you to Dragonstone, to your sister. But it is Daemon who awaits you both.

- Pairing: Gwanye Hightower/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after Where Banners Fall. If you want to read parts before this one in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 4 356

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The scent of salt and brine clings to the air, sharp against the faint undertones of decay and blood—a constant reminder of the battle left behind at Rook’s Rest. You can still feel the memory of fire scorching your skin, the cries of Silverwing echoing in your ears as she fell from the sky, taking you with her. 

Your body aches, every breath a laborious effort as you sit propped against the rough-hewn wall of the small cottage. The village is a quiet one, nestled by the coast, far from the eyes of any lords or soldiers. A place where neither banners nor blood oaths hold sway. Here, you can pretend, for a brief moment, that the world is not consumed by war.

But it’s a fleeting delusion. The searing pain that courses through your side is a constant reminder of how close you came to death. Silverwing’s warmth had shielded you as much as she could, but nothing could stop the might of Vhagar. You know that if it weren’t for Gwayne, you would have perished alongside your dragon, your body left among the ruins.

Gwayne Hightower. His name lingers on your tongue, filled with both bitterness and something else you dare not name. He betrayed his own for you—forsook his House, his loyalties, everything that defined him as a knight of the Greens. For you. The memory of his desperate voice calling your name as he found you below Silverwing’s wing is fresh, a rare vulnerability exposed beneath his normally composed demeanor.

“Y/N,” Gwayne’s voice, low and rough, breaks through the silence of the small room. You look up, meeting his gaze from across the dim space. He’s seated near the hearth, his own wounds not fully healed, a dark bruise blooming along his jawline and his side still tightly bound. 

“What is it?” you rasp, wincing as the movement strains your ribs.

“You should eat more.” He gestures to a small bowl of fish stew beside you. The smell is unappetizing, but you know he’s right. You need strength if you’re to survive this war, if you’re to return to Dragonstone—to your family.

You give a small, reluctant nod, dipping the spoon into the lukewarm broth. The taste is bland, the texture thick in your mouth, but it’s enough to soothe the gnawing hunger in your belly.

“Daemon’s been searching,” Gwayne says after a moment, voice hesitant. “Caraxes was seen flying from Harrenhal. He’ll come for you.”

There’s a flicker of something dangerous in his tone, a tinge of possessiveness that makes your chest tighten. Daemon. Your husband. Your son’s surrogate father. You hadn’t told Gwayne about the child until that morning when pain had stripped away all pretense and left only raw confessions in the dark. It was the first time you saw something break in his eyes, something beyond duty or loyalty. Gwayne is a man forged in duty, yet in that moment, his loyalty had been to you, and only you.

The silence stretches between you both, heavy with unsaid words, unshed tears, and the tangled web of emotion that neither of you are willing to fully confront. How could you? You were always meant to be Rhaenyra’s little sister, the one whose role was to support, never to lead. Yet here you are, a thread woven into a tapestry that binds you to two men who could tear each other and you apart.

“If Daemon finds us…” Gwayne starts, his voice trailing off.

You lower the spoon, your hand trembling slightly. “You’ll run.” It’s not a question. You know what will happen if Daemon catches Gwayne with you, the traitor Hightower who saved his wife instead of leaving her to her fate. Daemon would kill him without hesitation.

His jaw clenches, eyes darkening with a mixture of anger and resolve. “And leave you alone? I think not.”

You shift, ignoring the pain lancing through your body. “This was never supposed to happen,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. You close your eyes, picturing Silverwing’s brilliant wings and the sight of Dragonstone on the horizon—your home. You ache to be back there, where the sea winds carried the scent of salt and freedom, where you could be Y/N Targaryen again instead of a broken remnant.

Gwayne’s presence is a steady warmth in the room, a contrast to the cold reality of the war raging beyond these walls. You want to hate him for making you feel something other than loyalty to Daemon all these years, but you can’t. Not after he’s saved you, cared for you, and stayed by your side despite the danger. Even now, with your heart and mind divided, you know that whatever he feels—duty, love, or perhaps something in between—it is real. And it terrifies you as much as it comforts you.

“Why did you do it?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

His gaze locks with yours, unwavering. “Because I couldn't let you die.”

Your breath catches. The simplicity of his answer is profound. No grand declarations, no lofty promises, just the brutal, honest truth.

Before you can respond, the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel outside the cottage makes you tense. Both of you are on edge, the brief sense of peace shattering like glass. Gwayne moves instinctively toward the door, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. 

It’s only the fisherman, his weathered face peeking through the gap in the door. “Tomorrow,” he says quietly. “The boat’ll be ready at dawn. The tides’ll be with us.”

You nod in gratitude, relief mingled with apprehension. Dragonstone is so close now, but you know the return will be fraught with more dangers than those you’ve already faced. 

As the fisherman retreats, Gwayne turns back to you. “We’ll get you home,” he promises, though there’s an edge to his voice that betrays his own uncertainty. 

Home. But what awaits you there? Daemon’s wrath? Your sister’s grief? And what of your son—your son whom you’ve not seen in so long, raised by a Targaryen father who knows nothing of the man who just saved his mother’s life?

For now, you can only rest, listening to the steady rhythm of Gwayne’s breathing across the room as you both try to find sleep in this fleeting calm before the storm resumes. You close your eyes, letting yourself drift, even as a part of you dreads what dawn will bring.

The sky above Dragonstone is dark, heavy clouds gathering as if reflecting the storm brewing within the walls of the ancient castle. The great red dragon, Caraxes, lands with a furious roar, shaking the stones beneath his claws. Daemon slides from the saddle, his face twisted in rage, eyes burning like molten steel. Every step he takes towards the Great Hall is filled with barely-contained fury, the kind that simmers just below the surface and waits for the slightest spark to ignite into violence.

He bursts into the hall, his armor still stained with ash and soot from his fruitless search. Rhaenyra stands by the fire, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though seeking warmth. She turns as Daemon strides in, but before she can say a word, his voice cuts through the silence, sharp as Valyrian steel.

“You sent her to Rook’s Rest? You sent her?” His words are laced with venom, each one a dagger aimed directly at her heart.

Rhaenyra flinches, but she holds her ground, lifting her chin defiantly. “She volunteered, Daemon! She insisted. It was her choice.”

“Her choice?” he spits back, stepping closer, his anger radiating from him like heat from a forge. “She’s no warrior, not like Rhaenys! You sent her to die, Rhaenyra! To die at the hands of Aemond and that wretched beast of his!”

Rhaenyra’s composure cracks then, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I trusted her! She’s my sister—our blood! I thought… I thought Silverwing—”

“Silverwing is dead!” Daemon’s voice thunders through the hall, a raw, agonized sound. “She fell, trying to protect her rider from Vhagar and Sunfyre. And Y/N? She’s gone, Rhaenyra. Taken by Gwayne Hightower. A Hightower! You might as well have killed her yourself.”

At that, Rhaenyra’s tears break free, streaking down her pale cheeks. “I never wanted this! I would never—”

“Spare me your tears,” Daemon snarls, his eyes narrowing in cold fury. “You speak of choices, yet you chose war over your sister. You sent her out to face death while you remained safe in your castle, protected by your crown. Do you know what it’s like to watch the skies, knowing that the one person who never turned her back on you is likely lying dead, or worse, in the hands of our enemies?”

Rhaenyra’s sobs wrack her slender frame, but Daemon is relentless. He steps closer, so near that he could reach out and touch her, but his hands remain clenched at his sides. “You sacrificed her for a battle that did nothing but weaken us. Aegon still holds King’s Landing. Silverwing is dead, Luke is gone, and now Y/N… she was the last thread of innocence left in this gods-forsaken war, and you ripped it apart.”

Rhaenyra shakes her head desperately. “I thought—Daemon, I thought she could reach them. Convince them to surrender before more blood was spilled. She believed in it too.”

“And now she’s paying for that belief with her life,” Daemon hisses. “Do you understand? Her life, her blood. And for what? Nothing.”

The hall falls silent, the air thick with tension, with grief and fury that neither of them can fully articulate. For a moment, Rhaenyra looks utterly lost, her shoulders sagging under the weight of all the loss that surrounds her. “What am I supposed to do, Daemon? Tell me. What can I do now?”

Before he can respond, a new voice cuts into the fray, youthful but tinged with urgency. “What’s happening? Where is my mother?”

Daemon stiffens, turning slowly to face the boy who has entered the hall. He’s just shy of manhood, tall and lean with the unmistakable features of House Targaryen—silver-gold hair, sharp cheekbones, and the stubborn fire in his gaze. But his eyes, those striking eyes of clear blue, are not Targaryen at all. They are Gwayne Hightower’s, and they haunt Daemon every time he looks at the boy.

The boy’s name is Vaeron, the son raised by Daemon as his own, the boy who never knew the truth of his parentage. Vaeron looks between his father and his aunt, sensing the tension, the raw pain in the air.

“Where is she?” Vaeron’s voice trembles now, the bravado slipping. “Where is my mother?”

Daemon’s expression softens, if only by a fraction. He crosses the distance to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. “Your mother was ambushed at Rook’s Rest,” he says, each word carefully measured, as if they’re knives he’s forcing down his throat. “Aemond and his dragons brought her down. Silverwing is dead.”

Vaeron’s eyes widen, disbelief and horror written across his face. “No,” he breathes, shaking his head as if denying the truth will somehow change it. “She can’t be dead. Mother can’t be—”

“She’s not dead, not yet,” Daemon cuts in, his voice harsh. “But she’s missing, taken by Gwayne Hightower. And I’ll find her, Vaeron. We’ll find her together.”

The boy’s gaze sharpens, anger and grief mixing with determination. “I’ll go with you,” he says, the words coming out more like a plea than a declaration.

Daemon nods, the cold steel of his resolve hardening. “You’ll mount your dragon, and we’ll take to the skies. We’ll search every inch of the realm if we have to.”

Vaeron swallows hard, the weight of what’s being asked of him sinking in. He’s still so young, yet there’s no more room for youth in this war. He nods, determination etched across his face. “For her. For my mother.”

Daemon’s grip on his son’s shoulder tightens for a moment, the only hint of the fierce protectiveness he feels beneath the layers of rage. “For her,” he agrees.

As they turn to leave, Rhaenyra reaches out, her voice breaking. “Daemon… please… I’m sorry…”

Daemon doesn’t look back. “You can’t afford to be sorry, Rhaenyra. Not now. Not ever.”

The boy’s eyes meet Rhaenyra’s for a moment before he turns away, following his father out into the cold winds of Dragonstone. They leave her behind, standing alone in the dim light of the hall, tears streaming down her face, a queen weighed down by guilt and grief.

The dragons will soon take flight again, this time driven by fury, by a father’s desperation and a son’s determination. And neither Daemon nor Vaeron will rest until they bring her back—no matter the cost, no matter the blood they must spill.

The small fishing boat creaks under the weight of the sea’s relentless pull, the salt spray clinging to your face as the wind howls around you. Each dip and rise of the vessel feels precarious, the threat of capsizing ever-present. You cling to the rough wooden edge, your body still weak and aching from your injuries, but your eyes remain fixed on the silhouette of Dragonstone on the horizon. The ancient fortress looms like a jagged tooth against the darkening sky, its towers piercing the clouds.

Gwayne stands beside you, his gaze scanning the skies as if expecting danger at any moment. His face is shadowed, exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes, but there’s a tension there too—an unspoken fear that you both share.

The fisherman grumbles curses under his breath as he wrestles with the sails. He’s an old man, his hands gnarled from years at sea, but his sharp eyes occasionally flicker toward you, a mixture of recognition and pity in his gaze. “Prince Daemon’s got the skies set ablaze with his searching,” he mutters, his voice rough like gravel. “And now that boy of his—Merothrax near sunk me last time they flew overhead.”

As if on cue, the air vibrates with the distant sound of wings, a deep thrumming that sends shivers down your spine. You glance upward and catch sight of them—two dragons cutting through the sky like living shadows. Caraxes, with his serpentine neck and blood-red scales, moves with a terrifying grace, his roar echoing across the waves. Beside him is Merothrax, Vaeron’s dragon. Sleek and deadly, the young dragon’s scales are a deep, shimmering indigo, laced with streaks of silver that catch the light when he dives. His wings are larger than one would expect for a dragon of his age, giving him a natural agility in the air. His eyes, a piercing shade of gold, scan the sea below, hungry and watchful.

The boat rocks violently as Merothrax swoops low, his wings stirring the water into frothy waves. The fisherman shouts a stream of curses at the sky, clutching at his hat as the gust from the dragon’s wings nearly tears it from his head. “Damn Targaryens, more fire and madness in them than sense!”

Gwayne’s hand is suddenly on your arm, steadying you as the boat pitches. “They’re looking for us,” he says grimly. “Daemon won’t stop until he finds you.”

“Or finds you with me,” you say, your voice quieter than you intend. There’s a deep tension in your chest, not just from the pain but from the knowledge that each moment brings you closer to facing the storm you left behind. 

Gwayne doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze is distant, lost in thoughts he hasn’t voiced since you confessed your secrets that day—secrets you had buried for too long. The memory of that confession hangs between you both, a reminder of how fragile this moment of safety is.

“You’re thinking of Vaeron,” Gwayne says softly, finally breaking the silence. “Of what happens when he sees me.”

You nod slowly, your throat tightening. “He’s never known who you really are. Daemon raised him, taught him to ride, to fight. Vaeron idolizes him… but he deserves to know the truth.”

Gwayne’s jaw tightens, and his hand drops away from your arm. “I knew of the boy. Rumors reached me—stories of the bastard prince raised by the Rogue himself. But I never… I never thought he’d…” His voice cracks at the end, and you hear the quiet grief in his words. The grief of a father who never had the chance to be a father. 

You turn to him, your heart aching for what you’re about to say. “He’s yours, Gwayne. He always has been.” The admission is heavy, laden with all the years you’ve kept the truth locked away. “Daemon knew from the start. He saw it in Vaeron, even before the boy could speak. But he accepted him anyway, for my sake, and for Rhaenyra’s cause. He never let Vaeron feel unwanted, never let him know he wasn’t his own blood. But those eyes… they’re yours.”

Gwayne’s expression is unreadable, but you see the storm behind his gaze—the battle between duty, regret, and a father’s yearning. “I should have been there,” he says hoarsely. “I should have been the one to raise him, to teach him. Instead, I’ve been chasing ghosts and loyalty that never truly mattered.”

“You would have been hunted down if you claimed him,” you remind him, your voice laced with the bitterness of harsh reality. “Your House would have disowned you—or worse. You would’ve been executed for treason.”

“And now I’m here, having betrayed everything for the woman I…” Gwayne stops himself, the words strangled in his throat.

You don’t push him. The truth lingers between you like a wound too fresh to be probed. You lower your gaze to the churning sea, feeling the boat rock again as Caraxes circles back toward Dragonstone. “He’s a good boy,” you say quietly. “Stubborn, with fire in his blood. But he’s kind, too. He has your strength, even if he doesn’t know it.”

Gwayne’s hand finds yours, squeezing it gently, the roughness of his palm familiar and grounding. “I want to meet him, truly meet him. But what do I say, Y/N? That I’m the man who should have been there, but wasn’t?”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. “You tell him the truth. Vaeron deserves that much, even if it’s painful. We both know there’s no easy way to face it, but hiding it any longer would be a greater cruelty.”

The boat jerks violently as they begin their final approach to Dragonstone’s rocky shore. You see the shadow of the fortress loom closer, the narrow docks already in sight. The fisherman mutters another curse as Merothrax’s tail lashes the air overhead, nearly capsizing the boat. 

Gwayne leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “No matter what happens when we land, I’ll be by your side. If Daemon tries to take him from me, or if he tries to strike me down for what I’ve done, I won’t back down.”

Your heart clenches at the promise in his words, at the weight of everything that lies ahead. The shore draws near, and you steel yourself for what awaits—a reunion not just with Daemon and your son, but with all the truths that can no longer be avoided.

Above, the dragons circle, their roars echoing through the skies like thunder. The war rages on, but now it’s not just a battle for the throne. It’s a battle for the lives torn apart by secrets and the relentless march of fate. And as you prepare to step onto the stony shore of Dragonstone, you know that the hardest fight has only just begun.

The small boat bumps against the dock with a dull thud, the sound lost beneath the howling wind and the distant crash of waves against the jagged rocks. The air is thick with tension as the fisherman throws a rope to secure the vessel, muttering prayers under his breath, his eyes wide with fear as he glances toward the two dragons perched on the ridge above. Caraxes and Merothrax sit like twin sentinels, their eyes gleaming with the predatory awareness of beasts ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

You step onto the dock first, your legs trembling beneath you, both from the strain of your injuries and the weight of what’s about to happen. Gwayne follows closely, his hand hovering near his sword hilt, though you both know it would be futile if it came to a fight. The wind pulls at your hair and cloak as you move forward, each step taking you closer to the confrontation you’ve dreaded.

Ahead, you see them—Daemon and Vaeron. Daemon’s expression is cold as stone, his eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a hard line. Beside him, Vaeron stands tense, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of worry and anticipation. He’s grown so much since you last saw him, more a young man than a boy, but the flash of relief in his eyes when he sees you tells you he’s still your son, still that child who would run to you for comfort.

But before he can take a step toward you, Daemon’s hand clamps down on his shoulder, holding him back. “Stay where you are,” Daemon orders, his voice as sharp as a blade. Vaeron’s brow furrows, confusion and frustration evident in his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. He simply watches as you and Gwayne approach, his gaze flicking warily between you and the man who saved you.

The tension in the air is palpable as you reach them. Before you can speak, a detachment of royal guards emerges from the path leading to the castle, armor clanking as they fall into formation around Daemon. The commander steps forward and bows deeply. “Prince Daemon, we stand ready.”

Daemon’s eyes never leave Gwayne as he gives the command. “Seize him.”

The guards move forward, hands reaching for Gwayne’s arms. He doesn’t resist, but you see his jaw clench, muscles tensing as iron manacles click shut around his wrists. Panic flares in your chest, and you step between the guards and Gwayne, your voice rising in desperation. “No! You can’t just lock him away! He saved me, Daemon—he saved my life!”

Daemon’s eyes flash with something dangerous as he looks at you, his expression hardening further. “He’s a Hightower, and a traitor to his House. His loyalty to you doesn’t absolve him of that.”

You take a step closer, your voice trembling but determined. “It does when it’s a debt of blood. He risked everything for me—for us. He’s not the enemy here, Daemon.”

But Daemon’s gaze is unyielding, his anger a simmering force barely restrained. “The enemy is anyone who serves the Greens, no matter the reason. You think I care that he chose you over his House? That only makes him more dangerous. He’s already betrayed his own; what’s to stop him from betraying you, or Vaeron, when it suits him?”

Gwayne meets Daemon’s gaze, holding it without flinching, though you see the strain in his eyes. “I gave up everything for her. I’d do it again. But I know what I am, and I don’t expect your forgiveness.”

Daemon’s lips curl into a sneer. “Good, because you’ll get none from me.” He turns to the guards, his tone cold and final. “Take him to the dungeons. I’ll decide his fate once I’ve had time to consider what to do with him.”

The guards tighten their grip on Gwayne and begin to drag him away. You move to follow, but Daemon’s hand catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “Enough, Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice a mix of anger and something softer—concern, perhaps, though it’s buried deep beneath his rage. “He’s done what he thought was right, but it doesn’t change what he is.”

You jerk your arm free, glaring at him with all the defiance you can muster. “You’ve lost sight of what truly matters, Daemon. Gwayne’s no longer a pawn of the Greens—he’s here because of me. Because of Vaeron.”

At the mention of Vaeron, Daemon’s eyes flicker, but he remains resolute. “And I’ll not have him jeopardize our son’s safety, not for some misplaced sense of gratitude.”

Your heart aches as you watch Gwayne being led away, the clink of his shackles echoing in the quiet that follows. He walks with his head held high, shoulders squared, but you can see the brief flicker of pain in his expression as he passes by Vaeron. The boy says nothing, but his eyes track Gwayne’s every move with a curious intensity, as if trying to understand the connection between the man being led to the dungeons and his mother’s desperate pleas.

When Gwayne disappears around the corner, swallowed by the shadows of the castle, Vaeron finally breaks the silence. “Mother… who was that man? Why did he save you?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet your son’s gaze. “He’s… someone who once served the Greens but chose to protect me instead. He’s no longer a threat, Vaeron.”

Daemon releases his hold on your arm but keeps his eyes fixed on Vaeron. “He’s not to be trusted. Remember that.”

Vaeron nods slowly, his eyes still lingering on the path Gwayne was taken down. There’s something in his expression—curiosity, perhaps, or a flicker of recognition that he doesn’t fully understand. But he doesn’t press further, sensing that there are answers he’s not yet meant to know.

Daemon turns to you, his voice softer now, but still laced with frustration. “We’ll speak more inside. You’ve been through enough, and I’ll not have this discussion out in the open.”

With that, he leads the way toward the castle, the guards following closely behind. You fall into step beside him, though your thoughts remain with Gwayne, locked away beneath the stone walls of Dragonstone. Vaeron walks beside you, his young face set in determination as he tries to piece together the events swirling around him.

And as you approach the darkened halls of the castle, you can’t shake the feeling that the truths left unspoken will tear at the fragile peace you’ve only just regained.

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo - Ending 8: The Price of Beauty

WARNINGS: yandere themes

You hummed softly to yourself as you headed to the birds’ exhibit. You decided you’d mix things up and headed for the most elegant residents of the zoo: the peacock halflings.

The first peacock you came across was Epel, who was resting on a rock near the door of the enclosure. As soon as the door shut, the smallest halfling was shooting up off the rock, racing over to you in a flurry of blue feathers.

You smiled at him, “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yeah,” Epel said breathlessly, “You came early!”

“I did!” you laughed, “Well, let’s go find the others…”

It wasn’t a hard task. The marsh was only so big. Before you knew it, you were standing in front of the biggest, tallest rock, where Vil perched, looking over the land like Mufasa from the Lion King. 

“Good morning, Vil!” you said, shielding your eyes from the climbing sun as you gazed up at him. 

Vil barely turned his head, looking down at you out of the corner of his eye, “Ah, you’re here early.”

You smiled encouragingly, “Yes, I wanted to spend some extra time with you guys today.”

At your words, Epel let out a little happy noise. You wondered if you’d been neglecting the three peacocks.

Rook appeared out of a bush, making his way towards you with such grace and fluidity that you couldn’t look away. He put a hand over his heart and bowed deeply to you, “What a blessing it is to see you so early.”

You giggled at his noble response and said, “It’s great to see you too, Rook.”

Vil turned around suddenly, walking down the rock with measured, graceful steps, as if he was gliding down a runway. His eyes remained on you the entire time, making you feel small and insignificant.

Then, he smiled, and the feeling of being small evaporated. It was like he lit up the entire enclosure when he said, “We have something to give you.”

Epel bobbed his head, “I almost forgot! We made somethin’ for ya!”

Vil gave Epel a cold look and Epel repeated “something for you”, sounding much more formal this time.

“That’s so kind of you!” you gasped, “I’d be happy to see!”

The three bird halflings led you to a wooden chair, which had been covered with beautiful white flowers, woven together with vines. You blinked in surprise and confusion, “Wow! It’s beautiful! You said it’s for me?”

Rook grasped your hand and led you closer to the chair, “Sit.”

You took a seat in the chair, realizing that it was actually very comfortable, with a velvet cushion under you.

Vil drew in close, “You have always been the most beautiful girl- but beauty can be refined.”

“Huh?” you weren’t sure how to react to that sentence. He thought you were beautiful? The most beautiful? Surely you had misheard.

“Crowley gave us some gifts to use on you,” Epel said excitedly, brandishing a hair pin with a peacock feather on it. 

Suddenly, Rook was behind you, taking the rubber band out of your hair and brushing it. Vil swooped down on you, makeup brush in hand. Epel slid gloves onto your hands and put a pearl necklace around your neck when he had the chance between Vil’s treatment.

Before you knew it, a mirror was in front of you. The drastic contrast between your beautifully made up face, the necklace, and your braided hair versus your dusty zoo uniform was almost comical.

“Get in this,” Rook urged, handing over a beautiful but old-fashioned dress. 

“There’s nowhere for me to change,” you pointed out.

“We won’t look,” he replied, clicking his tongue. He and the other two men turned around.

You quickly changed, the new dress weighing you down. It was surprisingly heavy. You sat back down in the chair, “I’m dressed.”

The sound of metal hitting metal clanged through your ears. Suddenly, you couldn’t move your wrists. You looked down just in time to watch cuffs closing around your ankles. “What’s happening?”

“There, parfaite,” Rook murmured softly as he circled you like a shark. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

The cuffs chaining you to the chair were so dainty and elegant, they could almost pass for bracelets and anklets. You tugged, testing the cuffs, but they wouldn’t give. Your heart began to pound in your chest.

“What’s happening?” you repeated, voice weak. You glanced at Epel, expecting him to tell you it was just a prank.

Instead, the smallest peacock knelt down and adjusted the hem of your dress so that it concealed the restraints. When he had successfully moved the fabric to his satisfaction, he softly said, “Don’t be scared. We’re just makin’ sure you don’t run away.”

Vil smiled down at you.

“Beauty, refined. Now, you’re perfect.”

[linka-from-captain-planet]

fantasy:

I load up Dragon Age: Veilguard for my first play. After creating my Rook, I progress to a simple screen. "Continuing Your Adventure?", it asks, with a quick explanation that this part of customization is optional and will have no effect on the Veilguard story, but players of previous games can enter a few key choices and find easter eggs about them while exploring.

"Don't mind if I do!" I say, and am taken to a lovely interface where I make about 10 choices by selecting beautiful tarot cards representing the major outcomes of previous games. This is a pleasant experience, because each card is accompanied by a brief summary of that choice and an intriguingly vague blurb about the consequences it had over the past decade-ish in Thedas. Fun! I read the lore, admire the art, reminisce on playthroughs of yore, and enter Veilguard excited to experience the next part of the story.

Later, I loot an "Orlesian mask", and Rook or a companion delivers a banter line referencing the leader(s) of Orlais, whom I selected in world state customization. Hark, codex updated?! I open the entry and read it, and the text delivers payoff on the intriguingly vague blurb from the tarot card.

By the end of the game, I have found similar easter eggs for all of the world state choices I selected in customization. While it would have been nice for these choices to be woven more organically into the story, I understand why this would have been impractical, and am content to see my Thedas represented in a simple, fun, and engaging way :)

[kiame-sama]

Just wanted to say how much I mad LOVING the monster AU so far. Your writing is so good and I adore the world building. Hadn’t seen your stuff since chapter 9 (thought you may be taking a break or something) then I see chapter 17 pop up on my dash?! Scrolled through all your stuff and caught up :)

I wanted to ask how your AU would react to the MC getting into a magical accident and becoming a child/toddler. We’ve gotten some peaks into how the boys would handle their own children, but how would they handle a human child?

Hope you’re having a great day!

Warnings; hijinx, magical mishap, parental yanderes go into Maximum overdrive, various mentions of kidnapping, confused yanderes, begrudging parental behavior, several delulu yanderes,

~~~~~~~~

- Crowley has a veritable collection of Human artifacts and is thrilled to have the chance to try out all of the Human things meant for infants. Just look how cute his precious little chick is! He doesn't really get the whole 'parent to a human' thing easily, but he is going to try or die trying.

- Lilia is conflicted. He wants to have infants with his Human, not raise them from infancy! He has raised at least one Human child from infancy, so he knows can. Lilia is able to differentiate between how he feels for the Human as an adult and how he feels for the Human as an infant. He just sees it as practice for when he actually gets to have hybrid young with the Human. Still, he would be lying if he said he didn't feel a little odd about the situation.

- Papa Hades is immediately on campus the moment he hears the Human is now an infant. He has raised many of his own descendants, he can raise the Human as well. He understands that it is temporary, but that doesn't mean he isn't melting over the squirming infant Human. Truly someone who is happy to parent and thrilled to be the parent figure for the Human.

- Divus is fully committed to kidnapping the Human and intends to be absconding away to the nearest body of water. He will be entering his full seal form and taking the Human out onto the water if he manages to steal the Human away. His intention behind doing this is to behave in a way similar to an otter, holding the Human-turned-infant on his stomach and guarding them from any other possible threat. He feels most comfortable taking care of the Human in his seal form because he is faster and stronger in his seal form. Any indication that the Human infant is uncomfortable will result in a very stressed Divus. If he does not succeed in his attempts to steal the Human, he will be working on a reversal potion/spell.

- Malleus is following Lilia around while Lilia cradles the Human. Malleus has seen infant Silver before, and even some Fae infants, but he has not seen a Human infant before. He is surprised at how genuinely cute the little Human is and he can only imagine how his own young will look when he gets to finally have them with his Human, once his Human is their normal selves again, of course.

- Rook has woven a web cradle to help carry the Human and is desperate to be of use in any way. He is a hunter that is not so well versed with parenting, but he will absolutely rise to the challenge if it is presented to him.

- Vil is not sure what to really do with an infant, he is a movie star, not a nanny. He will be turning rather broody and mother-hen-ish over the Human-turned-infant. His Harpy instincts demands he keep the Human warm however possible and he will be screeching at anyone who gets too close to the Human. His screech will be making the Human begin to tear-up and cry which will only further anger Vil at whoever dare intrude.

- Leona doesn't like kids, he never has. ... He will make an exception for the Human-turned-infant and the now parentless-cub Grim. It is a role of the dominant male lion to look after the cubs and tolerate them while the child-rearing lionesses hunt. He will complain the entire time, but he will actually be very good at child-rearing because he was expected to take care of Cheka when the cub was first born as Falena and his wife would occasionally need breaks from the needy cub.

- Trey is an old pro at taking care of centaur-infants, but a Human-turned-infant? That's new to him. He won't really understand that the Human needs their head supported as an infant, since centaur infants don't require that same support for their neck. He won't really need to worry about this though, there is very little chance he is going to get to hold the Human, especially with much more experienced caretakers on hand.

- Riddle wants desperately to hold the little Human, curious to see the small creature and may even tear up, so moved with emotion and the idea that this is an innocent creature, so cute and delicate. He will not get to hold the Human. Not only are the staff fighting over who gets to be caretaker of the cute and soft Human, but Lilia, Papa Hades, and the other Housewardens are involved as well.

- Idia has no idea how to take care of an infant and will be passing the Human right off to Papa Hades. He is interested in the process of caretaking- especially when he thinks about raising his own young with the Human once they are back to normal- but he is no where near confident enough to actually try to take care of the Human-turned-infant.

- Azul is cooing and immediately offers his services as a many-limbed nanny. This is one of the rare times Azul breaks character from the suave-businessman to actually be quite gentle and domestic. He talks extensively to the Human-turned infant and will even hold them while his tentacles hit everyone else away. It is his turn with the Human, he is fighting for his right to hold them. He spent the entire time leading up to holding them watching those with more experience so he doesn't risk doing anything wrong or hurting the sweet little Human. He won't even bother with Floyd's teasing over his motherly behavior.

- Jamil is immediately taking over parental duties from Kalim because Kalim would have literally zero clue how to actually be a responsible caretaker. He lifts the Human-turned-infant out of Kalim's arms with his tail the moment Kalim acts like is is going to take the little Human on the flying-carpet. He spends the next few hours with Kalim in coil-jail and holding the sleeping Human, gently rocking them and humming a soft lullaby as he has an unusual adeptness in being paternal. Kalim is whining loudly about not being able to take the Human on the carpet-ride, Jamil is covering Kalim's mouth with his tail to not disturb the sleeping Human-turned-infant.

- Ortho is hovering around Papa Hades and asking every question under the sun about infant Humans. Papa Hades fields the questions with masterful skill all while caring for the soft little infant.

- Jack is going full guard-dog mode and will be guarding whoever is caring for the Human-turned-infant, snarling at anyone who gets too close to the caretaker and infant. He will be on high alert and he will be patrolling.

- Silver and Sebek will be joining Jack in the guard duty, protecting the Human and the one caring for the Human- especially in the case of Lilia- with true ferocity. They actually mesh well with Jack and take up rotating their guard to make sure there is not a single moment the Human-turned-infant is unguarded.

- Poachers- especially those who are Fae that want a Human to raise- will be vicious about getting that small Human, their wishes of parenting a Human being figuratively dangled in front of them and teasing them with the exact thing they so desperately want.

[uhbambii]

The Lazy Morning

The chill of a late Winter morning seeped through the cracks of the grand Dellamorte villa, despite the thick stone walls and heavy drapes. Frost painted the windows, the delicate patterns a testament to the icy fingers of the season outside. But within Lucanis Dellamorte’s bedroom, warmth reigned.

Rook, wrapped in an absurd number of blankets was cocooned in the middle of the oversized bed. She had commandeered every available layer of warmth, from the soft linens to the embroidered quilts. Only her head poked out from the fortress of fabric, her hair a stark contrast against the dark, richly woven coverlets. Her sharp crow-like wit was nowhere to be found this morning; instead, her sleepy expression resembled a satisfied feline, reluctant to face the day.

Lucanis stood by the window, silhouetted against the weak light of the rising sun. His dark hair was tousled, as though he hadn’t bothered running a comb through it yet, and his sharp features were softened by an air of amused indulgence. His dark eyes flicked toward the bundle of blankets on the bed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You look ridiculous,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice, low and smooth, carried the hint of laughter beneath its polished veneer. “I’m fairly certain this villa has never housed anyone as absurd as you.”

Rook’s only response was a faint grunt of protest. She burrowed deeper into the blankets, curling tighter like a contented bird in its nest. “Cold,” she muttered, her voice muffled. “This house is a mausoleum. I swear the Dellamorte ancestors haunt it just to drop the temperature.”

Lucanis huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ll have you know this mausoleum is the pinnacle of crow architecture. Generations of the Dellamorte family would take offense at your critique, cara mia.”

Rook peeked one pale eye out from the blankets. “The Crows didn’t invent insulation, apparently,” she quipped. “Or comfort.”

Shaking his head, Lucanis turned from the window and approached the bed. The morning light caught on the intricate embroidery of his house robe—a deep crimson velvet with black and gold trim, so perfectly tailored it was almost offensive. Even lounging in his own home, he carried himself with an effortless, lethal grace that marked him as both First Talon and assassin.

When he reached the bed, he gave a mock bow, leaning forward to press his forearms against the edge of the mattress. “If you find my family’s ancestral home so inhospitable, why don’t you simply get up?”

Rook glared at him, though her expression lacked its usual edge. “No.”

Lucanis’s smile widened. “No?”

“No,” she said again, her voice firmer this time. “This is my home now, too, and I’m declaring this bed the warmest spot in the villa. You can pry me out of here if you dare.”

He sighed, long-suffering, but there was no hiding the warmth in his expression. Lucanis leaned closer, his face hovering just above hers. “You’re lucky you’re adorable, uccellina,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

Rook tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smile. “So lucky,” she replied, voice heavy with feigned exhaustion.

Without warning, Lucanis slipped a hand beneath the mound of blankets, his fingers cold as they brushed against her side. Rook let out a sharp yelp, her eyes snapping open fully. “Lucanis!” she squawked, swatting at his arm as she squirmed beneath her fortress.

His laughter was soft but unrestrained, a sound that carried rare warmth. “It’s good to know you’re not entirely immobilized, Uccellina,” he teased, using the nickname he’d given her early in their partnership.

“You’re awful,” she muttered, but there was no venom in her words, just a grudging affection.

Lucanis settled on the edge of the bed, his smirk softening into something gentler. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. Despite her protests, she leaned into his touch, relaxing.

“You know,” he said, his tone quieter now, “if you’re so determined to stay in bed, I suppose I could join you. For the sake of preserving your fragile constitution, of course.”

Rook’s gaze flicked up to meet his, her eyes glinting with amusement. “For my sake, huh?”

“Entirely selfless on my part,” Lucanis replied smoothly, though the tilt of his lips suggested otherwise.

She sighed theatrically but shifted to make space for him, her blankets rustling as she lifted a corner in invitation. “Fine. But you’d better not steal the covers.”

With an elegance that bordered on infuriating, Lucanis slipped beneath the layers, his warmth immediately seeping into the cocoon of fabric. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him as they settled together.

For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. Rook nestled closer, her breath warm against his chest.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice softer now, “I could get used to mornings like this.”

Lucanis pressed a kiss to her temple, his dark eyes closing as he held her close. “So could I, cara mia. So could I.”

———————————————————————————

Uccellina: Little bird/crow

Cara Mia: My beloved

_________________________________________________

[headachecat]

“As the words settled in, Lucanis’s gaze drifted to Rook, and for a moment, he simply took her in. She lay beside him, her eyes half-closed, her hair spilling over the grass like the roots of the forest itself, mingling effortlessly with leaves and earth. In the ambient, necrotic light, her skin took on a pale glow, as if the Necropolis itself had claimed her, woven her into its quiet, undying ethereal landscape, like some wild spirit, a keeper of this secluded patch of the world.

Lucanis felt an sense of awe overtaking him. He sensed he was intruding upon something timeless. She belonged to this place, as if she were not just lying on the earth but somehow rooted in it, becoming a part of it.”

From The Hours Found - by headachecat on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60395146/chapters/154153939#workskin

And a heartfelt thank you to @refrainee for illustrating this lovely little moment for me ❤️