#just use veilguard as a prompt at this point

[littlegalerion]

The fanfiction scene for Dragon Age is about to get insane. With the recent leaks on Veilguard, I just wanna say: write your own ending. We ain't getting a good conclusion, and we deserve one.

So come forth, great multiverse tides of fanfiction stories, and show me your conclusions to the great Dragon Age franchise's story!

[mcflymemes]

DRAGON AGE: THE VEILGUARD PROMPTS PT 3 *  assorted dialogue from the third and fourth hour of the video game

my information was accurate.

now you realize the danger is real.

you are asking for knowledge no mortal in this world is privy to.

i need to know what makes you the right person to lead the fight.

i stopped you, didn't i?

i find a way to get the job done, whatever it takes.

how do we stop them from doing it?

that will give you time.

i gave no orders. all i offer are suggestions.

i... regret what happened.

you've gotta take point on this.

i can't do what you do.

i've barely been holding it together in the short time you've been out.

you just need to get it done.

remember when we first met?

you did most of the work.

you've got a knack for finding your way through the wildest shit i've ever seen, with a plan no one expects.

don't worry. i'll still be here to talk if you need me.

how are you feeling about it?

it doesn't matter how i feel about it.

you made a decision with the best information you had. sometimes you do that, and people end up hurt. or worse.

a good leader isn't someone who never makes mistakes. it's someone who admits when they make one.

not everyone was happy about my decision.

i wish i could be out there with you, [name].

you're here for leads.

who do we hire to fight that?

i've heard of you.

we don't even know what we lost.

you're busy. i shouldn't interrupt.

what's important is that you're happy.

if we forgot something so important, what else did we forget?

i don't expect you to have an answer.

thanks for letting me babble.

we're short on options.

i cannot protect you.

we can talk business when we arrive.

one day, i will see a knife through every would-be tyrant's throat.

sounds like there's more to it.

what i say doesn't leave this room.

you didn't think to tell me?

well, we're not going that way.

i can't believe all this is underwater.

we're looking for a killer.

who are you? who sent you?

they can use it to control me.

in return, i want help killing some things.

this is what success looks like.

we got your target.

the job's done.

we clearly have things to discuss... somewhere else.

i'm ready to get out of this place.

i don't need time. i need a target.

you just got here and already you want to leave again?

how do you get rid of them?

what's everyone talking about?

that can't be the only solution.

you're bleeding.

i know things have been complicated, but i'm glad you're here.

i owe you a debt.

[amurderandconspiracy]

Five Stages, Two Talons, and a lost little Crow

****Dragon Age Veilguard spoilers AHEAD, read at your own peril ****

>>> 

Follow up scene with Lucanis and Viago – After “Scents and Grief” and the letter This scene is prompted by what was not shown of the companions during the Regret Prison. Viago is a worried older brother, just do not tell him I said so. My Rook is a nonbinary Crow!Mage!Rook but this scene does not necessarily give any descriptions of Rook, other than their name, so you can inject your own into the scene if that helps you.

>>> 

The sound of the room’s double doors slamming woke him from his depressed slumber.  Darkness flooding his sight as he opens his eyes to the still dimness of the wardrobe and with a brief intake, the comforting perfume slips into his nose and settles into his lungs.  The feathers of the blanket brush against his skin and a crumpled parchment clutched in his hand falls to the floor of the wardrobe as he comes back to himself.  Remembrance dawns for a moment, chilling the brief warmth in his chest.  The void of anguish spreads and Lucanis starts to sink back down as his mind fights the web of miserable exhaustion and emptiness, only to remember that the loud sound of the double doors slamming woke him.

“Where the Maker are they!?” booms an angry voice laced with deeply seated fear and worry.  The familiar and irritated lilt of Viago’s voice travels through the stone chamber and bounces off the aquarium glass, barely muffled by the wardrobe doors.

Lucanis cannot seem to muster a mood to deal with Viago in this moment and Spite uses the lack of response from Lucanis to jump to the fore, responding with irritation and unkindness, “GET. OUT!”

Lucanis rolls his eyes, and directs a thought at Spite, thanks for that, pissing off Viago is not the best idea…especially when we failed to tell him what happened to Rook...

Spite seems to catch on this thought and tilts his head, NOT GONE. ROOK IS OURS; WE WILL FIND THEM. ADDER’S MUSTACHE CAN WAIT.

Lucanis goes to respond when the doors of the wardrobe are furiously pulled open, the flood of watery shimmering light from the aquarium casts a tint of greenish-blue into the dark cupboard, an enraged Viago speaking with clipped tones as he attempts to bodily drag Lucanis into the room, “Hiding Dellamorte? Answer me!” Viago is speaking through clenched teeth and the grip he manages on Lucanis’ gear feels like claws dug into flesh.

Lucanis’ emotional reserves may be numbed to the point of oblivion but his instincts are well honed and the hostile way that Viago is demanding Lucanis answer to him allows the cool exterior of indifference to slide into place as the innate need to defend himself and his safety takes hold.  Lucanis surges forward from his nest and uses the offset of Viago’s footing to push up and out of the wardrobe while grabbing the forearms of the raging Fifth Talon.  Viago senses the shift and tries to throw his mass to reorient the balance and allow Lucanis’ sprung energy to overbalance him.  In the same instance Viago attempts to drop his weight, Lucanis anticipates the use of encumbrance for leverage, feeling himself cross the center line and performs a slight spin to disengage, freeing his hands of Viago’s forearms and preparing for a more concerted response.

“Where are they, Dellamorte!?  Where is my…Rook?!” Viago seems to strain to contain an emotional reaction as he yells the final question and Lucanis makes a quick assessment, seeing the always brooding but usually composed Viago breathing irately; a wild look about his features.

Lucanis immediately disengages and holds up his hands, stepping just out of range. “Viago, I…” he responds with a stripe of shame and guilt seeping into his voice.

“Don’t you fucking dare!  Where is Rook?  And don’t you fucking say what you almost said…where is Fae!?” Viago steps forward, pressing the advantage, fear and anger mixing in his voice as he fights for some semblance of control to get an answer. An answer that does not involve apologies.

“They…were…pulled into the Fade…” Lucanis starts to explain, the guilt and the weight of his emotional decline is evident in the way his voice drops in timbre, almost breathy as he forces out words he has not wanted to say.

“And when in damnation were you going to tell me that a member of my House was in the bloody Fade? Were you going to leave me to wait obediently in Treviso without a single word?!” Viago continues to advance, though his shoulders are dropping as if a weight is dragging him past composure.

“We…I do not have answers. They were there…one moment…the next they were not and they cried my…” Lucanis swallows and stops then, unable to say more without losing face. “I was going to come to Treviso to tell you, to tell you to your face.” Lucanis almost pleads, the mask of the assassin’s calm drawing back to reveal a haunted expression.

Spite circles Viago, stalking and observing him. SMELLS LIKE POISONS…AND…ROOK. He seems perplexed by this and tilts his head like a bird, assessing the rumpled look of Viago’s hair and the puffiness of the skin below his eyes. DROWNED IN ANGER AND GRIEF. Spite steps closer at this point, knowing Viago cannot see or hear him.

Spite, back away. Viago is Fae’s teacher, their older brother of sorts. Do not push him. Lucanis mentally tries to pull Spite away from Viago.  Watching the man absorb the response.

Viago sees the strain on Lucanis’ face and the pieces of fragmented information starts to paint a saddened expression of understanding and commiseration, “Who and what do I have to kill to get them back…is there another of these so-called gods that we need to sacrifice to bring them home?” Viago looks directly into Lucanis’ eyes, the wheels of negotiations and plans already churning in his mind.

Lucanis hesitated for a moment, not knowing the right answer and after their little breakdown last night, he was not currently apprised of the battle plans or developments from the rest of the team.  He knew Emmrich had been formulating some theories; Neve as well.  Harding and Taash had immediately started reaching out to their contacts and network.  The loss of Davrin and Assan, and the capture of Bellara had not even been discussed, everyone avoiding the subject all together.  The team had been in shock, disassociated from the reality of their losses when they had mercifully escaped Tearstone Island following the firestorm that Elgar’nan had kicked up in response to the slaying of Ghilan’nain.

Viago looks at him in anticipatory silence, Lucanis shakes off his hesitation and responds with a voice of surety he is certainly not feeling, “Let us go down to the kitchen table, we can put on coffee and discuss with everyone our strategy going forward.” Lucanis steps forward then and places his hand on Viago’s arm, redirecting him with very little effort toward the doors.

“We will get them back Viago. We must.” Lucanis promises, not entirely to Viago, not allowing acceptance of anything less.

WE WILL. Spite affirms, settling into Lucanis with purpose and determination.

[nessacousland]

can i ask what was ur problem with treviso? i actually found treviso and the crows to be the most interesting faction out of all of them so maybe im just biased LOL

Okay, full disclosure: I was on vacation and didn’t get to play Veilguard until the 8th of November. Couldn’t take the potential spoilers everywhere, so I've been cramming these past few days to finish the game asap (I still did every side quest, had all factions at max strength and got the “best” ending etc. but didn’t do every chests/stats puzzle). By the time the Treviso questline concluded, I'd been fully marinating in the sauce of all the other criminally stupid quests, is what I’m trying to say, and Treviso was emblematic of every problem I already had with this game. It was my breaking point.

To start with, the questline is offensively generic and an actual insult to the players’ intellect. Painfully linear, cartoon villains abound and nothing of any substance was ever said during its run.

The moment Caterina told us about Lucanis’ non-death, I called Illario being the traitor. There were no clever misdirects, there were no other leads, nope, they showed us his hand *immediately*. Grandma First Talon of the murder guild has a clear favorite and didn’t tell the ‘spare’ heir about her suspicions? Yeah, okay. Repeat FAMILY as often as you want, you piss-poor Godfather knockoff of a questline, I ain't buying.

So, from the start, all tension is gone, I'm just sitting there waiting for the rest of these “capable” assassins who “rule Antiva from the shadows” to catch on to this incredibly obvious plot twist. Meanwhile, the quests had absolutely nothing interesting to say - about the Crows or Treviso. The first bad guy was, predictably, an evil evil Venatori, super more evil than the evil evil Venatori you've seen before, guys, she literally BATHES IN BLOOD. Omg, right? 🙄 (I found Tevinter infinitely more compelling when their entire ruling class were power-hungry tyrants out of self-interest instead of being hit over the head with the mustache-twirling villain/crazed cultist stick).

Mr. “totally not the traitor” kills Zara before she can tell us anything of substance, she dies,clearly shocked, calling him “Amatus”...AND NO ONE CATCHES ON. You can have Neve on the team, Bellara regularly reads Tevinter serials (the whole team has a fucking book club in the middle of an apocalypse), you can play a freaking Shadow Dragon Rook, but nah, nothing. We don’t even get to ask “Uh, what was that?”. Instead, we get to sit through more pointless missives/quests while the ever capable Crows are totally investigating the traitor.

Now, you could argue that the “Amatus” was a reward to tip off those of us who’ve played the previous games and know what the term means. But with a plot this threadbare and obvious…did the writers think they’re Agatha Christie here? Did they really think I was at the edge of my seat, desperate to find out “whodunit” and grateful for any crumbs thrown my way?

Well, anyway, we are told a million times over that super charming (where?) Illario is just “like that” every time he acts super freaking suspicious. (The funeral thing with Caterina's ashes was especially funny.)

You'd think those instances would start to add up and prompt someone - anyone - to start using their brains (don't we have a goddamn detective on our team?!), but NOPE. We have to corpse-whisper to progress this questline. One of the biggest ass-pulls they've introduced via this game in general, in my opinion (is this Forbidden Realms and we just unlocked the Speak with the Dead spell?) - and it acts as the deus ex machina here to finally give us a clue. Wow, thanks.

The entire sequence of Lucanis confronting Illario in front of the assembled mafia felt like something out of an Antivan play. So goddamn goofy. I thought that vibe was charming in Josephine's romance quest - Antivans live for the drama - but they wanted us to take this moment seriously. This is Lucanis confronting his “all he has left” (don't get me started on the Fade sequence - apparently we the players can’t grasp anyone's motivations without having them spelled out for us over and over again) for putting him through hell and changing his entire being forever. Should I be laughing right now?

To make matters worse,we're told that the Crows are the perfect killers who never leave a contract unfinished - and then Lucanis spares Illario because the humiliation is the biggest punishment??? Like, I'm fine with him faltering here, that’s human. But this should have had consequences. This is the murder guild we're talking about here. Lucanis’ parents were literally killed in a different house’s coup attempt. He was just made the head mobster, immediately showed weakness in front of the entire mafia and everything is just dandy fine??? Because FAMILY?

Another personal gripe with this is that - as always - Rook had zero agency. No matter what you do, Lucanis will forgive or spare Illario. Imagine if we had the option to convince him to kill him instead. Imagine the resulting resentment tainting our bond with him and having us actively engage with fixing or breaking it. Imagine us going along with his mercy but hashing out the painful consequences for his house with him. But that’s not the game Veilguard is.

Anyway, the quest then becomes even more ridiculous. We've long learned that a human traitor helped the Antaam claim Treviso overnight. Someone with great knowledge of the city and the necessary power to make it happen. Gee, I'm sure the human GOVERNOR regularly hanging out in the Crow headquarters or the market bitching about the Crows’ interference 24/7 - the ONLY town official we get to see - had nothing to do with it. Five scarves fluttered in shock out of five, great job, guys.

The Butcher thing was just…weird. Like, we get to hear and build him up as this totally different antaam leader, cruel but cunning and calculating, someone who will be difficult to dethrone. Only for him to show up out of nowhere and serve no other purpose than to move the main plot forward asap and die. Lol, thanks for your service, I guess.

Then Ivenci, for no fucking reason, decides that they, like any good cartoon villain, should reveal themselves to us just in order to gloat. Um, why don’t they simply order the Antaam to murder us dead right then and there? If Rook and their plucky team of friends are too powerful for that, why haven’t we taken Treviso by force already? But nah, lol, our plot armor doesn’t have any cracks yet, so they literally tell us to go away and try to disturb the gods’ plans, because those guys will totally kill us for them.

Now, we wait again. Excuse me, isn’t this a questline about assassins? Why aren’t we trying to, y'know, assassinate Ivenci? Cut off the snakes's head, how often have we heard this phrase otherwise? Nah, let's wait till we get another letter that shit is going down that the Crows totally didn’t anticipate and THEN let's confront them. (Ofc, the Crows’ investigation of the qamek stalled forever. Cause they’re incompetent.)

But the thing that really broke me…we KNOW Ivenci stole a bunch of special qamek. We run at them THROUGH A GREEN POISON CLOUD. And my Rooks's just like “Huhhh? Is something possibly messing with my mind right now?”. YOU STUPID POS.

And then, ofc, we end the questline and Jacobus pops outta nowhere to spare Ivenci because a good pirate never steals and a good assassin never kills, I guess. Jacobus founds his new house to basically become a big mafia family for orphans like him which everyone is super proud of, because, if the previous installments of the game have taught us anything, it's that the Crows are deeply concerned with the well-being of orphans. Whoop dee doo, the end.

Okay, more notes. It’s been mentioned plenty already that this game has completely neutered the Crows and turned them into edgy found family freedom fighters. Personally, I'm not okay with the explanation that this is simply a different house than House Arainai. Because what the actual fuck, game. Why is Ivenci the bad guy when they're literally right about everything?! Where's my option to agree with them that a fucking murder mafia shouldn’t be the ruling force of a town, let alone the entire country? Why is the municipal government the enemy while my non-Crow Rook keeps shouting “Viva the Crows”??? Are you really telling me that the Crows are the good guy mafia and House Arainai was the bad outlier? Is that what this is?

Look, I'm fine with allying with the Crows if that’s what necessity dictates. We're trying to stop the SUPER BLIGHT here. But don’t sugarcoat that this is us joining forces with the mob. The way Veilguard presents them makes me cringe cause they're basically just leather-clad incompetent fools larping as birds. Show us the reality of this alliance. Get into the nitty-gritty. Make this world feel real. God.

I *wanted* to like this questline. Out of every country in Northern Thedas, I've always been most interested in Antiva. The whole medievalesque guilds system and merchant princes, the mediterranean romance and drama, pirates and Crows, the snazzy outfits and Spanish accents, god, normally, I'm eating that shit UP. I didn’t even think twice about which city to save. Partially because Minrathous was better fortified and Venatori seemed like the lesser evil vs. blighted water, of course, but mostly because Treviso is absolutely gorgeous and Zevran and Josephine instilled a lot of love for Antiva in me that I just don’t feel for Tevinter. I also thought that the setup was very interesting - professional assassins turned into freedom fighters of their occupied turf. And it *would* have been if they had let them remain, y'know, the actual murder mafia they always were.

But aside from my gripes about the Crows’ portrayal, the entire questline was just a total nothing burger. This is the first time ever that we're actually in Antiva, our introduction, so to speak, and what do we learn about the place? That there’s strife and betrayal among the Crows? Um, yeah, Zevran covered that fifteen years ago. There’s nothing new whatsoever. Imagine if our primary goal had actually been to help the Crows free Treviso. That we're working to loosen the Butcher's grasp on the town via strategic assassinations (i.e. actual Crow missions) that also introduce us to Treviso's people/Antivan culture (taking out someone during a theatre play, for example! The drama!), the internal politics of the Merchant princes and the municipal government's struggle to keep this occupied city from imploding. Imagine us getting caught up in this web of intrigue as we get closer and closer to the Butcher and then suddenly, we're being played. And only *then* do we start to suspect a traitor among the Crows’ ranks and the whole thing unravels. Spitballing even further, why repeat the Crow/Venatori romance in a random side quest with random people? Why not have Zara and Illario be actually in love, but he kills her for his ambition anyway? And instead of taking responsibility for his actions, he blames Lucanis for forcing his hand? Or maybe, they both thought they were playing the other and as another power hungry asshole, Zara almost respects Illario for the hussle as she dies? *Some* messiness and drama? (Cause Varric’s initial narration sequence made Zara seem like this blood-soaked femme fatale but the actual narrative gave zero fucks about that vibe. Discount Countess Bathory wannabe).

That might just be what I would have wanted and nobody else, but I still maintain that anything would have been better than this cookie-cutter, baby’s first mafia story that is beat for beat exactly what you'd expect and have seen before.

Well, this was a long rant. I don’t intend to make a habit of shitting on things others enjoy on here, but my emotions are still running high after finishing the game yesterday and you did ask. Sorry.

[thatapostateboy]

we all have a hunger

Pairing: Rook & Lavellan (platonic), brief hint at Solas x Female Lavellan

Word Count: 1675

Synopsis: In which Rook and Lavellan finally get to talk.

Prompt: Day Two: Rebellion from the Veilbound challenge by @/nympthi and @/citadrells on Twitter

Warnings: Mentions of slavery, Veilguard mild spoilers/speculation

Crossposted: Here on AO3

Rook wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Lavellan. She’d heard the stories of course, from rumours whispered amongst slaves and nobles alike in Tevinter to hearing it straight from Varric’s mouth, and yet none of them were quite able to do the fabled Herald of Andraste justice. Solas had painfully little to say, often cutting that line of questioning short whenever she so much as hinted at a connection between them. Harding had been the most honest, telling her that yes, she was a hero, that she had walked in the Fade and slayed would-be gods, but that she was a woman, a person, same as the rest of them.

Rook found that all but impossible to believe when the legend herself had strode through the Eluvian like she owned the place, demanding to know what was going on and why the Evanuris were rampaging across Northern Thedas. She looked like one of the illustrations in Varric’s books come to life, minus the flowing hair and waving standard of the Inquisition planted behind her.

She had not taken charge, though Rook would not have protested to someone more qualified taking control of the situation, but there was a respect and reverence around her. When she so much as entered a room, everyone paid attention, even Assan.

It took weeks of hard-fought battles at each other’s side, even harder fought conversations as the two differing personalities attempted to work together, but Rook finally saw her.

It had been the early hours of the morning, or whatever counted as morning in the Fade, but as the other members of the Veilguard had found sleep, Rook had found none, and it seemed that neither had Lady Lavellan. Rook found her already sat at the kitchen island, a cup of tea in her hand, staring contemplatively down into the steaming liquid.

“Can’t sleep either?”

Lavellan looked up at her, letting out a sigh, “Is it that obvious?”

“I hate to break it you, but the circles under your eyes give it away,” she pointed out, pouring her own mug of tea and leaning against the counter to look at her, “Does it ever get easier? Finding rest after everything we see?”

“I’ll tell you when I know,” she gave a soft snort into her mug as she took a mouthful.

Rook sipped at her own mug, humming at the taste, “Is that honey… with hints of dragonthorn?”

Lavellan’s eyebrows rose, “You have quite the palate. It’s my own special blend. I guessed there wouldn’t be much tea here so I’ve been mixing my own.”

“No, the Dread Wolf doesn’t seem to be a fan of tea,” Rook noted, “Or most things, I’ve found.”

“Not entirely true, he does have a taste for tiny cakes.”

Rook smiled at that, “And what about you, Lady Lavellan? What do you have a taste for? Aside from excellent tea blends.”

“Honey cakes,” she admitted, “I used to make them all of the time when I was young, my papae’s family recipe… I can’t remember when I last had the time to bake. Everything just been so…”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “It has… Y’know, I never thanked you.”

“Thanked me? Whatever for?”

“Coming out of retirement, being here to keep my ass out of the fire,” she said.

“Sweet as it is for you to say, I never actually retired,” she pointed out, “Keeping people’s asses out of the fire is what I’ve been doing since the Conclave exploded.”

Rook examined her for a few moments, then gave a resounding nod, “Breakfast.”

“What?”

“I’m going to make you breakfast.”

“I couldn’t impose-”

“It’s the least I can do, all things considered. Besides, I enjoy cooking, so c’mon, what do you…” she trailed off, eyes landing firmly on the one unused pan that still hung on the rack, “How about an omelette?”

A smile spread across Lavellan’s face, “They are my absolute favourite, how did you know?”

“What’s with the one omelette pan?”

The conversation had occurred within the first week of living at the Lighthouse, not long after the full team had been recruited and they had truly begun to explore what the Dread Wolf had to hide away. And for all of the mysteries and magics here, there was only one thing that truly bothered Rook.

The irritation in Solas’ voice was palpable as he turned to look at her, “I’m sorry?”

“You have the most depressing kitchen setup, you own one fork, spoon, knife, plate, bowl and cup, all which look like they’ve never been used… and yet you have a top-of-the-line Orlesian omelette pan.”

He huffed, “Of all of the inane queries you have used this tenuous connection for- How do you know it’s Orlesian? And that it is designed for omelettes?”

She put her hands on her hips, “I know my way around a kitchen with my eyes shut. So, what does a god who doesn’t eat need with an omelette pan?”

“That is none of your business.”

“Very well,” she nodded, “Lucanis was looking to use it, I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t some hidden magical art-”

“No!”

She glanced up at him with a mirthful smirk at his protest, “No?”

“It’s…” he regained his composure a little, “I was saving it for a special occasion.”

Her smirk only grew, “I’ll tell Lucanis to get his own. The omelette pan will remain untouched until you can escape the Fade and treat yourself to breakfast.”

Oh that old wolf had it bad.

“Educated guess,” Rook smiled.

“I’ve had a love for them since I tried them on my first trip to Orlais, back when the Breach had just opened. I had to adjust to shem food, but the omelettes, I fell in love with them.”

“Then you’re in luck. Omelettes are my signature dish.”

“You’re sure it’s no trouble?”

“As I said, it is literally the least I can do.”

Rook grabbed the pan that had sat untouched for Maker knows how long, setting it to warm up on the stove as she gathered ingredients out of the cold storage. She set to work, cracking three eggs and whisking them through a sieve, creating a smooth mixture.

Lavellan watched her, still nursing her tea, “I have to admit, I’m impressed that you got the dragonthorn on the first try. I thought it was quite subtle. I didn’t realise I was in the presence of a connoisseur.”

Rook hummed as she whisked, “Hardly. I spent the better part of my youth being trained how to cook by only the finest of Orlesian slaves. My master wanted nothing but the best when we prepared his meals, so I was taught very young how to taste test everything.”

Lavellan met her gaze, “Varric told me a little of your past when he said that you were working together, but he mainly brought up the Shadow Dragons.”

“I can only imagine the spin he put on it,” she rolled her eyes a little, slicing off some butter to melt into the now hot pan, “The slave breaking free from chains to rebel against the system and bringing freedom to the Imperium.”

“Is that not the story?”

“It a version of the story. I’m just… doing what I can.”

“It’s more than most do.”

Rook turned, pouring the egg mixture with care into the pan, hands steady as she guided it to fill every part of the surface, wanting an even cook, “Do you know why I enjoy cooking? Despite my past?”

“Tell me.”

“My master hated eggs. He wasn’t allergic, but he had a distaste for them so bad that he would physically strike us if there was even an egg in the kitchen,” she said, eyes fixed on the omelette as it began to take shape, “So I decided that I would learn to cook every egg dish that I could cram into my head. I would learn them, cook them, and perfect them. And I would feed everything I cooked to the others in the household.”

“You took that risk?” she asked.

Rook grabbed some of the cream cheese mixture that Lucanis kept pre-made in the cold store, piping it delicately through the centre of the omelette, “When I was a child and was first sold to him, I knew that I couldn’t fight him. I was too young, and even if by some miracle I could kill him, I had nowhere to go. So I took solace in my little acts of rebellion. It kept me alive, gave me a reason to never truly give up on the idea of freedom… And the fact it brought joy to the others? That small act that was just for us? It gave us hope.”

She missed the smile on Lavellan’s face as she folded the egg over the cream cheese, the Inquisitor finally realising why Varric had chosen her as his second in command, just as Lavellan couldn’t see the soft look in Rook’s eyes as she told her story, finally opening up to someone.

She slid the omelette delicately onto a plate, finishing it off with some quickly chopped chives and some black pepper, placing it in front of the former Inquisitor.

Lavellan looked positively ravenous at the sight and dug in as soon as Rook handed her a fork, devouring it one messy mouthful at a time. She glanced up at Rook, tears pricking at her eyes, “This is the best thing I have ever eaten.”

Rook snorted, “Shut up, no it’s not.”

She swallowed down her mouthful, “Rook, I’m telling you, I’ve eaten at the Orlesian royal court itself, but this blows their chefs out of the water. This is so good,” she shovelled another forkful into her mouth, “Thank you.”

“Eva.”

“What?”

“My friends call me Eva.”

She smiled at her, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Eva, I’m Brenna.” She lifted her mug of tea towards her, “To small acts of rebellion.”

Eva grabbed her mug and tapped it against hers, “May they see us through.”

[princess-aeducan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Gameplay Reveal Thoughts

Okay for one thing, I am so happy to be making this post. Going from people voicing doubts about the game coming out at all to a Fall 2024 release window is so exciting. 10 years and it’s finally almost here.

-The game is absolutely gorgeous. I love the design of Minrathous, I love how gobsmackingly different it is from Ferelden. Dorian’s complaints from Inquisition all make sense now, and it’s fascinating to see a place that is not repressive of magic- the fact that it resembles sci-fi levels of tech but is all powered by magic is sooo fun and interesting to me. I also think it’ll be an interesting contrast to the more classic fantasy style locations we see at the ritual site and throughout the screenshots the developers have posted. It makes the world feel so much bigger, diverse, and more fleshed out.

-Unpopular opinion and I totally respect why others dislike it as it does look quite different, I’m actually looking forward to the combat. It honestly just looks more fun to me, as I tend to favor a more action/real time style anyway. That being said, I do dislike the 3 person party change for banter reasons and do think that’ll make it feel significantly less like classic Dragon Age. I feel like I’ll get used to it pretty fast, but it is a disappointment. Controlling companions isn’t mandatory for me but it was always nice to be able to try out all the classes, so that’s a loss as well, although one I’m less bothered by.

-I like the way the characters look, but do understand it could take a little bit of adjustment. Harding got a massive glow up, she looks gorgeous. So excited she’s a companion, and that we’ll have our first romanceable dwarf! Not a huge fan of the way Solas looks in this style, but I don’t feel particularly upset about it anyway. Not sure what it is. Varric looks great, but like many others, missing his ginger hair. All in all, less drastic changes to returning characters than we’ve seen in previous titles, I will never be over how much they butchered Alistair in Inquisition. I love the designs and vibes of the new companions, Neve is a fashion icon and sooo fits in with what Dorian has set up for us to expect from Tevinter. I can’t wait to meet Davrin in particular, because god I miss Grey Wardens.

-On that point: Factions have me maybe the most excited. I cannot wait to be a Grey Warden again, I’d been holding out hope! I liked that the faction was referenced in the gameplay reveal as well, and hope it’ll change small things throughout the game, at least through dialogue. Also will have to play as an Antivan Crow at some point. A bit sad this won’t include a playable prologue like Origins, but since DA2 and DAI I wasn’t expecting it. Just always something I’ll miss.

-A red flag for me is how little Rook was prompted to make dialogue choices. I hope that because this is simply the prologue and therefore focused on binary plot progression, that this will be different in more dialogue-driven sections, but it’s something to look out for and be wary of. I’m okay with Rook speaking on their own occasionally, but if that continues, I hope it’s at least like Hawke where there’s some variation based on personality.

-Also yes, excited about the return of the purple Hawke icon! The dialogue wheel in Inquisition felt more bland to me than in DA2, so if the wheel is what we’re stuck with, I’d rather it lean more to its DA2 execution.

-On narrative: I cannot BELIEVE the game just jumps into “let’s confront Solas RIGHT NOW!” I was not expecting so much plot from the gameplay reveal. I am very intrigued by what’s coming next with the evanuris, and what it will mean for Solas’ role in the story. I’m kind of obsessed with the fact that it begins with Rook fucking things up worse, I think that will be magnificent to explore for roleplay and the repercussions for Thedas will be massive. I know there were concerns about tone, but this gives me hope that we’ll have the fucked up shit Dragon Age is known for. “Just some guy who makes things worse” is a great start for a protagonist, and reminds me of DA2 in some respects.

-My brainrot is horrendous. I have so many more thoughts all of the time, but tried to just center on the gameplay reveal so I don’t yap forever. But always feel free to send asks, and expect more posts as we get closer and closer!

[thedragonagelesbian]

following the kiss with a series of kisses down the neck? :D

Kiss Prompts!

um this got quite out of hand! will probably polish it up and put it on ao3 at some point, but for now thank you for sending such a generative prompt! (major veilguard spoilers below cut)

13. following the kiss with a series of kisses down the neck

"Now, remember: the whole point of this is to relax." Varric was smirking at him, and were that gesture, those words, and this location paired with any other man, Cyrus Hawke might've come to a very different conclusion about the nature of their visit. "You do know how to do that, don't you?"

A much more pleasant one too.

Cyrus considered trying his luck--as he had a handful of times before, the chest hair really was irresistible--with a why don't you show me. Instead, he gave a soft huff. "I can relax in the estate."

"That doesn't count, when you finally have enough coin to relax here." Varric swept his hand across the room, one of a few dozen private chambers within the Hightown Baths. Like so much of Kirkwall, the room and the bathhouse both bore Tevinter stylings, dating back to when the city had been Emerius-- marble and columns and bronze filigree and stained glass windows to hide the smoke from the Foundry. A privacy divider separated two tubs set into the floor, one steaming and another overflowing with rose-scented bubbles. "I've seen you shop around for those fancy Orlesian soaps whenever you have a few silvers to spare." Cyrus' cheeks warmed, embarrassed less by the habit--every other coin of his had only ever gone to the family, permitting himself only this one indulgence: the occasional hot bath with the scent of lavender--and more that Varric had observed it. "This is all that, except more, and you don't have to worry about saving or sparing. You don't have to worry about anything at all: you get to just be."

"Be," Cyrus echoed, and for all his effort, the word still came out sounding hollow. It was accompanied by an appropriately timed twinge in his chest, where his right lung had collapsed all too recently under a templar's boot. He resisted the urge to ask if that was the real reason for all of this. Kindness as distraction. Placation.

Everyone else had tried their hand at it already. Lectures from Aveline and Anders and drinks from Isabela and Fenris and hugs from Merrill and divine forgiveness from Sebastian and steely silence from Bethany. Furious at how much of himself he had risked trying to rescue her from the Circle.

"Right."

Cyrus shrugged off his tunic, the silk finer than anything he'd ever had against his skin and still his body was coiled tight beneath it. Varric hurried to the other side of the room, but before he ducked behind the privacy divider separating the two baths, Cyrus caught him glancing at his stomach. Smooth plane and angular bones and a spiral scar circling his navel, the skin still rough and new.

Better me than you. That's what he had said, when the last of the rock wraith's electricity had dissipated and Anders had roused him back to consciousness and Varric was struggling to look him in the eye as he mumbled out his gratitude for Cyrus' willingness to use his body as a shield.

Better him than anyone.

"Let me know if you need anything, Knightly."

The inspiration for the nickname.

"I'm fine," Cyrus said instinctively as he stripped his breaches and small clothes too. Finally, he let his hair down, auburn spilling between his shoulders, and yet he hesitated at the edge of the bath, listening to the water shift and splash around Varric's body on the other side of the divider. It would be all too easy to submerge himself, and that was what frightened him. How effortless it would be to float away from his body and all its aching responsibilities. To forget that Bethany was trapped in the Gallows by the same marble that now tiled his luxury.

And yet he couldn't repudiate Varric's kindness, could he?

And it was. Easy. To let the warm water swaddle him, heat burning away a month's--a lifetime's--worth of pain in his muscles from holding them taut, as if he'd lose something--someone--else if he let his guard down for even a second. But he couldn't keep that up now. Sinking through the soap suds to the smooth basin beneath, eyes shut and weightless, his every defense stripped away beneath the distorted hum of the world around him.

Relax. Indulge. Be.

At what cost?

He kept himself under the water until his lungs began to burn, emerging with a gasp and gulping down mouthfuls of steam to keep his insides warm and his head fuzzy and the regrets at bay.

Combing back strands of wet hair, Cyrus caught a glimpse of something that made him frown. A trick of the light, maybe, playing across the length of his palm, or maybe he'd been under the water longer than he thought, but as he lowered his hand again, the skin seemed weathered. Spotted with age and furrowed and scarred in places he couldn't remember being hurt.

"You know sacrifice well, Champion, but not as well as I. You are not ready for what is to come. What will be required of you."

Pain spikes behind his eyes. He screws them shut, balls his hands into fists, holding fast to something clenched against his palm while something else--weight mantle manacle--tears at his other wrists. Tries to break him in two.

"Knightly?"

"What am I supposed to make of that," it's his voice now, echoing through his thundering skull, spitting with a bitterness he doesn't know himself to possess, "of all the stories you tell about me, of the damned nickname, other than that I am supposed to be the world’s savior?"

"I just gotta ask, if only so I can check it off my 'good friend responsibilities' list for the day... Are you okay?"

Cyrus jolted. Blinked. He was back in the baths, all pains gone except for one, a familial grief strangled through the valves of his heart. "I told you I'm fine."

His voice, his words, and yet he sensed them on his lips a moment before he said them. As if he already has. Had.

Varric clicked his tongue in response. "See, you shouldn't try to lie to a professional bullshitter.

"It's not--"

"And denial is all well and good, but Blondie did mention that the wrong sort of templar caught you poking around the Docks and left you for dead." Cyrus' chest tightened, as if it was all about to cave in again. Better him than anyone else, except this pain hadn't gotten him any closer to saving Bethany. If he had fought back harder-- "Now, personally speaking, I'd rather keep you not-dead... And I know your mother and sister feel the same."

"This is your fault! How could you let him run off like that? Your little brother. My baby boy!"

"She wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

"You don't know my mother."

More voices, more pounding against his skull, suddenly too hot and too sick, but when Cyrus tries to stand, he can't move. Yanking against the water, shoulders wrenching from his sockets, but he can't--

"And I know it's not the same thing because your sister is made of pure sunshine and my brother is made of nugshit, but I... I get it. The turning it all over, wondering what you could've done different, the regret--"

That word. That's it. Regret.

It is the undertow. Catches him by his throat and drags him under screaming. Water in his eyes mouth lungs stomach, its weight a suffocation, leaden with it and sinking into the depths, nothing left of the world around him except this. Contrition's current wound not only around him but inside, dragging him down by the entrails.

Each burn along the tract of his spasming body has a voice, a question, another enough. Strong enough, fast enough, smart enough, good enough, sacrificial enough, not yet enough of himself given to save them.

...save who?

No.

No, this is wrong, he's let go of this, hasn't he? These are not his ghosts, not anymore, Creators save him, he has already broken his fingers trying to bury his family, hands scraped raw and bloody against the unforgiving earth, but by Falon'din, he did it, three little trees planted in Lothering and the fourth, finally freed over a decade ago, and with them, he put all these regrets to rest too.

He's learned how to let go of things without leaving claw marks behind. So he stops fighting. Closes his eyes and lets the water and the weight wash over him, and he prays. Sylaise enansal. Tel'vella ar'avas, melanda vir atish'an ar ghilas la ar'athlan vhenas. Mae'aise'mala ir'eth, mae'aise'mala ir'lath, mae'aise'mala ar'hamin. Vir suledin sa'vunin, la ar'hamin.

Words Merrill taught him after Kirkwall. Words he chanted over and over and over again after Adamant, just trying to keep the fractures of his mind and body together.

Peace, peace, peace.

Everything crashes. The ocean vanishes, and Cyrus hits the ground. Cracked stone comes into focus beneath him, firm where he kneels against it, certain and sturdy and yet... and yet at the edges of his vision it turns to vapor. Solid in that way that only things in the Fade are: so long as he believes it.

Fuck.

He lifts his head, heavy again, aching again, his moment of peaceful suspension vanishing out in ragged gasps as he takes in his surroundings. An expanse of harsh light and cold shadows greets him, like a painting left out in the sun too long, its colors drained pale.

The Nightmare's lair was all sickly sheen. Kirkwall--where the Fade had dragged him after Inquisitor Trevelyan closed the Rift behind her--was pure wet darkness, a viscous womb still leaden with the aborted blood magic experiments of ancient Tevinter mages. This place, this prison visited so many times from the other side, is familiar in its cruelty, even as its nature, its emptiness, is different.

Familiar too is the longest shadow of them all: the Black City, looming. Oppressive. Watching.

Is it listening too? Can the blighted fragments of his goddess hear him when he starts to shudder? "Sylaise enansal. Mae'aise'mala ir'eth, ir'eth, ir'eth, please, please, please, not here, not again, please..."

"Cyrus--!" The wretched bellowing--the death rattles of a man pressed too many times too close to the grave and what lay beyond it--stutters as Cyrus feels hands against him. One on his shoulder, another on his cheek, fumbling and grasping tight as if to secure the edges of both their bodies, both warm and solid and real, but it can't be. It can't. Because what Cyrus sees when he blinks the tears from his eyes is a ghost. "Easy now, Cyrus, please, I've got you."

This thing with Varric Tethras' face and body and scent tries to hug him close. Like the real Varric Tethras had a hundred times before, tucking him safe against his chest, the only point of grounding Cyrus had when the world kept dropping out from underneath him. After the Arishok. After Kirkwall. After--seven years after--Adamant.

After the gods escaped. After Treviso. After Elgar'nan and Solas raged in his mind and something broke, something in the curled whisper of you do not even remember what the Dread Wolf took from you scratched against a tapestry of blood magic and sent it--sent him--unraveling. And with them the body in the infirmary. The figment that comforted him so many times. Pretended to, at least. Words never quite right, touches never quite there, hollow memories and manipulation, the Dread Wolf's wool could never wholly fill or cover up the cavity his grief carved into him.

An absence he could always feel but never understand.

It is the fact that this thing is present--that its chest hair rubs Cyrus' cheek same as the real thing, no invention or imagination, no gap to be woven over by the god of lies--that makes him howl. Fear turns on a hairpin to fury, and he throws himself against it snarling, "Ir emah'la shal, Fen'harel! I will not fall for this again." It clings to him, stubborn, no matter how much Cyrus writhes, so he throws his hand back and strikes it hard across the face. "You vile bastard!"

"Maker's hairy ass!" It finally recoils, rubbing its face like Cyrus has actually hurt it. Like it actually feels anything. "What did I do to deserve that?"

"Fenedhis," Cyrus snaps back and reels to his feet. Something deep in his chest mourns the distance, and that's all the more reason to take several steps back, staggering toward the precipice from which Solas peered down at him. "I do not know if you are a spirit or a figment of my grief or both, but whatever you are, you are not real."

It doesn't jump to its own defense. Not like the thing in the Lighthouse would, so quick to dismiss him and his concerns. To run its fingers through his hair in a callous approximation of comfort and whisper that he has nothing to worry about. Instead, this considers him carefully. Forehead furrowing and unfurrowing, jaw clenching and unclenching, the anxious working of muscles like he always does when he's deep in thought.

Did. Used to. Because this is not him.

"Guess I've gone about this the wrong way, huh," it says at last, accompanying the words with a long exhale and its hands held high. "Sorry, I really didn't mean to cause you any more pain."

"You spent months haunting me. Months I should've spent grieving and moving on instead of having this-- this--" he tries to find a word for it, the immensity of what he's been carrying, and all he can do is gesture wildly to all of it, all of him, "festering inside of me without even knowing it!"

"Solas did that to you," it insists, matter-of-fact. "He used blood magic to fuck with your mind something awful, and I'm sorry about that too, but I'm..." It pauses to regard itself, and Cyrus hates himself for staring too, beard collarbone belly hands, ungloved and spread in invitation, welcoming Cyrus to come inspect it all more closely. A body that doesn't make his skull throb the way the one in the infirmary did. Too much stimulus to override, too much magic drilling through his brain. "A bit more complicated."

"You are a trick put here to torment me."

It's familiar--something not just sterile and mimetic but really, truly perfect--the way that Varric's brow knits together, weighing down on a set of sad eyes beneath. He made that expression most in the years after Kirkwall, but sometimes before that too, when Cyrus was at his most severe. Harshness made for a most unruly survival mechanism. And then as now, seeing it hit upon the right wrong target, his heartstrings tug.

Then as now, his instinct is to apologize for what this world has made of him.

He almost listens.

"No, that's just it. I'm not. Call it a peace offering if you're feeling generous, a bargaining chip if not, but no matter how much Chuckles may regret using you up and locking you away, he'd regret it even more if it meant you'd be alone." Professional bullshitter, liars the both of them, if Cyrus had met Solas first, he would've fallen eyes open into that wolfish smirk, he knows better by now. Should know better than to listen to a single word from this thing's lopsided mouth. "Don't tell him I told you, but he's secretly quite the romantic. I think he had a soft spot for us in particular."

"...I still don't understand."

"Say someone dies right as the Veil is being torn apart at the seams, and then a fragment of their soul gets pulled in along with the most sorrowful bastard in the history of Thedas. Said bastard then dedicates his copious new free time to nurturing this soul to distract himself from the ruinous things he's doing to its--my--poor widower." Varric--it--smiles sadly and begins to reach out, as if to take Cyrus' hand, as if it feels the same pathetic yearning clawing at its ribcage, before retreating again. "And then, one day, there I was: someone to keep you company for all eternity."

Soul. He said s o u l.

It's dizzying. The implication, the temptation, the sweetly sickening thought of cracking this thing's body open and seeing just how deep the verisimilitude runs. Hunting for that originary kernel from which Solas spun all this out, this thing that is so agonizingly close to being right and Cyrus cannot help but long to run red with it. Every jagged edge where the illusion might break down just to sink his nails into whatever could be real...

"Something." He makes himself spit it out so he doesn't choke on it. "Something to keep me company for all eternity."

"Really, that's the part you object to? Not that last bit about eternity?"

Cyrus shouldn't answer it. He glances away, eyes sweeping over the colorless landscape and ruins, and he should just pick a point and start walking toward it, but instead he shrugs. "How long is forever, really?"

"It'd be a lot shorter if you found a way out." Its voice is firmer now, less storyteller and more like the man in the bathhouse trying to talk his way around a truth too painful to circumnavigate. "Solas did it, that must mean there's a way for you to do it too."

"Must it?" And he sounds like his younger self too. Like everything he's spent the last decade trying to outgrow, all that work undone, left hollow. Defeated. "There wasn't last time." It wasn't for lack of trying, for the first year at least, before Kirkwall's chains had wrapped around his bones, hooking on ribs and vertebra and the curve of his pelvis to bind him there forever.

This doesn't hurt as much, at least.

At least there's something here that looks like his husband, right?

No, no, that's what the Dread Wolf wants, that's why it's here, to lull him into staying, so why does it reply, "Still, I've never known you to shy away from a challenge"?

Cyrus charges at him, grabs the lapels of his jacket, and screams, "You don't know me!"

Be something else. Be anything else, other than something he could love.

But Varric just shakes his head. "Trust me, I wish I could lie about this too. Give you a clean break and a quick goodbye. Easier that way, right? Except I know... everything. All of us. That day in the bathhouse, the nights you spent in the Hanged Man with me after Leandra died, the siege at Adamant and all the years afterward spent missing you before finally, finally getting you back..." It covers Cyrus' hands with its own and squeezes them hard. "And I remember promising after I nearly got you killed in the Deep Roads that I wouldn't lie to you again. So, yes, I do know you, and I know that you can't give up now."

"Why not?!" Cyrus is shaking again, knuckles aching either from the tightness of his own grip or its or both, and why does the leather feel so real? Smooth and worn and supple, too textured to be spun from blood magic and guilt. "Why not? Why, Creators, Varric..."

He gasps his name and now there's no longer any pretending that this is anything other than his husband.

Cyrus falls to his knees again, and this time, he doesn't resist when Varric cradles him to his chest.

"I can't," he sobs, "I can't. I thought I could do all of it again. The adventuring, the saving, the bleeding and the hurting all the fucking time, why doesn't it stop? Why can't I just... stop?"

"Cyrus--"

"I could make a home here." Blabbering now through the tears, falling faster as Varric strokes his hair like he always used to, steady hand against his skull to hold him still. "I could be safe here with you."

Flush against Varric's body, he scarcely has the strength to lift his head, but he does, to look up at Varric, mouth parted and eyes wide and pleading. Another hand catches him by the cheek to wipe away some of the tears, and Cyrus is certain that if they vanish from his body, he will fall away into nothingness.

"Please, let me stay with you."

Cyrus kisses him before he can say no.

He never kissed the thing in the infirmary. Never even wanted to, perhaps because it was more than blood magic could simulate, breaths and saliva and stubble and the taste of Varric's tongue, so the Dread Wolf stole that from him. So Cyrus takes his desire back. Forcefully. Biting, bruising, panting, like he needs to get his teeth around Varric's throat from the inside out, the only way to hold him tight enough between his jaws.

(He did learn how to let go of things without leaving claw marks behind, but the Dread Wolf stole that from him too.)

And this thing kisses back, and it feels real. The scratch of its beard, the heat of its mouth, the crushing drag of its lips moving against him, equal in force but agonizing in pace, slow and deliberate to Cyrus' desperate nipping. Varric, gentle, caressing the back of his skull, Cyrus, ravenous, nails scrambling for purchase against the leather and catching on the skin beneath.

Residue. Remnants. A ghost's particulate traces.

How much more of Varric's body can he keep like this? Under his nails, in his mouth, between his legs.

Cyrus' lungs start to burn, but he doesn't pull away to breathe. Lips slick and open, Cyrus keeps kissing him, chin, jaw, neck, down the center of his throat. Varric tilts his head back with an obliging groan as Cyrus' teeth scrape against his jugular. And further down still, sprinting the length of his body as if it might vanish the moment that he hesitates, collarbone and sternum and ripping open the last buttons of his shirt to kiss his navel too.

Devouring without savoring. No moment to linger, to enjoy the fat on his hips or the shape of his nipples, just one long breath with which to swallow him whole... until the hand in his hair pulls him away from Varric's happy trail.

"No," he's holding onto the cloth of Varric's belt like it's the last lifeline he has left in the world, "no, wait, please..."

Varric tilts his head back, and Cyrus sees that him blinking back tears too. "Sorry, love--"

"One more time, I need to feel you one more time, please, please, please..."

"But we shouldn't make this any harder than it needs to be."

"It won't be hard if I stay."

"But you're not staying." He says it so definitively that Cyrus can't think of anything to do but whine in response. Unable to find the words to beg or the tears to sob more, just whimpering in Varric's arms. "The world still needs you."

"Fuck the world."

Fuck me, or let me fuck you, and then maybe you won't make me go.

And then even if you do, I'll have more left of you than the memories a god scarred into me.

"And more than that," Varric insists softly, "your friends still want you. So we can play pretend all we want. Maker only knows how much I want," it makes Cyrus shiver every time--the last time--when Varric speaks of desire, smoldering and real, pretension stripped down to a husky growl and the tightening of his grip on Cyrus' body... before he shakes his head, "but we both know how this will end."

"I don't like this ending. You were supposed to write me a better one." That was the promise, made the night Cyrus' heroism nearly killed him, indistinguishable from all the others except that for the first time Cyrus was scared that he had finally gotten himself hurt in a way that he couldn't come back from. The night Cyrus knelt before Varric and begged him for a different story. A selfish, happy one. Not this tragedy he seemed to have been reciting all his long, miserable life. He said yes then, why won't he say it now? "Why don't you want me to stay?"

"Because I want what he would've wanted: for you to keep living."

And despite himself, Cyrus smiles.

Sadly, bitterly, still crying, still hurting, and maybe it won't ever stop, but still he tucks his mouth against Varric's sternum as he hugs his husband close one more time.

"Damn it. Damn you, of course you'd say it like that. How predictable am I, so much better at living for someone else than living for myself."

Varric chuckles, the dryness undercut by the teary hiccups. "Look at that, I've finally found a way to use your selflessness against you."

"I'll always be yours..." Cyrus whispers into his heart. "Just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it, I swear."

Inevitability is one thing. Service is another. The only thing Cyrus has ever known, and what was impossible moments before suddenly seems so easy: when everything else he's had to hold on to has been taken away, he can still choose this. Devotion.

"I want you to keep going. I want you to find a way out of this damned prison, and I want you to kick a couple of gods' asses, and then I want you to find somewhere safe to live a long and happy life, and I don't want to see you again until you're even more wrinkly and grey than you are now."

As he speaks, Varric rocks him gently, voice like the tide, back flat in the Amaranthine harbor before Cyrus was even old enough to realize he was a boy, letting the world cradle him. Varric always felt like that-- chest and arms and legs big enough to float on top of.

Is it not a blessing from the goddess of love to feel him--if not all of him--one last time?

"I'll still talk to you, you know," Cyrus says, weepy rambling bloodletting of the heart, "you didn't leave us a body to burn, so I'm going to plant a tree in Kirkwall for you, even though you'll hate it. Especially because you'll hate it, and I'm going to make sure it grows into something beautiful, and every time I visit it, I'm going to sit in its shade and tell you everything about my life, and it won't be nearly as interesting as how you'd tell it, but you'll have to listen to it anyway."

"You've given this a lot of thought."

"That's what I did in Lothering for my family, when I finally laid them to rest..." Cyrus frowns. "Do you think the trees I planted for them are still there?"

"I think you have to leave this place and find out for yourself."

"Of course..." Another form of service, another reason to keep going, and still Cyrus cannot help but linger some few moments more, nuzzling up to his neck, the closest, safest thing to home he's known in so long. "I love you."

"I love you too. More than I could ever put into any words or story."

"You bloody hypocrite," Cyrus gives him a small shove, "telling me not to make things harder than they need to be and then quoting your wedding vows."

They all thought Varric would have some long-winded speech prepared, but it was just this: the simple acknowledgment that some things are too big, too much. Love, grief, the way they've bent and bowed their lives around one another a thousand times over.

"Sorry," Varric laughs again, softer this time, apologetic hands massaging Cyrus' back, always knowing exactly where and how to touch him, "I just couldn't help it. Who knows when you'll get to hear it again?"

"Two can play that game, you know." Maybe some small part of him is still hoping that he'll win. Cyrus takes Varric's hand, brings it to his mouth, and covers the ring there with his lips. "Sylaise enaste var aravel. Lama, ara las mir lath. Bellanaris."

Bellanaris. Eternity. Come all too soon.

Everything aches as Cyrus pulls himself to his feet by Varric's shoulders. The constant low hum of his chronic pain turning sharp, stiff, brittle, knees and back groaning loudest of them all. "Creators, I'm too old for this..."

"You'd think Chuckles would've done you the courtesy of leaving you some forearm crutches too," Varric tsks. "Well, you can lean on me for now."

"For how much longer?" Despite himself, an inkling of fear worms it way back into Cyrus' voice as he once more takes in their surroundings. Splintered cobblestone and twisted arches and fog parting, slowly, to reveal the silver-tipped grass growing up between the gaps. He glances back down at Varric and drinks in every detail of his visage that he can. Eyes burning warm, wood in the hearth. "I can't stay, but... would you stay? With me? Until the end?"

"Of course, love. Every step of the way."

[sky-fire-forever]

Happy friday! For Lucanis/Spite/Rook, "we're looking out for you." (from the Feeling Safe prompts)

Thank you so much for the prompt!

For @dadrunkwriting - Dragon Age: The Veilguard Spoilers

My Rook in this is Voltah de Riva, who uses they/them pronouns.

Voltah struggles to keep their eyes open as they read their most recent letter from the Inquisitor. Things don’t look good in the south, Blight everywhere and all manner of deadly things destroying everything in their path. It makes Voltah’s heart squeeze uncomfortably within their chest to know there’s so much that they can’t help with, that they can do nothing about. 

“You’re up early.” A voice comes from the doorway, making Voltah jump. 

“Lucanis.” They sigh in relief when they recognize their lover. “Is it early? I didn’t realize.” 

The rogue raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize? Does this mean you haven’t slept?” He walks clover to the couch where Voltah sits. “That isn’t good for you, amor.” 

Voltah rolls their eyes. “Hypocrite.” They mean for it to come off as a playful jab, but there’s a lot more bite to their words than they intend. They wince at their own harshness and sigh. “I didn’t mean that.” 

“No, you’ve got a point.” Lucanis takes a seat beside them. “Though I have been sleeping much more soundly ever since Spite and I came to our understanding.” 

Voltah sets down the letter, giving up on getting anything done for the time being. “Yeah? That’s good.” 

“It is,” he agrees. “But don’t believe you can turn this subject around on me.”

Voltah cracks a smile. “You mean I can’t use you to avoid all my problems? That’s a shame.” 

“Rook.” 

They sigh and lean back against the couch. “Look, I’ll sleep when I absolutely need to, okay? I don’t need to right now.” 

“Don’t make me get Spite to carry you off to bed.” 

They smirk. “I don’t think I’d mind that, actually.” They make sure to put a healthy heaping of suggestion into their tone. 

Lucanis rolls his eyes, but Voltah can see the way he blushes. It’s cute. “Mierda, not like that.” 

“No?” They scoot closer. “Spite doesn’t want to come out to play?” 

Lucanis’ eyes flash purple to signify Spite’s arrival. A possessive arm snakes around Voltah’s waist and tugs them closer, his face burying itself in their neck. He inhales deeply before pausing. “Smells like. Exhaustion and weakness.” 

Voltah frowns. “I’m not weak.” 

Spite pulls his face out of the crook of Voltah’s neck. “Weak,” he says. “Weak and tired.” 

Offended, Voltah extracts themself from his grip, standing up. “If you’re going to be like that, I’d rather have Lucanis around.” They cross their arms, irritated with their spirit lover. 

Spite blinks and then Lucanis is back. 

“Rook.” He reaches for them, but they step away. 

“Don’t, Lucanis.” They hold up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it from either of you.” 

“We are just looking out for you,” Lucanis insists. “You’re tired. I know you are. Neither of us like seeing you like this.” 

Voltah grits their teeth and turns their back on Lucanis, shaking their head. “I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

Lucanis sighs. “If you will not sleep, will you at least rest? Sit with me here for a while.” He pats the seat beside him. 

Voltah knows it’s a trap, knows he’s trying to lull them into a sense of security so they’ll drift off without meaning to. But they’re quite frankly too tired to argue and Lucanis’ offer does sound inviting. 

So they sit back down and rest their head against Lucanis’ shoulder, allowing him to rub soothing circles into their back. They sigh and snuggle even closer when Spite’s wings come out to envelop them both. 

[kirkwallguy]

i’m trying sooo hard to immerse myself in veilguard but it’s genuinely difficult ngl, i’m not connecting w/ rook at all 😭 ppl on twitter keep drawing comparisons to hawke and how hawke was a relatively set character but the problem w/ that is that you could still give hawke a distinct personality and views. they could be a traditional nice guy hero or they could be a complete dickhead who sells their friends into slavery and kills their own sister in cold blood etc etc. like despite the predetermined background and stuff there was still a lot of roleplay opportunity w/ hawke

rook, meanwhile, is just le wholesome quirk chungus w/ basically no variation lol. it doesn’t matter what dialogue option you pick, what choices you make, from start to finish rook is always a kind, goofy, and inoffensive action hero. like i just don’t get it what is the point of playing a roleplaying game and creating an oc if basically everything is already decided for you

exactly... even ignoring the different choices in da2, the personalities and dialogue choices are all so distinctive. a red hawke and a blue hawke can make identical choices and be SO different from each other just based on the way they react to the world around them.

rook actually has a surprising amount of reactivity, like ive noticed mine bringing up things i made him say hours before - i had him tell mae that his coming out was shit (he said it politely tho lol obviously) and then when he disclosed being trans before starting the davrin romance he mentioned having a shit coming out without being prompted. and that's cool! but like. yeah. in terms of actual PERSONALITY, you can only really ever be different shades of charming and funny. i've pretty much exclusively been choosing the direct options and rook smiles while saying most of them lol. red hawke used to sound genuinely aggressive most of the time, even the inquisitor could yell on occasion.

[shippingmyworld]

Three hours into Veilguard so I'm spamming yall with pictures I've taken of my Rook, Oscar Thorne. He's a pessimistic punch-first and ask-questions-later Grey Warden Warrior.

(who I'm lowkey in love with??? I didn't mean to make him this pretty)

Random thoughts about the game so far below the cut (spoiler free of course):

HOLY SHIT COMBAT IS SO MUCH FUN!!! The prerelease footage did not do this game justice. I'm barely level 5 with like 2% of the skill tree unlocked, and I'm struggling to not race through the game just to get to the next combat encounter. I admit I'm a huge fan of action rpgs, so the new combat system might have clicked faster for me, but if you're not a fan of this gameplay, I wouldn't worry. I'm playing on normal difficulty, and most enemies go down to a single basic chain attack. I'm debating restarting my game to play at a higher difficulty, just so that combat encounters last longer.

Speaking of the skill tree, it looks like you can respec any time without penalty. I invested all my points into defensive skills that reward perfect guards at first but then refunded them towards more aggressive skills instead.

I am so thankful I haven't encountered the Hinterlands 2 lmao. The zones I've explored so far feel more direct, but still have small areas off the main path i can explore, which can trigger companion dialogue or reward me with extra resources

Dialouge has been a hit or a miss for me. The delivery on a handful of lines makes them come off as either melodramatic or emotionless. Admittedly it's a lot of Hardings dialouge that's lacking, but she's not the only perpetrator. Neve is very melodramatic and Rook made me cringe in his reaction to meeting Bellara. Its not terrible, but you do notice it enough that you wonder how it got approved. I will take it over the 2 second pause that Inquisition always had between sentences though.

One thing I do love about the dialouge is the companions actually talk to each other and react to you. One of the Warriors charged attacks let's you do a double spin attack and I managed to take out four Darkspawn at once, and Harding shouted "Save some for the rest of us Rook!"

Not to validate the dudebros, but the Darkspawn designs are a bit goofy and less scary, was kinda disappointed by the ogre. I also miss the old Demon desgins, if im honest. This game definitely leans far more heavily into magical fantasy aesthetics, where as Inquisition felt more like a high medieval fantasy, and origins and 2 hit more of the edgy dark fantasy (like the witcher series) that i think all the greifers are chasing. The graphics and aestheics aren't a deal breaker though, and I quickly got used to them. Plus the deeper you get into the game and closer to blighted stuff, you do see the darker and edgier graphics come front and center.

I can not tell you how much I appreciate that the dialogue wheel is no longer just the three options of "Good and Rightious, Sarcastic and Out of Character, or Complete and Utter Asshole." Many times you're given 4-5 options to choose from, and even when it's only 3 it's not always the traditional top middle and bottom options like past games, sometimes you can choose from sad, shocked, and angry or joking, positive, and shocked options. Plus, I think they did a better job of making those options, and your companions' reactions flow better than pervious games. IMO, Inquisition relied too much on the "In any case," line in order for your companions or advisors to just brush off the Inquisitors response, like they were just there to make a witty one-liner joke and move on. Plus there's less of the 'Missleading Options' in Veildguard than previous DA games. Like Inquisition specifically felt like if you ever picked the bottom option, it always came out more aggressive than the prompt suggested it would. (Best example I can think of is that there's been no "Glass Him" problems so far lol)

[forthelulzy]

how does this work again oml

Title: say my name (and we will never be afraid again)

Fandom: Dragon Age: Veilguard

Characters: My Rook, Varric Tethras

Summary: Tace Mercar, in the early days of their... association with Varric Tethras, realizes something interesting about his nicknaming.

Notes: Inspired by abyssal-ilk's post r.e. Varric calling Maevaris "Mae" rather than one of his many nicknames. Also somewhat inspired by the veilguard30 prompts by pavus, but there ain't no way I have the spoons to do all of them this late so it's not official.

It's pronounced 'Tass' like sass (or ass, tbh). Title from F+tM, as always.

"Varric," Tace said, "I've noticed something."

Varric had no quip for that; it died on his tongue. The dreadfully fake Orlesian accent had, at least for the moment, dropped into the ether, and a rare seriousness graced his associate. Their gaze was focused somewhere around Varric's left shoulder. It was not as if they had trouble looking anyone in the eye before. Magisters, demons, dragons—

"All right?" Varric replied uneasily.

"I've read your books, Varric."

"I'm flattered." He hadn't thought Tace had the time, as often as they were freeing slaves and running afoul of the Crows by stealing their marks and whatever else. Always under a self-inflicted deadline.

"You have a nickname for everyone. Blondie. Sparkler. Even the Inquisitor got Stormy. I've heard you talk about half the movers of Thedas, and it's rarely by name." Tace swallowed and looked up. Amber turned liquid gold in the candlelight of Varric's hideout, pinning Varric in place as surely as it had their first meeting.

A bead of sweat dripped down Varric's chest. Wasn't he used to Minrathous summer by now?

"You pick a nickname, and that's that. But not me. It's as if you make a point to call me Tace, when my own father won't. When everyone else calls me Rook."

"Uh—"

"I don't mind Rook. It is, at least, better than my birth name." He expected them to pace, to let out some of the frantic energy that gripped them so often, but Tace remained still, staring at Varric.

It was worse.

"What are you asking, Tace?" he forced himself to say.

"You call Maevaris 'Mae', too…" Tace cocked their head, eyes glittering. There was something about elven eyes that refracted light, lit them up like jewels in dim settings, though Merrill and Fenris and Sera had always insisted they couldn't see any better in the dark. Tace, for their part, had played the mysterious rogue they always did— until now. "Varric, are you calling us by our chosen names on purpose?"

"I, well—" He expected Tace to interrupt, but they just looked at him, and that was harder to shrug off. "Yes, all right? It wouldn't be fair to take your name from you." Umbrage rose in his chest, for being put on the spot, yes, but mostly for how stunned Tace looked, as if no one had thought of something so simple before.

A beat, and Tace laughed, a sound of delight and surprise in equal measure. "Ah, you are one of a kind. I have often been told the world is not fair, so why should we be? But you, my friend!" They had slipped back into the Orlesian accent.

Varric almost rolled his eyes. Then he stopped, midway to turning his back and uttering some line over his shoulder, and thought better. "Are you all right, Tace?"

Tace was, of course, mildly offended at the implication that they were not, but then they deflated. "I will be, I think. I just…" They waved a hand, words failing. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Tace." Varric watched them leave the room, footsteps silent and deliberate, and let out a long breath through his nose. He had a feeling his association with Tace was about to make his life even more complicated. He was too old for this shit.

[vitaeplaysda]

CHARACTERS MASTERPOST AND USEFUL LINKS

Where else you can find me?

◆ @diesvitae main art tumblr ◆ @karmicblackhole personal tumblr

You can find me on Twitter/X with the same names!

VEILGUARD SPOILERS TAGS:

#veilguard spoilers ; #datv spoilers

Active ask challenges I'm taking:

[Veilguard Hype Ask] - [OCs Emoji Ask] - [OCs Relationship ask] - [Florence + The Machine Lyrics Prompts]

All my Dragon Age Characters and Ships can be found below the cut!

(Images will be added on a later date...)

DRAGON AGE INQUISITION

◆ ELINAN of clan LAVELLAN Female (she/her) Dalish Elf Mage (Rift Mage)

We all know how the storyall know how the story goes. She starts at the First of her Clan and due fate she unwillingly becomes the Herald of Andraste at the head of the Inquisition all while falling for the Dread Wolf himself. What is less known is her heritage, of her grandmother falling for a mysterious tall elf with purple eyes when her clan was close to the Tirashan forest, a color she inherited among the superior height compared to the other elves. Fascinated by Solas's stories about the spirits and feeling useless in front of his pain when he lost his friend to corruption, Elinan found herself wondering if there was a way to heal demons guiding them to a road of redemption without killing them. It would later become her primary mission in life, all starting with Enfenim and Cole, bringing her to create a safe place of healing and knowledge in some elvhen ruins hidden in a secret location. As the Inquisitor, she never believed in the Chosen of Andraste idea, but was glad to play along as it gave her the power to help others. This is because she's a people pleaser by nature, working hard to the point of getting several burn outs in order to perform perfectly in every occasion. Understanding that role was no longer needed and with other goals in mind, she disbanded the Inquisition, disappearing completely in a matter of months. She spent her following years between journeying Thedas to learn the different approach to spirits among the various cultures of the world and helping those in need in her haven, and with time she ended up being known as the Shepherd, for spirits, demons and mortals alike or anyone in need of healing or guidance. Knowing that begging Solas would never move him away from his plans of destruction, Elinan decided to show him there was another way, a kinder way of coexistence between The Fade and the mortal races. Still her heart ached for him, unable to forget the love which united them. The Anchor, while removed, still poisoned her. Beside the scarring on her left arm's stump there were no visible physical issues left behind, but it changed her magic, giving her the same powers of a Somniari.

◆ ENFENIM N/A (he/they/it) Ancient Elf/Fear Demon Mage (Arcane Warrior)

Appearing first as a Fear Demon haunting the Emerald Graves, it was clear for the first moment he wasn't a corrupted spirit from a Rift but much more, he was able to wield a sword and staff just like a mage. Haunted by his lack of memories cursing unlucky travelers to the same fate and an even worse death, after meeting Elinan he starts a journey of healing and redemption by learning he could regain his memories by acting driven by his old purposes: protection of others and the pursuit of knowledge. As the years went by, his look mutated from the arachnid humanoid of his demonic form to one of a beautiful ancient elf. Apparently he was born when Arlathan fell after the creation of the Fade. A spirit of Knowledge from Vir Dirthara was driven mad by the loss of its purpose, instinct making it search for the last source of comfort it remembered: a guardian who's seen all what he had to protected gone and failed his purpose as well, possessing and corrupting him in the creature of Fear he has been for centuries and more. In more recent times he acts as bodyguard and partner to Elinan and is a father figure for Rook. He's also an Archivist in the safe haven he has been building with the ex Inquisitor.

DRAGON AGE: THE VEILGUARD

◆ "LITTLE ROOK" NADIR Transmasc Non-Binary (he/him) Elf Mage

Nadir is the adopted son of Inquisitor Lavellan, an orphan who used to work at Skyhold until Elinan's demon friend noticed and befriended him. Despite being a mage, he fights without magic, using knives like a rogue, due to various incidents in his childhood which left him fearful of his own magic. He left his family after causing the death of his adoptive father Enfenim by mistake, starting the impossible quest to find Solas to bring him back to his mother. This journey brought him to meddle with the Antivan Crows, who took him in even if not officially, under the nickname of Lil Rook, but he ended up leaving them without an explanation the moment he got news about Solas. Fate made him meet his old friend Varric, with his team and Ariele De Riva at the site where Solas was performing his ritual. And from that day he didn't only have an elvhen god speaking in his dreams, but also started meddling with one far more powerful: Elgar'nan, with whom he develops a loving relationship despite all odds. Nadir is witty and apparently carefree, but that's just a mask he wears to hide his deep insecurities. His loyalty to the cause has no match, but he's also deeply empathic, believing there is good in everyone. He hates playing the hero role, and like his mother he tries to act the best way for everyone, but in truth he'd love to be more direct, able to speak his mind with no consequences.

◆ SULENAN MERCAR Cis Male (he/him) Elf Warrior

Sulenan's life can be described as a living nightmare since the start, his clan captured by teveni slavers killed or sold to the higher bidder when he was just a child. His salvation came from a soporati family of good heart, who took him in as if he was their biological son, giving him all they could, instruction, support, and a purpose. Sadly being safe from slavery didn't make you safe from altus mages, and in his teens he found himself kidnapped by a couple of students part of Minrathous's nobility, who decided to test their elvhen culture knowledge on Sulenan, by forcing Elgar'nan's vallaslin on his face in mockery, to remind him not even the All-Father of his culture couldn't ever be much more than an elf. With his face marked in shame from the hands of bullies and not his people, it was quite natural Sulenan grew to become a callous man with severe anger issues, despite his heart never forgetting his desire for a better future, but too lost and out of control to achieve that. Joining the Shadow Dragons was one of the steps he took to still advance toward his dreams of peace and freedom, but the road definitely isn't an easy one. And when he learned even his gods, even Elgar'nan, were monsters with no care for his people, he joined the Veilguard, hoping to make them pay for good, seeking vengeance after their betrayal. Little he knew cruel fate had other plans for him, and later in the story, he ended up becoming the host of a spark of Elgar'nan's soul, who would control his body as his own when needed. Amongst the Veilguard though, he got to grow up a lot, putting his demons behind, learning love and forgiveness.

◆ ARIELE "ROOK" DE RIVA Genderfluid (they/she) Human Rogue

To be written

◆ IRIDA ALDWIR Cis Female (she/her) Qunari Rogue

To be written

◆ ANARCA INGELLVAR Non-Binary (they/them) Qunari Mage

To be written

DRAGON AGE 2

◆ ABIGAIL "GALE" HAWKE Non-Binary (they/she) Human Rogue (Duelist)

Born to the Hawke family between both sets of twins, Abigail was the trickster of the family, always playing pranks, unable to be stopped with a tongue as sharp as their blades. Somehow they always knew a friend, always found the information needed and the way they got all these connections, well it was rarely legal or at times even sane. As they were quick to move, they were also quick to fall in love, counting people like Varric, Isabela or even the Arishok on their list of crushes. But alas between a battle and a bottle of wine, Fenris was the one to finally win their heart, his history sparkling a need to do good and help in them. After the events of Kirkwall, keeping track of their movements was hard as ever, at times they were by the side of their lover freeing slaves, some others they were in the places you would least expect them. Like Skyhold. Or the Fade. From which they thankfully escaped, traveling again to no one knows where.

◆ MARIAN HAWKE Female (she/her) Human Warrior (Reaver)

The canon female Hawke offered by the game, twin of Garrett and older sister of Abigail. She has a kind and patient soul, the only one truly able to deal with her brother's rage. She falls for Merrill, with whom she lives, helping her take care of the Kirkwall's alienage. She also takes care of the family Mabari: Holdfast.

◆ GARRETT HAWKE Male (he/him) Human Mage (Force Mage)

The canon male Hawke, twin of Marian and older brother of Abigail. While he was a sweet, shy and sensible kid in his youth, Garrett grew more harsh and angrier as he was unable to deal with the tragedies of his life. What mages had to suffer in Kirkwall fully turned him into a cynical bastard but also did let him fall in love with Anders, considering him his soulmate and his loyalty for the man unbreakable. As Anders got forced to live in exile after the events in Kirkwall, Garrett embraced the same fate, ready to follow him until the end of days. Little is known about his whereabouts but at times he still writes to his twin sister.

DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS

◆ AILIS COUSLAND Female (she/her) Noble Human Warrior (Champion)

Ailis was the last surviving scion of the Cousland family, a girl who preferred swords and training instead of learning more feminine arts, something reflected by her quite muscular and imposing look. Becoming a Warden wasn't just a way to survive the purge of her family but an honor she accepted gladly, possessing a strong sense of duty toward her people and Ferelden itself. In her journey she became a close friend of Loreen and Leliana, falling for Alistair's sweetness. He especially guided him to become a stronger man, to the point he took his rightful role as King of Ferelden with Ailis acting as Queen. With Kali vouching for Loghain recruitment as a warden and Alistair refusing to fight by his side, Ailis remained by his side, leaving the party, fully dedicating to her role of monarch for the years to come. She owns a Mabari called Grace.

◆ AERON MAHARIEL of clan SABRAE Male (he/him) Dalish Elf Rogue (Ranger)

You will hardly find among the Dalish someone so taken by their role as hunter as much as Aeron. Marked with Andruil's vallaslin, this man dedicated his full life to the hunt, almost to be considered weirdly obsessed by it. Still he's aware his lack of fear and recklessness aren't something to be proud of and he blames himself only for what happened to Tamlen. Becoming a warden wasn't a choice but his only means to survive, still it didn't come without benefits, having the chance to know Morrigan being one of them. He often jokes about how he won her over due to his good look but in truth they simply bonded by their common childhood experiences. He also got to hunt and kill monsters of every kind, fulfilling his bloody needs quite easily. In the end, he performed the ritual, and Kieran is his son, one he loves dearly despite him containing the soul of an archdemon and being forced to live away from him. Still when the time came, Aeron followed Morrigan through the Eluvians, hoping their fate was going to be better than Tamlen's. During his return to the Brecilian Forest, he tamed a wild wolf which became his main companion, and he gave him the name Harellan, as a taunt to the Dread Wolf.

◆ VALDA SURANA Female (she/they) City Elf Mage (Blood Mage)

Shy and sweet, Valda always found comfort in books and learning, interacting little with her peers first and wardens later. Despite her apparent lack of interest for others, deep inside she cared deeply about other living beings, believing she could find a way to help everyone if she focused enough on her studies. Her control of the magic arts was sublime but the fight against the Archdemon, despite ending in victory, made her fear she wasn't enough, to the point she started studying Blood Magic as well. Surprisingly she found an affine soul in the Architect, enough to make her join him in his research for a better solution both for mortals and darkspawn alike.

◆ LOREEN TABRIS Female (she/her) City Elf Rogue (Shadow)

Life in the alienage was harsh, but for a time Loreen was happy, ready to marry a lovely man, ready to contribute to her community. All until that fateful day which took away all of that from her, including her softer side, exchanging it all with a blazing rage and the need to change things for good. Nelaros's ring was always on her index finger after, and she would never took it off. As a Grey Warden she was merciless against her enemies, but able of kindness for those who truly deserved it and a strong leader for the party amongst Ailis and Kali with whom she grew close. Kali understood her pain being a dwarf commoner and Ailis seemed eager to help the elven cause despite being a human noble, ready to use her role to truly change things the best she could. Leliana became a new source of comfort first, and her lover later, one to whom she proclaimed eternal loyalty, even when she became Divine. After the battle with the Archdemon and the chaos with the darkspawn civil war, Loreen became Warden-Commander and Arlessa of Amaranthine.

◆ KALI BROSCA Female (she/her) Commoner Dwarf Warrior (Guardian)

Despite having been born a casteless commoner, Kali always had the aura of a noble with duty, honor and hard work being the pillars of her life, but most of all, she cared for her sister Rica, making sure she could life a happy life. For her, she was willing to push back her morals and work for the Carta, even if it ended up in a disaster, which would eventually change her life for good. Amongst the Warden she was able to fulfill her call, taking a role of leadership in her group. Being practical and hating to have blood spilled for no reason, she was the one to vouch for Loghain's life and even let the Architect go unharmed with Valda even if it wasn't a decision she was proud of. He found a common soul in Sten, but despite the attraction which was strong for both of them, she had to let him go to follow what his Qun demanded of him, even if the two still shared letters with each other, all formal but with much more hidden between the lines. Just like Loreen, she was promoted as Warden-Commander and is the only one in their group to fully dedicate herself to the Grey Wardens after all their adventures.

OTHER DRAGON AGE OCs

◆ HIVER Male (he/him) Qunari (Ex Saarebas) Mage (Spirit Healer)

Being born into the Qun as a mage is something no one should experience, especially when you feel deep down all is wrong. And you dare to voice it. Since his magic manifested, Hiver's life has been a nightmare. Collared, tortured, treated like an abomination, lips sewn and when that didn't work, his tongue was cut as well. Then came the war between the Qun and Tevinter. Venatori captured him like a wild beast to be used freely at their whim. Lost and suffering, his control over his magic was lost, creating a blizzard in the middle of the desert in the Hissing Wastes. That's when the Inquisition and Lavellan found him. That's when he found people who saw him as a person, not as a dangerous tool. She called him "Hiver", the word for winter in the Orlesian language due to that storm of ice he called upon. She taught him how to control his magic, how spirits weren't dangerous monsters but could be allies, many ready to help. His true nature flourished, his kind heart no longer having to hide. Elinan called a teacher to have both of them learn sign language and a spirit of Learning became his main companion, filling in as an interpreter when there was the need. After the Inquisition got disbanded, he followed Elinan, becoming one of the healers in the safe haven she built.

SHIPS

DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION Elinan/Solas - Elinan/Enfenim - Enfenim/Elinan/Solas (polycule v.)

DRAGON AGE II Abigail/Fenris - Abigail/Varric (forbidden) - Abigail/Isabela (ended) - Abigail/Arishok (in their fantasies LMAO) Marian/Merrill Garrett/Anders

DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS Ailis/Alistair (king and queen) Aeron/Morrigan Valda/theArchitect Loreen/Leliana Kali/Sten

DRAGON AGE: THE VEILGUARD Nadir/Elgar'nan Nadir/Elgar'nan/Sulenan Nadir/Sulenan Sulenan/Elgar'nan (platonic)

[spicywarl0ck]

Hi Spicy! Random prompt time. "It's hard to believe you're really gone" for any characters you want, for any fandom. ✌️💖

Thank you so much for the random prompt, and I am so sorry it took me so long to fulfill it! But I love random prompts thrown my way x3 This is gonna contain major Dragon Age the Veilguard spoilers, so if you haven't finished the game yet, please stay clear from that one!

“It’s still hard to believe you’re really gone.”  The words were muttered quietly in front of the brand-new headstone, way too cold for the person buried underneath the fresh patch of earth. Hawke had rushed back to Kirkwall once the chaos died down. Too busy had everyone been as they defeated the world against the new horrors unleashed onto them. He and Fenris hadn’t been too far from Minrathous when it happened, but it had taken too long until the news reached them. Varric Tethras, author, contributor to the merchant guild and most importantly one of the dearest and most loyal friends was dead. He had died within the events of a mission holding the utmost importance to the Dwarf, surrounded by a group of people he hand-picked beforehand. Good people he had trusted in. No one could have prevented what happened that night. Not even Hawke himself. “You did so much for all of us.” Hawke continued speaking. “You were the one bringing me into the Deep Road mission and while that doesn’t seem to be much, I think that was the turning point of my life.” He grew quiet again, thinking about everything that happened since that day. Hawke hadn’t only gotten his hands on treasures beyond imagination to bring his family out of misery, but he also wouldn’t have met Anders, Merrill, Sebastian or Isabela. Nor Fenris. Or maybe they would have met one way or another, he couldn’t say, but he firmly believed that it was all thanks to Varric. But now, he was gone. The witty Dwarf with the thick chesthair and the most outrageous tales was gone. He had died doing what he believed was right: Saving a friend. Hawke couldn’t be mad at either him or the one responsible, and maybe it was because he had suffered so much loss in his life before that an eerie calmness and comfort came with the knowledge that Varric had found his last and peaceful rest at long last. “We explored the Deep Roads, saved the City together… twice.” Hawke chuckled. “And then you allowed yourself to get dragged into the Inquisition and their business.” He took a sip from the ale he brought with him with a solemn smile. “You ended up saving the world and stood up for something good.” Another sip followed. “Looking back on it now, maybe we are too old for this shit.” “Speak for yourself.” Fenris scoffed, yet his gaze was soft despite his words. “I have wondered where you wandered off to.” the elf added, coming to a halt a shoulder width away from Hawke. “Are you alright?” “I’m fine. Just visiting an old friend.” Hawke answered softly. “I’m sorry I worried you,” he added quickly. His eyes had lost their focus over the past years, but he could see his husband standing clearly beside him still. “I knew where to find you when you wander off, these days. Just make sure you don’t wander too far from me.” Fenris closed the short distance between them, causing their shoulders to brush against each other’s slightly as their hands intertwined in some sort of quiet promise. He’d always be next to Hawke.  No matter what the future held for them.

[assectations]

@crowspoise // ❝ don't let me regret saving you. ❞ | dragon age: the veilguard prompts pt 2.

In the low light of the tepidly fed fire, the fellow crows eyes appeared to glimmer and gleam, depending on the angle one glimpsed them at, their unnaturalness emboldened by the flinty edge lurking within. A lesser man, with not even an inkling of a crow in their midst, would've taken it as some unusual luster, and not wickledly glinting knife edge that it was.

The rest had all filed out awhile ago, one by one, placated in their questioning or otherwise haggard by their own fatigue, until it was just the two of them. The dining table covered in a myriad of reports, missives, and playing cards from an attempt to salvage the evening. The days earlier events had been a sour reminder of the grim reality of their lot. The steadily ramping slog, which would see them further than simply waist deep in uncharted waters before long. Fires, which weren't so easily put out, nor the ones he was accustomed to.

He didn't necessarily resent nor begrudge Lucanis for the pointed comment, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Because whether he liked it or not, Crows circled Crows. They held lofty expectations of excellence, and an opportunistic bouts of uncompromising contempt — which were often swiftly followed by violence, if the source didn't correct their course. The livid bruise dappling the curve of his feather-patterned cheekbone gives a particularly nasty throb, and it's almost enough to drown out the minor complaints from the cuts and other bruises. They were easier to ignore by degrees, by virtue of a lived in experience. It was a statement as much as a warning, and the de Riva heard it plain.

The coffee Rhen drinks, beneath it's rich aroma, carries a sourness not part of the blend, nor is it the bitterness of one of Hardings elfroot drafts. Part of him wants to ask if Lucanis is accustomed to regret, as if it's some novel concept he knows yet doesn't understand, but decides against it. Rather, he levels his fellow Crow with a mercurial expression, using his free hand to pick at one of the cards in his abandoned wicked grace hand, haphazardly spread cross an antaam report. "Perish the thought." He intones with wan, performative mirth. "Viago would never let me hear the end of it, could you imagine?"

[endeavvor]

we are not out of danger.

DRAGON AGE: THE VEILGUARD PROMPTS PT 1

“Yep, I got that. Thanks.” His voice is strained, and he wonders when he became so winded. This planet’s gravity was similar to that of Earth’s, and what Jim’s body is used to; but a pressure on his thigh pulls his attention down and he remembers.

Gold is marred by splatters of red, but at least it isn’t torn. This was a new uniform, more fitted, less box shaped. A Captain should at least look like he gives a damn, he’d been told by his logistics officer that had shoved the packaging in his hands.

Jim grimaces.

He’s out of breath because he’s hurt - which is just typical, and explains the proximity of Spock to his person. There’s also a pinching happening between Spock’s brows. It is not his normal severity, but a rare glimpse into the inner workings of his mind.

Spock is not scared. He is not out of control. He is his normal, tactfully reserved self — but Jim can read between those lines. There’s a fractionally minimal downturn to the corner of his lips that tells him that Spock is concerned.

Jim wants to reach out, press his thumb in that space, smooth it out. He wants to smile and promise everything will be fine, but what good is a promise if it cannot be kept?

They’ve survived worse, and the cut to his thigh isn’t that deep. The flow of his blood between Spock’s pale fingers has already begun to lessen, but he doesn’t make the mistake of trying to brush his hands away, or reach out and offer comfort.

The Captain’s head just tilts back against the rock face he’s propped up on to stare at the expanse of blue sky. So similar to the color of his own eyes, he squints slightly as he thinks.

“Communications are down,” Naturally. Why Starfleet has yet to find a way to maintain their channels is beyond him. “And we don’t know where our lovely hosts have gone -," Jim hisses. "Damnit, Spock,"

Where his fingers had been curled into the dirt at his sides, he finally reaches one tentative hand out to lightly brush the back of Spock's knuckles. It exudes warmth and life, but his next stressed syllables are petulant, the blue of his eyes searching the brown of the others. "OW."

Fine, Spock is not just concerned. He’s angry. His grip had tightened to the point of pain against Jim’s leg. He knows the exact shape of the bruises that will be left in their wake.

“I get applying pressure is important, but if you snap my femur, we’re going to have bigger problems than the ambush. I'm fine.”

@fasciinating

[skyheld]

— how to they bear it? — as best they can.

skyheld. independent, selective multimuse for dragon age & bg3. lovingly tended by ciri (she/her, 30+). established in the olden days & revamped may 2024, under reconstruction now and probably forever. interest tracker.

!!! on veilguard.

i have finished the game myself, but spoilers will be tagged da4 spoilers for those of you who haven't, and major ones will be under a readmore. i'm working on writing veilguard verses, but threads set during the game will be kept as spoilerfree as possible, or under a readmore. i also have some verses suitable for threads post-inquisition but pre-veilguard, if you prefer that.

muses.

ameridan | a minor canon character from Dragon Age: Inquisition, the Jaws of Hakkon DLC | non-binary, using gender-neutral terms but he/him pronouns | TW: animal death present in backstory; veilguard verse contains heavy mentions of death (of old age specifically) | DRAGON AGE VERSE | | VEILGUARD VERSE (MILD SPOILERS) BALDUR’S GATE 3 TAV/COMPANION VERSE

gatt | a minor canon character from Dragon Age: Inquisition | cis male, he/him pronouns | TW: slavery, indoctrination into a cult, ptsd. sexual assault present backstory | DA VERSE | INQUISITOR VERSE | VEILGUARD VERSE (MILD SPOILERS) BALDUR’S GATE 3 NON-TADPOLE COMPANION VERSE

lethe | a tadpoled companion oc from Baldur's Gate 3 | cis female, she/her pronous | TW: parental abuse | BALDUR'S GATE 3 VERSE

merrill | a canon character from Dragon Age: Origins and II | cis female, she/her pronouns | TW: blood magic | DRAGON AGE VERSE | BALDUR’S GATE 3 VERSE.

shianni | a minor canon character from Dragon Age: Origins | cis female, she/her pronouns | TW: slavery and (fantasy)racial oppression. Shianni is a rape survivor, which is mentioned/alluded to in her biography | DRAGON AGE VERSE

guidelines.

1. SELECTIVITY. I’m mutuals only and somewhat selective, meaning if I follow/follow back, I’m interested in writing with you. I will try to reach out to you with memes or by liking interaction calls and I highly encourage you to do the same! Sometimes it may take a while because I’m not seeing a meme that fits or I’m not on the dash when you post (hello GMT+1), but that never means I’m not interested. I am here to write. OOC communication will probably make me a lot more excited for our threads, even if its just a small comment in the tags. discord is available to mutuals on request.

2. MEMES. If in doubt, send the meme! I may not respond to all of them and never expect you to do so either. I might send several to give you options, feel free to delete any that don’t inspire you. Turning a meme into a thread is highly encouraged if you feel inspired to, and I usually try to write them with an opening for continuation. Please try to send me something if you reblog a meme, or reblog from the source.

3. PLOTTING. I might lean slightly towards plotted thread and/or plotted relationships, just because I find they last longer. Again though, memes can be a starting point and ice breaker.

4. STARTER CALLS. I will probably not post completely open starter calls very often because I find it very hard to write a starter with no direction. For specific verses it may happen, or I may reblog a list of starter prompts. When I do, it’s because I want more threads. If I’ve written several starters for you and you haven’t replied to any of them, I might approach you for plotting before I write you another. it’s totally fine to just tell me a particular starter isn’t working and we can figure out another, but I don’t like the feeling that I’m just writing them for no response, especially since they tend to take me a while to write.

5. SHIPPING. I love shipping and while it's not my main reason for writing, I'm always down for any sort of established relationships. If you feel like there’s chemistry there probably is, so don’t hesitate to say it!

6. TRIGGERS. This blog deals with some heavy themes. I do my best to tag them when explicit or prominent in my writing and always if graphic, but not always when mentioned in passing. tags are formatted as ___tw (heavily present) or ____cw (just mentioned). Do let me know if I didn’t tag something I should have.

7. TRIGGERS II. I won’t follow/will unfollow if you don’t tag:

nsfw / nsft / whatever tag you use as long as I can find it.

pregnancy and childbirth (I’m fine with mentions and can deal with it in backgrounds and such. Descriptions and imagery are worse.)

8. FORMATTING. please don’t use double small text or gif icons in threads with me as I find it hard to read! I default to small text but will use regular if you do, and I alternate between almost no other formatting and a little bit more ~fancy~. If anything makes it hard for you to read, let me know.

9. CALLOUTS. I understand that sometimes callouts are necessary to protect others, but won’t reblog if I can’t verify the truth of them (which means it probably won’t happen). Someone acting shitty doesn’t warrant a callout but simply a block; someone being genuinely manipulative might. If harms people, it isn’t ‘drama’. If I do ever post/reblog a callout it will be tagged as ‘callout cw’.

10. ACTIVITY. this blog runs on a queue for thread replies, while meme replies will be posted as i finish them. i have an uneven work schedule and something of a life outside the rpc so i'm not always terribly active.

Thank you for reading!