#she is such a stunning inquisitor

[rosieofcorona]

our lady inquisitor, inúril lavellan

(wip)

[open-sketchbook]

my girlfriend is asking for where she can find your written works, she really likes the one post you made about your mindstate wandering w/r/t making porn stories and she'd love to support you & read your stories

Sure!

I write my (public) fiction on the website Sufficient Velocity, a sci-fi forum. Most of them are in the form of 'quests', interactive stories; my day job is an independent tabletop roleplaying game designer, so the two things go hand in hand.

I unfortunately am both very busy and kind of a mess mentally, so fiction gets picked up and dropped a lot, and I write less than ever these days due to the shambles that my life has become.

For my quests, the stuff I'm proudest of is...

Castles of Steel, a longrunning (though currently on hiatus) story set in an alternate world much like our own, but with radically different gender politics. It's about the first woman in the navy of a country a lot like 1910s Imperial Japan, and more generally about how state power and imperialism entangles itself with and recoups social progress.

A Splinter in your Mind, a retelling of the Matrix with new characters and reimagined twists and worldbuilding. It makes the trans subtext into trans dommetext, and I feel its some of my cleverest writing.

Suffer Not, and especially its sequel The Witch Lives. Suffer Not is a Warhammer 40,000 fic about an Inquisitor who abuses her powers to actually make people's lives better, and is the story of her slowly realizing it is not enough. The Witch Lives takes place ten years later, following the grown up psyker the Inquisitor adopted, and focuses much more on faith, history, and the little people.

The Spider-Liv Trilogy started as a silly and honestly kind of bad extreme-divergence spiderman AU, but its sequel The Amazing Arachne is, I think, genuinely really good, because it's about what happens when a superhero gets hurt and then doesn't get better.

I've managed to properly publish two pieces of writing, as in you can get them in book form, and I'm still really proud of both.

Whispers from the Deep is an adaptation of the quest that defined the setting of my roleplaying game Flying Circus. It's about a young woman who steals a plane and runs away from her abuser with her boyfriend, and then has to take up life as an aerial mercenary in a 1920s-themed post-apocalyptic fantasy world. Also, she's a fish person and her village is a Cthulhu cult!

Lieutenant Fusilier in the Farthest Reaches is a pastiche of the Richard Sharpe books by Bernard Cornwell, moving the setting from the Napoleonic Wars to a bizarre future world where sentient, cheerfully productive robots were invented in the early 19th century and promptly took all the jobs, elevating all of humanity to the gentry and then to the stars. It's about a redcoated robot soldier who uses her immortality to save up and buy a commission in the Army of Great Britain and Beyond, a position normally occupied exclusively by humans, and then facing the fallout of her decision and the life choices leading to it as her first deployment spirals out of control. It's also, sorta, a parody of Star Trek; the Galactic Concert is a mechanized, Regency-themed Federation, and the back half of the book is basically about how the problems of a world cannot be solved by an away team of well-meaning people with stun pistols.

[vir-tanadahl]

The Burden of the Dread Wolf

Summary: Solavellan ending told from Solas' POV. Obviously, Veilguard spoilers.

Solas—no, the Dread Wolf—stands battered and broken, bruises blooming like shadows on his skin, a dull ache thrumming through him with every breath. After all these years, he’s so tired. How could these last ten years weigh on him more than a millennium of existence? He, the Dread Wolf, has sacrificed so much to come this far. To claw back the power stolen from his people. To avenge the death of Mythal.

The regrets have always clawed at him. He regrets leaving the Fade. He regrets not stopping Mythal from becoming a god, from following the path that led her to death. Most of all, he regrets… not saving her. She called to him, once, asking for his aid. And he came, heart open, reverent. His love for her was beyond romance, something ancient and deep, an adoration etched into his very being. Her death was the final twist of the knife that cleaved wisdom from pride.

He regrets claiming her power, believing he could mend a shattered world, erase the pain he himself had wrought. He regrets the blood he spilled, even Mythal’s vessel, to seize the strength he thought he needed. He regrets the death of Varric, another thread severed in his relentless pursuit. And he regrets not staying by his vhenan’s side—his heart, the Inquisitor. His light.

He regrets his betrayal of Felassan. Of Rook.

Yet here he stands, the Dread Wolf, carrying the weight of those choices, haunted by the choices he has made.

"Please, Rook. I don't want to fight you." His voice trembles, a rare crack in his guarded tone, pleading and raw. There's no deception in his words this time, no clever twist or hidden intent.

Rook tries desperately to reach him, her words filled with a pleading urgency. Rook tries to reason with him, pleading with him to see the pain caused by Elgar’nan and Ghilian’nain. She tries to pull him back, to make him understand the cost of his path.

But Rook doesn’t realize he carries a burden heavier than just their sins. He believes he broke the world—because he is the one who broke it—and only he can restore it. Unbreak it. He feels that duty, thrumming in his very bones. He has to make it right. He will make it right.

Yet, he can’t see what lies just beyond his reach. His wisdom, once clear and guiding, has been twisted into something darker. Pride whispers that he can undo this mistake, that he alone can reshape what was lost. But true wisdom would show him beauty even in the scars of his unintended creation. The Dread Wolf has been trapped in his own prison of regrets long before he was accidentally trapped in the prison he created for the Gods.

“Destroying everything won’t fix your mistakes,” Rook says firmly, her gaze steady as she extends his lyrium dagger toward him. “If you want to save this world, bind yourself to the very thing you’re trying to erase.” Her voice is low but resolute, her outstretched hand unwavering. Another regret, he thinks, already settling like a weight in his chest.

The Dread Wolf takes a deep breath, turning slowly toward the place where the ritual will begin. His head falls forward, and he closes his eyes. “I… I cannot.” His voice is strained, heavy with exhaustion. “To stop now would dishonor everyone I’ve wronged to get here.” The terrible things he’s done, the lives he’s destroyed—they press down on him like shadows, demanding he see this through. If he stops now, what meaning would all that suffering hold?

“Even if…” Her voice, barely a whisper, cuts through his thoughts, and he turns, feeling his heart twist at the sound. “Even if those you’ve wronged asked you to stop?”

He knows that voice. His breath catches sharply, a tremor of recognition running through him as he meets her gaze. The dagger slips lower in his hand, almost forgotten, as he turns further to face her, his mouth parted in stunned silence. “Vhenan…” Solas breathes, the word heavy with disbelief. His voice wavers, pride crumbling as the guarded walls around his heart begin to fall, leaving him raw and exposed in her presence. His chest tightens, a tremor passing through him as he struggles to comprehend the impossible—she is here, standing before him

She is the woman he never meant to love but couldn’t help himself. The one who helped him see worth in this world he’d crafted out of his own wounded heart. She saw him—truly saw him—for who he was, asking questions that peeled back the layers he’d hidden behind for centuries, curious and kind.

“You think you’re beyond saving, but you’re wrong.” Her voice is soft, coaxing, her words weaving into his mind like a lifeline. “I’m here, walking the dinan’shiral with you.”

Pain and confusion cloud his gaze, and Solas bows his head, his voice rough. “I lied to you. I betrayed you.” Shame ripples through him, and he dares not meet her eyes.

She steps closer, her voice unwavering. “I forgive you. All you have to do… is stop.” He turns fully to her, his expression strained, the weight of regret etched across his face. “Ir abelas, vhenan,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he lowers his head again. “But… I cannot.”

Solas turns back toward the ritual site, his shoulders slumped. “Long before I met you, I failed my oldest friend. She died because of that failure. If I leave the Veil in place, I am destroying the world she wanted. And I will have…” his voice trails for a moment. “She would have died for nothing.”

He lifts the dagger, preparing to begin the ritual, when a raven’s sharp caw cuts through the silence. The bird swoops down, shifting midair into a figure cloaked in shadow and mystery.

“And whose fault is that, Dread Wolf?”

Solas whirls, momentarily stunned. “Morrigan?” Surprise flashes across his face as he tries to reconcile the sudden appearance of the Witch of the Wilds.

“One appellation among many I wear,” she replies, her voice smooth and enigmatic. “Advisor to Orlais, Witch of the Wilds, Daughter of Flemeth…” She pauses, her gaze piercing. “And once, long ago, an old friend.”

Solas’s gaze shifts, realizing he’s now surrounded by three women. Rook steps forward, her expression resolute as she lifts a small statuette of Mythal. “Mythal lives on in her,” she says quietly, “and in this.” She places the statuette in Morrigan’s outstretched hand, who, with a knowing glance, activates it.

A soft, ancient glow pulses from the statuette, filling the air with an ethereal light. Memories rush forward—fragments of Mythal, fragments of that fateful moment of betrayal when he failed her. Solas stands frozen, the weight of the past pressing down upon him, as Mythal’s essence shimmers, a reminder of the failure he made.

He gasps, his breath hitching as his gaze falls upon the form of Mythal as he once knew her, luminous and fierce, yet filled with a serenity that pierces his soul. His head lowers slightly, his mouth parted in silent reverence. “Mythal…” he manages, his voice barely a whisper, as if any louder would shatter this fragile moment.

The essence of Mythal stands before him, her form imposing yet gentle. “I pulled you from the Fade you cherished and thrust you into war. I turned your wisdom into a weapon…” She pauses, her eyes softened by an ancient sorrow. “And it broke you.”

Solas bows his head, shame tightening his posture, his voice trembling with regret. “The things I have done…” His words are heavy, laced with anguish and remorse.

But Mythal raises a hand, stopping him gently. “Are not yours to bear alone, my friend,” she says, her voice warm and kind. “The wrongs we committed, we committed together.” She reaches out, resting a hand on his shoulder, and a warmth spreads through him—her forgiveness, her absolution.

Solas’s shoulders slump, his head low, his hands trembling as he holds the dagger close to his chest. It’s the very blade that severed her life, a symbol of his failure and the pain he’s carried.

“I release you from my service,” she commands softly, her voice both gentle and resolute before disappearing. He no longer needs to be the Dread Wolf.

A shudder passes through him as the words sink in, releasing a weight he’s held for far too long. He leans forward, hands braced on his knees, head bowed, processing the unexpected mercy she has offered. Pain lingers, but beneath it… a flicker of relief, tentative and bittersweet.

The Inquisitor kneels beside him, her presence steady and warm as she places a gentle hand on his arm. “There is no fate but the love we share,” she murmurs, her voice soft and unwavering. Her words hit him like a tidal wave, and his breath falters, a tremor running through him as he clutches his chest, feeling the sharp ache of despair radiate through his being. He closes his eyes briefly, the weight of his choices pressing down on him.

Slowly, he rises, shoulders still hunched beneath the burden he carries. He turns, his gaze trailing over the tears in the Veil that continue to spread, multiplying like dark wounds in the sky—a reminder of his failures, his responsibility.

With a final look at the three women before him, he raises the lyrium dagger and, with grim resolve, slices the palm of his hand, letting his blood flow to complete the ritual. His voice is quiet but steady as he speaks, binding himself to the Veil. “My life force now sustains the Veil. With every breath I take, I will shield the innocent from the consequences of my past failures.”

He feels the connection take hold, a bond now woven between himself and the Veil, and though he stands, he feels as if a part of him has willingly surrendered to bear this eternal penance. “The Titans’ dreams are mad from their imprisonment. I cannot kill the blight, but I can help to soothe its anger.” He tells them as he hands the lyrium dagger to Rook.

“I will go and seek atonement,” he says quietly, turning back toward the gaping tears in the Veil, the rifts he has sworn to mend.

“But you don’t have to go alone.” Her voice, gentle yet resolute, pulls him back, stirring something fragile within him. His heart clenches as he twists to face her, disbelief clouding his expression. That she would even suggest such a thing… after everything he’s done, everything he’s caused. And yet, her hand slips into his, warm and grounding.

He shakes his head, his voice laced with quiet desperation. “Where I’m going is terrible,” he whispers, pleading for her to understand. But her gaze remains steady, unwavering, filled with a fierce, unyielding love.

“It won’t be terrible if I’m with you,” she replies, her voice filled with a soft strength. “We’ll make this journey together, always.”

Before he can protest, she draws him close, her arms wrapping around him as she presses her lips to his, a kiss filled with love and a vow of loyalty he can hardly believe. He’s overcome, struggling to comprehend that she would willingly join him in his path of penance—and yet, a surge of gratitude and wonder swells within him, easing the shadows of doubt and despair he has carried alone for so long.

They pull apart, his gaze lingering on her for a heartbeat longer before he turns to face Rook. “Thank you, Rook,” he says softly, his voice full of gratitude and respect. He holds her gaze a moment, then, with a final nod, turns toward the largest tear in the Veil, his path stretching out before him.

Fear gnaws at him—fear that, at the last moment, she might choose not to follow, that the enormity of what lies ahead might make her hesitate. He keeps his eyes forward, too afraid to turn back, his heart pounding with the uncertainty.

But then, he feels it: her hand resting firmly on his shoulder, the warmth of her fingers curling around his forearm, grounding him. A quiet strength flows from her touch, and he closes his eyes briefly, a wave of relief washing over him. She is here, unyielding, choosing this path with him.

Together, they step forward and vanishing into the Fade.

[lafaiette]

Inspired by some posts going around, saying Rook should be able to flirt with Lavellan to make Solas super jealous 😂 (but also to help him stop being stupid and finally go back to her!)

There are nuanced spoilers from Veilguard, and my own idea regarding Rook and Solas' connection, since we still don't know how it works exactly.

----------------------------

"I have an idea."

Neve raised her eyes from the notes scattered on her desk, giving Rook a flat, unimpressed look. She knew, by know, that their ideas weren't always the best.

Sometimes, she feared the things their brain came up with.

"What kind of idea?" she asked, hoping it would be different this time, that they would surprise her, that this wouldn't be like that time they had sneaked upon Lucanis and almost got stabbed.

"I'm going to flirt with Lady Lavellan."

"Oh, goodness." Neve took a deep breath. So much for her hopes. "Well, you're going to die, I guess."

"Not for real!" Rook had the audacity to grin at her. "As a joke! Just to unnerve our Dread Wolf a little bit."

"Why would you do that?" Neve shook her head in disbelief. "Do you even hear yourself? If what Lace said is right, he could kill you in your sleep."

"Nah, he won't. We're almost friends at this point - and besides, he wouldn't risk ruining our mission."

"He would for Lady Lavellan."

"Come on!" Rook's grin came back, happy and excited. "I'm curious to see how he'd react! He's always so serious and grim, you know? But Varric said he was a completely different person when he was with the Inquisitor, and the rumours I heard..."

"He's in contact with you, is he not?" She tilted her head, studying their face. "Isn't he listening to this conversation right now?"

"Our connection is severed most of the time. There are moments when I can feel him being present, but they don't last long, and I always have to update him on our plans." Rook scratched their neck. "I have no idea how much he's able to glimpse from that prison he's stuck in, to be honest. It doesn't look like a great place to be in."

"It was a prison made specially for mad elven mages." Neve sighed, going back to the more pressing topic. "Seriously, Rook, this is a terrible idea."

"Hey, he deserves it! Haven't you seen how kind and gracious Lady Lavellan is? If anything, I'm going to help them get back together! Trust me, this will help them. I'm basically doing them a favour!"

"You're going to scare that poor woman." Neve glared at them, almost disappointed. "I won't let you be a creep."

"Oh, Neve, who do you take me for?" Rook was at the door, ready to leave, ready to start their diabolical plan. "I will be the perfect gentleman, just like Emmrich."

"He is a gentleman, while you're acting like a mischievous nug!"

Rook left with a booming laugh; Neve stared at the door, trying to squash her morbid curiosity under a sense of professionalism and dignity.

But a part of her was looking forward to the consequences of Rook's insane prank.

----------------------------

"Lady Lavellan." Rook smiled at the elven woman, Solas' presence like a burning itch in their brain, right behind their eyes. "You look stunning this morning."

They even bowed to her.

Davrin and Harding stared at them as if they had gone mad. Lady Lavellan blinked, eyes wide, then replied, as prim as ever:

"Thank you?"

"Should you need anything, please don't hesitate to call upon me. It shall be my honour to serve a wonderful, beautiful person such as yourself."

Davrin made a weird sound, a noise between a snort and a choking gasp. Harding covered her mouth with a hand.

Lady Lavellan's shock only grew - but her background as an important political figure was indeed evident, for she didn't let it colour her next words nor her reaction.

"Thank you, Rook. You're very kind."

She even smiled a little, even though she still looked a bit perplexed.

Rook grinned at her, then left. The burning, the presence inside their head, felt like a roaring inferno now.

----------------------------

"Here, my lady - I heard you like these particular berries. I made sure to buy some from you while I was in Treviso."

Rook filled her plate with sweet, red berries, and Lady Lavellan's face did light up, her eyes filled with wonder and joy.

"Oh, thank you! It's been so long since I ate these!"

"Only the best for you." Rook bowed their head at her, then turned to pass a jug of water to Lucanis, who was sitting next to them and had heard their exhange with the Inquisitor.

The Antivan Crow was looking at them, studying them, his lips slightly curled upward.

"Yes?" Rook grinned at him.

"Spite says you're going to die soon, my friend."

"Oh, Neve said the same thing!"

----------------------------

"Oh, Rook, here you are! Lady Lavellan and I were discussing some matters related to the Mourn Watch. Would you like to join us?"

"Of course, Emmrich." Rook accepted the cup of tea Manfred was diligently handing them, thanking him with a nod of their head. "I'd love to spend more time with you and our beautiful guest."

Emmrich almost choked on his tea. Lady Lavellan kindly offered him her handkerchief.

"Has someone ever painted you, my Lady?" Rook sipped the hot beverage without a care in the world, even raising their little finger. "I can't believe no one has. Such a gorgeous, dazzling smile should be preserved for eternity."

"Well, uh... Solas painted the frescoes in the rotunda at Skyhold. And..." She looked down, into her cup, suddenly quiet and timid. "He made some charcoal portraits of me."

Rook felt bad, guilt squeezing their heart. They hurried to improve the mood.

"Charcoal portraits are well and good, but your beauty and kindness should be painted on gilded vaults. Or perhaps sculpted, to fill the world with your grace!"

She snorted, the prelude to a giggle. When she left to check on Varric, Emmrich sighed and stared and stared, until Rook had to speak up.

"What?"

"My friend, why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you have a death wish. We could have talked about this sooner."

"I don't have a death wish!"

"I know these are hard, frightening times, but you must let death come to you, not the other way around. You have your whole life ahead of you!"

"Emmrich, really..."

"Why don't we start some therapy sessions? We do it all the time in the Mourn Watch - it's a very taxing job on the soul, after all."

"Therapy sess-"

"Manfred, my boy, be a dear and fetch me some ink and paper. Now, Rook, lie down and tell me when your suicidal intentions have first started..."

----------------------------

"Rook."

"Taash. Bellara."

"Oh, Rook." Bellara sniffed, pushing back tears. "It's been an honour."

"Wait, what? Are you two leaving?"

"No?" Taash frowned. "You are."

"And quite soon, I fear. The Dread Wolf isn't the merciful type." Bellara nodded sagely.

"Hey, hey, I'm not leaving! Solas and I are getting along swimmingly!"

"The only swimming you'll do will be in a neverending nightmare, my friend." Taash said, patting their shoulder. "Well. It's been fun."

----------------------------

"Goodnight, my Lady."

Rook kissed Lady Lavellan's right hand - no, not really. They didn't even touch it with their lips, not wanting to creep her out, and they knew the Dread Wolf would really smite them if they even dared think about touching her.

"Oh, uh... goodnight."

"Your beauty and brilliance eclipse the stars." Rook continued. "I can see now why both Ferelden and Orlais adored you so."

She watched them for a second, confused and embarrassed, then realization shone on her face, and a bright smile appeared on it.

In that moment, Rook knew she knew the real reasons behind their silly behaviour. She even looked happy, as if Rook had done something good.

"Goodnight, Rook." Her smile was amused, now. "Say hi to Solas for me, please."

----------------------------

Rook fell asleep, excitement and apprehension creating a churning cocktail in their stomach. Perhaps Emmrich was right; perhaps they really had a death wish. No sane person would ever tease the ancient elven god of rebellion by flirting with his beloved vhenan.

The prison was darker than usual. They could barely see their feet, and the ground felt shakier, almost crumbly, as if they were standing on sand.

Beneath them, endless darkness, a pit of shadows and oblivion.

"Solas...?"

Then they felt an overwhelming pressure, their head splitting in half, ash in their mouth. Rook groaned, gritting their teeth, and squeezing their eyes shut.

"Oi, cut it out!"

"Your beauty and brilliance eclipse the stars." Solas' cold voice echoed, reaching Rook from all directions; but they couldn't see him, couldn't find him, and the pressure on their head only increased.

"You should be sculpted, to fill the world with your grace."

"It's true! She's quite graceful!"

A growl, then suddenly the pillar of earth and sand on which Rook was standing trembled, and for a moment they truly feared Solas was about to cast them down.

They saw him, then: standing just a few paces away, fire in his eyes, his teeth gritted into a snarl, fists clenched. Poor fellow.

"You disgusting little...!"

He took a deep breath, but Rook could see the vein throbbing on his forehead. When next he spoke, Solas sounded only slightly calmer.

"Leave Lady Lavellan alone. She has no time for your inane words. You are embarrassing her."

"Are you sure? Because I think I saw the prettiest of blushes when I..."

The pillar trembled again, and Rook had to hold onto it to avoid falling down. When they raised their eyes, Solas was gone, and they heard his voice coming from behind.

Very close. Extremely close, so much they thought he was finally standing on their same level.

But they also felt something else, a huge presence, as tall as a mountain, where there should have been only a bald elf. They didn't turn, their instinct telling them they would see too many eyes, and fangs, too.

"Leave her alone." Solas' voice said, sounding the same as before, but also not, an undercurrent of fury and pain hidden beneath every word. "This will be my last warning."

"Fine, fine! I was just joking, and she knows that!"

A moment of silence, then: "... What?"

Rook laughed, the pressure behind their eyelids finally subduing.

"You're still deep in it, huh? Don't worry, she feels the same. Every time we talk about you, she gets this soft look on her face. Oh, and she says hi, by the way."

The huge presence also vanished, and when next Rook blinked, Solas was standing before them again. He looked surprised, but also curious, eager to hear more, hope and sorrow written all over his pale face.

"What, you really thought I was trying to hit on her? She's a great person, but she's not really my type. And I know she has eyes for you only... even though I can't understand why. No offense."

Solas looked away, sorrow winning over hope.

"I often wonder the same."

"Try not to be an ass once you're finally out of here, yes?" Rook grinned at him, feeling their consciousness return in the waking world. "She's been waiting for you."

This time, only hope shone on Solas' face, chasing away the shadows of pain.

----------------------------

Time later, at the apex of their fight against the Evanuris, Solas found himself finally free, walking the corridors and rooms of the Lighthouse as he had done millennia ago, ready to stand against his mortal enemies one more time.

Things were a bit strained between him and Rook's companions. There wasn't - there couldn't be - the same sort of camaraderie he had had with his companions of the Inquisition.

He apologized to Varric, of course. He could barely look him in the eye, so vast was his shame - but the kind dwarf waved off his apologies, an easy smile on his face. And Solas knew he had been forgiven, even though he could scarcely believe it.

And then there was Lavellan, his vhenan. She smiled at him whenever they met in the Lighthouse, or at dinner, eating at the same long table with everyone else.

At first, he tried to be distant, not wanting to hurt her, not sure she actually wanted to have anything to do with him, despite Rook's reassurances.

But then he couldn't stay away from her any longer. He kept looking at her, saw her stealing glances, too, and he finally decided to listen to his heart.

"Good morning." He greeted her one day, when he bumped into her while heading to a quick breakfast.

"Good morning." she replied in kind, her smile soft and luminous like a wisp of the Fade.

"I..." Solas cleared his throat, moving closer to her. He looked at everything but her - her prosthetic arm, the ground, the view from the windows - then he finally found the courage to lock eyes with her.

"You look beautiful, vhenan."

Her smile widened, and an adorable blush coloured her cheeks. Behind her, Scout Harding and Davrin let out a soft "aww".

"Thank you."

"There... There is a balcony overlooking the Fade behind those doors. Would you..." He cleared his throat again, feeling his own cheeks burn. "Would you like to have breakfast there? Together?"

"I'd love to."

Solas returned the smile, a great weight lifted from his shoulders. He offered her his arm, and she took it, letting him guide her.

They were so busy smiling, lost in each other, they didn't see Rook watching them from the railing just above their heads.

"Hah!" Rook shook their head, a fond grin on their face. "Knew it would work."

[theheraldsrest]

Hey! I really really love your blog! If I may request, during downtime, how would the members of the inner circle react to find the Inquisitor drawing/sketching them?

“Companions react to Inquisitor drawing/sketching them”

After our *cough* little thing with Bull, let’s have some fluff, shall we? Thank you anon for the ask!

-Lord Lex

Cullen

“You did this? It’s certainly…it’s…how did you even…it’s amazing.”

-So surprised, no words. It makes him feel a little special that you’d choose to sketch him but also very embarrassed. In return, he tries drawing you. Might not be as good and there are a few rough sketches that were thrown in the fire, but he wanted to return the favor. 

Josephine

“Oh! Look at the detail and the softness! I wouldn’t have even thought it was me from how stunning it is!”

-Absolutely gushing over it. Josey’s always had a fascination for the arts and to be the subject of the piece from someone close to her? Adores it, even asks to keep it. She has it tucked away in one of her favorite books. Will always compliment your art even when talking to dignitaries.

Leliana

“I commend you on your artistic talent. Though, I’d ask you not to sketch me. Perhaps one of the ravens would make better practice?”

-Like Josephine, Leliana has an eye for art. She loves looking at the little details in your sketches and finds it a surprise that her face is amongst the papers. As much as she appreciates it, she’d rather her face remain a secret. She is your spy master, after all. Though, if she becomes Divine, she keeps the sketch as one of her favorite pieces of her. 

Vivienne

“Darling, as much as I’d like to say you're wasting your talents by leading the Inquisition instead of honing your skills, you are equally talented in both. Most usually fail to make me look this stunning.”

-It might not show on her face or in her words but she loves it. Several times people have been commissioned to paint her yet none come even close to your level of detail. More points if it’s of her smiling or laughing, the lines on her face as well as the wrinkle around her eyes gives her a sense of…normalcy. If she becomes Divine, she commissions you to do her portrait, no one else.

Varric

“You drew me? I think that’s gotta be one of the scariest pieces of your art I’ve ever seen! When you're done, can I keep it?”

-Though it doesn’t sound like it, he brags about it constantly. Even when he’s making fun of his slightly crooked nose or how his eyes might seem smaller than other dwarves, he’s complimenting the skill you put into the very minute details of his face. Varric will try to pay you for it even if you refuse, later trying to commission a drawing of Hawke when they come around.

Cole

“Oh, it’s me! Not really, but it’s Cole. But you’re trying to draw me…I can still remember his face, then.”

-He’ll stare at it for hours, his shoulders down. It’s been sometime since he’d been able to see his own face, forgetting that he even had a face. To see you draw that face, the real Cole, just from looking at him makes him happy. Will ask to look at it every now and then, just to make sure it’s still the same.

Solas

“I must say, you are quite talented and steady with your hands. It does allow others to see how the artist sees. You certainly make me seem…at peace.”

-From one artist to another, he gives you high compliments with very few complaints. It is unusual to see him drawn in such a way since he’s so used to seeing only the mosaics. He meant to get rid of it when he left the Inquisition, but just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Cassandra

“Inquisitor, though your craft is very beautiful and I admire how you can make these pieces, I must ask you not to sketch me.”

-Don’t get her wrong, she loves seeing your sketches but it’s mostly out of formality (and somewhat embarrassment) that she asks not to be your subject. If she becomes Divine, it’s one of the only pieces she prefers over the paintings. Though she does ask you, if you have the time, to draw something for her. When you give her a perfect picture of her brother and her, it’s one of the few times she truly hugs you.

The Iron Bull

“Holy shit. I’m alright when it comes to sketching, but you make it look pretty damn easy while so complicated! You even got my scars and the detail on my patch! Damn, boss!”

-Bull is used to doing quick sketches, usually of small details to make sure he could track someone or to remember something easier. Never had he really seen himself drawn so picture perfect that it completely baffles him. He looks at all the details with a smile on his face.

Dorian

“I can’t believe you managed to get my good side! In all honesty, though, this is remarkable. And not just because it’s me.”

-He had studied some art pieces before and never really found any he liked, but he has now found one of his favorite artists. Constantly asks if you’ve done any new pieces just so he can look at the heart that goes into them. Ask if you could teach him to sketch as such so that he can add better drawings to his research notes.

Sera

“What the fuck! That’s me! How the fuck! How did you do this! You even got my eyes to be lined up! How the hell did you do that?!”

-We all know Sera’s drawing style. She keeps saying the same things over and over again because she’s at a loss for words. Except for cuss words. Along with the rooftop hangouts, she insists that you two just draw together sometimes. Some of the goofiest drawings come from these times, especially one of a cartoonish Coryshit falling from a very detailed tower.

A little speech bubble near it says “Oh shit, I shat myself!”

Blackwall

“I…I’m honored to be one of your subjects. Not to blow my own horn, but this looks stunning. You really are something special, hm?”

-Blackwall has done a lot of sketching himself and finds your art a breath of fresh air. Other than looking at bits and pieces of his reflection, he usually tries to avoid seeing himself. So when he sees your drawing of him, he almost doesn’t recognize himself. You both trade sketches of each other just for fun and even sketch together.

[apas-75]

So last night I finished reading Rise of the Red Blade for TotE Vibes Research purposes and the two Inquisitor characters in it really illustrate exactly why I think Barriss is going to survive and escape them.

Because the thing is that there are two kinds of Inquisitors! The ones who volunteered, and the ones who...didn’t. Iskat (RotRB’s focus character) perfectly exemplifies the first type: she had some traumatizing experiences at a young age, fell through a number of institutional cracks in the Order, had a really terrible master (meet me in the pit, Sember Vey), everyone was too busy to give her the follow-up they would under normal circumstances, Palpatine had an agent actively gathering information about her and pushing her to become Worse—she was a pre-selected candidate who was offered the choice to come quietly when Order 66 hit, and she took it. By that point all of her issues and doubts had been exacerbated to the point where it wasn’t hard for her to make herself hate the Jedi, and then she rationalized her way through any indication that her freedom was a lie and doubled her way down right into hell.

By contrast: Tualon, Iskat’s crechemate situationship guy. He had some issues but was not someone on Palpatine’s radar; Iskat left him to die in Order 66 and he survived getting shot by darksiding out about her betrayal. Because of that he was taken alive and they did some shit to him. When Iskat runs into him at the Inquisitor HQ after he’s freshly-inducted he can barely remember why he hates her, or anything else from before he was taken. He woke up in the room where you fight Trilla and they fully shattered him and glued a semblance of a person back together out of the wreckage, just COMPLETELY Winter Soldiered the guy, and the only way he had to cope with it is to lean into a weird codependent situationship with Iskat.

And that distinction’s always been there with the Inquisitors; you have the true believers who ended up hating the Jedi or wanted to go on a power trip (or had the kind of revenge plan only a 12 year old could come up with and then stick to for a decade, in one case) and didn’t need any additional coercion to volunteer, and you have the ones that they broke. In the former group you’ve got the Grand Inquisitor, Reva/Third, Lyn/Fourth*, Fifth, and Iskat/Thirteenth. For the most part they’re certified freaks, but they came by it naturally. (Reva’s a different flavor.) In the latter, you’ve got Trilla/Second, Seventh, Masana/Ninth, Tualon, and probably most of the others. They all got disassembled and reassembled without much care given to the process and are all Coping with it badly in different ways, whether by deciding it’s Empowering, Actually (Trilla & Seventh) or by becoming completely jaded about everything (Masana & Tualon).

(*We obviously don’t know a lot about Fourth yet, but the fact that she shows up to recruit Barriss while rocking yellow dark side eyes before ROTS is even over tells me she’s definitely a volunteer.)

All this is to say: The Grand Inquisitor is making a colossal mistake with Barriss from the drop, and it’s why I think she’s going to win their battle of wits and escape. Because he is treating her like she is an Iskat and she could not be any farther from it.

He sends Lyn to get her to come quietly! They actively withhold information from her about what happened to the Jedi and what her expected role in it is! That’s not how they recruit the ones they think will be a problem; if that were the case she would have been stunned out of hand and woken up on a rack.

Instead, he’s giving her special attention,, he’s training her—he doesn’t think they need to break her. She’s just got a few...pesky hang-ups from her time as a Jedi that need ironing out**. He’s projecting on her; he doesn’t just want an empty shell holding a lightsaber—he wants Barriss Offee, loyally kneeling at his side, fully believing in their mission. She’s his favorite.

(**That “mercy only breeds defeat” line isn’t just a generic darksidism; I’m pretty sure he’s directly critiquing how Barriss got caught because she showed mercy to Asajj Ventress.)

And surely that's something he can turn her into, right? Because she hates the Jedi, right? She attacked them, she outsmarted them, obviously she’d be down for wanting to wipe them out! He was there when she confessed and, like pretty much everyone else in the room save for Ahsoka, he didn’t hear a single word that she said—just what he wanted her to be saying. He’s got a deeply incorrect idea of her, and that idea is “she’s just like me for real.”

And he’s wrong, because the Inquisitorius is everything she feared the Jedi Order was becoming—literally, an army fighting for the dark side—and the Empire is everything she knew the Republic was becoming. She might be prone to despairing, it might in some hypothetical be possible to get her into the same resigned despair trap as Anakin, but she would never actually want to serve the Empire, and they don't think they'll have to try hard to convince her to.

She loves the Jedi, she loved being a Jedi, she wanted to save them. She wants to be one again more than anything even though right now she thinks she doesn’t deserve it, thinks that she’s already too broken to reclaim what she was. But I think being surrounded by actual fallen Jedi and being told over and over again that she’s like them is, in the end, going to be what reminds her that she never stopped being a Jedi in the first place.

And as long as she can make sure her captors don't realize that's true until it's too late, she'll be home free.

[littlelostmabari]

Day 2: Armor

Ok maybe I am doing #Veilguard30, whoops. Cullen / Non-Inquisitor Mage OC, established relationship.

Rating: T (lyrium addiction, references to death)

Word Count: 1500

I wrote this thinking about Saoirse from my fic One of the Good Ones, but her name doesn't appear. The POV is not described other than she/her pronouns. Inky in this universe is (spoilers) a bit of a shit. Also don't @ me about Cullen w/ a mage, it makes sense in OotGO 🙃

"The Commander sleeps in his armor."

He'd heard the joke before. Every day. For weeks.

He heard it as he stomped across the battlements to the Herald's Rest for a bite of stale loaf too early for even the kitchen staff to be awake. Someone whispered as they left his office late into the night, when the only other waking minds were the soldiers too ill-behaved or unlucky to be posted during daytime when visiting nobles could bear witness to their antics. Varric mentioned it offhand on a random Thursday in Wintermarch when the Commander had stormed through the main hall of Skyhold to another inane meeting with the advisors and this woman who liked to call herself Inquisitor.

The dwarf thought he was original.

No, Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Armies of the Second Inquisition, former acting Knight-Commander of the Circle at Kirkwall, formerly of Honnleath in Ferelden, did not sleep in his armor.

The truth was, he barely slept at all.

She closed the door, gently clicking wood and iron to shut herself away from the moonlight. Inside, three pairs of candles lit every available surface. One pair flickered on the table closest to the ladder to illuminate the path for runners between this office and the atrium of the elven apostate. Another pair were dimmer on the desk that she sometimes occupied when she helped him with supply ledgers.

The final pair, and the ones most frequently replaced, lit up the large wooden desk that formed the center of the Inquisitions armies. That desk was storied with symbolism and the weight of the duty of — oh who was she kidding. The desk was heavy as shit, and she knew because she and Sera had tried to stuff a small wooden wedge underneath it and their combined strength could barely shift the dust that accumulated along the edge. Fortunately the Iron Bull could be bribed.

Anyway, what was she looking at? Oh right, the candles.

Or more truthfully, the man whose face was lit up by the flicker of light. He was sitting, at least, a hand mulling about his three-day-old scruff. The shadow of yet another piece of paperwork struck an odd angle against his cheekbones and across the side of his nose, such that the emotions across his mouth and jaw were unreadable.

He hadn't looked up when she entered, but that wasn't unusual. Even this late at night, patrols and runners moved through his office with stunning regularity; unless something registered a threat or asked intentionally for his attention, he rarely got distracted by the doors anymore. She normally would take her time moving about the office, decluttering, dusting, replacing books back onto bookshelves in the way he had taught her because no, alphabetical order does not suffice, otherwise Genitivi's works would be too far away from the rest of the Chant.

Tonight, however, his hand wasn't just mulling across his three-day-old scruff, and he wasn't just holding yet another piece of paperwork up to the light. His fingers dug into both paper and flesh, tearing where they could and intenting where they couldn't. Eyes wide, she stepped carefully into his vision before moving closer. She was desperate not to startle him.

"Cul," she said softly, her murmur just barely louder than a whisper. "Is everything okay, sweetheart?"

His eyes betrayed him.

His hand fell from his mouth, leaving small red splotches and soft lines where the leather and the seams of his gloves dug into the skin of his cheeks. He dropped the list onto the table, and sat back with a smile that would have looked natural to those who did not know him. He stretched and rolled his shoulders in an effort to relieve the tension in his back and spine, but the creak of leather in need of conditioning suggested that he had spent too long hunched in thought. The wood of the chair legs scraped against stone.

"Hey, Pup, you're early," he murmured in return, one hand leaving his lap and stretching out, welcoming her to take its place. She obliged, sweeping one leg in between his and perching on his left thigh. She could enjoy at least this one of the only parts of him not covered in steel.

"I'm late, Cul. The three bell patrol just came through, and you," — she clicked a nail against his breastplate — "are supposed to be in bed."

He grimaced at the thought of his tardiness, but his eyes betrayed him again. They looked into her face without seeing, and then back down at the paper.

"Those we lost at Adamant," he answered the question she didn't ask. "Inquisition and Wardens."

She reached lingering fingers across the desk to the paper and pulled it just close enough to see that the list was too long. She reached a little farther and flipped it upside down in an attempt to hide it from his gaze, but the list only continued on the other side. He shared her grimace.

"Too many mistakes," he whispered, as if saying it made it reluctantly true. "The Inquisitor didn't bother with the battlements, and sentenced all the Wardens she met to death. Even those willing to lay down their arms. The report from Straud was damning". He made to slam his fist down on the table, but hesitated in the nighttime hours. "If I had been… if I had been at my best, Pup. If I had been focused…"

She pressed her lips gently to his forehead and let them linger. A small incantation left under her breath when she finally pulled away, and she could see the ripple of restoration magic echo down from his forehead to his neck, through his torso, and down to the hands that had started to shake.

"Lyrium might have saved a couple of them, Cullen." Her eyes looked deep into his, where the wrinkles looked ever so slightly shallower. "But you are saved without it. And the Inquisition needs you, Cullen. The best version of you."

"And I am better without Lyrium."

A couple years ago the statement would have been snarled with a snide grin or a sing-song lilt. He would have mocked her, while in the throes of withdrawal. Today it was emboldening, a mantra. He didn't quite yet believe it, but he no longer thought her entirely wrong.

She held him, palm against his cheekbone and fingers nustled in his hair, her forehead to his, until he found his way back to her glade of calm. Then, wordlessly, she rose with her hand on his, and moved them both away from the desk and towards the ladder, and with four candles snuffed, he followed her up into the loft.

The routine was a nightly ritual when they were both at Skyhold in the cramped attic they shared. When either slept alone, they each found themselves a little lost in the moments before bed, missing the parts of their night where touch was shared.

He never let her remove his boots and cuisses. They were almost always filthy, and he thought more of her than to have her wash his feet (even as she protested that they were his feet so she loved them anyway). His hands worked the buckles at his shoulders, where she was just barely too short to reach comfortably, while her nimble fingers worked their sisters on the sides of his torso. He would watch as she removed his bracers, breathing in the scent of her hair. Sometimes he let her remove his gloves, but more often than not she would ask him to pull them off with his teeth while he watched her climb into their bed. There was something primal about him ripping the final pieces from his body, sometimes wrapping items like his fur pauldrons around her, that made her dizzy with need.

But tonight was quiet in both mind and spirit. She brushed her lips against the parts of skin that she uncovered, replacing them with the gentlest of fingertip touches as he placed the pieces on the armor stand with ritual born of unannounced spot checks and stern commanding officers. The rest of his armor, clothes meant for the laundry and leathers in desperate need of new conditioning, were piled neatly next to the stairs for attending to tomorrow.

The moonlight she had shut out so long ago peeked in through the hole in the roof that neither of them wanted to fix. The oblique angle spread a path of silky white across two bodies that tangled themselves together under lightweight blankets, weaving legs over and under and arms across chests and under necks until neither knew where they ended and the other began. With her restoration magic quieting the simmering under his skin, sleep came quickly.

The morning did too.

And, as he did every morning, the Commander of the Inquisition's forces woke before the sun. It had no chance to gleam across steel and fur, even through the hole in the attic roof, until it was already on his body and he was striding across the battlements for a bite of stale loaf.

[bluedeedeedoop]

My Thoughts on Tales of the Empire; mostly Barriss (spoilers ahead!)

Ah hello all, i have had some days or so to think since watching the show and to say it has completely wiped me of my life force would be... pretty accurate tbh. BUT I HAVE FINALLY DECIDED TO POST MY THOUGHTS. will this cover my entire though process that im sTill working through? PROBABLY NOT! my thoughts are very unorganized and very unstable! ANYWAAAAYS.

Now I just gotta say overall, the show itself definitely passed the test. To be completely honest, i wasn't really paying attention to the Morgan parts as i was the Barriss parts, since it was literally what I was looking forward to this entire time.

Though I will say that the first Morgan episode was pretty neat! it was crazy seeing that perspective of the Nightsisters again and god did they make Grievous fucking terrifying. Honestly, bravo to them, it was amazing. I diiiiid end up just.. kinda spacing out the rest of it tho unfortunately cuz i just wanted to see barriss..

Visuals 10000/10. stunning, amazing, phenomenal, gahdamn. the animation was so smooth and fluid and uGHH it was amazing throughout the entire show. Acting amazing as always. BUT GOD I CANT GET OVER HOW AMAZING THE ANIMATION WAS.

NOW.

In my opinion, they got her character pretty on the dot. I am SO glad they did. I was rlly rlly worried they were totally butcher her character and make her unrecognizable to all of us but oml they didn't completely disappoint us, she has her morals, SHES STILL A HEALER! Im so happy from that.

Now although i did enjoy it, i do have my own little complaints.

Now okay one i noticed since the trailer and has REALLY been bugging me; where are her hand tattoos??? idk i guess i just wasn't expecting them to just be gone?? they couldn't have just forgotten them.. right? I dunno, but unless someone has a genuine answer for that, imma just keep drawing them on her in the future.

??????

Alright another thing i've been seeing ppl post about is how come she looked so old at the end? I am also confused on that and i've seen multiple theories. She should only be like 30-35 max right?? Because i'm assuming the last episode took place a the time in Rebels where the inquisitors were after the force sensitive children, and Ahsoka was around that age a the time, so why is Barriss any different?

I suppose the one i think makes the most sense is the force healing? I guess it could take a toll on her over the years causing her to look more aged, but still, i'd really prefer an explanation. Also what happened to her hair coverings?? Is that not her culture?? I dunno, again, i really need an explanation. I suppose that maybe her perspective has changed since trying to come to terms with her new life, and her ditching the coverings is a way to free herself from her past? Honestly i have no clue but i just need a lot of things answered.

That's mostly my complaints on it! I just felt things weren't explained enough but to be fair, they only gave her like 3 15-ish min episodes?? I really think they got some explaining to do. Which brings me to my next points.

I'm like... 98% sure that the "old friend" is Ahsoka that she was talking about. Who else would it be?? Like cmon. And if it is Ahsoka, why did we not get to see anything about the moment of confrontation? or at least more of a mention? I guess they wouldn't rlly wanna rush that scene, and tbh, im glad they didn't. It's not some "we talk for 5 min and everything is fine" type of situation. it'll take time. time to rebuild that trust. time to discuss. YEAH. I've heard many people state how it would be more likely and realistic to see a novelization of that and i agree. I would want it to take time, showing the build of the relationship over time, going on further into the story as we watch their strong bond mend from the trauma it's faced. I'm not saying this as a crazed Barrissoka shipper, i mean it that I would genuinely want to see how that confrontation is handled, as do many others and not just as a ship!! It's been a decade! the fans wanna know!

And my last point.

I.believe.Barriss.is.alive.

The more i rewatch it, the more i believe it. the first time around i had my doubts, but something tells me they are NOT done with her character. At least before the stabbing scene anyway. There's too much stuff that's left unanswered for it to just end that way! I dunno man, but Lyn's "i'm going to get you out of here" sounded way too determined for a "im going to move your body out of here" type of thing yk? maybe she could sense she was still alive, just barely hanging in there? I don't think they are done with Barriss Offee, and I wont think so unless we see her corpse being fucking BURIED. Not to mention the UNGODLY amount of parallels of that scene along with them exiting the cave. I've already seen so many point it out. Post-Vader and Ahsoka fight on Malachor?? Back when we all thought Ahsoka may or may not be dead?? sounds familiar hello?? Also a parallel from earlier in the show itself when Barriss saves that unnamed jedi! she HEALS them when they were going to be left there. Something tells me the same fate may happen to Barriss. Idk call me crazy but i will say it again, i don't think they are done with her story.

Thank you for reading my very unorganized thoughts! this has taken me longer to write than expected because i did not predict this to make me have to step away from making SEVERAL times- but yeah! lmk what yall think! and yes you can be expecting some art here and there! i know i've been slacking- Also lmk if u want me to post my crazed Barrissoka thoughts! because aHa i have them. i have them a lot. send help.

ALSO KEVIN KINER I GOT MY EYE ON YOU. BRO NEEDS TO RELEASE THE SOUNDTRACK BEFORE I DIE.

[imogenkol]

THE ROGUE INQUISITOR — IMOGEN KOL

had the absolute pleasure of commissioning @beemot to do a portrait of my emotional support space war criminal, Imogen! I knew she would look absolutely stunning in this style and this piece really exceeded my expectations! You captured her perfectly and I cannot thank you enough! Seriously, commission them if you get the chance!

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @adelaidedrubman @florbelles @marivenah @simonxriley @shegetsburned @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @v0idbuggy @eloquentmoon @inafieldofdaisies @statichvm @socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @gwynbleidd @shellibisshe @loriane-elmuerto @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042

[darthjess-writing]

Beauty and Rage

SUMMARY: Set at first in the immediate aftermath then five years after the events of Revenge of the Sith: Padmé Amidala came very close to death but managed to survive. With the help of Bail Organa and Obi-wan, she fakes her death and goes into hiding to raise her children. When Inquisitors come looking for the Force-sensitive twins, Padmé realizes she has to fight back against the Empire to protect them. The Emperor's Executioner, Lord Vader himself, stands in her way.

Read Chapter 1 below or the entire fic HERE on AO3 (mind the tags on AO3) ❤️

Chapter 1

     Darth Vader screamed as his body was repaired without anesthetic. But the pain and the rage were the only things that had kept him alive.

     I will kill you, Obi-wan.

     He repeated the mantra in his head, over and over and over until the words had no meaning, until they were sounds in oblivion.

     His body thrashed on the table as droids cut away tissue burned by Obi-wan's lightsaber. Losing his arm to Count Dooku had been painful. Losing both of his legs to Obi-wan had been agony. The fact that he had not fallen into the river of lava or been burned beyond hope of recovery was nothing short of a miracle.

     I will kill you, he thought again, each time the pain became unbearable.

     A mask- no, a helmet was lowered over his face in two parts, and as it sealed him in, he took his first breath. The sound echoed through the cold chamber.

     He felt caged.

     But he did not have the energy to fight it.

     The operating table shifted, angling downward so that he could stand.

     He realized he was locked down to the table for his own safety.

     As gravity pulled at him, his legs screamed in torment at the joint where metal met bone for the first time. His Master had made him taller.

     Vader breathed, feeling the presence of his Master next to him.

     "Lord Vader, can you hear me?" The Emperor asked. And for the first time, Vader felt fear in him.

     "Yes, Master." His voice was low, much lower than it had ever been. "Where is Padme?...Is she safe? Is she...alright?" Vader's memory was blurred with fury. He knew he'd hurt her, knew he'd gone too far. It was Obi-wan's fault that she had turned against him, he had poisoned her with lies.

     "It seems..."

     His Master's hesitation forced a burning cold into the pit of his stomach.

     "...in your anger..."

     No.

     No. He would not say it.

     "You killed her."

     Agony stunned him, consuming him like a river of fire.

     "I...I couldn't have!" Vader's mind scrambled for an answer. "She was alive! I felt it!" And yet, when he reached out in the Force to find her...

     There was only emptiness.

     The darkness closed in around him. This anguish, this sorrow, this suffering wormed its way deep into him, into every part of him. Everything he'd fought for was gone, and all that was left was rage.

     His connection to the Force was strengthened with his anger, and he shattered everything around him. He couldn't be restrained. He broke free of the cuffs that held his arms and legs down and stumbled forward.

     The pain that echoed across his body was nothing.

     All of it was nothing compared to this.

     Vader screamed into the rain. "No!"

     And he meant it.

     He would defy fate.

     Would find a way to bring her back, even if it destroyed him.

***

     She was drifting over a dark ocean.

     Beneath the surface of the glassy water, she saw herself lying in a hospital bed. Doctors surrounded her, pressing on her chest, inserting tubes into her frantically.

     Why were they so worried?

     It didn't concern her that she was watching all of this from above herself, separated from herself by the clear ocean. In fact, she felt completely at peace.

     You have a choice.

     No one said the words, but she felt them inside her.

     You may remain and become one with the Force.

     A deep desire pulled her. If she had any physical form at all here, she would cry with relief. Yes, she wanted that. To become one with the Force, to be at peace. To join the flow of energy that bound all life together in the galaxy. How beautiful and wonderful that would be.

     Or you may return to your life.

     Her life...

     What had it been like?

     Flashes of memory came to her.

     Blue eyes.

     A desert.

     Blades of light.

     A war.

     Red-gold eyes.

     An empire.

     None of the memories made sense. She couldn't connect them to real things that had happened to her. But what she felt when she saw them... pain.

     All of it was just pain.

     Let go.

     Stars, she wanted to let go.

     Beneath the stillness of the ocean, she saw the doctors backing away from her, removing all the tools they had used to try to save her life.

     It's okay, she wanted to tell them.

     And then she saw a man.

     Did she recognize him?

     He held two tiny bundles, one in each arm.

     The bundles squirmed.

     Her children.

     She had not yet held them in her arms, but she knew them immediately. And with the memory of them, her choice had been made.

     She plunged into the water.

[fatale-distraction]

Lavellan's New Lighthouse

We're crack posting today, folks. Here's how I imagine my Lavellan's first time entering The Lighthouse.

Ellana turned in place in the center of the Lighthouse, taking in the solitary, gilded prison Solas had built for himself. A table set for one, with a single plate, a single glass, a single fork and knife. Not a single chair had a mate. A chesterfield near the bookshelves: alone; dining chair: alone; lounge chair at the window: alone. 

She moved to a small hearth where a lonely, disused kettle sat and picked it up, running her fingers over the black iron. Moving with a sudden determination, she filled the kettle with water and set it back on the hearth. She fished a flint from her pocket and struck up a fire beneath the kettle, then strode purposefully to her pack. It took her seconds to locate a half-used brick of tea leaves. It was her very favorite kind; fragrant, dark, and strong. If left too long, it stained whatever unfortunate vessel held it irreparably. 

Ellana dumped the whole thing in the kettle and slammed the lid back down.

Varric watched with an uneasy feeling as the former Inquisitor began rummaging. She collected every single object that could reasonably or unreasonably be made to hold liquid and set them out on the lonely dining table with exquisite care. Ever-blooming flowers from a vase went into the fire and the vase to the table. A golden ewer for bathing joined it. A bowl of incense ash was dumped over the bed and arranged with its brethren. A hunk of soap was flung out the window, its dish placed on the table. She even dropped to her stomach and pulled the mercifully empty chamber pot from beneath the bed.

The kettle was screeching, lid rattling. Ellana took a pot holder from a hook and retrieved it.

And then she poured.

Each and every vessel was filled with meticulously portioned tea the color and approximate viscosity of darkspawn sludge. 

“What is she doing?” Rook whispered too loudly.

“He abhors tea,” replied Varric.

“Oh,” said Rook.

“Oh.” Bellara paled. “Oh boy.”

“Is...anyone going to stop her?”

“Be my guest,” Varric gestured to Rook grandly as Ellana made a point of setting the now empty kettle in the exact center of the table. The smell of singed wood began to permeate the air as the still-hot iron began burning a circle in the table.

“Uhh...”

Now humming a merry tune that sounded suspiciously like “Sera was Never,” Ellana moved on to her next target. She yanked open a set of drawers and dug a pair of sharp scissors from the pouch at her belt. Out came every single pair of small clothes, split up the back side with the scissors and dropped ceremoniously on the floor.

“Maybe I’ll wait until she’s done with the scissors.”

The sound of fabric rending made all of them cringe as she moved onto pants. Socks had holes snipped in the toes. Shirts sliced from neck to hem. All to the rhythm of the jaunty song. Then Ellana moved onto the pillows on the bed, dumping feather stuffing on the floor. She returned to the kettle and scooped out fistfuls of the wet tea leaves and began restuffing the pillows.

“Okay, alright,” Varric said finally. “That’s enough. Now you’re just being mean.”

“Get away from me—don’t touch--...”

Ellana was quite short, even for an elf. She didn’t stand all that much taller than the dwarf. So, it wasn’t terribly hard for him to cram his shoulder into her stomach, heave the flailing, spitting, shrieking elf up with one arm pinning her legs to his chest, and plop her into the chair next to the bookshelves like a naughty child. He even kicked it around to face the corner.

The Veilguard watched this interaction with stunned awe. The Inquisitor, savior of Thedas, crossed her arms and pouted as a soggy, tea-filled pillow dripped noisily on the floor of an ancient elven god. Varric rubbed his temples. 

“I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered as Ellana began systemically turning every single book on the shelf in front of her upside down, rifling through the pages and tossing out any bookmarks she found.

Neve made a noise in the back of her throat. “Those could be clues...” 

Bellara put a hand on her shoulder and shook her head gravely. There was a horrific rend of paper and a page disappeared into Ellana’s mouth where it was chewed to a pulp and spat back into the book. She slammed the cover shut and crammed the volume back into the wrong spot, upside down, pages facing out. Neve ground her teeth together.

“She’s a monster...” lamented Emmrich.

Varric shook his head. “Sera’d be so proud.”

Ellana’s last act of terror occurred when she located a partially darned sock and began serenely picking out every single stitch and unravelling the whole thing bit by bit. 

“You done?”

“I’m going to knit a giant middle finger using the yarn from all his sweaters and socks. And then I will be done.”

“Okay, Violet.”

“And then,” she went on. “I will be inviting my sister here.”

Harding and Varric exchanged deeply troubled glances.

“El, we were gonna use this place as a base of operations...” started Lace.

“And my sister is going to use it as a litter box.”

@erehttuoliveeht

Also check this out on AO3 as part of a new collection of stupid shit I write about DA4

[sapphosdirtyhoe]

If there’s one thing about me, it’s that I’m gonna have an opinion!! I wrote about DA for my doctoral exams, and having a forum to write further about the series is super awesome.

I wish BioWare had not debuted the character trailer. The gameplay footage was beautiful, smooth, and I greatly enjoyed the return of DA2’s dialogue wheel (although I miss the robust roleplaying options afforded by Origins’ expanded choices). I am infinitely more excited for Veilguard now than I was on Sunday. However, was anyone else struck by how this prologue almost exactly mimicked the opening “Wrath of Heaven” quest in Inquisition? Pushing through demons to pick up allies, fighting a Pride Demon miniboss, and then addressing the Veil. The backdrop of Minrathous, the enhanced graphics, and the stunning music were phenomenal, but it felt ordinary and far too familiar for such an extraordinary event. I adored Neve’s character design, but she felt like a reskin of Vivienne who was softened for an audience who couldn’t handle her point-blank personality and bold opinions. I hope we fight more than demons and venatori because platinum-ing DAI gave me more of that than I’ve ever needed. That being said, the designs are stunning and I cannot wait to explore every crevice of Thedas.

I’m also a bit confused at the rehashing of Trespasser with Varric and Solas. I understand the need to make the game and its world accessible to new audiences, but it lessened the impact of your Inquisitor trying to convince Solas, thus diminishing player agency by delegating their choices with Solas to Varric who cannot be directed by the player.

Like everyone else, I’ve seen the discourse between Veilguard and earlier Dragon Age games. I’m begging folks to understand that nuance exists; just because DA2 has the line about Hawke stepping in poopy doesn’t mean that the game doesn’t also have the “All That Remains” quest (which, personally, was one of the most horrifying things I’ve ever seen). Dark stories need moments of light to be effective because that’s simply how people work. Wanting a return to the overwhelming sense of darkness and danger of Origins and the griminess of 2 doesn’t mean getting rid of all of the humor. It means not making the Darkspawn out to be a joke like the trailer did. It’s a bit weird to juxtapose the horror of Ostagar with Varric joking about killing the beasts. I think the gameplay footage did a fantastic job at capturing that vibe better, but calling folks negative and not true Dragon Age fans for expressing disappointment in the series’ direction is wild. I also need to point out how much of the discourse has fallen to “men are the worst for wanting dark gritty things again when I want my silly little dating sim.” All of these things can exist! Dragon Age is inclusive and incredibly queer (always has been), but the stories are not solely about your personal romance and shouldn’t be analyzed that way.

TLDR: the gameplay trailer for Veilguard was super cool! I’m stoked as hell to play it! However, folks expressing disappointment with certain elements of the game doesn’t diminish your personal enjoyment.

[broodwolf221]

Hiiii! For Atros x Solas! "come, before the band stops playing. dance with me." Happy writing!

oooh this was fun thank you! my chaos boy........ i love him sfm 😭 @dadrunkwriting 558 words cws: mentions of background character death as in canon

Solas looked right here. Which was ridiculous, or should have been ridiculous, but… he did. He looked right. In the uniform that Atros had scowled to see, refusing to look in a mirror, detesting the idea of having to dress up and be presentable for a bunch of shems, but Solas just slipped in like he was made for this place. Even in his stupid little hat. He should have looked ridiculous. Atros wanted him to look ridiculous, had been expecting to have a good laugh, a shared joke between them. 

Instead, this. Solas wearing the uniform and the hat with a stunning grace and authority, and damn if that didn't do something to Atros. He had some thoughts about having Solas stay in that uniform tonight, but those would keep. For now they had to navigate all the complexity of the Winter Palace: and it was outrageously complex. When they got to the fighting—practically inevitable, really—it had come as something of a relief, although he had to choke down his rage at the servants' lives carelessly and cruelly spent. But at least he knew how to fight, knew the steps. This was honest, where the Game was all deception, saying what you don't mean, smiles like blades slipped between ribs except he only understood the second part. 

But it was strange that Solas understood it all. Strange that he carried himself the way he did. Atros had been watching him all night; in front of other servants he moved naturally, smiled warmly, was sincere. In front of the shems he was coolly indifferent, unaffected, poised. Their gaze slipped across him as if he wasn't there, blending into the background despite standing tall in plain sight. 

Even had he not been the Inquisitor, he knew he couldn't manage that. He was always going to be ill-fit here, always gangly and disproportionate, at odds with expectation. That was him. 

So when they were done with bloodshed and politics (were they even separate things in Orlais?) and he stood on the balcony trying to get some fresh air, something far from the thick rush of perfumes that had given him a headache as soon as he'd entered the palace, he was not terribly surprised that Solas joined him. He must have known this was the right moment… he knew everything else about this. 

What did surprise him was the other man asking him to dance. “Me? You're kidding.” His voice was deadpan but Solas' hand remained stretched out to him, bent in a slight bow. And he was smirking.

“Come,” he said, voice warm and with just the edge of teasing. “Before the band stops playing. Let's have this moment—dance with me.” A raised brow, a challenge. “Or does our brave Inquisitor fear dancing when it's not for political gain?” He scowled at the memory of dancing with Florianne.

“I was so scared I was going to step on her foot,” he muttered even as he placed his hand in Solas', inhaling sharply when that hand closed around his and drew him near. “I think now I should've.”

“She deserved as much,” Solas admitted as he led Atros in a far simpler dance, “but you conducted yourself admirably. And I am confident Josephine is relieved you danced well.”

“Can't let Josie down,” he shot back, lips quirking when Solas grinned. With teeth.

[nyf-archive]

@eritvita asked | [ SHIELD ]

The battle was not going in their favor. The Red Templar camp in the Emprise du Lion had been more than they had bargained for. Cassandra was holding the behemoth back and doing a phenomenal job at it. She wasn't surprised to see her doing so well; it was just the walking bulwark doing what she promised to do. And, of course, it helped that Varric kept her annoyed which made her fight harder.

But the Knight came out of nowhere. Her head spun with how hard she had been hit, practically stunned as she crawls through the snow. Blindly, she begins casting spells, using anything she could to keep the larger corrupted man away from her as she tried to find her staff. She didn't need it, but it helped her with her accuracy. Her ankle was grabbed at one point and she was tossed once more like a ragdoll. Finduilas could feel the warmth trickling down her face, a gash upon her head as she has collided with ground not so covered with snow.

The Inquisitor looks up now, breathing hard as she can see the Knight approaching closer now. She tried to get to her feet as she watched the Knight lifted it's sword to strike her, and just as quickly did she begin to hoist her own arcane blade to life, did the figure rush in front of her. Red now painted the ground around them, eyes wide as saucers. The figure was shoved back and into her, and her brain was finally able to process it.

Roland.

Her arms caught him, despite how immediately coated in blood they became. He was smiling. She could see his lips moving, knew he was speaking to her, but as she watched him lose consciousness, the Inquisitor is still.

Ringing filled her senses, whispers just beyond the veil swarmed her mind as all she could think about was retaliation. As the Templar raised it's sword again to hack through the both of them, a burst of hot, red magic exploded around them, pushing everything and anything that was near them away. Her throat was raw from a scream she could not hear, but knew had ripped from her lungs like that of a banshee. Her blood fizzled from her skin, used as the catalyst to the attack as she hung her head, focusing on the incantation to heal Roland as quickly as she could.

Orbs of moss and deep ocean are not glowing unnaturally with that of crimson aura as her gaze is upon that of the Red Knight. She breathes out, and in an instant, the Knight falls to it's knees, having been speared by frozen bolts made of the red snow around them and empowered by her own life force.

She knew what Cassandra would say; Maleficarum. Varric would stay quiet, his own words would be hypocritical knowing two of his closest friends used the same practice. Cassandra would demand an explanation. But Finduilas would say nothing as she holds her lover close, nuzzling into him and begging him softly to wake up, trying to coax him to the waking world again.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Windows Through the Past (HOF!Reader x Cullen Rutherford)

Requested by @iliumheightnights for  Another fic request! Cullen reuniting with his long time crush the HOF. Now the hero is a super powerful mage capable of fighting entire armies himself and he's been invited to help the inquisition for a mission?

"I believe the Commander is quite well-acquainted with this ally," Leliana smirks, still not revealing her plan, and Cullen has just about had enough of it.

She gives a giggle behind her hand once more before she states that she has invited the Hero of Ferelden himself to join the Inquisition's march on Suledin Keep.

Cullen is absolutely stunned.

And not all in anticipation of seeing the Hero again.

He had been stationed in Kinloch Hold, where the Hero had spent most of their years before the Fifth Blight took hold.

And had a quite awful experience with abominations as the Circle broke and demons ran rampant, capturing and tormenting him, using the image of the Hero himself to toy with his mind and heart.

He hadn't been kind, last he saw the Hero. And couldn't imagine that anything that Warden Amell may have heard would change that.

After all, he had acted with, shall we say, less than graceful manners at the uprising among the mages in the Gallows, and only when presented with the city's destruction did he take a stand against Meredith.

Cullen immediately resolves not to engage with the Hero. After all, he was trying to be more sensitive of the feelings of the mages serving in the Inquisition, and did not want to bring up any traumatic memories.

But then Leliana states (with an infuriatingly offhand tone) that Amell was actually quite looking forward to seeing Cullen, and now the poor man can't think at all.

It causes him no small amount of stress, puzzling over why Amell would wish to see him, and he comes to the conclusion that it's to enact justice for his crimes.

He can't even bring himself to argue this theoretical point, and resolves not to resist. He'll even alter the guard patrols to make sure Amell has a clear escape.

The Hero of Ferelden shall be his judge and executioner, a hand of the Maker given flesh.

Amell was rather stoic, last time he recalled seeing them. A side effect of the Harrowing, a temporary disorientation. But now, ten years later, the mage seemed... well, downright peppy.

Amell has decimated armies in fire, wiped out a darkspawn horde in a whirl of wind and ice, and summoned a rain of holy light, but now he - you - seem so... soft. Happy.

Cullen smiles despite himself. "You look well, Warden Commander."

"There's no need to be formal, Cullen. I've known you since your hair was still curly." you tease, and Cullen actually laughs.

"My apologies. We have not seen each other in so long, and our parting was... under unfortunate circumstances."

"I understand. I was glad to hear you were with the Inquisition."

"May I ask why?"

You tilt your head and sit. "Well... after Kinloch. I heard about you and Kirkwall. It wasn't great, what I heard."

Cullen nods. "It wasn't great living there, either."

"I feared you had lost your way, but seeing you here... working with mages once more - free mages at that! - I knew the man I once saw was still there."

"The man you once-"

"You weren't very subtle, Cullen. I know how you felt about me in Kinloch."

Cullen blushes. "My deepest apologies. I had never meant to-"

You raise a hand. "I liked you too, but... you were my jailer, Cullen, no matter how handsome and kind you were. I hoped, that after the Blight, you might come to see the truth."

He winces. "I fear I am not the man you seek yet. I... the Inquisitor asked me my view of the Circles, and I responded that I see their necessity. For teaching, for ensuring abominations do not occur."

But you are patient. Far more than Cullen deserves. "And yet you saw in the Gallows, in Kinloch, that the Circle as it is does not do that. I agree that the Circles should still exist as places of instruction and learning, but not as prisons. Not to rip children from their parents. Did you know I had a brother, Cullen?"

"N-"

"Neither did I. That I had a mother that wished to see me and a father that never got to. That Irving was tricking young mages into pursuing blood magic. That the templar order, the Chantry, wanted us all turned into Tranquil."

Cullen would've denied it if it were anyone else. But you have lived it, as he had. You say it so concisely that Cullen cannot refute it. Not now that he has seen red lyrium, seen how easily the Templars fell.

"I struggle, sometimes... knowing that the world after this Inquisition will be far different. I am trying... but I have done so much ill towards the mages. I still fear the power of magic even as I know the wrongs the Circles and the Templars have done."

You grin at him. "The Cullen I had known would not even be questioning it. You have far to travel, Cullen, but you are on the road I hoped you would be."

He looks at you and the words tumble out before he can bid them stop. "Would you ever be able to consider me something other than a jailer? I would pledge myself to you in an instant if you desired it of me."

Immediately Cullen winces in horror, ashamed of his outburst, of asking this of you considering your history together, but you simply tilt your head.

"How about we simply see what the new world after the Inquisition holds? Continue on your path, and I shall endeavor to help you see the signposts. And perhaps someday I might see you as a companion."

Cullen nods. "Then let us proceed with the battle plans, Ser. We must hasten the new dawn."

[babumakeanart]

Here are some of my thoughts about Dragon age Veilguard. There is of course spoilers so read on your regard

I’m so excited we got another Dragon Age game! But do I adore Veilguard as much as the others in the series? Hard to say—I have very mixed feelings about it.

First of all, a lot of the lore we learned in earlier games feels erased or brushed aside here.

For instance, the choice of who drinks from the Veil of Sorrow seems diminished. Seeing Morrigan again wasn’t as thrilling as I’d hoped. Mostly, I kept asking, “Why are you here?” and “What do you mean you have Mythal in you?” She was relieved she didn’t drink from the Veil once she found out Mythal would control her if she did. And now, out of nowhere, she has that power anyway? Generally, I feel like previous choices don’t really matter. Everything feels so predetermined, even scripted, in terms of what will happen, what’s canon, and what isn’t. I get that BioWare had a lot of issues with this game’s development, especially shifting from multiplayer to single-player. But it still feels like many important choices from earlier games didn’t matter. For example, if Morrigan has a child with an archdemon’s soul in him, wouldn’t that mean—by the new lore—that the elven god bound with Urthemiel would still be alive? Didn’t the archdemons make the Evanuris immortal?

And while Rook is a fun and well-written character, I feel like the story should have continued with the Inquisitor. After all, we should get the chance to finish what they started. Even though it is said at the end of DA:I that Solas knows everything about us, the Inquisitor could still choose a new group to surprise him, but they should still lead them.

I did, however, love the ending for Solavellan. It brought closure, which was very very.. damn.. I cried. :’)

When it comes to our companions, I loved a lot of them—they’re all really cool. Yet I do have a few complaints that may be just my personal view but still. 

First, I’m not a fan of how Taash’s nonbinary identity was handled. As a nonbinary person myself, it felt somewhat disrespectful, as if it were written by someone who didn’t understand the experience. Initially, I was excited, but after reflecting, it started to irk me. I cant write all my thoughts well to say what all bothers me about it, other people put it much better into sentences than I would do so I am just leaving this.

I also wish there were more scenes to get to know these characters. There are a fair number of scenes, sure, but everyone seems overly friendly from the start and it didnt feel that they naturally get to know the main character, but that we already know each other for years. 

Despite the conflicts among some companions, there’s this vibe that everyone is just too nice. Does that make sense? Like, even during the Blight in Origins, some companions didn’t like each other and wouldn’t be buddy-buddy over a coffee date. In DA2, companions had strong beliefs that many times clashed, which made them unique. Veilguard feels too friendly—and not just the companions, but Rook and other NPCs as well.

Another minor issue: the romances are too short, which is sad. :(

But enough negativity! 

There’s still a ton of things I freaky love about Veilgaurd

The visuals! When first peek of this game came out I know some people didn’t like the look of it at all, but GOD is freaky stunning! The characters look great, with tons of little detail movements that make them feel alive. Mostly in expression.

 Every location you travel to is unique and beatutiful. I love running around just to take pictures. The cutscenes? Chef’s kiss. WOW

The fighting style was surprisingly enjoyable, too. I’d just finished DA:I

when Veilguard came out, so the adjustment took a minute, but I got into it quickly and ended up loving it. :)

And then, there’s SOLASSS. My poor man, my poor little egg—I love him, and I would die for him!

I loved all the companions’ personalities and stories. Just wish there was more of it.

Honestly, I cried multiple times during this game. :’D The ending was epic, the final battle gave me chills, and it was just...so cool! I could eat every pixel of these scnes.

One thing I would love to see: what would happen if you sided with Solas and tore down the veil. Even with different endings, the veil stays intact. I’d love to know what happens if it’s actually torn down. Would it end the world? Kill tons of people? Actaully realease the blight in full speed?

-

So far, that’s all I’ve got. I’m tired, and my brain’s fried, but I wanted to get my thoughts down. I know I wrote more criticisms than praise, but I really did enjoy the game. What did you all think? Because honestly, Veilguard has hyped me up to replay all the Dragon Age games again! And created all the ideas I have for my ocs in these games.