🍁 Where does your OC go when they need to have some time to themself? Would they ever have their own “comfort corner” filled with all the things they like? Do they have a favourite spot outside that feels like its theirs and theirs alone?
There’s a spot where Adiran goes when he needs to be alone/get away from everything. Back when the palace was first built, a small river was diverted to run through the throne room in what was, essentially, an absurd act of hubris. This narrow river runs through the grounds first, and there’s a runoff section that flows into a pond (originally it helped regulate the flow of water, should there be heavy rains, although more reliable measures to deal with that have been implemented over time). Basically, at some point someone decided to put a dozen or so brightly coloured fish in it that come up and gently nibble at your fingertips if you dangle them in the water. So, when he feels down, Adiran just lies beside the pond with his hand in the water, and lets his mind wander off for a bit. People rarely go down there because it’s pretty out of the way (given it was originally designed as a runoff rather than a decorative feature), so he knows he’ll be left alone.
He’s not really the type to actively make himself a ‘comfort corner’. Instead, he’ll just find himself drawn to existing places that give him a sense of peace (like the pond).
Yup! Actually, he has been back with Bull for a while now, ever since I stepped away from Solas. Bull was my original choice for him and the first character I romanced when DAI came out (back when Tae was still a test character). I ended up liking him with Bull so much I romanced him again on my second playthrough, the third was with Dorian, and I also briefly entertained a threesome romance (which I may go back to).
The only reason I switched to Solas as Tae’s canon romance was because I actually bothered to befriend him in my Dorian playthrough, something I neglected to do in both Bull playthroughs, and I really enjoyed Solas’ high approval friendship.
That’s the thing though. I never finished that playthrough because I ultimately enjoyed his friendship more than I did the romance, and for a pretty long while I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do next, because most people followed me for the Tae/Solas content and I knew I wasn’t going to make more of that.
It’s part of the reason why it took me so long to come back to tumblr’s Dragon Age fandom (the other reason being that Tae’s reference sheet took so long lol), and also why I made a new blog instead of continuing the old one. I had a lot of changes to make in Tae’s story, things to rewrite and add for Bull, and yeah...
I’m happy with it though. Bull fits (no pun intended), Tae’s personality really meshes well with him, always has and while I did genuinely have a lot of fun with Tae’s Solavellan days, my first choice for him was ultimately still the best one lol. I adore Bull, he’s my favorite <3
Now I just need to beat this MASSIVE art block I’m in so I can actually do some art, I haven’t drawn Bull in years lol.
15. Does their view of themselves differ from their partner’s view? | 23. Did you tailor your OC for the other in the romance? - for Emma and Eren?
GOOD.
(You get them smiling because I forgot I had these and holy crap they are cute)
15. Does their view of themselves differ from their partner’s view?
It does, but only because despite being pretty similar, Eren and Emma value different things in themselves and in others, so what stands out to them about each other is a bit different. Also, because neither of them are very good at describing how they see themselves. They just kind of...gesture towards themselves and shrug, like “here I am, idk what else to tell you”.
Eren places a great deal of value on his individual worth and merit; he’s good at his work, he keeps his attention where it matters, he knows what he wants and he does not compromise easily. He also doesn’t abide people trying to define him by anyone other than himself, be it his brother Tasalin, his parents, his heritage, his trade mentor, even Emma herself. She, however, looks at him and wonders why he thinks he should feel that way, why he feels he must emphasize it rather than be content to simply be who he is. That is the person she loves, the intelligent, quick learner who is passionate about many things, even if he doesn’t outwardly express that passion, and always strives to improve his talents, and she would love him regardless of any of these things he feels he must stand out and distance himself from.
Emma, on the other hand, has kind of grown to see herself as incomplete, or broken. She’s missing a lot of formative experiences from childhood and adolescence since she was unable to feel at the time, and she doesn’t understand a lot of why people think, feel, or behave the way they do. All she knows is the way she thinks, feels, and behaves is different, and has kind of been made to think that means she’s wrong. Eren thinks she’s fascinating, all the while feeling something very familiar and safe when she’s around. I’ve said before that he usually feels like people are invading his space and must be tolerated or gotten rid of, but not her. She feels like she belongs there, and he’s happy to have her, just the way she is. She’s not broken, wrong, or incomplete, she’s just different and needs to be appreciated differently.
23. Did you tailor your oc for the other in the romance?
Originally, yes. I tailored Emma for Eren after none of the canon LIs seemed to fit him. They’ve both changed wildly since then and really become their own people, but somehow still manage to fit together nicely.
chaitea09 replied to your post “I am already so tired of the new Joker movie... it'll be surely loved...”
Just watched the trailer. I can totally agree, the wrong people are going to take the message of the movie to heart.
yeah like do we REALLY NEED another - sad white boi gets shunned by society and turns into a domestic terrosist instead of getting and accepting help and changing his ways - narrative??? No ofc! His therapy is shit and there is probably that manic pixel dream girl that “understands” him and we live in a society and such
chaitea09 replied to your post: Okay. Hi. In light of tumblr’s latest failure
I was just wondering how you’re doing the other day! Nice to hear from you again :) also looking forward to those updates! <3
Hi there! :D Thank you so much ^__^ I hope to get it all done asap, I look forward to introducing the new-and-improved Tae to Riven (whom I really have to catch up on, I’ve missed out on so much lol).
After a long and stressful journey, the group finally arrives in Perivantium. With the meeting to be held at altus Talveron Idaris' estate, Hanin truly has no idea what to expect. Even then, he was still surprised.
Riven Lavellan and Tahl Hildessen belong to the lovely @chaitea09.
Blond hair, long enough to tumble past strong shoulders, long enough for Hanin to thread through his fingers as Athran lay against his chest. The hunter’s breathing was slow and calm, his eyes closed, his face tucked into the hollow beneath Hanin’s chin. There was something to be said about slow nights. They were the kind that lingered like an uncertain touch, reaching out yet unsure of how long to stay. How long to hold on. Instinctively, Hanin shifted, tightening the arm he had draped around Athran’s waist, drawing the man closer. Athran murmured something in his sleep, but did not wake, choosing instead to nestle against Hanin and welcome the shared warmth.
Slow nights were difficult to come by. Perhaps that was why Hanin had grown to love them so much.
The sound of a horn startled Hanin from his reverie, his horse skipping a step forward as he accidentally jerked the reins. Glancing about, adrenaline spiking at potential trouble, Hanin waited for an additional signal. One that would tell him what to do.
“No need for alarm.” A deep, almost melodic voice sounded to Hanin’s right, drawing his attention across to Tahl. The Avvar was dressed in his usual furs and leathers, although a somewhat lighter version than was typical, given the warmer climate. “The forward scout has spotted your city. Perivantium.”
Sure enough, as Tahl finished his sentence, two short blasts from the horn set the procession of soldiers and representatives at ease, postures immediately relaxing in saddles, hands drifting away from the hilts of blades. Their destination had been sighted. If all went well, they would arrive by nightfall at where the meeting was to be held.
The estate of altus Talveron Idaris.
“How did you know?” Hanin asked, partly curious, partly attempting small-talk to help quiet his nerves. There was so much at stake. They had a plan, albeit a loose one. He could not seem to shake the fear that it would all come crumbling down around him.
Smiling, Tahl gestured forward. “The soldiers at your front line. None of them had drawn their weapons.” He shrugged amiably, swaying with the movement of his horse. “If there was a fight, I like to think they would be ready.”
A fair assessment. Hanin grunted his agreement, flexing his hand around the reins. He’d been gripping them so tightly his fingers ached. It seemed Tahl picked up on the motion, his brown eyes lingering on him for a moment. “Are you well, Hanin? You seem tense.”
Another fair assessment. “That is because I am.” There was no point in denying it, so Hanin didn’t bother. He just huffed, part of him wishing he could expel some of the unease writhing beneath his skin. “Everything about this is dangerous. For Riven. For the soldiers. For…” He trailed off, not wanting to say Athran’s name so openly. Majority of the retinue knew nothing of the journey’s second purpose, and that was for good reason. They could not risk being uncovered before they even began. A single set of loose lips could ruin everything they had planned.
Luckily, Tahl did not require further explanation. “This was never going to be a simple thing.” He looked ahead, his eyes fixing on where Riven rode, her hart a proud visage among a sea of horses. “It is why I asked to attend. There is little for me to do, but I can provide another set of eyes and ears.”
Hanin nodded. “That is worth more than you know.” He hesitated, then added, “Aside from that, Riven appreciates you being here. You are a comfort to her.”
“And her to me.” Tahl took a deep, slow breath, his lips curving into an almost distracted smile as he watched her lean down to listen to the report of a scout. “I may join her, then, as we draw near.”
Nothing more needed to be said, and Tahl rode ahead, weaving through the soldiers until he drew alongside the Inquisitor. Strangely, Hanin felt the man’s absence by his side. There was something oddly grounding about him, like a stone that refused to shift before a hurricane. He could see why Riven was drawn to such a person.
“Um… sir?”
Another voice, this one far more familiar. Hanin turned slightly as Darren pulled up alongside him. “What is it?”
The boy - no, young man - seemed uneasy, his brow knitted tight, his movements skittish. That was not particularly out of the ordinary, so Hanin paid it no special mind. “I heard Perivantium is coming up. When we get there, are we staying with the group, or…?”
Hanin nodded. “Yes, for a time. We will be blending in with the other soldiers. Make sure everyone has a helmet on, and stay close enough to hear orders if needed.”
The city was upon them sooner than Hanin expected, the hillside of outer-Tevinter apparently masking Perivantium’s presence until the scouts crested one of the larger rises. It was a matter of hours before the procession of horses, soldiers, and wagons reached the imposing city gates, the metalwork reminding Hanin of a series of blades, points stabbing towards the sky. He eyed them warily as they passed beneath, the structure almost seeming to creak before a persistent dry wind. Perhaps it was his body language, or his lack of anything at all, but the next thing Hanin knew he was surrounded by familiar faces, the five members of his squad closing in to walk beside his horse. A sixth soldier joined them as they entered the city and began winding their way towards altus Talveron’s estate. That was Hanin’s cue.
Swiftly and carefully, Hanin swung down from the saddle, the other soldier of similar height and build taking his place on horseback. As soon as his feet hit the ground, a helmet was pressed into his hands, its design matching the those of the other soldiers as they fell into a formal march. The less any of them stood out among the crowd, the better. Just to be safe, they dispersed slightly, spreading through the procession, falling into line in pairs. Cyrus remained by Hanin’s side, the others positioning themselves nearby, each clad in a shining steel helmet, their feet pounding to the steady rhythm. Despite the situation, Hanin couldn’t suppress the swelling of warmth in his chest at his squad’s calm readiness. They had grown so much, since joining the Inquisition. The people they had become would make anyone proud.
“Man, what a fucking ugly city.”
Hanin mouth twitched, his gaze shifting across to Cyrus. He considered scolding the man, but as far as he was concerned, Tevinter was not worth defending. “In more ways than one.”
The Orlesian’s nose wrinkled in agreement, his pale eyes glancing about, noting the increasing amount of Perivantium soldiers lining the road. “Why does some part of me feel like we’re going to get stabbed in the back?”
More soldiers seemed to appear, forming a makeshift honour guard as they proceeded towards the estate, their long glaive-esque weapons reminiscent of the gates themselves, iron-wrought and grim. “Because it is a… valid concern.” It might have been Hanin’s imagination, but it almost seemed like Cyrus moved an inch or two closer to his side as they walked. Thankfully, it was not long before they arrived at the barrier to the estate.
Awaiting them stood a figure in elegant gold and amber robes, the sleeves widening so far at the wrist that when the man clasped his hands, they hung down to his waist. He appeared in his mid-fifties, a collection of fine lines gathering like an eager crowd at the corners of his eyes, deeper ones framing the shape of his mouth, giving him the impression of a person as quick to smile as he was to scowl. His hair and beard were a dark black dusted with grey, cropped short and neat, not a single hair out of place. When he stepped forward, his expression seemed to shift, lips curving politely upwards, one hand breezing to the side as he bowed before the mounted Inquisitor.
“Inquisitor Lavellan, esteemed guests, it is my honour to welcome you all to my humble estate. I trust your journey was a pleasant one, and the sights of Perivantium have been to your liking?”
Riven inclined her head at the man, her face set in an equally polite mask. It was one she had perfected during their ordeal at the Winter Palace. “You must be Talveron Idaris. Myself, and the Inquisition, thank you for your hospitality at such short notice.” She bowed her head to him and the man straightened, seeming pleased by the exchanged; perhaps even pleasantly surprised. For whatever prejudices the South held against elves, in Tevinter they could only be more deeply ingrained.
“Not at all. The pleasure was mine. Truly.” Stepping out of the gate, he fanned his hand, rings glittering on each of his fingers. Responding to the signal, a handful of servants straightened from their bowed positions and approached, carefully taking the reins of mounts, allowing the visiting dignitaries to dismount and proceed on-foot to the manor. Hanin’s eyes honed in on each of them with hawk-like precision, his heart rising to his throat as he searched their faces. It fell like a rock when none of them struck any note of familiarity, the mixture of elves and humans bearing no resemblance to Athran. He almost jumped out of his skin when Cyrus rested a hand on his arm, somehow sensing his disappointment, attempting to silently reassure. Swallowing, Hanin just nodded stiffly. They had only just arrived. He had to be patient.
But Creators, Athran had been patient for far too long. Patiently waiting for a rescue that never arrived.
The Inquisitor and her advisors split off from the main group, only a handful of trusted servants and Tahl accompanying them to the main house. It was an enormous mansion, large enough to rival a seasonal palace, and only a touch less austere in its embellishments. Many of the soldiers openly gawked as they were ushered towards their own accommodations by household guards, the columns and intricately sculpted balconies standing like works of art beneath a sloping slate roof. Hanin’s eyes, however, were on the armed men in uniforms of black and amber - the servile colours of house Idaris, he assumed. Many seemed the sort who would provide protection to a nobleman, their postures rigid and militaristic, trained to operate as a single unit. Others, however, seemed rougher around the edges, dark-ringed eyes and scarred skin suggesting work well beyond the safety of city walls.
“The altus has hired mercenaries,” Hanin murmured to Cyrus. They followed a paved path around the side of the manor, the way lit by a series of lanterns affixed to ornate poles as the sun spilled its dying colours across the sky. “He is expecting trouble.”
Cyrus eyed the nearby guards warily, but ultimately shook his head. “Stop panicking. It’s not that uncommon. If you’re playing host to important people, you try to look better-off than you are. So you hire some thugs and dress them up. Probably borrow a bunch of servants from friends, too.” He snorted with no shortage of derision. “Welcome to politics. Seems it doesn’t fucking change, no matter what border you cross.”
So there were guards and trained mercenaries, likely all with wary eyes on the Inquisition’s soldiers. Hanin tried not to let the grimness of the situation overtake his sensibility. There would be a way. A change of guard. A blind spot. An opening. If not, they would just have to find a way to make one, when the time came.
The housing for the soldiers was far less austere than the manor, but still a far cry fancier than the barracks provided by the Inquisition. Testament to the Tevinter preference for design over function, Hanin supposed. Recalling Leliana’s instructions from the day before, he and the Dawn Squad slowed their walking, pretending to be utterly in awe of the magnificence of the fountains and sculptures that adorned the estate’s gardens. Soon, they found themselves at the back of the group of soldiers, their procession slowing as they reached the buildings and began filing inside.
“Hold a moment.” One of the guards, a clean-shaven human with features that could be comfortably described as unremarkable, held out a hand, halting Hanin and his squad a few feet from the building. Stepping towards a small group of guards, they exchanged a series of low murmurs, peered inside, then appeared to come to some kind of gruff form of agreement. The clean-cut man nodded and returned, expression stiff, his tone bordering on apologetic. “It appears the main barracks is at capacity. You six will be staying in the overflow quarters further around back.” He turned, motioning for them to follow. “It’s nothing special, but it is a roof and a bed.”
Cyrus huffed and rolled his eyes, muttering darkly under his breath. The man truly took to irritation like a fish to water. For his part, Hanin just gave a stiff nod, gesturing for his squad to fall into step as they broke away from the main group, pressing further down the pristine path. Until they were alone, he had to simply assume this was all according to Leliana’s plan.
The guard led them for a few minutes, always staying three paces ahead, not once looking back, his posture arrow-straight, his hand resting readily atop the hilt of his blade. Unlike some of the others, this man was clearly well-trained, no doubt beaten into shape by the hammer of noble servitude. He slowed slightly as they approached another building, this one far smaller and far less welcoming. Where the rest of the estate was maintained to the point of obsession, here the trees and bushes grew with a more natural shape, the branches of a nearby oak spreading wide, casting a net of leaves above the homely rectangular building. For Hanin, it was strangely reassuring. A small piece of familiarity in this strange, manicured world.
“Not much further,” the guard said, glancing over his shoulder. His dark eyes flicked about quickly, like a sparrow darting between trees, before coming to rest on Hanin. When he spoke again, it was with a lowered voice. “I will explain properly when we are inside.”
A small flutter of relief danced through Hanin’s chest and he nodded, glad that particular uncertainty had been lifted. It was difficult to tell who was an agent and who was not. Asking was not exactly a wise course of action, in any case. That said, neither was assuming.
The door was weathered but sturdy, the wooden panelling thick and chipped in only a handful of places from careless passage. Reaching out, the guard took another furtive glance around and knocked six times, paused, then added one more. Without waiting for answer, he turned the handle and pushed the door open, the warm wind that had accompanied them brushing a handful of oak leaves into the space as they entered. Inside was simple enough. A handful of cots, a table, an assortment of mismatched chairs. The floor was bare panelling, matching the walls, the gaps between each beam filled with a kind of dark resin to keep out the wind and insects. Covered lamps hung at various points throughout the room, each positioned over a flat stone disc; a safeguard against the possibility of wood meeting flame
However, the most interesting thing by far were the six people already in the room, two dressed as servants, four as guards. Immediately, they rose from their various positions, forming a loose line before Hanin and his squad. The first was a tall man, olive skinned, his build suggesting a life of either soldiering or hard labour. Beside him stood a woman, short and pale, her blonde hair pulled into a tight braid, a light dusting of freckles scattered across her stern face. The next two were a man and a woman of darker complexion, possibly siblings, with brown hair pulled back to reveal a pair of curious, slightly amused faces. The last was a short blond elven man who, by his looks, Hanin could not imagine was older than twenty.
Stepping forward, the guard who had brought them to the building glanced between the two groups, smirking at look of shock on the Dawn Squad’s faces.
“I believe introductions are in order.” He bowed sweepingly, the soldierly visage melting away, replaced by something that could only be described as theatrical. “My name is Launcet. That is all you really need to know about me, but rest assured, any friends of the Nightingale are friends of mine. As for this lot…” He stepped aside, allowing the two groups to eye each other once more, one row in stunned silence, the other in mounting amusement. “Dawn Squad, meet the Dusk Squad.”
A moment passed. Then another. Hanin’s mind stalled, his mouth slightly open, at a complete loss for what to make of the situation.
“Well,” Ralon said eventually. “This is really fucking weird.”
