Tag 9 people you would like to get to know better!
tagged by: @wickedsnack and @rosella-writes, thank you both! :D
Last book: A dear friend of Mine never read the Bartimeus saga by Jonathan Stroud, I wanted to re-read it, we made it a bookclub. Finished Ptolemy's Gate last week. I remembered NOTHING of the third book and it's been a very good ride.
Last song: Dhoom Taana from Om Shanti Om. Nothing like some Bollywood to get a smile back on your face.
Last Movie: Die Hard! I have to draw an illustration on that movie for work and I needed a refresh.
Every time, the most thrilling things keeps being the carpeted toilet room.
Last Series: I'm EXTRA slow with tv shows and I honestly don't remember what was the last show I watched. :"D
Salty or Sweet: Savoury. I love some good sweets and I like to bake, but I hate when desserts are too sweet, so... Savoury is safer.
Coffee or Tea: Tea without even thinking. I am a bad italian and I hate the very smell of coffee. Don't get me close to a coffee machine, they can sense I dislike them. Tea all the way.
Currently working on: Too many things at once, LOL. I'll update tomorrow for WIP wednesday, but I'm going on with some character design, for school and for pleasure, working on a collaboration, still pondering wether to colour the rest of the latest cullavellan wip that broke confinement and caused issues yesterday, or just post everything like that and only keep the first coloured... A lot of fics I'm going on with.
And homework and regular work.
Nothing I can't handle, tho, with enough organization, and autism + years freelancing made me good at that, LOL
Tagging: @violets-and-amber @rookbubu @nerilefou CIAO GEMMA @raflesia65 @cute-ellyna and @zimbaubwa (hello moot, if you mind the tag feel free to ignore me! <3)
i probably could've been pretty normal abt this and i'm sure i've mentioned this story before, but dhavi originally was meant to be so full of anger towards solas post-breakup and especially into trespasser. i really wanted that vengeful lavellan life. i had already played through the game 3 times and played through trespasser once or twice. but i'd never done a solavellan playthrough before. and i thought i knew how it was going to go.
and then i get to that line before you start down the eluvians. when your character doesn't know what's going on, they just know solas is there and might be in trouble bc of the qunari involvement. and the dialogue options are like "i have to save him" or (paraphrased icr how it is) "i'm gonna kick his ass myself." and there's a special romance "i have to save him" (and idr there might be a special romance "i'm gonna kick his ass myself" it's not important).
anyway.
really, really went into trespasser thinking dhavi would pick the "i'm gonna kick his ass myself" option but alas the character really came to life that day to be like "no. i have to save him." and i've been lost ever since.
This is as close to my current Rook as I can get. Meet Juniper Thorne. Former circle mage, sweet talker, trying not to die and making friends along the way.
Thank you for tagging me! I love these things.
🌟 Hi! I made this for my friends to enjoy. Be sure to check out the different colors so you don't miss any options, and beware of blood! ✧(
Cullen Rutherford x Dorian Pavus (SFW, during Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts, a continuation of this. 1053 words)
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"Dorian," Cullen asks softly, subtly steering the pair of them away from the center of the Winter Palace's marble dance floor to a corner out of the way of the other dancers. Cullen looks worried, which only serves to make Dorian feel bad, and he hates feeling bad. The evening has been... well, wonderful so far. Finery, fine wine, eavesdropping and gossiping, intrigue, murder, it really has reminded him of home. And then there was this... And Maker, of all the things that might have happened this evening, Dorian hadn't dared hope that the evening might include being the envy of many men and women alike for securing a dance with the handsome Commander of the Inquisition.
"Dorian,' Cullen ventures again, voice low and laced with concern, drawing him back from his thoughts. "You were trembling."
"Was not," Dorian squawks indignantly, but even as he does, he knows it's true. It's only the fact that he's locked his knees that he's still standing now. Cullen's hand is still resting at his hip and Dorian could swear he feels the heat of his touch even with the leather and dress fabrics between them. It burns. In a good way. The way his heart has for some time longer than he's ready to admit. The eyes he feels on the pair of them burn too, but nothing like as pleasant. What must they all be thinking? What must he have been thinking to have allowed things to go this far?
"I'm sorry," Cullen apologizes, frowning. And that... that just won't do. Cullen had been smiling- for the first time all evening- happy, maybe even proud to be dancing with him. None of this is his fault, and Dorian would disabuse him of that notion immediately, but perhaps not where there are so many eyes and ears.
"Let's get some air," Dorian suggests, leading the way out of the loud and crowded ballroom into the gardens. He takes a few deep gulps of the cool night air beside the fountain before turning around to face the large, sad, amber eyes of friend, his... fuck, it shouldn't be this complicated. It never was before. Therein lies the problem.
"I'm sorry," Cullen apologizes again. "I shouldn't have pushed; you obviously didn't want-"
"No," Dorian interrupts, shaking his head, and Cullen, ever the good little soldier immediately bites his tongue. "I-" Dorian sighs heavily, running a frustrated hand through and mussing his perfectly coiffed hair, releasing the breath through his teeth with a soft hiss, before forcing himself to lift his eyes to meet Cullen's once more. "I did want to. I want- This," he gestures between the pair of them, then back up to the ballroom where muffled music gently drifts upon the evening air. And so much more, he thinks. Maker, greedy creature that he is, he wants it all. "But I... this isn't how it's done. Where I come from- anything between two men, it's- an aberration, shameful, something to keep hidden," Dorian continues softly, shaking his head. "It's about pleasure, nothing more. You learn not to hope for more. You'd be foolish to."
"Is that what you want?" Andraste preserve this man, Dorian thinks, his chest suddenly tight. Cullen isn't the sort to indulge in something casual, hardly knows the meaning of the word, of doing anything without being wholly invested in it. That he would even consider, even offer such a thing...
"Absolutely not," Dorian replies firmly, though his heart still hammers in his chest. "But I-" he hesitates, "Cullen, I don't know what I'm doing," he exhales with a self-depreciating huff of laughter. "I don't know what you want."
"You," Cullen replies simply, stepping forward to shrink the gap between them and clasping the mage's hand in his, perhaps emboldened by Dorian's assurance that he isn't interested in a mere daliance between them either. "I just want you."
"Kaffas," Dorian swears softly, ducking and shaking his head, allowing himself a moment to collect himself before meeting the intensity of Cullen's gaze again.
"Dorian," Cullen says, offering his hands a reassuring squeeze. "You- You make me feel safe," Cullen confesses, blushing a little at his own words, but needing to get them out, smiling softly as Dorian's eyes go wide, nodding. Yes, his eyes reply in answer to the questions swirling in Dorian's, you. "When I'm with you, I feel like nothing is impossible. Even things I stopped dreaming about a long time ago. Things I thought I didn't deserve anymore. You make me feel like I can be anything I want," Cullen continues, the scar above his lip twitching as a soft smile curls at the corners of his mouth. "I want to be yours, if you'd have me." Dorian's knees give out, like something out of the damn romance serial written by their dwarven mutual friend, but Cullen is there, strong arms wrapping around him, pulling him into his chest, keeping him steady as he catches his breath, his racing heart and thoughts.
"We don't have to dance- we don't have to prove anything to anyone," Cullen says softly when Dorian is still trying to find his tongue again, throat suddenly tight and his damned eyes watering despite his best efforts against it. "But, I would," Cullen continues, offering Dorian a gentle squeeze. "I would stand with you- against Corypheus, against all those damn nobles up there, against anyone who'd speak against you, against us. I would love and claim you, not just when we are alone, when it's secret, unchallenged, safe, but in the daylight too."
"You'll regret this," Dorian breathes before he can stop himself.
"I won't," Cullen replies confidently. "Give me the chance to prove it?" Fucking Ferelden men and their puppy dog eyes, Dorian thinks shaking his head as the first hot tear spills down his cheek. "Just because it's all you've known, doesn't mean it's all you deserve," Cullen whispers softly, and Dorian shudders against him. "You taught me that," he adds with a smile, leaning down to rest his forehead against his.
"I hate you," Dorian huffs as Cullen gently thumbs away another tear from his cheek.
"You don't," Cullen smiles softly.
"No," Dorian confirms, leaning into his palm with a soft sigh, wrapping his own arms around Cullen and sinking into him. "No, I don't."
Technically it's still Wednesday! I was tagged by @rosella-writes and so I also uhh.. tag any of my other mutuals. You know who you are. @fenharel-apologist94 wip please. more.
anyways this wip is part of my Nomaris debut!! it is actually set WAY later in Mahanon's story so slight spoilers but also, it'll probably be edited by the time it's officially released.
Mahanon’s head was ringing. Snippets of conversation floated around him, but they were too muted, too distant for him to grasp onto and follow with any sense of purpose. Everything on the right side of his face ached and stung, worse than any burning in his blood ever had. He stirred, groaning softly, and felt a warm hand squeeze his own.
“Mahanon?” A familiar voice broke through the dull tones in his mind. “Mi amor, are you awake? You must be quite confused. Try not to move.”
The concern in Zevran’s tone had only the opposite effect. He willed his limbs to move, but a weakness and several heavy blankets kept him pinned down. All at once he realized just how feverish he felt; panting for breath at the slightest exertion. He reaches out weakly and tried to return the squeeze of Zevran’s hand.
The first thing he noticed when he blinked his eyes open was that he could only see out of one of them. The left side of his vision was shrouded in darkness, his head wrapped in bandages. “What happened?” He croaked. His voice was hoarse for lack of use and he resented how weary it sounded. He tilted his head to the left to find that Zevran was kneeling by his bed.
“The werewolves; one of them got its claws into you and dragged. It was horrible; there was blood everywhere, I… it does not matter right now,” the assassin sighed. “It is good that you are awake. You are in one of the aravels at the Dalish camp. They’ve been watching over you.”
Mahanon looked past Zevran to the other figure that stood in the entryway; the curtains of the aravel were drawn open for him to linger, and a cool night breeze stirred the dark strands of his hair. As if noticing Mahanon’s eyes upon him, he straightened up. The inked lines upon his face——from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and to his chin——immediately identified him as one of the Dalish elves.
“This is Nomaris,” Zevran gestured to the stranger. “He was the one who brought you back to camp.”
Nomaris dipped his head in a silent acknowledgment. His hair was long and black as night, the straightness of the strands broken up by long braids. With high cheekbones and dimples that lined his lips, he might have been an endearing figure were it not for the breadth of his shoulders and the coolness in his grey eyes; one reflected the moonlight and the other was illuminated by the dim candles around the aravel.
“I doubt that you remember our meeting,” Nomaris said. “At the time you were quite incapacitated; it was pure happenstance that I stumbled upon your company when I did. You should be honored, Warden. It is not just anyone that my halla companion permits to ride with me, unconscious or otherwise.”
“Did Valendrian not send you?” Mahanon asked. He tried to sit up, but Zevran’s hand reached out to settle him.
Nomaris’s dark brows furrowed. “The Keeper? No, he is not my Keeper. I came from Clan Sabrae, in sooth. I have been waiting for you to awaken, Warden. One of your Order knows something about the disappearance of my friend, and I desire answers.”
i oughtta develop velvet more. she's so conceptual right now but i really like that concept. bhaalspawn that got plucked up by ilmater, torn between making others suffer because of the god that sired her and relieving others of their suffering because of the god that chose her.
and then you toss her in with shadowheart, who is the daughter of selunites but was stolen by shar, and minthara, who is a natural devotee of lolth but was momentarily overwhelmed by the absolute. just a slurry of religious trauma and godly tug-of-war over these three women.
Varric Tethras & Hawke (Based upon but canon-divergent from Dragon Age: The Veilguard gameplay release, 1052 words)
"Hawke," Varric coughs, staring wide-eyed up at what can only be a hallucination. Fuck, the power of whatever Chuckles was doing with his ritual and the force of the statue Rook helped bring down to interrupt it all must have really hit him hard. It's been a while since the last time he imagined his best friend like this. Missed them, sure. Maker's breath, he's missed them more than anything. Their absence left a giant and gaping hole- in his life, in his heart… Trying to fill it with anything else, to keep busy, writing, networking, fighting, chasing down Solas, none of it had ever done any good. He still wakes up at night hearing what the Nightmare demon had said, and the worst of it is, it was all true.
"Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here..."
He had brought them there. He sent the letter inviting them to Skyhold that sealed their fate. He dragged them to Adamant, into the fucking Fade, and he left them to die. Varric should have waited, shouldn't have rushed through the portal, but instead pulled Hawke through with him. After all the shit the demon taunted Hawke with, of course they would stay behind, try to do the right thing, help people. Sure, Hawke never asked for any of this, never aspired to be the Champion of Kirkwall- or anywhere else for that matter, but behind all their grumblings and endless jokes was a good heart. A damn big, bleeding one. Varric should have known better. Should have done more to stop them.
It should have been him, not Hawke. He should have told Hawke why the Nightmare demon would have singled them out as the subject of Varric's greatest fear. Should have said- shit, so many things, so many times, and so much sooner.
"You got old," Hawke whispers softly, a gentle hand reaching out to cup his jaw, a thumb smoothing curiously over his beard.
Varric smiles, huffing out a laugh, "You didn't."
"Yeah, the Fade is fucking weird," Hawke says returning his smile with a shake of their head. "You finally grew a beard. Has Fenris seen it yet? I do sort of like the gray," Hawke assesses softly, examining a strand as they turn it over between their fingers.
It's only then Varric realizes how quiet everything is. No rumbling sounds of thunderous magic, no screeching of demons, no shouts of fighting, no twangs of bows or clashes of swords. He winces suddenly recalling a flash in Solas's eyes just before Bianca splintered in his hands and tumbled away in pieces. The last thing he remembers was the statue coming down and making a hasty backwards retreat down the steps to try and avoid it, whatever followed after is simply not coming to him.
"You're not real," Varric whispers, no longer sure whether the pain in his chest is a physical injury, or an emotional one. He's dead. Gotta be, right? Except Dwarves don't dream. And he sure as hell isn't worthy of any kind of paradise with Andraste, much less with Hawke.
"Rude," Hawke laughs shaking their head. "That any way to thank me for saving your ass?"
"I can't remember who's leading on that front," Varric replies, deciding to play along with the fantasy for as long as he can. It's sure to hurt later. If, in fact, there is one. But for a good memory, even a fake one, being able to talk and laugh with them again, after so many days and nights tortured by the worst possible scenarios, it's gotta be worth the price.
"Convenient," Hawke replies raising a teasing eyebrow. "You know, I thought it went without saying, but I was rather hoping after my grand sacrifice you'd do a better job trying to stay alive."
"I didn't ask you to do that," Varric replies, biting his lip and doing his best to reign hisq emotions back in as the anger and bitterness of his words reach his own ears.
'I know," Hawke replies patiently, carefully tucking a stray strand of his graying hair behind his ear.
"I didn't want you to do that," Varric admits voice a little choked now, as he fights against the urge to lean into their touch, into the warmth and comfort of it.
"Someone had to," Hawke offers with a rueful, apologetic frown as their hand slowly cradles the back of his head.
"Maybe, but it doesn't always have to be you."
"But talking sense into an Elvhen god bent on destroying that world, that's a job only Varric Tethras can handle," they challenge.
"I had help," Varric protests, but he knows already, just as he always has with them, this isn't an argument that he'll be winning.
"Not enough."
"So, am I dead, then?"
"Do you wish to be?"
"Every day since I stepped out of that rift and you didn't," Varric laughs, but there's no real humor in it, and Hawke's answering frown only deepens.
"You write so many happy endings. You put your characters through hell and back, sure, but most of them find or win their happiness in the end. Can you really not save a little and write one for yourself," Hawke asks.
“Not without you,” the dwarf replies a little teary now. “I know maybe that’s foolish and stubborn but- I had my shot, and I blew it. I should’ve told you what you meant when I had the chance.”
“And what do I mean to you, Varric?”
“Ha. Maker, Hawke. Everything. You mean everything,” Varric confesses, leaning into their hand that cradles his head before clasping the other and pulling it to his lips to kiss the back of it before laying it over his heart. “If you're here to take me to whatever comes next, I don't deserve an angel half so pretty, but where you go, I’ll follow,” Varric nods, resolved. "Even if I gotta pick the lock to get in."
"Always so dramatic," Hawke chuckles softly, shaking their head as they stroke his cheek once more. "You're not dying on me, Varric. Not yet. Not today," Hawke smiles. "We've got more living to do yet," Hawke whispers leaning down and gently pressing their lips to his.
