#i need da2 in my veins always

[a-drama-addict]

MAGDA I MISS YOUUUU

[lizzybeeee]

DATV Mini-Rant about the lack of Lyrium Potions in this Game

A small thing that immediately made my stomach drop when playing DATV was the fact that there are no lyrium potions.

I did an elective on game design in university and chose Origins as my game of choice for my final essay because I always loved how much the game incorporated the world/lore in its game mechanics! Call it pathetic or sad (I won't blame you lmao) but this series was the first video game that engaged me so deeply with its story-telling that I wanted to dissect it. That's why I'm focusing on the lack of magical cocaine in a fantasy game series.

Lyrium is a substance that serves as a game mechanic and a major lore/world-building element. It's use is essential if you play the game as a mage or have party members that are mages - it replenishes mana in game, its use is central to being a mage within the story (harrowing, rituals, etc...), and it's a major export/plot relevant resource that is important to the world at large.

So imagine my surprise when I boot up DATV for the first time and there's no lyrium potions as a mage character. My main interest in the game series was for its lore and story (RIP) so I didn't look too hard into developer interviews or videos about the combat itself - it would either be good or bad, but that wasn't my main draw to the game. I kept playing, wondering if I would ever unlock another slot for potions, perhaps, but then it was abundantly clear that it wasn't the case.

It's a small thing, but popping a lyrium potion mid-combat has the same effect that hearing people say 'Maker's breath' and 'Thank the Maker' does. It's this little bit of world-building that reminds me that I'm playing a Dragon Age game. It's not just a 'mana potion' or some other glowy blue magic vial...it's this substance that's important to the world and that has a reason to be there beyond rejuvenating my mage.

It's the major export of Orzammar -> the pillar of its economy.

It's the substance that allows waking mages to enter the Fade -> it allowed me to save Connor Guerrin with the aid of other mages.

It's the substance that the Chantry uses to leash it's templars through addiction -> an addiction I encouraged Cullen to overcome in DAI.

It's the substance used in the Rite of TRANQUILITY.

It's the substance that allows my warrior character to take on the templar specialization in each game -> Alistair and Ser both talk about lyrium and its relevance to training (in DA2 you just do it lmao)

It's the substance burned into Fenris's skin by Danarius.

It's the literal blood of the Titans -> lyrium veins are literal veins (such a cool design choice in DAI to make them look like blood capillaries!)

And all the time in DAO, DA2, and DAI my mage characters were downing this substance like there was no tomorrow.

Even though the combat changed in DA2 and DAI they still kept lyrium potions for mages. Even though they simplified herbalism from DAO in the next two games, they still required the player to interact with the world and find the ingredients for these potions. It was this gameplay mechanic that linked the player to the world -> I know that I need blood lotus to set shit on fire, elfroot for healing potions/lyrium potions, etc... It was cool game design, having game mechanics and lore interconnected like this.

(Not saying that picking up dozens of elfroots was fun or the best game design, btw -> but it's just an example of how they linked the world and game mechanics together, and I like the intent behind it! Cool design does not equal effective design lmao)

What do we get in DATV? No lyrium, whatsoever, just healing potions.

Potions we don't even have to work to find or get crafted! Just break some green shit and there it is! We don't pick up ingredients or discover unique flora to each of these Northern Areas for our own use. We don't loot potions or ingredients from corpses, sacks, boxes, chests (etc...) to replenish our own stock. A healing potion in this game is not a potion you craft, made from ingredients you found, it's a button I press on my controller. It's lost that immersive link - especially when your companions can toss another one at you while being effectively immortal in combat.

The only new flora we hear of is Broma's Bloom which I did like the lore behind! It's used in dye to colour the Warden's armour and its growth is a sign that the damage of the Blight is lessening. I love that! That's a cool bit of lore! Especially since it's named after Andraste's mother in a land that is supposed to be extremely religious. Geographically unique flora and fauna (biodiversity) is just as important as architectural design when designing an area - DAI did this amazingly well with the different creatures and plants we could run into in each area!

The first time we meaningfully talk about lyrium is when we go to Kal Sharok for the first time - a decent amount of game time since the beginning of the game, depending how fast you play. And then, when we get there, the lyrium looks like a bunch of crystals from a 'grow your own lyrium' kit. The absence of lyrium from the game world and mechanics is something that was very hard for me to overlook considering its importance to every previous entry. Especially since in this game we address the fucking Titan's and what the fuck happened to them.

Just...imagine playing a mage in Dragon Age and not using lyrium?

This game is a death of a thousand cuts - so many small, meaningful world-building elements and mechanics brushed off - before fucking godzilla comes along and nukes it all with the handling of the main story/lore.

[chronurgy]

Okay since it looks like we're really actually genuinely going to (probably) get a new dragon age game soon, here's some (specifically story) stuff I'm hoping to see:

Kal Sharok - either a companion from there or a chance to go there, please please please I HAVE to learn what their deal is

Anderfels companion, especially a warden one - I'd love to get into messy warden politics in the country they rule but don't technically rule

Minrathous - I've needed this city injected into my veins ever since I saw that neon lit, floating building concept art and learned they host laser light shows there it looks sick as hell and I can't wait to see them contrast the barbaric south with the enlightened north and the horrible bloodshed that sustains it 🖤

Par vollen or any sort of permanent qunari settlement - more information about everyday life under the qun please! It's obviously hard to do that when the qunari don't make alliances as a rule and also they're actively at war with the imperium and the rest of thedas, but still

A religious schism within the qun - the qun is all about things following their proper nature, but who decides what the proper nature of things is? People, of course! And people will always disagree. It'd be interesting to meet an offshoot who claim that they're the ones following the "true" qun and it's actually the rest of qunari society that has failed to follow the correct path (I know this will never happen, no one else in the world would actually want to play religious schism simulator 4)

A foreign born mage who came to tevinter to avoid or escape the circle could be fascinating - I think there's a lot of conflict embedded in that character that could be used to great effect. What's their social class in tevinter? How do they justify the things they see? Do they even try?

Sick fucked up red lyrium magic - lyrium potions restore mana, what do red lyrium potions do? Hopefully let you do horrible and fucked up magic. Red lyrium was so cool in da2 and I'd be ecstatic if they'd return to those roots for it

Antiva - a plutocracy with a haunted marsh? Sign me the fuck up

The half destroyed ruins of a city decimated during a past blight - make the blight scary! Remind us of all that has been lost, and let us see some of that history firsthand

Just ANY followup on the lore from the descent dlc - can we get more about the titans please???

A diversity of opinions on Solas and his plan among the dalish - please let them be people with conflicting beliefs and desires and not just one monolithic group I'm begging

Related to the point above - a dalish companion would be excellent, especially if they could help bring that insight to the party

I wanted to get this out before we see the trailer and gameplay so I'm definitely forgetting some stuff. This is also just my personal list of things I'd like to see. I'll probably do another one focusing on more gameplay and mechanical things.

[hawkc]

“There are men who struggle against destiny, and yet achieve only an early grave. There are men who flee destiny, only to have it swallow them whole. And there are men who embrace destiny and do not show their fear. These are the ones that change the world forever.”

independent, selective, mutuals and 20+ only. GARRETT HAWKE of the DRAGON AGE universe. As told by Chavi ( he/him, 21+). Mostly follows DA2/Inquisition and Veilguard canon, with some changes.

QUICK RULES BENEATH THE CUT. / VERSES (tba).

Rules.

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[high-dragon-bait]

I need more banter with Cole.

DA:I didn't give me enough with Solas/Cole/Varric talking about becoming more human or spirit in any combination.

But also, Cole banter with all the DA2 companions.

He and Justice are so unique and Anders always has an opinion on everything.

Fenris would fear hate him, probably.

Merrill would be fascinated, I'm sure.

I just love Cole and I need more of his thoughts.

Ah, Cole. He is so hard but so much fun to write. I went with the DA:2 gang, and snuck in Isabela to make it all the LIs... However. I got a little carried away so this is long. Really long. My previous record for longest fake banter had 8 interactions, this has 28. The majority of you said not to put it under a readmore, just tag it, so I will!

These banters include 4-6 general interactions, one romance, and one post-adamant romance. Since Anders already had a post-adamant romance interaction with Cole in another banter, I posted an alternate version in the same vein as the one there, since I still really like the idea behind it, but the original execution bugged me.

Enjoy!

_____

Fenris

_____

Cole: You’re scared of me.

Fenris: As anyone wise should be.

Cole: Is it because of him?

Fenris: Danarius wasn’t the worst of them.

Cole: Standing, stiff, sore from the leash. Like that for hours, watching, waiting, wanting to leave. Danarius approaches the magister. A rival, he wants to impress him. End him. "I offer you a gift."

Fenris: What is this?

Cole: It's a boy. No. No, no, he's so young. Be punished if I move but I can't- I can't- too late. His blood is on my face. The demon growls, glowers and glows, and he's gone.

Fenris: Avert your gaze from me. Now. 

Cole: But that's not why I'm here! I didn't want the blood.

_____

Fenris: Is it true you were a demon? 

Cole: No. Not a demon. But I didn’t know what I was, and it made me wrong. 

Fenris: But you killed? You murdered those mages? 

Cole: Yes. I thought it was helping.

Fenris: I’ve traveled with an abomination, a blood mage, and Varric. Now, I trade them for a killer demon. Perhaps Hawke kept the better company after all. 

_____

Cole: You were glad when the boy died. 

Fenris: Be careful, demon. I know you can bleed.

Cole: Danarius said “gift” and you thought of something else. Something worse. When they cut his throat somewhere you were happy they couldn’t keep hurting him. 

Cole (Cont.): It wasn’t a good glad. 

_____

Cole: You don’t like mages, yet you’re angry. Angry for the ones I killed. Why?

Fenris: I don’t like weak mages running rampant and preying on the innocent. Those mages were where they belonged, where they were safe. You took that away. 

Cole: But they weren’t safe! 

Fenris: No, because you were prowling the halls. Slitting their throats while they slept.

Cole: I wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t been for the templars. The templar who locked him in a dungeon and forgot. If he hadn’t died, scared, starving, shivering on the stone. 

Cole (Cont.): I killed. I killed and kill me back if I do it again. But templars made me forget what I was. Templars killed me first.

_____

Cole: Do you look at every man and see a king? 

Fenris: What? 

Cole: When a servant walks down a hall do you see him wearing a crown. Holding a sword? Does he kill those who disobey him? 

Fenris: No? 

Cole: Then why is every mage a magister?

_____

Fenris: Every mage is not a magister. 

Cole: Yes! That’s good. You’re starting to understand, thank you. 

Fenris: Every mage is dangerous. I am not wrong to want them where they can do no harm. 

Cole: No. No. You get so close but flinch away before the truth can touch you. Like a hand on a hot pot. 

Fenris: I see the truth clearly, spirit. You are not of this world, you cannot understand.

____

Cole: Spirits are reflections of the world, made from what matters. That's what Solas says.

Fenris: And you're telling me this, why?

Cole: You said I don't understand. I'm not of this world. But this world made me. Made me from what matters. That's what I am. I'm supposed to see.

Fenris: Fine. What is this truth I won’t touch, demon?

Cole: You want to blame magic because its easy. Because it hurt you and its loud. Magic didn’t hurt you because its magic, it hurt you because Danarius wanted it to.

Fenris: Of course I know Danarius was behind it.

Cole: Yes! Yes you do! But anything hurts if someone wants it to. Magic, blades, hands, words, and you know that too. But if that’s true, if that's really true, Danarius hides. You can't see him anymore. Any man could be him now. That scares you. 

Fenris: …perhaps it does. 

Cole: It’s okay! I can help. 

_____

(Romance)

Cole: I stare at the fire, flames flickering. Eyes shut, trying, dreaming, wishing it would all come back. I can hear them breathing. I can feel their touch, tingling, lingering on my skin. Soft as their sheets, dark and red, but not the bad red, the red I want, the red I remember. Remember. Why did I remember?

Cole (Cont.): You want to stay, but then they wake up, and you have to go.

Fenris: I was a fool.

Cole: No. You think you were afraid but that isn't it. There was another life, lost, lingering, left behind. You had to learn and let go. You needed to say goodbye. That isn't your fault.

Fenris: It was. Yet they still forgave me.

Cole: They love you.

_____

(Post-Adamant)

Fenris: Go on, say your peace, demon.

Cole: Stairs, steep, steeper than the steps through Kirkwall. A spider, why did it have to be a spider? I make it bleed. Make it burn. I try. I don't want to die, but I'm me. I have to try to be me too, I have to- I have to- “Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you” Maker, he won’t forgive me.

Fenris: I was wrong.

Cole: Yes. The thought hurt, but now its real. Real is worse.

Fenris: Hawke is gone. Nothing is real now.

Cole: Gone only means far, not false. What you felt is still real. Don't forget that. Please.

_____

Anders

_____

Cole: Why don’t you tell Varric why you’re angry? 

Anders: He doesn’t listen. Or it turns into a joke. 

Cole: My father’s barn burning in the snow. Eyes dead under a sunblaze brand. A glow raining over my city, the same color as the screams. Sometimes we care so much the care turns cold. Anger is the only warmth I know. 

Anders: Sounds like you’ll put it better than I could. 

Cole: No, it won’t help the same if its me. 

_____

Anders: How are you here? 

Cole: I walked. For a while I rode on a horse! 

Anders: No, outside of the Fade? Justice said spirits couldn’t survive on their own, they need a host. A body.

Cole: I’m Cole? 

Anders: But you’re a spirit! Here from the Fade. How can you be- you?

Cole: He sat in a cell. It was dark, he knew they forgot. His hurt was loud, louder than the shouting but the Templars wouldn't hear him. I wanted to help so I listened. He said he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to be magic. He didn’t want to hurt. He didn’t want to die. 

Cole: I’m Cole.

Anders: Oh… 

_____

Anders: Did Cole… did you have any family? Anyone you might want to see again? 

Cole: No. His father beat his mother until she stopped, he hid with his sister in a cabinet but she cried. He kept his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, he didn’t want her to stay quiet. He only killed his father for them.

Anders: Maker! 

Cole: He didn’t use magic! He used a blade to kill his father, a harmless blade. That’s all. It wasn’t magic. “I don't care, he goes to the dungeons like every other mage." 

Anders: Cole I’m- I’m so sorry.

Cole: So was he. 

_____

Cole: Varric doesn't hate you.

Anders: Varric?

Cole: That's why you won't tell him why you're angry. You think it will make it worse. He's sad, scared, scattered, but still your friend.

Anders: I know what Kirkwall meant to him. I know I destroyed it. He can't forgive me that easy.

Cole: No. Not easy, and not forgiven, not yet. "I want you to have this. It's a pillow. Hand embroidered by my mother. The only thing they let me keep at the circle." "Why in the world would you give that to me?" "You've been a good friend." He wishes he were better.

Anders: Tell him... tell him I do to.

Cole: No. I told you. It's doesn't help if its me.

_____

Cole: You talked to Varric!

Anders: Sort of. Not a lot of actual talking. Mostly we sat, and sometimes we drank. Better than avoiding each other in the halls, I guess.

Cole: We sit. The air here is wrong. The smells, the music, it's too wide, too new. Herald's Rest, why rest? Do we ever rest? They used to hang people here, by their feet, till they starved to death. Blondie sits across from me, how long has it been? If I just see him I can almost pretend... My cup, too nice, too clean, but a toast is a toast. To a new world, Blondie.

Anders: To a new world...

Cole: He missed you.

_____

(Romanced)

Cole: No, don't go there. I'll break your heart. That might kill me as surely as the Templars. But you wanted to, from the moment you saw them. You made yourself sound so wrong, why?

Anders: I needed them to know. I needed them to be prepared for the work it would be to love me.

Cole: You thought they would leave. That one day they would know you, know you, and they wouldn't love you. They never would've done that. It hurts you thought they would.

Anders: In the circle, love never lasted. That was by design, two mages got too close and the templars would intervene. I... I thought it was a matter of time.

Cole: They know. They only wish you had trusted them when they said they would stay. That you would let them do the work.

Anders: Maker, I hope some days I'm worth it.

Cole: You are, always.

_____

(Post-adamant)

Cole: A hawk sits on a branch. They fly, follow, leaving feathers where he can find them.

Anders: Stop it.

Cole: A dream. They're a dream but I can't see them, not until I forget. If I forget, if I'm him, just him, all him, then he might be me. He might know where to go. Forget to find. Follow and fly.

Justice: No. 

Cole: Forgetting won’t help, not like that.  

_____

Merrill

_____

Cole: Eluvian. “Seeing-glass” but it’s fogged, faded, forgotten like us. Who stood here before me? Before the blight, before our blood blotted over the history. Where did they go?

Merrill: Do you… do you know? Can you tell me their name?

Cole: No. I would’ve forgotten. I’m sorry. 

_____

Merrill: Are you alright, Cole?

Cole: “Alright?” 

Merrill: Are you safe? Are the people here kind to you? Are you… happy? 

Cole: I’m not being cut, not right now, and I’m not sad. 

Merrill: That’s not really the same thing, lethallin.

Cole: But isn’t it for you?

_____

Cole: The keeper was wrong. 

Merrill: You didn’t know her. You shouldn’t say things like that. 

Cole: Eyes. Eyes. Too many eyes. Staring. Judging. The hunters whisper and the elders doubt. How could I have allowed it? I let evil into our clan. They need to know. I need to show them. Show her. She will not do this.

Cole (Cont.): "Merrill is dangerous," I tell them. "She will remain dangerous until I guide her down a better path. Be weary of her, and if you see her, come directly to me."

Merrill: No, lethallin. That wasn’t how it was. 

Cole: She said that too. 

_____

Merrill: Cole, what I meant when I asked if you were alright...

Cole: Yes? I'm sorry. I don't think my answer helped.

Merrill: I meant- I guess- you're always the one checking up on the others. You're always the one helping so I thought, maybe, I could be of some help, if you want it.

Cole: But... what would that be? Helping the helper, that's not how it's supposed to work. That's why you forget.

Merrill: Well, lethallin, why don't we figure it out together?

Cole: Yes... yes I think I would like that. Thank you.

_____

(Romanced) 

Cole: You didn't believe them for a long time. Why?

Merrill: Didn't believe who?

Cole: Hawke, when they said they wanted you, you thought it wasn't real. Why?

Merrill: Oh- well... I'd never had anyone in my clan show me any interest before. I'd only kissed one person before them. It was this hunter, young and strong, just got his vallaslin. So exciting! But later I found out it was a dare, prove his manhood by kissing the crazy blood witch.

Cole: That story makes them angry.

Merrill: I know. They told me so. Offered to go fight those boys for me, I said no, of course.

Cole: You didn't want to.

Merrill: We all have to be the bigger person sometimes, lethallin. That's what Varric liked to say after cards back in Kirkwall.

_____

(Post-adamant) 

Merrill: Lethallin, can you... can you hear them? Do you know what they thought when it- happened?

Cole: Chains beneath the boat. Five birds bunched together on the cliff. Three in the hold. How could I know? One day there will be book with other names, other faces drawn over the words and a daisy pressed between the pages.

Merrill: I know you can tell me more than that.

Cole: Hawke is dead, I'm so sorry. Dead. Such a cruel world. Din. Better. Din is kind. Falon'Din, Friend of the Dead. Is that were they are? Varric said they ran. They ran and they shut the door. They didn't see...

Cole (Cont.): Broken dark glass in a Kirkwall hovel. Red ringed around my fingernails. Sitting on the floor, sharp, splintering, shredding my skin, but I stay still. I have a door. I have a door.

Cole (Cont.): If I tell you, you'll just want to do it more.

Merrill: I'm going to do it, Cole, telling me what they thought won't hurt now.

Cole: Yes, it will.

_____

Isabela

_____

Isabela: Hey, sweetheart? 

Cole: Yes, Captain?

Isabela: Do spirits know about sex? 

Cole: Yes. Spirits know a lot about sex. 

Isabela: How would you describe it? In that colorful way of yours? 

Cole: Hot. Hands holding tight. Door closed. Bodies close. If this is all I’m worth then I’ll be worth the world. My body is mine, it feels like fire and I am free. 

Isabela: Oh, that’s not what I thought you’d say. 

Cole: What did you think I would say?

Isabela: Something more like what Varric would put in a book. 

_____ 

Cole: The scars are all in the same place. 

Isabela: Which scars, sweetheart?

Cole: Arishok's blade on their skin. The silver slips shallow through them but I still feel it too. My face. My arm. My back. My legs. My- it slashes into their stomach, blood splatters and I try to- I can't. Fenris holding onto me. They're bleeding and I'm bleeding. They're hurting and I'm hurting. Once. Twice. Three times more around the pillars and then- he falls. It's over. They won... I'm free.

Isabela: So that’s what we’re talking about. 

Cole: They would’ve done it again. They would’ve done even more. 

Isabela: I know.

Cole: So do they.

_____

Isabela: Why do you call me, Captain? 

Cole: It’s what you are. 

Isabela: I haven’t been a captain for awhile. Admiral’s got a nice, sexy sound to it. Makes you think I’ve got a dagger in my hand, sharp and ready for your breast. 

Cole: Wife. Whore. Daughter. Desire. The man on my ship smiles at me like he's picking which one he wants. I smile back. "It's Captain," I tell him. "You will call me Captain."

Cole (Cont.): I could call you Admiral, if it helps. 

Isabela: Captain’s fine, sweetheart. 

_____

Cole: Captain? 

Isabela: Yes, sweetheart? 

Cole: Do you like me?

Isabela: Oh yes! You’re cute, good with a dagger. You're even nice! That’s more than most men you’ll find out here. 

Cole: But you don’t like me like you like them.

Isabela: Which is good for you. Most of them weren't worth the price of the room.

Cole: But you never paid for the rooms?

Isabela: Exactly.

_____

Cole: “Sweetheart.” You call me “sweetheart.” Why? 

Isabela: It’s like how you call me, Captain. It’s the best word for what you are.

Cole: But my heart wouldn’t be sweet, Captain. 

Isabela: Just who told you that? 

Cole: The blood. It said it has to taste like salt and iron or it isn’t real. 

Isabela: I… think it's okay to let words stay words sometimes, sweetheart. 

Cole: But that’s never what they are.

_____

(Romanced)

Cole: "Well, if you ever want to do it again- wait, you aren't thinking of bringing feelings into this are you?" But you already were?

Isabela: Shhhh! Don't go revealing my deep dark secrets to the world.

Cole: You already brought the feelings, but it's different when it's just yours. Only you know where they are, like marking treasure on a map you keep in your pocket. But once they wanted it too... What if they dug up the treasure? What if they hated what was inside?

Isabela: Yes, yes, alright but why is it treasure? Is it because I'm a pirate? 

Cole: Yes. You like treasure.

Isabela: I do like treasure.

Cole: But you like Hawke more.

Isabela: Hey! What did I say about my deep dark secrets?

_____

(Post-adamant) 

Cole: I lie on my belly. Red stream flowing out from under me. How can the ground be so cold? Nightmare. Nightmare. No- no I won't die in a nightmare. I've been here before, done this before. I can die where it's mine-

Isabela: Not now, sweetheart. 

Cole: There's a ship. There's a sea. There's birds in the rafters and there's me. Waves wash and whisper. I'm free. Captain, the helm is ready-

Isabela: Cole, stop it.

Cole: Safe harbors, Isabela.

[electricshoebox]

writing tag

Tagged by the lovely @adventuresofmeghatron, thank you!

Tagging: @junemermaid, @molliehaswords, @desynchimminent, @valkyriejack, and @mercurymiscellany​, if you’d like to do it!

1.  How many works do you have on AO3? 

39. Holy shit. 

2.  What’s your total AO3 word count?

533,274 words. Holy shit.

3. What are you top 5 fics by kudos?

How to Share a Bed Without Killing Each Other: a Love Story (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, 5 Chapters, Complete) The trials and tribulations of literally sleeping together.

Rivers in the Sand (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) The Hissing Wastes unsettles Bull’s memories, and when he and Dorian are trapped together by a fallen pillar, Dorian helps him deal.

a soft place to land (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) When a letter from his father sets him off, Dorian turns to Bull for a distraction.

Always Good at Bad Ideas  (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) Bull gets injured fighting a dragon, which leaves Dorian frantic enough to blurt out the one thing he was trying to keep to himself.

Flashpoint (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) “One time he got so excited he set the curtains on fire.”

4. Do you respond to comments?  Why or why not? 

Yes, always! I’ve seen various opinions on whether authors should, but to me, engaging with and getting excited with readers is half the fun and half the point. I also just really want people to know how much it means to me not only that they read, but that they take the time to leave a comment. Comments are hard to write. I completely sympathize with that, sometimes you just don’t know what to say or how to say it, and I absolutely don’t begrudge anyone that doesn’t. It just means a lot to me when people do, even when it’s literally just “This was cool!” or something, and I want them to know that it’s appreciated!

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm. I guess that sort of depends on your definition of angsty. None of them have directly tragic endings, it’s just not in me to write that way, but I have one or two with open or less definitely, obviously happy endings. The rarepair DA2 oneshot I wrote for Merrill/Orana, Counting the Cost, has the most open ending, left completely up to interpretation. The Inception AU DAI fic I wrote for Dorian/Bull, In the Shadow of Dreams, has what I think of as an optimistic ending, and less a happy one. I tried to end that one with more romance, but it just didn’t fit the tone of the rest of the fic, so a quiet ending that signals a road to recovery was what I chose instead.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Most all of my oneshots have pretty happy endings. I guess I’m tempted say A Line in the Sand, my Deacon/MacCready start-from-scratch slow burn novel, just because it goes from antagonists to lovers and has the longest road with the most earned happy ending. I feel like the long struggle to get there makes it feel happier. 

7. Do you write crossovers?  If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really. Instead I’m sometimes tempted into AUs based on other media, but not full blown crossovers with actual different characters meeting. Even then, I’m really picky in what I enjoy. I’ve only written one, the Inception AU for Dragon Age that I mentioned above. Honestly, it requires no knowledge of Inception at all. I really just stole a bunch of concepts from it and then made my own modernized Thedas around them.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Thankfully no! I’ve received one or two kind of odd comments, but otherwise I’ve been very lucky and everyone’s been really nice.

9.  Do you write smut?  If so, what kind?

Hell yeah! I’ve written many kinds, really, whatever I feel like or whatever fits the fic. I’ve done plenty of your typical smut. I branched out into light BDSM with several of my Dorian/Bull fics, as well as waxplay and praise kink. I’ve also done some roleplay in the vein of “established relationship pretending to be strangers meeting at a bar” for Deacon/MacCready with By Any Other Name.

10.  Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. 

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! Two of my Dorian/Bull fics, Wishing Stars and No Patron Saint of Silent Restraint, both by the same lovely person: landanding on AO3. I don’t think I stopped flailing for a solid day when I got the request for permission either time.

12.  Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not since pre-AO3 days, beyond collaborating in a tabletop setting. I’m not completely opposed to the idea but it would have to be someone I felt really, really comfortable with and with whom I have really good communication. I’m really particular about my writing, and I’d need to know someone’s emotional comfort level with trading and changing and even eliminating ideas.

13.  What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh god that’s honestly really hard. I’ve written the most for Dorian/Bull and that ship will always have a special place in my heart. But I did write my first full-length novel for Deacon/MacCready, and they’ve already got me in the middle of my second. So they’re the ship that taught me I could do that, and they’re my beloved rarepair. There are a few more I absolutely love, but I think those are my top two right now.

14.  What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Definitely Uprising. It was the first time I tried longform fic, and it was meant to be an entire retelling of DA2 with Velanna as the Justice-bearing character, rather than Anders, because after learning the developers almost took DA2 in that direction, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I had a lot of plans for it, for how Justice might develop differently, for what it might have looked like if elves had been more of the battleground issue instead of mages vs. templars, for some angsty bittersweet long distance Nathaniel/Velanna and some complicated Fenris/Hawke and Merrill/Orana. But I drifted away from Dragon Age fandom in interest a long time ago, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get the steam back for it. I’m proud of how far I did get, though.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I feel pretty confident with dialogue, I can usually make a scene flow with it pretty well and I spend a lot of time trying to be meticulous about character voice. I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback on my descriptions, which I appreciate and wouldn’t have considered a strength, but my readers have been kind. I think I’m pretty good at including body language, too, though maybe to a fault.

16.  What are you writing weaknesses?

Much as people have been kind on the feedback, I really feel like action scenes are a weakness for me. I don’t enjoy writing them and I struggle a lot to make them feel like they’re flowing over just bulletpointing. I also feel like I struggle to make them exciting. I feel like I struggle with exposition scenes as well, and keeping them interesting over info-dumping. 

17.  What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’m generally in favor of including them, but with the caution of doing thorough research if it’s not a language I speak. I shy away from it if I can’t be completely sure it’s accurate, because I don’t want to risk putting off a native speaker reader, or saying/doing something offensive. I’d expand that to include anything about another culture, really. For example, I’ve been slowly picking away at writing a Fallout fic for my Sole Survivor Anthony and Preston, and part of what has been slow going is just making sure I’m getting Anthony’s culture right. His parents immigrated from Vietnam, and I want his experiences with them and with his culture to be as accurate and respectful as possible, not falling into any stereotypes but also being allowed to be complicated. 

18.  What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Depends on what we’re measuring. The first fandom I ever wrote fic for of any kind was Sailor Moon. The first fandom I actually put fic on the internet for was Lord of the Rings, on good old fanfiction.net. The first fandom I published on AO3 for was Dragon Age.

19.  What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

God this is such a hard question to answer, my feelings on my writing change so often. I think it’s hard for A Line in the Sand not to be my favorite for the reasons I’ve already mentioned, it’s my first successful novel-length fic, I accomplished a lot with it and learned a lot from it, and it’s a rarepair I got to kind of develop from scratch in my own way. 

But if I look back at my whole repertoire so far, just to branch out from the usual answer, I’d say I’m also really fond of To Have and to Hold, which was the first time I ever participated in a minibang, or really any kind of writing challenge. It’s a Dorian/Bull established relationship fic set during Trespasser, and it’s kind of a meditation on Dorian’s past and present and how they’ve shaped his feelings on love and commitment and marriage, all while he’s trying to decide his future. I’m proud of how it came out, and I think my Dorian voice still holds up okay. Plus I had two incredible artists working with me who put together stunning work for it, and how could I not be super grateful for that? 

It’s funny, most of the top ones up there for kudos are ones that I don’t personally think are my best, it’s a lot of my very early offerings for Dorian/Bull that I think I could improve on a lot of if I tackled them now. I’m grateful people like them but I feel like they’re more an accident of timing, being published early in the ship’s popularity. 

[pestopascal]

While I will absolutely agree that CB2077 isn’t the ONLY game doing all this bullshit, or that other AAA studios don’t deserve the flack CDPR is getting, I have to say that this is absolutely the perfect storm and I think people are FINALLY seeing the problems in modern AAA gaming. CB2077 might be fun to play, may have a good story, but it’s almost impossible to see because of the glaring issues. Which, honestly, is a good thing. I hope games change after this.

under here

AAA studios have been like this and this sort of release has been completely normalised on all accounts by both the businesses themselves and fans because of the inherent reliance on modders (bethesda at the forefront of this), as well as the pushback every time companies actually go ‘uh we need a lil more time’ (although... they just shouldnt announce potential release dates, im even of the camp they shouldnt even start releasing the game until like 6 months out from their official date because they fuck it up every time. borderlands 3 being the only game i know of being in “secret” development and then announcing itself in march for a september release. game itself aside, thats how companies should do it). easily i can remember a lot of 2011 release games which have had the exact same issues as cp77′s release, and then every other game in between since. very rarely do you actually have a game that isn’t a fucked up mess of a pile of pixels. and it is always the customisable character ones that are honestly, genuinely, ugly looking at release. but you can definitely say its been happening looooooong before 2011, with unrealistic expectations, word limits, 11 month time frames, offloading sequels to smaller companies so they can suffer if it fails, etc etc. the entire system has been like this for so long... they dont know any real different nowadays.

i mean look. tlou2 released under crunch conditions this year, and was rewarded. it was ALL over the social media feeds, it was quite the controversy because, surprise surprise, the company promised they wouldnt do it uwu and then. bam ! crunch conditions. literally around that time too, bioware employees came out with a statement saying ‘man we wish dai FAILED so that back in 2014 we couldve proven crunch was a wrong practice’. they say this as well after having to produce da2 in 14 months, which just suffered from fans and journalism for reusing environments, because it was produced in 14 months, and honestly? no one pointed that out back then, bioware themselves pointed it out again this year, 6 years after release, that that game was produced in 14 months. rdr2′s release was hounded by stories of crunch, and they all disappeared into the night because... it was heralded as the best game of all time. that was 2018, 2 years ago.

i think too is that some people get kind of ... morally and ethically concerned. which is understandable. can you consume something when you know it was made under conditions like crunch? and i think one of the most confronting things about it is that 9/10, not only has your favourite company engaged in crunch conditions, they almost actively choose to continue with them. and then that’s a whole other bag of issues blown up over there when it comes to what is able to be consumed what isn’t etc etc

i think also like a mix of marketing, promises and then the expectations of what the game will be like have really had cdpr earn the ire of fans which is just like... you don’t believe what these companies are saying. you never should, esp when it’s their ceo’s saying it who don’t work on the actual floor. bioware itself is the main culprit of doing this to the point they finally came around with all the da4 concept art and teasing to be like ‘ummm but actually dont get invested?’. remember all that qunari lady fanart that bioware management was like ... please dont get attached? yeah. yeah. like at what point as well is there going to be heavy level of apprehension to approach this? and i can’t really talk either, i cracked open the door for mass effect again. i know exactly what kind of shit bioware will pull, i know they are teasing it already on social media, but mass effect is my ride or die series. that’s why people keep opening the door on letting these companies get away with it. and you can’t fault fans entirely either because this is down to a science of how to get money. i mean, fuck, mass effect andromeda’s entire advertising campaign HINGED on the n7 logo. for the nostalgia value. and i see text posts in the same vein of both ‘guys, disney isnt gonna fuck you if you consume every remake for nostalgia value’ and ‘its understandable why people do it’.

so then you have to go ‘well are fans as just to blame’ and then that’s a whole other argument.

i think also like. i personally havent run into aaaannnyyyyyyy of the issues that you see posted online. which is ironic bc 1) i play on ps4 and 2) its an old dusty ps4. in fact a lot of ppl i have spoken to who have had issues have played on pc. does this mean the glitches dont exist? ofc not, the vids and screenshots are right there. but like... ive had a basically unhindered experience so far, and i get where ppl are coming from (i do, i promise) where theyve basically found the game unplayable. is there also a standard of what ppl consider unplayable because ive played most AAA games at launch when they basically rushed to slap the box label on the game and called it a day until they work on patches. when ppl consider unplayable is also just... different per person. some people have a slight blur on the screen when turning too fast even in an MMO and decide the game is horrible and unplayable. some people can have broken quests and npcs not loading and falling through maps and still be fine. there’s no agreed statement of what makes a game unplayable either, which is why you read threads on twitter and someone goes ‘yeah this npc t-posed so i quit in the first hour’ with a dozen replies. everyone has different levels of it.

it’s a mixed bag of issues. im not excusing cdpr, but the ppl who worked on the game are honestly likely not the ones who pushed for a release. you’ve gotta look at sony and microsoft and ceo’s with bonuses coming up and the investors and shareholders and people who sit behind computers and read numbers detailing interest and demand and supply and how every single time they had to delay this game, the loudest (but smallest) bunch of assholes on like reddit and in the twitter threads complained that it was delayed AGAIN even though back in what 2015? they said it’ll come out when it’s ready. and yeah there are times when game delays result in a mismatched half assed sort of story (kh3... p5... ffxv... dai...) and then there are times when, if they need to delay the game... they probably need to delay the game. sometimes delays are bad sometimes theyre good sometimes you are sitting there like whew if you only didn’t try to be like THIS TIME this is the release date.

the ONLY WAY this will stop happening is, quite frankly, unionising. and everyone is allergic to that whole concept so like... this is “the perfect storm” as you put it. but it’s also not. people have been so disappointed over the last 2 years alone for gaming companies, the final product, the attitudes from higher ups, that i think cdpr is receiving a good few years worth of anger. i think theyre also on the receiving end of misdirection from american fans who still don’t fucking get the company isn’t american, because that’s another bag of issues as well. like we’re holding at least 8 bags of groceries out of the back of the car now, and we don’t want to take another trip, because there are so many little bits of this entire situation to look at. there’s so much back and forth.

i think the worst, but most realistic thing is: games won’t change. how they will social media wise will. maybe. assuming bioware gets their heads out their asses but... they’re going to be a lot more careful. i mean, hell, sony offered refunds. that was just a publicity stint. they dont give a fuck if the game was bad. as i said before, if they did, they would make all companies fix trophy problems, starting from like 2010 or whenever the trophy system first came out. they just don’t wanna fall in alongside cdpr being thrown on its sword. but the companies are gonna learn from this, get smarter, still do the same shit to their employees, still pay off journalists, still do media blackouts, etc etc. and we’re gonna be here in another year’s time, with another game, having these same roundabout arguments, and cp77′s issues are gonna fade into just a wikipedia article.

[sky-scribbles]

I’m nearing Justice and The Last Straw with my Merrill-mancing Hawke, and that got me thinking about non-romanced Anders after DA2. Specifically, how he’s generally imagined as wandering aimlessly once DA2′s over, living in seclusion, rejected by everyone, unloved, and that breaks my heart because I just want everyone to be happy.

And out of nowhere, I thought of this:

The rebels don’t want Anders with them, and he understands. He always meant for it to be that way, meant for him to be the one the world hated. His name had to be the one that became another word for monster, because then it wouldn’t be Hawke’s, or Orsino’s, or the name of any mage in the Gallows. So he wanders Thedas alone, except for the spirit woven in with his flesh, because even the people who are free because of him don’t want him near them.

But he still helps them, of course. How could he not?

He keeps an ear to the ground, listens to the rumours and watches the shadows. He learns where the Templars are heading and what their numbers are, puts himself into their path. They go after him, eager to be remembered as the one who caught the abomination who began the war - and the group of runaway mages they were tracking reaches a place of safety, unscathed.

Sometimes, he stumbles upon a battle. A group of mages huddled back-to-back, robes ripped at the hems and eyes wide and shadowed from lack of sleep, hurling ever-weaker spells at the Templars who stamp closer to them. Justice bursts from his skin with a roar, and when the blue light fades, there are steel-clad bodies strewn across the ground.

The mages thank him. A few stare in wonder, in gratitude. But some glare, some step backward, some curl their lips. Anders understands, and it’s what he expected, but pain tugs at his insides as each ragged party leaves.

Then one day, there’s a group who don’t leave. Or rather, he can’t leave them.

At first, he thinks they’re yet another bunch like all the rest - surrounded by Templars, cowering, terrified. And then he takes a closer look. He sees the senior enchanter lying motionless, sprawled across the grass nearby with her limbs at all the wrong angles. He sees the tallest of the group step forward and sweep the others behind him, sees the plump face and huge eyes and lack of staff. He sees the others - crying, hiding behind the oldest boy’s robe, clinging to each other. The youngest of them all’s a tiny elf girl with ragged pigtails. She can’t be more than five.

Anders looks at the Templars, and silently he tells Justice, kill them all.

He and the spirit have rarely agreed so strongly on anything. 

And once the bastards are dead or fleeing into the woods, he’s left standing, his skin prickling as Justice retreats into the back of his mind with a parting feeling of satisfied and righteous fury. Facing a bunch of children.

‘You’re him,’ says the oldest, the boy who was trying to shield the others. He’s thirteen, maybe, no older. His back is straight and his eyes defiant and he’s trying so, so hard to be brave, but his hands are shaking.

‘Yes,’ says Anders, and waits for the inevitable get away from us, stay back, the senior enchanters said you’re a monster, you’re the reason we’re out here alone being chased by Templars and the mage protecting us is dead. He’ll deserve it, too, because without him these children would be safe in their beds now. This is the price for the breaking of the Circles, the children who couldn’t fight back, and the Tranquil and the elderly, and it kills him to think of it. Of what he did to them.

They would not have been safe, Justice reminds him with a wave of simmering anger, they were waiting for a life of suffering, but it’s a small comfort.

‘You killed them.’ It’s one of the girls, her overlong robes frayed at the hems and smeared with dirt. Maybe blood, too. Anders looks at her face, ready to see fear, but what’s in her eyes is... 

Hope, maybe. Or awe.

And that’s when he knows he can’t leave them. Because he’s the reason they’re out here, and they’ve no one else. Maker knows he’s the last person who should be around children - he’s dangerous. Him and Justice. But he’s all these kids have got, and to leave them now would be unjust, wrong, monstrous.

‘Come with me,’ he hears himself say. ‘I’ll get you someplace safe.’

It’s hard, trekking across the wilderness with seven children in tow, but easier than he expected. He knows kids, after all. He read stories to them in the Circle a few times, helped teach healing magic to a few, healed dozens - even hundreds - in his clinic. He knows how to work gentle Creation magic through them to ease their aching feet and give them the spark of energy they need to make it up just one more hill, how to speak gently to them so that they know they can trust him to look after them and it’ll be all right, how to tell stories about Ser Pounce-a-lot and the Warden-Commander and Hawke that have them all rolling on the ground with laughter. 

And he knows how to fight to the last drop of blood in his veins to keep them safe. Because as the days pass, he feels more and more like he’d do just that for them. Like he’d risk anything for them.

He comes to know them. The oldest boy, Simon, was taken to the Circle when he was nine, old enough to remember his life outside it and to miss his family. The girl who looked at him with awe that first day is Aimee, who had trouble getting even the simplest spells to work and was already hearing whispers that she’d be made Tranquil rather than be put through the Harrowing. There’s one, William, who dreamed of being an actor until the Templars dragged him away. Leona, the tiny elf girl, is an alienage orphan who’d been at the Circle less than a month before the rebellion threw her outside it again.

Maybe it’s his fault they’re out here now, traipsing through mud and rain, sleeping in caves with helmeted figures chasing them at every turn. But it’s also thanks to him that Simon has a chance to find his family again, that Aimee will never have a brand-mark on her forehead, that William might yet step onto a stage, that Leona will never have to know the agony of a life that would crush the laughter from her. And when he watches them sleeping about the fire that Aimee lit with her slowly strengthening magic, he feels a faith in himself, a certainty, that he has never known before.

Sometimes he has to leave them. Word will reach him of a gang of Templars getting too close to comfort to another group of runaways, and he takes up his staff and heads out alone to stop them. He leaves Simon in charge, gives him the location of a safe place to take the others to if he never comes back. But he always does come back, and the children leap up and cry out his name with grins on their faces. Little Leona runs out to meet him, yanking at his sleeve and tugging at his robes and begging him to tell her about the battle. 

He makes something up, so it sounds heroic. She’s too young to learn the painful truth, that justice isn’t heroic or happy. Justice is righteous. Justice is hard.

Except... that’s not so true anymore, because Justice would give as much for these children as he would, and defends them just as fiercely. It’s easier now, since he left Kirkwall and saw an end brought to the Circles, and more and more often Justice is calm, sane, himself, when he comes out. It’s a long time until Anders trusts both sides of himself enough to let Justice appear around the children, so he can meet them, talk to them, take their hands in his, but eventually, he lets it happen. Since he took these apprentices under his wing, keeping it controlled... it's easier than he ever imagined. Child's play.

Anders watches, a passenger in his own body, as Justice greets them all and they poke curiously at the blue light showing through his skin, and he feels peace settle inside him. The war with himself is ending. 

Years pass, and the other war he started ends too. One by one, he lets his little flock go, so they can live in this new world. So Simon can be reunited with his family, be embraced by the parents and brothers who thought they’d never see him again. So Aimee, whose magic was only held back by her fear, can thrive in the new College of Enchanters, stunning mages three times her age with her gift for spirit healing. So William can learn to make smoke appear with a flick of his fingers and make thunder crash with a twist of his hand, so that he can be not only an actor but the very first mage to use his magic as part of a play.

He lets them go. Except for one, who he can’t let go. Who flat-out refuses to leave.

‘You should join the College too,’ he tells Leona one day, as they travel on through the wilds together, her pulling at his sleeve every two minutes to ask what a certain plant is or whether he has any more stories about being a Warden. ‘You should have a life. It’s not safe for you with me. I’ll always be hunted, and there are more dangers out here than bandits and wolves.’

‘I’m not scared. You’ll fight them off.’ She grins up at him, gap-toothed and completely unafraid, utterly trusting. He knows he should beg her to leave, force her to, that she deserves better - but she’s given him peace, and he can’t form the words on his lips. ‘You can fight off any wolf. You and Uncle Justice.’

She slips her tiny fingers into his.

If Justice is your uncle, what does that make me? Anders almost asks, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t need to ask, and she doesn’t need to say it. They both know.

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

When Everything Changed

Retool of a prompt I received a week ago. In which DA2 era Cullen has an encounter he won’t be forgetting anytime soon. For day one of @cullenappreciationweek

The morning before everything changed, he woke up, and everything made sense. Everything was all right in the world. Everything was where it should be.

It was a nightmare that drew him from the fade, though that was to be expected. They would never allude him. At the very least his rank allowed him his own private quarters, and only the walls of his room in the Gallows bore witness to his cries and helpless murmurs of stop, no, leave me. Yet he woke and the memories flooded back. He wasn’t back there anymore, and he would never have to endure that again, so long as he fulfilled his sacred duties. He reminded himself of that as he shook the nightmare of Uldred and Kinloch away, washed, and donned his uniform as ceremoniously as he always did. He did so because it was what he had to do. What he would always have to do, to make the world safe.

He caught a glimpse of the insignia engraved in his breastplate before he left. It may has well have been etched onto his very soul. He chose this, and he would see it through. See everything through. He woke up that morning and he knew that.

Though he knew, though he would never speak it to anyone, save in the private recess of his thoughts, that it was getting harder to believe that everything was right. But what choice did he have? There was no choice. Only duty.

Meredith had called him into her office that morning once he was up and about. Nothing unusual. After numerous reports and sightings, we have confirmed the location of the hiding apostate, she informed him. If they resist, kill them. If not, bring them back. Take Samson with you.

They always resist, Samson said before they departed, though Cullen knew it was what Samson always told Meredith.

They arrived at the Coast to cave where the apostates were supposedly hiding. Bloody caves here all look the same, Samson complained as he went one way, and Cullen the other. It wasn’t wise to split up but Samson had insisted. There was only one, he said. One would be easy enough and we’ve certainly taken enough lyrium to dispel all their magic. So Cullen traversed through the darkness, sword and shield in hand. Someone was there, that was abundantly clear. The torches lit the way, and the farther he traversed, the light of a fire became more visible. It seemed whoever this apostate was, they wanted to be found.

He heard voices, whispers, but he caught a few words. Templar, may find us. Need to check. It was coming from a voice distinctly feminine. So there was more than one, he realized, quickly wishing Samson didn’t insist on splitting up as he did. At the very least Cullen caught the irony of the moment. These mages certainly didn’t realize how right they were.

When he heard the light footsteps he made the plan. He would dispel the area and tell them to surrender. He would bind their hands and then take them back. He wasn’t sure what Meredith would decree when they took them back. Tranquility, perhaps if they had escaped from another Circle. Perhaps it was better than death. Surely if Samson had found them he would kill them, and perhaps it was better that Cullen had arrived first. Surely living, even if that life was only a shell and hollow, was better than being cut down here and now…

Later, bitterly he would laugh as he remembered the time before. He would laugh because he woke up that morning and he knew his duty and what that insignia he wore meant. That was before he saw...

But was it?

Dumbstruck he stared. It couldn’t…it couldn’t really be…

The woman appeared before him. Fire pooling in her palm. Circle robe. Same dumbstruck expression that he wore. This woman couldn’t really be…

 Cliodna?

It was impossible. The woman from the book of stories his mother used to put him to bed with couldn’t really come to life from the page, and be this woman no less. Not her, not this mage… 

But Maker’s breath she was looking at him with all the same determination as Cliodna, the woman who had searched the lowlands, looking for her lover. Everything stilled and he suddenly wasn’t a templar any longer, just a boy on his mother’s lap, begging for the story of Cliodna again. He thought that story book and Cliodna long gone, just a figment of his past. Never would he ever expect waking up and beholding this fragment of his past come to life from the page. 

Cliodna searched for her lover after he had gone missing in the lowalnds. This woman must have searched for something as well. She wouldn’t have stared at him with such conviction otherwise. What did this woman search for? Freedom perhaps, it was what all apostates wanted, and exactly what they couldn’t have.

If she wasn’t a mage, if he wasn’t a templar, if he didn’t have his duty…

Why wasn’t he dispelling the area?

They stared, neither one so much as breathing in this space that they created, the space where the apostate and templar lay in wait, something more than distrust and blind hatred tangible in the air. Perhaps, he thought, it was fascination, or at least a mutual unwillingness to strike. However, just as Cullen kept his sword drawn and shield ready, the fire kept pulling in her hands, though the glow was growing dimmer and dimmer.

The fire may have dimmed in her palm, but her eyes, blue as the deepest sea, grew brighter. Such a contradiction that shouldn’t even have been possible: fire in the sea of blue. Yet there it was, and exactly like Cliodna. She had every idiosyncrasy.  

Cullen couldn’t help but further assess the woman’s appearance. Her hair was a dark brown, long and to her back, loose and unruly. Once again, just like Cliodna. She wore the standard circle robe, blue and unshapely as it was, though upon further inspection Cullen could see she filled out the robe rather well. She was rather tall, and her hips were well defined, as was her…

You are...what are you...?

The base and low thoughts ceased. What was he doing? Maker what was he doing? He should have dispelled her, and the others that were laying in wait. Perhaps they were waiting to ambush him. If Samson had found her first he would have killed her for daring to draw fire upon him. Yet Cullen was struck with something. The first was rather obvious. If this was an ambush something would have surely happened by now. The second however, was something that made his heart pound a million beats.

He woke up that morning, and he what he should have done. He knew that if a mage ever dared to reign fire upon him, even so much as have it in their palms, ready to attack, he would have to slay them. Of course, that was before he knew what fate would bring along his path. When Cullen woke up that morning, he would have never known he would see this woman, mage, being that so perfectly emulated Cliodna, and allow his sacred duty to fall to the wayside, crumpling to the ground.

Maker’s breath, he did not want to strike her.

It isn’t about wanting to or not, he reminded himself. This is what you chose! This is your duty.

Did she have some sort of power over him that made him not strike? They are insidious, Meredith often said. 

But Cullen felt nothing in the air. No magic or none of the tell tale signs of lyrium tingling in his veins. The only power she held over him was what lay ingrained in her eyes.

And he would not strike her.

Hands trembling, he sheathed his sword. Slowly in turn, the fire in the woman’s hand dimmed until it was gone. The torch nearby illuminated her face however, the curve of her jawline, the upward flex of her right eyebrow, and the quizzical expression.

“Who are you?” she breathed, her voice a deep contralto.

“Cullen,” he said, surprising himself. “I’m…I’m a templar.”

A look crossed her face, one that distinctly read as, Really stupid? At the very least she gave him the curtesy not to say anything. Instead she crossed her arms, and offered him her name.

Her name was Lydia.

“Lydia,” he repeated, the name sounding strange on his tongue. “It…you should…”

Dammit, what was he doing? What was he…?

“Are you going to take me to the Circle? To Meredith?”

“I…I don’t know,” he croaked.

“Take me, fine,” she insisted suddenly. “Take me now and I surrender.”

“Wasn’t there others with you?”

“Don’t take them. Take only me and I’ll accept whatever punishment, but do not take them.”

What was he doing? Maker…what? He couldn’t stand here and bargain with her! “I can’t—”

“Please,” Lydia interrupted. “Please let them go.  My friend is pregnant and, if you send her to the Circle she’ll be killed, or made tranquil, and…that can’t happen. Want to send me back, kill me or make me tranquil, fine. But please…if you don’t I’ll—”

Fire erupted in her palm, burning brightly. There it was. His reason to strike. He had to do it. Here and now. Here and—

But he could see it in her eyes. She did not want to do what she had threatened.

Fine then, he thought, and the two continued to share the same space, neither one willing to make the first move. Perhaps this wasn’t a cause to strike. He could carry her back to Kirkwall and back to the Circle. They all could see that the Circle wasn’t so cruel after all. Let it be known that templars showed mercy to those who were willing to surrender. But he couldn’t let the others go if he took her back to the Circle. It was ridiculous, preposterous. Either he killed her, took the others back, or they all died. Or she went to the Circle in chains.

“I…”

“Please,” Lydia said, once more. “I…I know you have to be one of the good ones. You didn’t kill me when you had the chance, and Maker…I don’t want to kill you.”

“I know,” he admitted.

“Then let me—”

“Just go.”

The words hung in the air. Did he say them? Did he really just…

He said it and did not take it back. But onto the Maker and the holy Andraste, he would swear that night. He did not want to take it back.

“Go,” he orders, edge creeping into his words. “Leave this place.”

“But—”

“Take your friends and go.”

She stared, mouth agape. “Go,” he commanded once again. “Go before my companion arrives. If you flee now he won’t find you and you’ll live.”

 She blinked, unbelieving. “I don’t—why are you sparing me?”

 “Go!”

He made a fist so hard his knuckles must have turned white underneath his steel gauntlets. Moments ticked by that felt like hours before she disappeared and emerged from the back of the cave again with the two others. A man, and an the elven woman, heavy with child. She had been telling the truth.

“Leave the Coast,” Cullen said. “My companion will want to search. You mustn’t linger. Go now.”

The elf and the man didn’t need to be told twice, but Lydia remained for a moment. He wanted to scream at her not to linger anymore. Samson would arrive and…

Samson would arrive and know what he had done. 

“Go now!” Cullen ordered. “Maker’s breath go before I change my mind!”

The elf was tugging at Lydia’s robe. One last look into his eyes.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

And then as quickly as his eyes met the sea blue of hers, she was gone.

Meredith told him not to fail again when they returned, and when she left him, Cullen laughed bitterly.

He never would have suspected, when he woke up that morning, how that woman, Lydia, the woman who reminded him of Cliodna would…

 No, he didn’t actually think that…

Mages cannot be treated like people. Hawke would often berate him with, repeating the words he had told her the first day they met. But Lydia wasn’t a mage. She was, but she wasn’t just a mage. She was Cliodna. She was determined, and she was the first person who looked at him in a thousand years, and saw someone other than the templar.

It wasn’t Lydia, that made everything change. He understood that later. Yet it was his first moment with her that he realized that everything had already changed longed ago. 

If he would not stop it, then who would?

He was at Haven when he saw her again.

He was scanning the requisition requests when Cliodna caught his eyes, but when he took a second look, he realized it wasn’t Cliodna at all. Rather instead, it was Lydia.

She was working with Sabine and the other healers, and he wondered how long it would take her to recognize him. Maybe it was ridiculous of him, self-centered even to think she would recognize him.

She came to him, soon after though. She was the one sent to deliver a few elfroot potions to his tent.

She stared wide eyed. “You’re…you’re…”

“You remember,” he observed, realizing that she did, indeed, know who he was.

“Cullen,” she began. “Why did you save us? I read Tale of the Champion. I know what you said. Why did you think we could be saved?”

He sighed. He wasn’t going to deny he didn’t say those things, but when he thought of admitting why he saved her…

In truth he didn’t know all the answers. He thought there were a thousand reasons, and perhaps a thousand more he didn’t dare to admit even to himself. She made him remember, that was the most prominent. For once, he looked at someone and didn’t remember the melancholy laden in f his past. Only the good. Cliodna, his mother telling him the story. Home. He knew she was a mage when he met her, and yet even if it was for one moment, it didn’t matter.

But it was longer than a moment, and when the moment didn’t pass, he knew he wanted to let her go. So for the first time in ages, he did what he wanted, and not what was bound by his duty. He did it, even if it meant he would burn because of it. All because she made it possible for him to remember that which he thought was lost. Her, Lydia, this woman, radiant, and almost like the sun.

She was like the sun, standing there in his tent. An interesting beauty, someone artists would no doubt chose as their model for illustrations of ethereal maidens, much like Cliodna.

He looked at her then, and wondered.

Did he save her that day, because he found her beautiful?

Skin kissed by the sun. Luxuriant dark hair. Eyes the deepest blue. Earnest and real. Perhaps the realest thing he had ever seen.

The morning he woke up, the morning he met her, he didn’t know she would never leave his thoughts.

He knew the answer to his question.

“I…I don’t know,” he said instead, breaking the silence. “I just thought…”

She put her hands on her hips. “Did you think I was pretty?”

“I…no,” he stammered quickly, feeling caught. “I mean…Oh maker, it’s not that you aren’t, but—���

She laughed, and the sound was so foreign, and so surprising in regards to everything that had happened at the conclave and Haven, that it became a melody Cullen wasn’t sure he would hear again. “I’m only teasing,” she said, when her laughter quelled, and he was struck by how much he wanted to hear her laugher again.

“Why didn’t you want to attack me?” he asked in turn. “You had a ball of fire ready.”

“You looked…you looked sad that day,” she replied. I don’t know. you didn’t even look like you wanted to attack.” 

Maker’s breath, was she going to see right through him? “I was sad,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “And…misguided. I treated mages with distrust, sometimes without cause. I will…try not to do so here.”

“It seems you’ve stepped in the right direction that day.”

“Did you three, make it out alright?” Cullen found himself asking. “The child?”

“Alive and well.

“That is…good to hear.”

Blue eyes like the sea peered at him. “I thank you, you know. I want you to know that.”

She truly was earnest. He didn’t think “you’re welcome” was appropriate for all the wrong he did in his past, and what could never be absolved. He only nodded.

The silence that came between them next was comfortable, as the two shared the same space. Not as a mage and templar, but as a man and a woman.

“I’m not a templar anymore,” he said, mirroring the trite, obvious remark he made those years ago. “And…you’re here in the Inquisition to help,” he said. “We are…grateful for your assistance.”

“No, you’re not a templar anymore,” she repeated. “Even though I’m still a mage. But here at least, in the Inquisition, I can help. That’s all that matters now. Not our pasts. And I promise I won’t tease you anymore. I mean, only if you want it, and…Oh Maker…” she blushed an angry red, and he was struck by how sweet the pop of pink looked on her cheeks. “I should go now anyway,” she garbled. “Sabine needs help. I’ll see you soon Commander Cullen.”

She left after that, leaving the smell of jasmine in his tent. Strange, to smell jasmine, but not entirely unwelcome.

Lydia, Cullen thought. Mage, Cliodna, and the sun. The woman that made him realize that everything had changed.

Yet Cullen had a suspicion that something else was also about to change.

[glowyelfboyfriend]

Zevran and/or Aveline for the ask thing

A: What are/were this character’s best subjects in school?

Aveline doesnt strike me as a naturally book-smart person, but I can see her being very studious and working hard in the subjects she would need for her choosen career. I think she would lean towards social studies and history and maths, anything thats more subjective or artistic would be more difficult I imagine. That being said I think she would have good marks in most subjects.

V: What’s the easiest way to annoy them?

Oh man well its EASY to annoy Aveline. Immaturity and inappropriate banter is obvious some of the easiest stuff, Aveline is quite serious. I can see her getting really annoyed with her friends wasting her time or energy on things that are overblown or faked or whatever. She’s the mom. She gets annoyed by her kids sometimes.

E: How are they with children?

Oh. Man.

Ok so out of the DA2 crew she is the one I can easily see having kids. But I totally see her being a fussy and sometimes hovering worried parent. While she with her friends is very no-nonsense and eye rolling I can see her being super nuturing and sweet with a child. I think random kids catch her off guard and she wants to be really good with them cause goddamn she wants to be a good mom, but would be intimidated like “how do I do this” and it would be like the flirting with Donnic levels of awkward. But if she had a kid of her own I think she would slip into it easier.

L: What is their favourite board game?

Aveline would like easy to pick up games that involve strategy and skill. I uh... its early so I cant really think of any but I know they exist. Like that one with the dice. Idk.  

I: On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do they love themselves?

My first instinct on this is “there is always room for improvement”. Aveline would rate herself somewhere around a 7 with a shrug and say that thing. Half because shes intending to work hard to improve herself overall, and half to cover up her insecurities about things that she doesnt want to broadcast to everyone.

N: What do they usually eat for breakfast?

Aveline is defs someone who wakes up at 5am, bathes and does an excerise and cooks a full breakfast to eat. I think what she eats would change with the seasons and such, and would change once shes living with Donnic, but I think she’d be a toast and eggs/bacon girl for sure. I can see her occasionally opting for a flapjack and some blueberries or oatmeal with apple slices maybe.

BONUS What are their hands like?

Aveline’s hands are not special at a glance. Average, but perhaps broader than you would assume a woman’s to be. At a closer look they are lined, dry, discolored by bruises and calluses that are years old. Her nails are broken, ragged and one is an off colour. The veins show in the back of her hands and when she makes a fist you can see the muscles flex. When the hand is brought up for an arm wrestle you can sense the history and training in the palm stretched challengingly towards you.

Aveline’s hands twist in her lap worriedly, tap against the table impatiently, they soothe over the back of a guard recruit who has just experienced his first loss. They smell of affordable lotions made from elfroot, used to ease the sore skin and muscles, and they smell of armor polish and fresh baked bread. Her hands are generous and loving but shy and awkward, all at once. And yet, her hands seem just as comfortable embraced with her lover’s as they do holding a blade.

[alteredphoenix]

a tongue shriller than all the music (WIP)

A/N: I had an itch to read some Dragon Age fanfics last night. The problem, however, is that I’ve only played Origins and Awakening, and for me that limits how much I can experience the fandom as a whole (until I get around to playing DA2 and Inquisition, that is). In the end, I could not find a fic that held my interest; I am notoriously picky when it comes to uncovering a good yarn.

On the other hand, I did manage to locate the WIP of a one-shot (from December 25, 2017; Merry Christmas!) that adapted the Tamlen scenario a Mahariel Warden goes through via the former’s POV - at least until he’s put down by them.

This WIP utilizes the fem!Mahariel Warden (which I used in my playthroughs) and - though it isn’t necessary to the plot - hints of fem!Mahariel/Leliana. The title is inspired by quotes attributed to Uriel Septim VII from The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, when asked by the Hero of Kvatch where they are going once they leave the Imperial Prison: “I go to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for a while, then we must part.”

-

She’s gotten more meat on her since he last saw her. Mahariel has always been a skinny little thing—she still is, but she’s leaner, sculpted, not so bony anymore. Good, he thinks, licking his lips. It’ll make slaking the hunger all the more delectable.

He is both glad and disgusted for thinking such thoughts, but he can’t stop them. He and the taint are one now. It’s as normal as having blood run through his veins and bone keeping his muscles and innards aloft. He needs his strength, what cunning he can dredge forth from the bloodlust that grips him in its ironclad hold and shows him, in his eyes, and behind them, total darkness. He will need it in the days to come, when the Master calls for them to make one last push into the heartlands. They would not give, only take. They would break the mortality shackling their vessels and make so much more.

No! he wants to cry, wants to yell it in the face of the beautiful creature with all the force his shriveled, blackened lungs can muster. All he can manage is a croak from a mouth that parts and a tongue tasting air tainted by festering wounds, the sulfurous tang of unleashed magic, and the fresh, sharp copper-scent of honing oil. He slides his tongue back in, swallows and has to clench his teeth at the yodeling battle cries ringing clear, so damn clear, across the field and in his head; and he doubles over. He doubles over, knees buckling as if his shoulders bear the weight of a burden heavier than he is, and breathes through his nostrils. Breathe! he commands himself. Breathe! and among the garbled roars of the Shrieks, the clashing of claw against steel, flinging spells and whistling arrows, he can hear his Master. Buried, deep, pulled from the very edges of muted chaos into chaotic creation:

JOIN.

FEED.

REVEL.

NOURISH.

KILL.

KILL!

He swallows back bile, just barely, tosses his head back and howls.

Then he runs—away from the fighting, away from the Shrieks, away from the Master, the voices, the thirst, the hunger. Away from Mahariel. He ducks his head and runs.

YOU WILL NOT.

Yet he does, and though the song rises in a steady crescendo he is able to get as far as the edge of the camp before his feet compel him to stop and SUBMIT. He pants, one hand pressed to his chest, and there’s another ringing in his ears again. It has nothing to do with the darkspawn enunciating their death throes or the way the blades of their foes (NO!) punching through armor into sickly-soft flesh. It is wordless, formless, high as the ringing in one’s ears, but there’s a grinding machination lurking underneath: of fires roaring in blackened forges; of a tidal wave of corpses tumbling down, down, into the molten heart of the earth; the gentle, cavernous crooning of the Master, humming—scraping—at the very precipices of a mind that dictates what should be and what should not be.

JOIN.

FEED.

KILL.

LIVE, says the Master, and the scraping is now a tearing now a sundering. It drowns out the Shrieks and their death throes and fills his head with teeth and fire and by the gods he’s on fire he’s on fire everything HURTS—

He bends over again, and this time he lets the vomit flow, bloodied and full of ichor. Strands dangle and drip from his lips when he finishes, and each breath makes his chest constrict a little tighter and shakes him harder. He retches again, but nothing else remains, and he manages to straighten up, wiping his mouth with the back of a blistered, brown-splotched hand.

EAT, AND BE GLAD.

“N-No,” he mumbles, and even now isn’t sure if he said it aloud or in his thoughts. What does it matter? He is tired, he is aching, he wants no part in this—but I am so hungry, and if he had the strength and mental fortitude he would cry and scream for all he is worth.

EAT.

Yes. He has to eat. He must eat. This is who he is now, what he has been gifted with, and gifts must never go to waste.