#veronica crespin

[veridium]

5 Questions for Writers

Tagged by the great @teknon to answer some questions about writing. Thank you so much for including me!

Passing it along, I tag @bitchesofostwick, @local-thembo, and @star--nymph to join in the fun if they wish to. (Really I’m just a fan of ya’ll so anything I get to see of your process is terrific).

1. Do you have a favourite character to write? Who and why?

These days Olivia is still probably my favorite. Though, I have to say, the more Fire in Her Mouth goes on and expands into my other OCs’ storylines, the more I enjoy alternating their perspectives. It was always the plan to start off squarely in Olivia’s POV and then gradually extend branches out through the girls and canon characters in the Inquisition ensemble. 

I echo a similar sentiment to Trish’s: I just really enjoy getting to write women and non-binary characters for all of their troublesome possibilities. I like playing around with the idea of “good” representation. It’s incredibly cathartic to write characters who are profoundly wounded, jaded, and prone to hurtfulness, but who are also incredibly strong, wise, convicted. 

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

I mean, there are certain tropes I work with by virtue of taking on a DA:I longfic: the reluctant hero, for example, is present in the way Olivia grows in her role. I think tropes can be useful as basic frameworks but I find more fun in playing around with their rules than I do following them. 

Maybe here I’d say I’m referencing more stereotypes than tropes. For example, I try to dispute the idea in Olivia’s storyline that she, like so many worldly heroes, craves a remote, domestically tranquil life at the end of the line with the kids, spouse, and picket fence. That’s not to say to do so is wrong or foolish; I just wanted to write a character who always wants some sort of skin in the game when it comes to the world’s events. Even if it costs her everything, she’d rather say she devoted her all. I think sometimes we give those kinds of iconic happy endings to characters because it makes us as authors and audiences feel a lot better about the trials they endured regardless of whether those endings fit their journey/personalities. What are we making ourselves feel better for, though, when we do that? Are we trying to reconcile the idea that our characters can be hurt and still be “deserving” of that kind of ultimate, normative end? What happens when we dare to imagine something else, somewhere else, as their endgame -- a place that subverts the notion that all we’re trying to do is be deserving or “whole” enough of something we might not even want?

For me, I’m more interested in the ways in which life’s solaces arise in and out of our lives, rather than in a solid destination after we have “suffered enough.”

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

This always changes for me! Especially when I’m leaning on prior passages for inspiration/tie-in for themes on what I’m currently working on. Right now, I’m still pretty hooked on Chapter 100, “A Serpent’s Parable” from FIHM. It’s partial monologue, but the parallel description is something I’m very proud of: 

Isolde then sighed and pushed over her chalice. It fell loudly, and after the initial impact, it melted down and elongated into a serpentine shape. Extending both ways until a head, erect and pointed towards her, formed with slithering tongue and all. Pure black even in the eyes, its belly scales looked like opals as it wound towards her.

“For the purpose of this, let me introduce a parable. When you are faced with the task of fighting evil as we have been, it is all rather easy...in fact, fun, to think you are victorious by virtue of distracting the creature that holds the venomous bite.”

The smoke-born rats and vermin with pronounced front teeth billowed in the air around it, scattering and circling it. In random turns they began sneaking jabs, biting and scratching away, and cowering just in time into amorphous plumes. The snake hissed in pain and turn around in every which direction the assaults came from. With every attack it grew more frustrated, more incensed at the ghostly antagonists. Eventually it became too preoccupied to advance.

“Over time you learn that they learn. Spats and skirmishes, illusions and petty diversions, they only do so much. You realize that the snake, though made angry or even miserable at your actions, still grows. Your bravery does not stop it taking someone you love, it merely means that they become tomorrow’s meal rather than today’s, for you and your kind were made forever its source of power. Its sustenance for which you must give your life so that the rest of the world makes sense.”

The snake’s shadow stretched farther and farther until Olivia could nearly reach and place her hand within it if she wanted to. The vermin spirits crept in and out of shape, sniveling and striking as they had before. Their growing enemy, sadly, no longer bent and writhed in reaction.

“You are faced with a choice: continue being the hero who’s deeds become songs and silly secrets, suck poison from wound after wound until your mouth no longer waters, pretend that your adventures keep people as safe as you feel you are in your anonymity. Maybe you have saved a child or feed a few hungry mouths. Yet the snake’s fangs are sharper with every year, its mouth so wide it can consume more and more of what is dear to you without hope of salvation. Unless you decide enough is enough.”

Olivia had lost focus on the snake in favor of Isolde. By the time she halted her speech it was almost too late: the snake, offensive once more, lunged for her. In the same sharp moment as it split its mouth to fill itself with her, a blade broad and tipped like that of a staff's swung down. Its sound and shine blinded her to the gore of the head's severance before it fell upside down, gaping with a now limp tongue. A last remaining hiss lost to the sound of the blade cutting the air.

With every last drop of bravery in her body she withheld a scream. Her heart nearly erupted under the weight of its many terrors. Much like her nerves, the snake’s body contorted, until its muscles no longer lingered with life. The rats no longer trifled their foe. Nothing but death had been served on the table.

“At last,” she finished, “you cut the head off once and for all.”

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

This also changes so often! Dialogue is one of, if not the, most fun part(s) of writing for me. I convey my message and themes most starkly in the way my characters talk to each other, and it’s where I put the most forethought. One of the ones I most often return to is the back-and-forth between Veronica and Cybel in Chapter 98: “Humoring Stars.” -- 

“Are you really so sure that everything that does not meet your eye is simply lies? That you, a Mage who spent the majority of her life in a Circle where knowledge was a controlled resource rather than a respected right, are the best person for determining such things?”

Oh, you son of…

“Just because I lived in a Circle does not mean I am without independent thought,” Veronica refused. She was a hard shell to crack but even she was not immune to the coerced inferiority years of Circle life embedded. No one who experienced their captivity was. And to call it out in such a way only made it more painful.

“I did not say that. What I meant was—”

“Shut your mouth. I do not give a shit about where you come from or how special you think you are. You are not going to stick a knife where you think it will hurt me into believing your stories. And if you try to do the same to Gem, then…”

Cybel’s eyes narrowed. “Then, what? You will kill me?”

“I m—”

“You know, Veronica...and that is your name, so I will refer to you as such.” Cybel took on an air of confidence, re-approaching with stiffened shoulders and tilted chin. “Either you have a thirst for death that is beyond the likes of which I have seen anywhere, meaning that deep down your motivation is not merely the safety of your friend and leader; or, as I reckon, you think being a predator cornered is more powerful than a predator caged.” They continued their advance, so stern and so suddenly cold that Veronica’s need to keep eyes on their hands turned into her backing up in sequence with them. It was enraging.

Veronica was backed against the rail, ass and waist pressed like paper. Her hands gripped either side. Cybel looked as they did back when they were threatening her with an arrow to her neck. Curls of hair around their face, tough bottom lip, appraising the validity of a shot yet fired. They halted so close to her that their freckles were countable, as well as the weathered loose strings on the edge of their tucked scarf.

“So what is it then?” they asked when Veronica had no salted quip to offer. “Blood lust, or bloody fearfulness?”

Who are you?

Veronica’s breath caught on the rigidity of her chest. She could be stabbed or choked right then and there. She could be tossed over the edge. Maker, she could be poisoned even if Cybel’s hand was quick enough with a vial or cloth dusted with the right material. Everything about her expedited training was about evaluating what dangers were posed both in front of her nose and beyond all senses. It was intoxicating to think in such a way when previously you were kept like a lamb to a flock, the shepherds heavily armored and sword-wielding rather than gentle guides with sticks. But blast them for thinking it was their right to point it out.

“I will say it again,” she answered with an unprecedented humbleness to her voice that even surprised her, “I do not fall for your attempts to strike at me until I am too weak for your lies.”

Cybel’s irises raised and lowered between Veronica’s eyes and mouth, their own lips parted with their tongue pressed against the back of their teeth. “And there I have my answer.”

[veridium]

wip wednesday

tagged by the illustrious @inquisitors-mabari to share a wip wednesday snippet (thank you, friend!) so I will be sharing from the upcoming update of Fire in Her Mouth! in which we will once again be at the White Spire having some fun and not-at-all stressful times with Veronica and Naomi!

tagging @goblin-deity, @dickeybbqpit, and @bitchesofostwick! and anyone else who wishes to partake!

--

“Oh, do not look at me like that, Ro.” Naomi hustled up out of her chair and made for the window. The thin drapes had been left to block the sunshine from the early morning. She did not disturb them. “I am a mage, am I not? I learned it like all of you did. I am no empty shell.”

“I don’t make looks,” Veronica replied. “I am just thinking. And I said nothing of shells, full or not.”

“You of all people should know not to lie about how clear it is when you are displeased.”

“No, but people usually take it as a given.” 

Naomi tucked her chin as she begrudgingly smirked. Veronica took that as a permission to get up from her seat, too, and walk just a few feet closer. It obviously shook Naomi up, whether she won the fight or not. This wasn’t her trade in life. People like her looked for ways to soften blows, not land them. If she was pushed to the point of self-defense -- nearly lethal in severity, from what the agent said before -- it was either a close call or something that caught her so off-guard she saw no way out. 

Noting that pressure, Veronica pivoted. “It is my responsibility to question the prisoner. What we do with them afterward will also be my job to determine. What would you have me do, if the decision was yours?”

Naomi turned quick, hand falling from her cheek. She looked as though Veronica had asked her what the color of her knickers were. “You would not suggest I have…”

“No, no, don’t--”

“It would not be fair. Just because they…”

The urgency in her tone changed in defensiveness. Just because they...what? 

“Just because…” she tried again, “listen, Veronica: whatever you do, think of the Inquisition and of Olivia’s position. Like it or not, the condition of all Mages that come into contact with us reflects on her.”

“Pff,” Veronica couldn’t fight back the rolling of her eyes. Naomi frowned in disapproval, the way she always did whenever they bickered as young apprentices without a point or prize to be one. 

“You scoff, but you do it because I am right. The Apostate...they would not say anything of where they came from or why they were here. It seems counterintuitive, but they did not mean me harm. I believe that in the pit of my heart.”

“They may not have meant you harm, Naomi, but they certainly saw no shame in it, either.”

“You do not know that.”

[veridium]

Dragon Age OC’s  → Veronica 

“If they ever found a mountain that felt no wind, surely I’d belong there. No one could tell me I was unnatural, being this way, if we were surrounded by an un-moved pile of earthly rock. Shit, I would be the most natural sight of all. Perhaps I would rename myself after that mountain, pack my bag, and quit all this nonsense once and for all.”

Fereldan / Mage / Scout and Spy on behalf of the Inquisition.

[veridium]

Chapter 101: Bloodlust

Chapter Summary:  Veronica watches over Olivia while she remains unconsciously battling whatever evils haunt her. Her only company, Cybel, is no less mysterious to her. Though as the hours wear on and her fatigue catches up with her, Veronica finds she is not as tight-lipped about her own pain as she says. Faced with her friend's threatened life, and running the risk of things left unsaid, she gets honest.

To Read The Full Chapter on Ao3, Click Here. 

[veridium]

This upcoming Chapter of Fire in Her Mouth is so cathartic to write. I’ve been wanting to finally dig into Veronica’s point of view and her heartache as a character and getting the chance to do so after so long is just...icing on the bittersweet cake. 

I love my tough woman for being a tough woman and sticking up for her lack of softness. I love her getting the chance to admit that she is not divinely strong, that she struggles to love herself when she is so calloused, but that she is not apologetic about it. 

She has always been my most difficult OC to write but I think I have finally hit my stride with her after sitting with her for. So. Long. 

Chapter 101 will be a good one.

[veridium]

wip wednesday

hello loves! it’s the middle of the week, we’ve made it! to celebrate, I thought I’d share a little sneak peak of the next update of Fire In Her Mouth, where there is certainly “fun” times on the horizon!

thank you to everyone’s who’s tagged me for this, and I tag any and all people who wish to share as well! consider this your open invitation. 

--

To wish for an Orlesian home to be as it once was was a fool’s endeavor. The wisdom ‘you can never go home again’ could be argued as a playful national sport. That was never Olivia’s expectation. The stone had aged, undoubtedly. New cracks, new blemishes that couldn’t quite be buffed out. Orlesian homes showed their age in the ways they were cosmetically redefined until they couldn’t stand it anymore. The Sinclair estate was no different: four overbearing square columns lining the extent of an overbearing blue roof, under which a paled and manicured set of stairs and their shrubbery decor awaited any and all grand guests. The trademark Sinclair green -- a color Olivia reviled since the age she could pronounce the word -- present in the curtains and the paint lining the windows. Obnoxious, ill-suited, and…

Well, Father always looked good in green. 

But that was all that could be counted upon. Everything else, from the color of the flowers potted and the wood grain and shade of the doors had been circulated to fit the most current style. Or the style of the time before Lady Sinclair expired, whenever that was. Veronica was still bluffing on details. 

Ungloving her hands after they dismounted their horses, Olivia took one look at her anchor palm and scowled. Green. The blasted color would never leave her, so it seemed.  

“We have three hours,” Veronica huffed along with the sound of her cloak flipped off one of her shoulders. Her first words since they saddled up in the Capitol over an hour prior. 

“We have as much time as I say, Agent,” Olivia huffed right back, sliding her gloves under her belt as she peered up, scanning from left to right up on the second floor windows. Dark, no fluttering drapes, and no eyes. Yet. 

“You did not send people ahead to scope, I take it?”

“Psh, I thought you…” Veronica was venomous, but stopped herself. They walked a few steps forward out from their saddles, their horses staying behind. “I thought...er.”

“You thought I would not have the guts to come here.”

“No, that I knew.” Veronica ran a hand through her hair, tucking it back behind her ears. “I just thought it would be better not to send Inquisition scouts first if we are playing pretend that the Inquisitor is across the water. Whatya gonna do, fire me?”

Olivia sighed, her eyes rolling closed before she continued her approach of the entryway, heels dragging sanded dirt. The graveled ground, its sensation and sound, were the only things she could say were just as they were. 

“The thought,” she replied, “like a well-dressed and woman with curious hands, comes to mind with great affection.” 

“Maker, I hate you when you’re scorned from a lover’s quarrel. You sound like Theia.”

“I sound like no one,” Olivia hissed as she glared back at her, ire renewed from the topic’s turn. “Now, let’s go before it starts to rain. You see those clouds like I do.”

[veridium]

snippet sunday (on a monday)

I was tagged by friends ( @kagetsukai! ) and others for last line and snippet sunday memes so here is my collective participation in them all. thank ya’ll for the tag!

here is an excerpt from the upcoming update for “Fire in Her Mouth,” or as I like to call it, “Veronica and Olivia’s team building exercise that may or may not end in them killing each other.”

--

“Stop,” Olivia sent her hand out. “Do not even think of touching that door.”

“I am not going to touch it, I am going to destroy it,” Veronica explained as she pulled her book of spells from her belt. A sight so impossible Olivia almost rubbed her tired eyes, for surely she was hallucinating. 

“What do you think you are going to do with that?” Olivia continued to chide, reaching and yanking the book from her hand outright.

“Give it back, you insolent snipe,” Veronica growled as she reached for it, but was only body-blocked by Olivia’s craftiness with her lack of height. Rather than go high, she went low, until she simply gave up and tossed the book off down the stairway. 

Watching as it landed spine-open  on the lowest step, Veronica was nearly crimson in her cheeks. “You think we will get anywhere with your talents? You have enough heat for a peddler’s tea kettle.”

The doors still shook, though lower than before. As if they were listening. Noticeable even in the midst of Veronica’s incessant barking. 

“Henriette sent several servants here without magic. That means it is safe to infer they elected brute force over cunning. This is not my first fraught excursion, Veronica.”

“Yes, well, fuck you,” Veronica spat out the corner of her mouth before stomping down towards her cast-out spell book. Bending down and snatching it spitefully, she dusted the worn cover and kept her back to her. 

“Yes, fuck me,” Olivia repeated like a sworn oath, and turned her attention towards the main event. The doors were moving together, like one controlled chunk of wood. A rhythm. No light, no static, no energy that would insist an elemental boundary that could be overwhelmed with ice or fire. It was something else. Something more universal? Then what?

[veridium]

wip wednesday

it’s the middle of the week, hooray! gonna share a part of the soft draft I have of the next FIHM chapter. at the moment I am writing a lot of episodic moments because that is what these next couple of chapters are, so I have bits written up like this one. enjoy! 

tagging anyone who wants an excuse to share! here it is, I’m tagging you!

--

She slid one blade through a folded cloth and watched her fragmented reflection reveal itself inch-by-inch in the straight blade. Pristine and pearly, her complexion was warmly cast onto the metal due to the dwindling firelight several feet away. The blade balanced well between both her hands holding it at the ends. In her lap, clean and cared for, she almost hoped she wouldn’t have to use and thus dirty it again. Whoever it belonged to deserved to have it back as good as they left it, and she would make sure of that. 

Just as she finished cleaning, Veronica entered through the inside door. Perfect timing. Fully dressed, geared, and ready to go at a moment’s notice, she was missing one crucial part of her uniform as an Agent: her helmet. 

“I cannot believe I left it,” she admonished herself, slapping fingers against her forehead. 

“I thought it was an affront to your style?” Olivia asked, nipping back a chuckle as she sheathed the blade. 

“Hilarious,” Veronica sneered, taking a broad stance in front of the fire. “Shit. I am going to have to wrap my head in a cloth, shave my head or something.”

“Why not just cover your face in the fireplace ash and tell everyone it is a new beauty regimen?” 

“Are you--” she whipped around, leaning onto one hip. “Is this your idea of boosting morale?”

Olivia grinned and shook her head. It was all she could do. Veronica had every right to be frustrated because a helmet didn’t just been anonymity, it meant defense. In light traveling armor, she was in a great need of it in any way possible. 

“Don’t worry,” Cybel’s voice echoed in from the hall as they returned through the same door. “It is the dead of night. Just scurry away if someone holds a torch to your face. You could shriek, too, for added effect.”

[veridium]

Writing for Veronica again has reminded me about how much I hate that I love her, and how she’s probably my hardest character to write. She’s so rough and contradictory of her own desires but at the same time, she’s so heartbreaking in her softness. UGH I can’t even tell you how many times I have to mumble to myself “I’m supposed to not like you” while I’m typing. 

[veridium]

Ficlet: “Between Friends”

Inquisitor Olivia Sinclair

A snapshot memory from the Lady Inquisitor’s earlier life in the Ostwick Circle with her friends. Rated NSFW for discussion of sexual activities. 

A/N: this was originally intended to be a snapshot in this most recent chapter update of “Fire in Her Mouth,” but I ended up cutting it out. But I thought it would be nice to still share. Enjoy!

--

9:34 Dragon, Ostwick –

            Seven taps on the door. No less, and no more: that is how she knew to scoot her cold feet across the floor to unlock and welcome her visitors. It was the middle of the night during the guard change in the halls – the girls had timed and tracked it down to the minutes as most everyone their age did to outsmart the Templars. Nearly everything they did that was not studying, eating, cleaning, or sleeping required such discretion. The stringency and secrecy kept childish activities -- like sneaking away to bunk with your best friends to giggle and gossip -- exciting even in adulthood. At the age of 20 Olivia had yet to grow tired of hearing the timid taps on the old door, for she knew it meant Theia and Veronica huddled together on the other side. Simple, inexpensively made and shapeless linen night dresses and dark blankets pulled over their heads and shoulders making them look like beggar women coming in from the cold.

Olivia was always the headquartered hideaway: her dormmates were not as socially savvy as Theia’s and Veronica’s were. Or, at least, that is what she said when they asked why they all rolled onto their sides rather than rat them out. Olivia had bartered with them for years, exchanging what she could for their silence: doing their homework for them, providing her notes from lectures and assigned readings, and tutoring whoever needed it. Everyone trusted the Orlesian blonde because everyone had something to lose should they disavow her.

            Climbing into her cot, she and Theia sprawled out while Veronica set out her blanket on the floor. She would feel for any aches or creaks in the wood floor panels in case the Templars had picked up on their trail or their giggling.

            “Tell me everything,” Olivia squealed with delight, rubbing Theia on her shoulder.

            “Oh, come now, it is nothing,” Apprentice Trevelyan replied, hugging her knees to her chest and exposing her feet and ankles.

            “Do not give me that coy act! You were gone for an hour!”

            “Felt like an age, though.” Veronica interjected with a wry grin, sitting on one hip with a knee propped up. “I had to nearly flash the man to get him to keep distracted.”

            Theia choked back a laugh, pressing her fingers to her mouth. Olivia was lit up with wonder. Being a triad often meant two girls were complicit in trouble while the other was kept out for plausible deniability. Two girls’ antics was an anomaly – three was a conspiracy, and Templars already blamed Mages for being inherently duplicitous. Their growing older meant they were less and less able to blame youthful ignorance. Not that they were granted much to begin with in the first place. Faced with them both staring her down, Olivia with sweetness and Veronica with clever expectation, Theia caved.

            “…It was an hour, but she did not last more than 10 minutes.”

            Olivia blushed hot and throwing her hands up. Both her and Veronica went after her, patting and swatting at her. They were piss poor at stifling laughter and ragging. Theia nearly fell off the side of the beg, arms covering her face and top of her head.

            “Stop it, stop! before they catch us.”

            “I cannot believe you!” Olivia scolded, “you told me she was nothing but a girl to cheat off of for examinations.”

            Veronica rolled her eyes, reclining back on her hands when she was done hitting. “Typical.”

            “I thought she was, too! But…what can I say, I…liked her handwriting.”

            “Oh, you!” Olivia hit her again on the side of her thigh. “The poor girl must think you worship her like Andraste and you are just pilfering.”

            “Who said Andraste’s worshippers aren’t pilferers?” Veronica mused, “at least Theia knows where the true booty is.”

            Theia smirked heavy and kicked at Veronica with her foot hanging off the bed. Tucking her chin and appearing demure, she wasn’t convincing any of her friends. This was but another conquest in the long line of tall tales she could divulge at any given moment and have every peer in the room mesmerized with her mastery. The Circle was prohibiting of many things one would consider benign staples to pleasant life. But when enough young Mages saw a mutual benefit in covering for one another’s amorous escapades, especially those that risked no chance of pregnancy, there were ways of circumventing these truths. Theia’s interludes were the work of no less than three other Mage women in concerted effort to cover while her and her tryst had their time. It was a habitual gamble Olivia was seldom tempted to try.

            She sighed and rest her cheek on her bent knee. “What was it like?”

            “Cold.”

            “I mean it!”

            “So do I! The window was open, and she ripped half my gown off. I had her shivering, and she had me shivering. Only one of us was doing it of ecstasy.”

            Veronica shook her head. “When that happens, you stop complaining and make her thighs your ear muffs, you quitter.”

            Olivia raised a brow at her haughty suggestion, and it only went higher when she turned and saw Theia’s guilty expression as she looked down at her lap and bit her lip again.

            “Theia Sofia…” Olivia gasped low.

            “I said she had ripped half my gown off, I never said I did not return the favor…” Theia shimmied her shoulders with bravado. Her dress slid off one and hung loosely, barely tied at the chest as she laid back on the bed fully. She curled her legs up in the air playfully, needling Olivia in the side with her toes.

            “Come on, Olivia…”

            “How clever, together you made one naked woman,” Veronica once again one for the obvious but colorful.

            Olivia was unimpressed as she always tried to be. Something about not wanting to seem naïve, and dreading that it was already in plain sight for her friends to make fun of. Shirking Theia’s tickling toes away she grabbed her feather-stuffed, flat pillow to put against her stomach. She backed herself up against the wall and closed herself off from preeminently from the teasing, all the while Theia had her eyes on her, reading her bashful discomfort with those affectionately seasoned eyes and crooked smile. Theia was always so smooth, so easy on the eyes and the heart. Her stark appearance covered for a personality that was like velveteen: you always wanted to touch her, to be touched by her, whichever got her on your skin.

            “I am…not disagreeing or judging you,” Olivia answered at last, tilting her head. “I am just unaccustomed. By choice, to be sure.”

            “By choice, to be sure,” Veronica mocked Olivia’s Orlesian accent. A boorish caricature, but one that got the joke across. “I’m not about to sit through another hour of sifting through Madame Gem’s smallclothes looking for the key.” She ran her fingers through her hair and let the waves of dark brunette fall around her face and shoulders. Cool and acidic even at the age of eighteen.

            Theia turned her head towards Ro and furrowed her brow in disagreement. “Easy, now. Let her be.”

            “Everyone in the Circle knows to let Madame be,” Veronica countered. “Books and bottles, not bosoms and bottoms. That is what the sing behind her back. We ought to squash it.”

            Olivia inhaled and held her breath against the mention of the unrelenting teasing she had sustained for years since her first days in Ostwick. First, she had been the elitist Orlesian princess, prim and snobby. Then, she was a young hussy when people saw her advance expediently through her class ranks and apprenticeship duties, for surely no young Mage could do so without dealing something out. Then, when those rumors waned, she became a hybrid of the dichotomy: an irreproachable paragon, conservative but tempting. Coveted, but closeted. Having friends who were louder and more apt to answer slander with sucker punches helped.

            She shrugged and pulled her hair over one shoulder. “I don’t mind it. It is hardly consequential. I spend all my time in the library or in the formulas hall, anyway.”

            Theia tucked her chin as she gazed down the other end of the bed at her sweet, fair friend. “Are you certain, Gem?”

            “Yes. The last thing I want is theatrics.”

            “Pfft,” Veronica folded her arms and leaned against the small drawer nightstand accompanying her bed.

            Later that night conversation and shit-shooting gave into sleep. Veronica remained on the floor, ever vigilant for disturbances even when sleep neutralized her senses. She was the first to doze off, while Theia and Olivia shared space in bed and one pillow between both their heads. It was often just so: Veronica, or maybe Roslyn, sleeping soundly while the two of them talked story. There were times when Olivia looked forward to them more than the initial time spent with the entire group.

            “She kissed like a cat licks at cream, I swear,” Theia said as she curled her fingers to her chin. “I was so confused.”

            Olivia scrunched her nose in distaste. “Ugh, I hate the sound of that.”

            “Hate the sound of it? You did not have to endure it.”

            “So, there was nothing redeemable about it? Nothing at all?”

            Theia contorted her mouth to one side of her face as she looked away. Sincere pondering from someone so well-known for her sarcasm. “She has soft hands. And her voice. Her voice is nice…I suppose.”

            Olivia cuddled her head into her pillow. “She snorts when she laughs, I’ve heard her in the study wing.”

            “She does not!”

            “Yes, she does! Like a pig caught with its breeches down!”

            Theia smiled broadly, a breathy laugh harboring itself in the back of her throat. “Is there even such a thing?”

            Shrugging her shoulder, Olivia bit down on her finger nail. “Maybe so, since she sounds like it.”

            “Oh, hush up. You are more venomous than you play.”

            Theia was right. She was always right. Just because Olivia did not open her mouth and show off the perceptive skills she had been raised to sharpen, did not mean that her rhetorical weapons had dulled. Opinions were opinions, with or without expression. But the last thing the world needed was her cunning point of view, especially when Theia and Veronica were so much better at it than she was. Cool and edgy, while she was meek and underwhelming.

            After chuckling a bit, Theia’s smile fell a bit. “Olivia, you know what Veronica said…”

            “Yes? What of it?”

            Theia paused, caution in her eyes where there once was comfortability. “Are you…are you honestly so unaffected by what everyone says?”

            The question was a fair one. Acidic assumptions had tried again and again to condemn Olivia to little more than posh inconsequence. Yet she had prevailed, remaining true to her single-minded goals. Being so consistent would preclude either a dissonant ego or a proficient façade in the face of adversity.

            Olivia’s gaze went in search of any captivating sight while she pondered her response.

            “I…I am. They can think what they wish to. I am doing what I want to be doing.”

            “Yes, but are you not hungering for something? Anything…different?”

            “What do you mean?”

            Theia blinked, her eyes going from Olivia’s lips to her eyes back and forth, fast and fleeting. “Do you not want to be loved?”

            “I am loved, silly,” Olivia rebuked, “by you, and Veronica, and Roslyn…is love not known in ways outside of amorous affection?”

            The conversation paused. Theia looked like she was chewing on something mentally: the way her expression steadied and panicked at the same time, the way she held her clutched hand close to her chin, half-covering her pensive mouth. She clearly did not empathize with Olivia’s indifference. For someone as talented, beautiful, and beguiling as her, it was understandable why she would see what little slice of the world they had as her stomping ground. Even in a Circle tower. A few scant strands of her ice white hair fell a bit more into her face, unkept by her braid.

            “If you ever…” she stopped and blinked nervously. “Look, I…”

            Olivia watched her, nonplussed with her sudden shift in attitude. “What are you saying?”

            “If you…” Theia tried again but stopped herself. She broke her stare, looking down at their knees curled against each other.

            “Spit it out, Theia, before I fall asleep,” Olivia tucked her head against her flattened hands and closed her eyes. This was a time before the nightmares, a time when sleep was trusted. It was all the more decadent when shared with the women who had become her family, even when they wanted to talk her ear off while she drifted into slumber.

            “…If you ever wanted to…to see if you would…if you like women that way. I would…you know.”

            Olivia opened her eyes in a flash, looking as if Theia had chirped like a bird rather than speak.

            “You mean…!?”

            Theia looked like a deer caught by hunters in the field, realizing too late that she was in the path of an arrow. “I…I was just saying, if you desired it to be with someone you trusted. A friend.”

            Olivia scoffed. “Theia, dump out whatever water you have been drinking, because clearly it has you going mad.”

            “I am not mad, I was—”

            “Theia.”

            Olivia stared her down with assurance, even in her softness. She could never rebuke Theia caustically, even when her ideas were absurd. Deep down, Theia always had the best intentions. But she had stepped too far into the sanctum of Olivia’s life she had ensured would never be encroached on. The last thing she needed was to cultivate material for the Circle to further gossip about her. Once more, she had seen what could become of Theia’s lovers and flirtations: the way girls were objectified and demeaned, even when Theia stood up for them. She would not be one of them.

            Seeing the confidence in Olivia’s disposition, Theia backed down. “Forget I ever said anything,” she smirked sorely, “I just wanted to help.”

            “I know you did,” Olivia grinned as she reached and stroked Theia’s forearm. “But, trust me, I have all that I could ever need and want; people can talk all they want, I know they are simply jealous.”

            Theia’s embarrassed look softened then, her face relaxing into restful solace. She nuzzled into the limp pillow and placed her hand on the one Olivia had extended to her.

            “You are right. The measured one, as always,” Theia gave in, closing her eyes and settling in.

            Olivia watched her friend, her protective ally, in all her humble sincerity. Willing to offer herself and her body as if she could legitimize her and defend her in the face of slander. She was worth so much more than a resource.

            They never spoke like that after that night. One would hope it was due to respectful understanding, but like so many things between close friends, the lines were not that clean. Olivia would never know for sure whether it was trust, or the fact that several weeks later a black-haired and eloquent fellow Apprentice by the name of Odessa began her advances. Moves and maneuvers that, strangely, Olivia would not turn away. For some intuitive reason she could not explain, she knew Theia would be upset by it: which is why it took several more weeks and rumors passed through the grapevine for it to come to light at last. By that time, Odessa’s hands had been all over her, deep and direct as they were considerate. Something in the way Theia looked at her changed forever. Womanhood had come calling for the young Foxes.

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Are you planning to continue with the krem and veronica story?

Hello, anon! I do eventually plan on finishing all my stories. The thing is I also have plans for her life in Olivia’s long fic, and for the sake of not revealing spoilers, all I can say is there will be reason for me save my good-natured fluff energies :) 

I know I’ve put a lot of my works on the shelf for a while, but I promise, I will see them all finished and resolved as they deserve! I don’t start what I don’t intend on finishing. 

Ask hour – got a question?

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since you said Veronica receives little love!! 4, 11, 23 and H 💞

Omg thank you friend! She does get a little less love, but I do adore her as an OC. Thank you for asking :)

4. How easy is it to earn their trust?

Incredibly difficult for a number of reasons. Of course there is the trauma of her childhood, and then being sent to the Circle at a young age where she had trouble making friends and feeling like she belonged. But then there’s also the fact that Veronica sees the way people can be cruel and unforgiving to one another: she fixates on it, and that is partially what motivates her to want to go back to Denerim to help those most marginalized. To her, trust is not necessary to be able to work with people, and in fact is a luxury.

The only people she grows to trust early on in her life are her fellow Foxes, then eventually Leliana as a mentor, and then Krem who she falls in love with. She prefers to keep that pool of people small and for good reason. 

11. How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

Veronica is quick to frustration in the face of confusion. Even though she’s rough around the edges she is actually quite intuitive, but she isn’t the brightest or most learned in the bunch. Where a lot of people would want to pretend or try to come off as it though, Veronica claims that as a part of her and doesn’t feign elitism. 

She’s a very no-nonsense person, so when something confuses or stumps her she tends to get resentful because she believes there is almost always a cut-and-dry solution or version of the situation.

23. How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

Jealousy is one of the most difficult emotions for Veronica to deal with and she hardly ever does because of that. You know you did something profound when you incite envy in her because she makes an effort not to feel possessive or attached to people over a certain line. Given that, once you do evoke it she becomes increasingly more intemperate, argumentative, and abrasive; she resents her own need for someone more than she resents the person for existing, though. 

Even with the Foxes, she is possessive and protective as a friend but is never jealous of them for any reason. Well, almost never (but you will see one day! Haha).

H) What trait do you admire most?

I love that Veronica is probably the most sensitive one of her group of Foxes and yet she has this hardened exterior that makes people believe her callous and murderous. She does what needs to be done not because she’s heartless but because she cares so much. I think when I write for Theia and Olivia struggling to tow the line of their duties as Inquisitors, to dare to do make choices which could prove dangerous, I picture them wishing they were more like Veronica. Because she sees no value in hesitation – sometimes that’s for worse and not for better, but, you know. 

But my point is that her decisiveness is not from a detachment, but a strong affinity for wanting justice and goodness to prevail, even if her idle hands must be the ones to enact it. And I think that is so fascinating to write in a character. 

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“Welcome to The Circle”

Chapter One: Olivia

Synopsis: A flashback to when Olivia leaves her family home for the Circle, meeting two of the most important people of her life for the very first time. 

Characters: Olivia, Theia, Veronica, ft. Olivia’s dad

Category: angsty fluff

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It was hard to believe it would perhaps be the last time she would ever stand in the middle of her bedroom. Although, with everything packed and either stored away, or in luggage to follow her departure, the room hardly looked like one a vibrant young woman slept in. The servants hadn’t even waited for her to leave for the bed to be stripped of its sheets and linens, and there were sheets tossed over the furnishings to block dust from accumulating. This room would not be repurposed. This room would be a reminder.

As she left it for the last time, she adjusted the way her traveling cloak fit around her shoulders, loosening the collar a bit. The metallic embellishment sewn into it made it stiff against her neck, as if she was in a subtle choke hold. Everyone was waiting for her in the foyer; the wing her quarters were tucked in was as desolate as a tomb. As she walked herself down the cavernous hallway, she felt as if she were a one-woman funerary processional.

It wasn’t until she had come to the top of the stairs leading down to the vestibule that she saw traces of life: a line of their most senior servants standing at attention as if the patriarch of the household were preparing to leave. But it was his daughter – his only child – that was taking flight from the House Sinclair this morning.

She walked tall, but it was with the posture of someone empty on the inside; no use is seeming cowardly when you had nothing left to lose.

Making her way down the middle of the stairs, she was the picture of trained poise and grace. Her hands cupped each other in front of her waist, and she absentmindedly pinched the muscle between her thumb and index finger. As her footfalls gained attention, she saw a tall, well-dressed man with a greying stubble along his jawline turn to face her. His long, heather grey hair tied up in a bun. The coat he wore was perfectly tailored and velveteen.

Father.

Arriving on the ground floor she remained unimpressed in her expression. She knew all eyes were on her, but in her mind they were already miles away. The only connection keeping her tied to the present moment was her Father grinning with the last ounces of fortitude he had in the face of saying goodbye to his child.

“Olivia,” he said, the warm vibrato of his voice disarming her indifference, “you look…you look beautiful, my darling.”

Dressed in a olive green gown, long-sleeve with a straight, corseted neckline and a matching colored cloak, Olivia felt like a plant and not a woman. She thought that she would be better off being sprawled across a platter to be served at a soiree. Nontheless, her father’s endearment was more important than ego.

“Thank you, Father. It will probably be the last time I get to wear something of Orlesian refinement for a long while,” she observed, standing closely face-to-face. His stature kept the power dynamics in his favor, though.

“Are you ready, then?” he asked, swallowing stiffly as his eyes became dull with their repressed sorrow.

“Yes, as much as I can be. Are they awaiting outside?”

“Of course they are. Templars hardly beckon ceremony when it comes to…” he stopped, eyes flickering to the floor. Even though it was stark reality, undeniable and irrevocable, he hadn’t yet accepted the fact that it applied to his darling girl.

Mage.

To Read The Full Chapter on Ao3, Click Here!

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At last, Veronica bit her lip and let it all come to light.

“My murders may be illegal but they were not unwarranted. Tell me what you have heard of the trafficking that takes place in the undergrounds of some of the most lauded cities across Thedas? Not much, huh? That is because city officials have deeper hands in them than they would like to admit. One string pulled loose from the tapestry could be enough to untangle the entire design, if one knows where to pluck.”

“Veronica, I am aware of such crimes. How this implicates you, is my concern.”

“I…my work put myself in between the victims of those rings and their “patrons.” Templars gone rogue, when bored of hunting mages, would take advantage of such commerce. Then there would be the traveling thieves and idle bands of men. Then the politicians. I couldn’t just sit by and watch it all unfold. Some of these people – many apostates, or elves, or downtrodden in some way due to no fault of their own – they would come to stay with me and tell me what they had endured. I found my purpose, Theia, like you have here. Only one of us has managed to evade the shadow of criminality in her reputation.”

Veronica Crespin, Agent of Sister Nightingale in Service to the Inquisition. Formerly Known As The Crimson Cutter, murderess Mage of Denerim.

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Are ya’ll ready for some OC Moodboards?

Hell yeah you are! (I hope). Some on the way:

1. Theia Trevelyan 

(+ a Board for Theia x Josie)

2. Olivia Sinclair

(+ a Board for Cass x Olivia)

3. Veronica Crespin 

4. The Foxes (Theia, Naomi, Olivia, and Veronica)

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Uncommon questions: 10, 32 & D about the oc of your choice Thank you!

Sure thing, and thank you for asking me! I will actually do these for Veronica because she gets so little love. :)

10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

Veronica has lied a lot about various aspects of her life mostly because she has so little to truly ground her sense of self in. She was orphaned rather young and left with family, which also didn’t last long because of the realization that she was a Mage. But I think a frequent fib is that she is unaffected or undaunted by things that very much scare/intimidate her. She is the kind of person that will hardly ever admit to having been frightened. It does not exactly haunt her, because she justifies it as a form of survival, but then again she struggles to admit weakness because of it.

32.  Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?

She loves teasing Theia endlessly so if they are in the same room and conversation she will always try to get a good dig in. Theia is very entertaining to unnerve, lol. Otherwise her lewd sense of humor almost always makes a few people blush before she’s done with them. 

D). Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

Pretty much! When I thought of Veronica the first main attribute I had in mind was her dark hair and eyes. Olivia and Theia are two bright, fair, pale women and didn’t want the Foxes to just be a gang of Sleeping Beauties! But I also wanted her physical appearance to coincide with her past and who she is personality-wise. I wanted her to be a female take on “tall, dark, handsome, and lethal,” in a way, but I also liked the idea of her physicality being intimidatingly dark to foil her sensitive personality underneath. I think the only edit I have made to her is changed her eye color from dark blue to dark brown, which I did around the time I had her join the Inquisition in Theia’s fic.