Lowkey i miss when dragon age was MESSY⊠Someone in joplin wouldâve called a 20-something rook a hussy for getting with a rich necromancer 30ish years their senior and you probably couldâve gotten in a physical fight with said character over it too
"I love you but you're doing wrong in a way I cannot condone" and "I hate you but you're being wronged in a way I cannot stomach" are top tier and I need more of them.
if i wrote for da4 then you guys wouldâve gotten a pirate companion/npc who was also a mage and the blade on their staff wouldâve been a harpoon ok. and it would be sick as hell
i think all the time about how looking at the theodosian map and itsâ biomes indicate that the entire continent is south of their globeâs equator. possibly seheron and par vollen too. which could mean that thedas is literally just⊠fantasy australia
i love canonical rookcanis and its take on the âcame back wrongâ trope. like. the person who came back had actually never met their lover before they were irrevocably changed. said lover is just like âyah i love u as is :)â while the person who came back âwrongâ is just having THEEEE internal-struggle-and-identity-crisis of all time. and gets constantly whamblasted with eternal patience and unconditional love in the meantime. dont come to me with complaints about the slow-burn of it all!!! dont you dare!!
the version of project joplin that i keep in my head would have had some kind of titan fight with anti-gravity mechanics. bc i headcanon that the titans can control and alter gravity which is what made the elvhen-titan war so fucking deadly and the evanuris so desperate to end it asap
First to pain: the agony of his new body shrieking all around him. Every contraction of his muscles felt white-hot, burning him from the inside out. He was astonished by the heaviness of the flesh, the horrible sensation of his internal organs churning inside him. He blinked and was briefly shocked and terrified by the way the world around him could vanish and reappear so easily.
Second to grief: waking to feel the Veil shimmering on his skin. He knew already from his journeys in the Fade what his desperate recourse had wrought, but it was only in that moment, as he returned to full consciousness, that the weight of it finally descended on him. He lay for hours staring glassy-eyed at the cobwebbed rafters of the shrine where he had laid himself to rest. Shame and regret, heavy-lidded shadows. He had slept for thousands of years, and yet the thought of everything he had to do filled him with a despairing exhaustion.
Third, the last time, to safety: to the sound of the sea, and gentle hands at his temples.
On the dressing table beside him there is a little vase full of soft grey feathers. He does not understand where he is. He does not understand why he is alive at all. His eyes are blurred, his vision fogged, his mind clutches hopelessly at words through the thick treacle of his sluggish waking.
And yet, despite all the grey haze; he knows that face. Impossible, but in that moment he is not capable of doubting it. Instead he says, desperately, 'It is done?'
'Yes, Solas,' she says. 'It is done.'
He has so many questions, but he cannot ask them. Instead he starts to cry. It is done. It is done.
---
After the Veil comes down, Solas falls back into uthenera. Lavellan watches over him, waiting for him to wake.
happy DADWC friday, sending you âi was just thinking about you, and here you are.â for garrett hawke and vivienne
Thank you SO much, I needed to flesh them & this AU out some more⊠they are so interesting to me (inquisitor!Hawke AU, for context). I will always take asks about these guys :)
Kudos to @dadrunkwriting
âAnd here I was just thinking to send for you,â she says once heâs reached the top step. She hasnât even turned from her seat. âWhat can I do for you, my dear?â
âI was hoping to ask you that,â Garrett answers, and Vivienne turns as he hoped she might: only slightly looking over her shoulder at him, faintly intrigued. Heâs pleased by the sight, by knowing he knows her that well. âBeing bored out of my mind is apparently good for my longterm health. Iâm being forced into taking a ârest dayâ.â
âThere are no ongoing pranks of Seraâs to partake in?â
âNo,â he frowns. âNo burnt cookies to lump at dullardsâ heads, either.â
âIf only half of your problems were solved by lumping cookies, Inquisitor.â
âI know. What a fantastic world to live in that would be; donât you agree?â
âNo. They could be of the oatmeal-raisin variety.â
âOhhhh,â he half-scoffs, half-growls in faux annoyance. âOatmeal-raisin is a Fereldan classic!â
âAnd will remain Fereldan, I suspect.â She closes whatever book had her notice before, notebook or otherwise, and pulls out a much larger, much thinner catalogue from underneath her chaise. And all in one smooth, graceful motion, tooâ Bethy wouldâve adored her, he thinks, and tries to not let the thought sour. âLady Nightingale and I have been discussing decorations for the Great Hall with Josephineâ your opinion would settle the stalemate.â
The seat of his usual chair is bereft of books for him to remove from it, this time. It never has been before, Garrett notices, and Vivienne notices him noticing. Possibly she also notices how quickly his face has fallen at the thought of his sister. He smiles a brittle smile, and sits down. âWhat is there to decorate?â
She opens to the first page. Thereâs several mock-up sketches, by the look of them. âPlenty. Iâve heard of the places you chose to frequent in Kirkwall; I wonât pretend they havenât influenced your taste.â
âItâs alright, you can insult what you know of The Hanged Man directly,â he sighs dramatically. âI wonât take offense.â The only man who likely would, wasnât here either. They couldnât even find his crossbow in the Temple wreckage. Just more red lyrium.
âA floor that permanently sticky would probably be expensive to maintain anyhow.â He winks, and when Vivienne wrinkles her nose so hard in disgust that she squints, he wipes away the one tear thatâd escaped. âHah. No place could hold a candle to that; no use in trying.â It would never have all his people there. By the Maker, he feels empty without the people.
Itâs unfair to the Madame, he knows, but she fills the emptiness just a little, just by being herself. Being a woman he mightâve met just by virtue of being raised an Amell. Circumstance has taken the man out of Kirkwall, and no solo attempt to take Kirkwall out of the man has taken root. Itâs painful.
Thinking about existing flawlessly in her worldâ being someone who isnât Hawke, but the peerless Inquisitor, is a deliberate fever dream. Heâll choose that over the loss. Heâll grip it white-knuckled and green-palmed.
ââsee, I never knew you could have curtains that big indoors without a window to go with them,â he finds himself saying. âYou want them to be bright red?â
âItâs your color, dear. Guests will be expecting red.â
once again. INSANE that thereâs zero dialogue, cutscene or otherwise, in a solavellan romance playthrough if clan lavellan dies. not even ONE companion going âbro she JUST lost her entire family what the fuck is wrong with youâ after crestwood??
Happy Friday!! đ âScarred or stretch-marked skinâ for any Veilguard pairing of your choice!
Absolutely! Here's some Crow!Rook and Emmerich for @dadrunkwriting!
She was getting old.
Inas didn't mind the wrinkles or the grey in her hair. She didn't mind the silver lines stretched out over her hips and thighs and stomach, or the way her skin and flesh sagged in some areas. She lived long enough for her skin to lose its youthful tautness, and that was remarkable in itself. She wore the signs of aging with pride.
She would rather her bones and joints didn't ache, but that was part of aging as well.
She was a little shyer about her scars.
"My darling," Emmerich murmured, and his fingers (so clever and skillful and gentle) brushed over a spot between her shoulder blades. She knew what he was touching, what he was looking at. If she turned and looked over her shoulder, Inas knew she would witness his stricken, horrified expression. It wasn't a pretty scar. Crow healers weren't as gentle back then as they were now, and they didn't much care about appearances either way.
"I earned that one when I was young and arrogant," Inas explained as Emmerich traced the jagged, twisted scar that ran down the center of her back, just to the left of her spine. "I thought my mission was finished. It was not." She learned her lesson that night: make sure your target is dead and cannot stab you in the back, dragging their knife down with the last of their strength, dragging you down with them-
Soft lips pressed against the gnarled mended flesh, followed by Emmerich dropping his chin into the crook of her neck.
"I am glad you survived it," he finally said. There was subtext behind that simple remark. I am glad you survived. I am glad that we met. I hope we continue to survive together.
Nothing enchants me more about lucanis than the fact that in a modern setting he would love to watch the spoon rust cleaning videos. and sit in silence and watch them for hours. thank you ms. kirby
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