I'm old, I’m tired, I used to be a multi-fandom blog but I mostly just stick to Dragon Age and Mass Effect now. No drama, No AI, No RL stuff. I like to write stuff, I like to draw stuff. I like to read stuff, I like to reblog fan art.
Fandom: Dragon Age the Veilguard
Pairing: Illario Dellamorte & Original Female Character
Rating: Mature
Summary: Even as Illario plans for the future, the past still haunts him.
Words: 1216
Additional Tags: Illario Dellamorte Week: Day 6- Despair/Joy, Family, Canon Typical Violence, Abuse TW, Blood CW, Gore CW, Mourning, Love, Ruminating On The Past, Trauma, Pre-Canon
Day #6 fic and my third for Illario Week. AND it’s also my 300th fic posted on AO3. Kind of insane. Thank you @illarioappreciation for hosting! I decided to go with Despair for this one and use one my own Dellamorte OCs (who has now begun to take on a life of her own).
Read on AO3
One of the earliest memories Illario Dellamorte had was of violence.
Of screaming. Of blood.
Of running into the hall outside of his bedroom only to find the walls splattered with crimson. The echoing gurgle as his sister choked on her blood, throat slit by their enemies, a consequence of her trying to protect him. His parents… the Cantori Crows who’d come to aid them wouldn’t even let him see their bodies.
He’d been six years old at the time. His entire family, a family of assassins, slain as they lay in their beds. The household staff, the other Crows that lived with them, all dead. He’d remembered escaping in the chaos only to hide beneath his bed and wait for his turn, praying to Andraste, to the Maker, that when it came, it’d be painless.
It’d been his first failure.
He’d lost his protector, his best friend, the only person besides his parents who actually cared for him. Loved him.
The shame hadn’t come until weeks later, when he was in the sitting room with Caterina and Lucanis, the only surviving members of House Dellamorte. Three of them were left out of hundreds. Most had been slaughtered in their beds, not even the children spared. Yet here they were, the First Talon and two of her grandchildren, the only ones the Maker deemed worthy of saving.
Or had it been luck that kept him from the assassin’s blade, his life worth only as much as his grandmother felt it was, Lucanis taking the mantle of her favorite now that her children were in the grave. Whenever Caterina turned her stern gaze on him in those early months, or caned him for misbehaving, or withheld food to punish him for failing one of his training sessions, Illario began to wonder if she hadn’t wished he’d died so that his sister could live.
Perhaps if he’d just thrown himself at Alessia’s assassin before the killing blow had landed, she’d have survived instead. Then she could have been the person subjected to Caterina’s torture, and in the end, Illario knew his elder sister would’ve been the better assassin as well.
There was also the loneliness to contend with.
Not a single touch since his childhood had been out of love. Convenience, perhaps, but there was no kindness in Caterina, only punishment when he didn’t live up to her expectations. The violence, death, the occasional sexual advance with a stranger (or a contract) and the resulting climax… none of it meant anything. No one meant anything.
What would Alessia think of him now? To see him in such a state? Betraying his family for power, for an modicum of respect.
Illario remembered the first time he’d asked Caterina about the slaughter. About the how and the why. And specifically, why Alessia had died for him. His grandmother had only stared down at him with those hawk-like eyes, almost as if the question disgusted her. As if he disgusted her.
He remembered the exact moment she glanced away from him, gaze fixed on the portrait of his family. His parents sitting upon the fancy settee that still sat in the receiving room, Alessia nestled between them with those multicolored eyes, the same ones that had haunted his childhood nightmares. A baby Illario was cradled in his mother’s arms, sleeping as the artist finished the painting.
When Caterina finally spoke, his heart broke for the final time, his entire future decided in a single terrible moment.
Alessia made a mistake. It was she who was meant to rule House Dellamorte after my death. Not protect a helpless child who can barely hold a knife.
No, perhaps Illario shouldn’t have survived, but he had. And he’d vowed to one day prove Caterina wrong.
And with the help of the Venatori, he would.
The cemetery was eerily quiet, not even the usual carrion haunting the grounds. There was a slight breeze in the air, but even as it shifted the leaves of the trees overhead, not a sound reached his ears. Death had never scared Illario once he’d become a Crow. In fact, he reveled in it most days. But this… this was harder than it had any right to be.
The wisteria tree he’d planted nearly fifteen years before was in full bloom, it’s petals scattered along the ground in front of the headstones, violet against the dark green of the grass. It’s scent tickled his nose, a reminder of freer days when he, Alessia, and Lucanis would roam the gardens of Villa Dellamorte while their parents handled Crow business. Picking wisteria blossoms and tucking them into their hair or behind their ears, pretend sword fighting with the branches, laughing loudly as they took their bruises and scrapes.
He hadn’t felt that free in a long time.
Kneeling before the thick stone, Illario reached out to brush some ivy from its face, the names etched there haunting him as much as their memories did.
With a finger, he traced over Alessia’s name carefully, the stone rough where it touched his skin. As much as he’d wished it as a young boy, his relationship with Lucanis, his dearest cousin, didn’t even compare to the one he’d lost with Alessia. And it’d made him bitter. Made him angry. Each time he tried to prove to Caterina he was as capable as Lucanis, he failed time and time again.
No matter how hard he tried, she never hesitated to express her disappointment and level her comparisons.
His eyes stung as his mind conjured an image of his sister, her hooked nose and raven colored locks nearly the same as his and yet, it was those heterochromatic eyes that always dazzled: one eye as blue as an ocean, the same color he possessed himself. The other was a deep brown, dark almost like a fresh cup of coffee, and though it appeared that many of the born Dellamorte possessed this color of iris, Alessia Dellamorte had been the only one born with two different colored eyes.
A tear rolled down his cheek, as much a weakness as the affection that still squeezed his chest at the thought of his family, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Then he placed one of the fallen wisteria branches, full of blooming flowers, at the base of the headstone, a tribute to a family who still lived on his heart nearly twenty years after their deaths.
But he was still failing them.
Tears blurred his vision as he read the headstone engraving again, knowing deep in whatever was left of his soul that if any of them were alive now, they’d condemn him for what he planned to do. Because he was tearing what was left of his family apart.
And he didn’t care.
“Alessia, I hope one day when we meet again, you are able to forgive me for what I’m about to do.”
With one final look, he got to his feet, dusted the dirt from his pants, then turned away, heart hurting and stomach sick. But he continued on, one foot in front of the other, towards the future he deserved.
Emergency commissions open to fix the flue pipe in the house, the strong wind almost tore it off, it's causing a lot of rain to leak from it right inside the living room
Problem is that I have to fix it today or tomorrow tops because this saturday there will be more wind, just as strong as the one that almost took the thing off and for sure it will fully take it off and cause other damage.
This morning we heard a noise among all the damned wind noise and the wire that was holding it was cut?
If you can't commission me this time but wish to help me
I have my kofi tip jar https://ko-fi.com/geirahod/goal?g=67
Everything around the very concept of Shepard dying and being resurrected is just so half-baked. It's an interesting idea that they use for an opening spectacle... And then brush under the rug as quickly as possible.
Shepard DIED. Then they were violently brought back without even being asked. When Buffy Summers was resurrected, ripped out of heaven, she spent the whole of that season coming to terms with it, dealing with the impact of her having been done with her duty, at peace, only to be pulled back to life by the people she'd sacrificed herself to save.
Hell, Star Trek Discovery had Hugh Culber brought back to life and even three seasons afterwards, he was still grappling with the aftermath of it.
Meanwhile Shepard... is back on their feet and going about their business like there's been no change within less than a mission.
And it's all the more egregious when you consider how everyone that Shepard gathers have to deal with their psychological issues throughout the game, but SHEPARD never has to do the same, despite the inevitable issues that come from being resurrected, having their body stitched together from their own remains and a mishmash of tech, defying all laws of man and nature to do so.
There is a whole damn GAME'S worth of exploration to do with the very concept of Shepard having been resurrected, and instead, it's just a little bit of flavor text, and then A, singular, conversation in ME3 on the Cerberus base. That's all we really get about Shepard's resurrection and the Lazarus Project itself.
Makes me wish that they'd done ANYTHING else to kick of ME2, just because they do so much NOTHING with the concept.
Like on one hand it really was just transparent shock value. I remember the teaser trailer where we saw a geth wearing Shepard's armor (long before we knew it was Legion), as the text flickered onto the screen that Shepard's status was KIA. Then the game came out and that's only true for the first 15 minutes, giving Bioware a lazy easy excuse to flip the narrative on its head, making Shepard into a rogue and giving ME2 a much grittier tone after ME1, all while completely ignoring the body horror and existential minefield of being rebuilt from a corpse, conveniently tip-toeing around philosophical questions like continuity of consciousness (just take it on faith that Shepard's the exact same person you knew from before *wink wink*).
BUT it still raises all sorts of fascinating interpretations like prev's tags. Hell, the VS would probably agree with the assessment that Shepard became a tool (for Cerberus, at any rate). And while I'd argue that interpretation mostly ends with ME2, ME3 does go on to raise questions about the value of Shepard's life, as they become in so many ways the sacrifice who pulls the galaxy through the war. Yes, Shepard's vital to the war effort and the galaxy can't afford for Shepard to die (before the war's over), but Shepard has to give everything for that war. Looking at it from that lens, it makes for some interesting parallels and contrasts with ME2.
Shepard died? No they didn't, because they can't die. Back on your feet soldier. Don't worry about the new body. The galaxy needs you.
Hey I finally got a Wednesday!! Thanks @corinnesin for tagging me last week.
Tagging anyone for wip whenever!!
I know I have had a few others from weeks ago but I have been super busy with work and trying to catch up on other games. But here is what is cooking in my wips for now
I kinda started this kneeling series. It started with Illario and Nia (as all my ideas do), then kind of escalated from there...
And more Ali and Colette when they were just baby wardens
And I tried to do this for Lucanis week but didn't end up liking it. So it's doomed to my wip folder for eternity (or maybe next year).
And I still have a ton that I have already posted that are just sitting in my folder waiting to be finished
Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard
Pairing: Rook Mercar/Tarquin
Rating: Mature
Summary: When the shadows try to prey on him, Tarquin can always find the light in Rook.
Words: 851
Additional Tags: Shadow Dragon Week Day 1- Shadows/Light, Horror, Darkspawn, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Canon Trans Male Character, Short One Shot
Written for @shadow-dragon-week, some Ariadne/Tarquin fic. A little glimpse into how the past still troubles Tarquin even after winning. And how he can always find comfort in Rook.
Read on AO3
The night was unbearably warm.
Tarquin’s skin was damp, sticking to the blanket beneath him, and each time he shifted, it pulled uncomfortably. With a sigh, he stared at the ceiling above him, the patched roof of his apartment barely holding together beneath the torrential downpour outside. Somewhere in the next room, water slithered in between one particular crack in the plaster, the familiar drip drip like a song he knew every beat to.
Images danced in the shadowy corners of his room, dragons and darkspawn… blighted creatures with red eyes, waiting for him to turn his back, claws sharp enough to rip a man’s spine from his body. Tarquin shivered, facing the window, forcing himself to think of something else. Anything else.
But nothing could keep the memories from his mind: the blighted dragon as it tore through the city, the Venatori laying siege to the Archon’s palace, the sight of Ariadne fighting for their city as she always had, with a tenacity that left him breathless and terrified in equal measure.
Because it wasn’t Ariadne Mercar if she wasn’t purposely giving him a damned heart attack whenever she threw herself into a fight.
Rain streamed down the glass in rivulets, each drop becoming a shapeless trail of water, disappearing below the windowsill where it’d eventually find the ground, a puddle forming in the street he’d most likely walk in come morning. The steady thrum of the storm was comforting despite his nightmares. It was something real, something to hold on to when the evil tried to creep in, tried to snare him in a waking terror.
Tarquin stilled at slight movement in the bed, holding his breath so as to not to wake its other occupant. He listened for a sound, any sign that the woman beside him had awakened, but the only thing he heard was the pounding of blood in his ears and the violence of the rain outside. With a stuttered sigh, he tried to relax against the thin blankets, hoping the remnants of nightmares would fade as the shadows did, but it was a pointless wish.
They never left, the dark things always haunting him, even into the waking hours.
His mind spun with images of salivating monsters, of the echoing scream of a blighted dragon with too sharp claws, when gentle fingers brushed through his hair, freeing the strands from the sweat that stuck them to his head. At first, he froze, brain conjuring demons that weren’t there. Then puffs of warm breath caressed the back of his neck, a soft body pressing against his beneath the blankets.
A heartbeat passed before he found his voice, uncertain if he was dreaming her presence. “Ari?”
“I’m here, Quin.”
A whispered promise, one she’d made many times before, most recently when a dragon had ravaged their city and she’d put herself into harm’s way to protect their city.
Ariadne shifted closer, her free arm wrapping around him, her hand resting on the spot where his heart hammered against his ribs. With lips brushing softly against the nape of his neck, she repeated the words again, and he grabbed onto them like a lifeline, any shame he might have felt over these irrational fears dissipating in the safety of her embrace.
With a stuttering inhale, Tarquin turned to face her, only to find familiar amber eyes watching him through the dark. His fingers brushed against her soft brow before running along the bridge of her nose, and then finally mapping the scars that broke up the tattoos on her face, and in that moment, he knew he was safe here, in that room, in that bed. Here, the shadows couldn’t get him.
Emotion overwhelmed him, and he dropped his gaze to the scar just below her collarbone, the skin puckered and dark against her bronzed skin. During the final battle in the heart of Minrathous, she’d put herself between him and a Venatori, as he’d once done for her a long time ago. And she’d gotten gravely injured. The cut had been deep, created by a dagger with a cruel blade, and for a brief and terrifying moment, there’d been the devastating thought that he’d lose her. But she always danced around death, encompassing it in her magic and using it to her advantage.
Of course, she’d survive. She somehow always managed to.
Months later, Tarquin’s mind still plagued him with images of death: blight and blood and Gods, but his heart… his heart knew he had his own avatar of death in his grip. And somehow, it was a comfort.
Ducking his head, he pressed a soft kiss against her collarbone, the scar tissue there rough against his lips. Ariadne shifted closer, her hands gripping the thin fabric of his tunic between her fingers, her own lips finding her favorite spot: the center of his forehead, just above where the curve of his eyebrows nearly met.
Too many times had circumstances threatened to take Ariadne from him. But they were here. They were alive.
And eventually, the shadows would part to let the light back in.
"My only intention is to love you with every moment I have left."
I didn't have anything to contribute to Lucanis week but technically its still Sunday so here is what I could do for the free day cause it didn't fit any of the other prompts.
'i'd fight angels and demons to find you my dear ... i'm alright now you're here'
it's been a minute since i've drawn rookanis, and i really wanted to draw one of my current rookanis otps which is @trash-nerd's Azzurra de Riva/Lucanis/Spite ;-; i love them so much your honor
"My only intention is to love you with every moment I have left."
I didn't have anything to contribute to Lucanis week but technically its still Sunday so here is what I could do for the free day cause it didn't fit any of the other prompts.
Does your shepard watch TV? If so, what would be a mass effect universe TV show they'd watch?
Hey! Thanks for the question!
Raine will watch TV if she has nothing else to do or if she is watching something with a friend. She watches Fleet and Flotilla with Tali (which honestly I can't remember if it's a movie or a show). She kind of rolls her eyes at it at first but then got super into it.
Kaidan, loves hockey so she again started out as the supportive girlfriend and then ended up getting more into it that he is. Competition, brutality, comradery, ice, whats not to love? But any excuse to cuddle up on the couch with him for a night is worth it so if he wants to watch something she will join him.
She's tried to watch action movies/shows but she hates how unrealistic the combat is....No one will watch action with her cause she talks too much (she will make an exception for Krogen anime cause Grunt loves it).
Hi hello! I'm late for the ME appreciation week, but I went and adapted those 'your character' photo meme templates that are floating around to fit better with Commander Shepard; I think it would be fun and cute to see what everyone makes for theirs and how different these could look!
I painted mine — but you could definitely just use photos and screencaps for yours, or do fanart for some panels and photos for others! Even gifs if you want to go all out but don't want to have to draw anything. Whatever feels most fun for you. (If you use other people's art please make sure you have permission and are giving credit.)
Similarly, you can interpret these prompts however you want.
I hope to see some people do this! Feel free to tag me in your posts
This is a good one for Em, she needs love that is soft and gentle, love that makes her feel safe and warm. I like the comparison to rain. It can be calming, gentle and refreshing, but it can also be tempestuous, intense and invigorating. Lucanis is absolute perfection to her. He is slow and deliberate, taking his time and savoring every moment he is with her. But he can also be passionate and desperate, eager to satisfy an unquenchable thirst.
Nia de Riva
Patience is the key word here. Nia keeps her heart walled off, completely impenetrable. It takes a certain person, determined enough to chip away at her walls until she completely surrenders. While patience isn’t one of Illario’s strengths, he is too stubborn to give up on her, and soon leans that patience is needed to prove devotion. Again the comparison to the ocean or wind is excellent. Illario’s love is all consuming, rising and falling to the occasion, and pushing her to discover herself and what it feels like to be loved without expecting something in exchange.
Tagging @lonyn @corinnesin @dracoangel @alyssalenko @himluv @queen-scribbles @thebookworm0001 @vorchagirl anyone else who wants to, no obligation, pick any oc you want 💗
