veilguardiumleviosa

Latest Posts by veilguardiumleviosa

PROMPTS FOR PEOPLE WHO AREN'T USED TO KINDNESS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

what are you doing?

i can handle that myself, you know.

you didn't have to go out of your way to take care of me.

i'm not used to this. this caring thing.

thank you. don't ever do that again.

i thought you hated me, to be honest.

i didn't ask you to love me!

no one's ever actually just... sat down and listened to me.

i didn't think people like you existed.

is this normal for you? going out of your way like this?

i told you i had it handled. you didn't have to bother.

i... should probably thank you for that.

i don't know what to say. this has never happened before.

wait, that's mine. you fixed it?

you did all of this... for me?

that was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.

i'm kinda at a loss for words.

i wasn't expecting this from you.

you did all this for me?

i had it under control.

when did this happen?

how long were you planning this?

i'm not sure what to say. i'm not used to this.

i owe you one.

that was... very kind of you. thank you.

i'm just not used to people going out of their way to help me.

usually people just look the other way, but you actually care.

this is weird. is this what caring about someone feels like?

i could have handled it.

this must have taken you forever to arrange. and you did it all for me?

it would be easier in the long run if we went our separate ways.

i hate being in other peoples' debts.

i didn't want this to happen.

people around me don't last very long.

i feel like i'm screaming and screaming and no one hears me.

i'm in your debt.

how did you find that? i lost that ages ago.

you actually... listened to me?

no one's ever paid attention.

no one's ever put that much time in effort into something for me.

when did i say that?

i didn't ask you to care about me!

i'm easily missed. people don't pay attention to me.

i'm invisible most of the time.

it's easier for people to look the other way.

do you do this often? help people?

i'm surprised you're still here.

if you're expecting something in return, forget about it.

you came back?

why do you care about me so much?

i'm a lost cause. you should just forget about me.

what's the use? there's no point.

i don't even celebrate my birthday. no one cares.

you can't just make someone care about you.

i thought you left.

what is it about me that has you so worked up?

you're making a big deal out of nothing.

thanks for patching me up.

you... brought this here for me?

but i didn't ask for this! i didn't ask for any of this!

stop smiling at me like that.

Among The Multitudes

(Read on AO3)

Written for the Dragon Age Big Bang 2025. Illustrated by @the-font-bandit

M. 41,111 words.

Summary:

The first word Emmrich learnt to read was Johanna.

His eyes followed the sharp edges of each letter, cutting across his right wrist, staking some wordless claim, the ink as dark as blood. Each edge was distinct from the other, downward strokes hard and impressive, straightforward. Emmrich traced each letter — wrote it out, charcoal on paper, on leaves, fingers in the dirt, until they were identical to his skin, until he knew Johanna by heart.

Then a second name came after, months later, much more surprising than the first.

On his left wrist, all curving swirls, rounded letters, and sweeping lines, much more difficult for his young eyes to follow. The H molded into the A, pressed even closer to the N, as if written in a hurry, ink so light, the word untethered to its writer. Mummy had to help him decipher it, holding him close, her long dark hair plaited, the tips of it tickling his nose. She laughed, bright and tinkling — “Your soulmate has terrible handwriting, my love,” — before settling on Thana. Death.

—

Or, one Emmrich Volkarin, bearer of two soul marks, and a lifetime's exploration of the different faces of love and heartbreak.

Preview under the cut

Emmrich wondered — not for the first time in the last few years — what his soulmates were like.

His thoughts often strayed to them when he accompanied his mother to one of the manors she worked at. Early mornings kneading dough, late evenings cooking for some noble's party, sweat on her brow from the heat of the kitchens. Or when he would stay with his father at the shop, the scent of meat in the air, the rhythmic sound of a knife slicing through flesh, through bone, on a wooden block, the occasional greeting to a customer.

Were their parents like his? Did they go to market days together — spices and fruits and vegetables at every stall? Were there quiet smiles, lingering touches when passing by, eyes that lit up whenever they saw each other? Days off and summer picnics, shaky legs skating on the Minanter in the winter?

(Would there be with him when they grow up? Hands in his, laughter that rang through streets and love that woke with the sun and reminded him of his parents. He imagined Johanna with a grin as sharp as their name on his wrist, and Thana with soft, light hands, fingers making swirling patterns in the air.)

Did they like to read as much as he did?

The Chantry near his home was a tiny, modest thing — very different from the one closer to the heart of Nevarra City, with its tall towers and gleaming windows, always smelling like incense and myrrh — and Mother Dellah said he was turning into quite a studious learner, mind expanding in leaps and bounds. The Chantry opened their doors to the neighborhood children on Sundays, providing lessons on arithmetic, history, religion, and all sorts of other things. Emmrich soaked it all in like a sponge.

(Would they sit and read with him? He hoped they would, pointing to their favorite passages, legs knocking together. Perhaps in the Chantry library, right where he was now, whispering and giggling until Mother Dellah scolded them and kicked them out. He wouldn’t mind it that much as long as they were with him — the three of them would find something else to do together — together — always together.)

(Read on AO3)

an actually on-time wip wednesday?

time is fake and even though @lucaanis tagged me for a wip wednesday last week....i forgor :c but I'm posting now! and I'll even put two things in because i am nothing if not a juggler of wips!

and a low-stakes low-pressure tag fooooor: @guacamolleee @lottiesnotebook @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @griffongrey @veilguardiumleviosa and YOU if you are so feeling it!

below the cut: some cousins Dellamorte from my wip Courting Habits, and then a zesty little Nova and Caprice palate cleanser from a Thedas Weekend fill I'll be posting on Saturday

“So where is our lovely Rook?” Illario asks, languidly swirling his wine in the glass. Lucanis looks up at him, cautious. Perhaps he has every right to be. “She has business in Rivain,” Lucanis says. Illario watches as something shutters in Lucanis' eyes, something soft and vulnerable swiftly hidden away.  Well, isn't that intriguing? “You two seem to be attached at the hip these days,” Illario comments offhandedly, casually flagging the closest waiter for an order of cicchetti. “Or, should I say, you seem to have your hands full with her. She's a lot of gaatlok in a little barrel.” “It’s…not like that,” Lucanis says, lips pressing thin together. “We are colleagues. That is all.” “Surely you are friends at this point,” Illario says, even as an unexpected bitterness chokes his throat. Surprising, and unpleasant. It nearly sets him off his wine, the idea that Lucanis is making friends with the assortment of people from all over Thedas that Rook seems to be collecting.  Since they were boys, it has always been the two of them, together against every odd. The two of them, helping one another survive Caterina's brutal care and the demands of her training, then the jobs they took as full Crows. Master Dellamorte and Master Dellamorte the Lesser. Another one of Illario's little private jokes, but one can only stand overshadowed and unfavored for so long before they simply stop laughing.  He loved - loves Lucanis. He wanted Lucanis dead. Part of him - most of him, the part that knows a Crow always finishes the job - still does. But if Lucanis is out making friends like the social butterfly Illario knows he isn't all of a sudden, where does that leave Illario? “I owe Rook my life,” Lucanis says softly. “But I…there is nothing more than that.” Illario considers. If Lucanis had taken a lover, at any point in their lives, Illario would know it. Certainly he knew when his cousin was nurturing a crush - all two or three of them, and only one of them serious enough for him to try and act on it - but there's more to this. More that Lucanis isn't revealing.  “And here I thought you simply had a taste for de Rivas,” he comments, falling quiet as their waiter approaches with plates of cicchetti. “Well, if it is as you say -” “When have I ever not meant what I said?” Lucanis asks wryly, rolling his eyes. “I said I would grow a beard, and look at me now.” “ - of course, my mistake, how could I have forgotten you're a Crow of your word?” The familiarity of their banter makes Illario's guts clench. “But if there's truly nothing between you and Rook, because you mean what you say, then perhaps I ought to…” “Ought to what?” “See if she might like to be attached at the hip to me, as well. Physically, rather than metaphorically. But only casually, of course.” Lucanis falls silent, and that silence tells Illario everything he wanted to know. Illario allows the silence to linger, to build, to let Lucanis get a little uncomfortable with the idea while Illario fusses with the plates, making sure the edge of his sleeve doesn't drag in the sauces. He is very fond of Fonte’s cicchetti, each little plate arranged for maximum aesthetic desirability, each flavor chosen to compliment the wine at the table. “I don't think that is a good idea,” Lucanis says at last, in the same tone he might say thanks, but I'd rather die than voluntarily drink this tea.

“You want me to come up with new verses for the Chant of Light about the Crows, while wearing a Revered Mother’s robes and getting you off at the same time?” Nova says flatly. “I'm sorry, would you also like for me to juggle Viago's adders while I'm doing all of that?” “It doesn’t have to be the whole set of robes,” Caprice points out, opening the balcony door and gesturing for Nova to take her leave first. “It can just be the hat. And listen, you don’t have to come up with them on the fly. I can help.” Nova snorts, leaning against the finely-wrought railing of the balcony and enjoying the night breeze. It’s still warm, still uncomfortably muggy in her leathers, but the night is young and she’s with her lover, and they’ve just killed a very rich man who absolutely had it coming. The whole of Val Royeaux spreads out before them like a tapestry, wondrous and exciting. Dangerous, even. “Go on then. Dazzle me.”  “Blessed are they who fly before the corrupt and the wicked and do not piss themselves,” Caprice says. Their Orlesian accent is far worse than Nova’s, but they haven’t let something like a bad accent stop them before and they certainly won’t let it stop them now. “Blessed are the paid killers, the champions of the Just Desserts.”

Another Rook Ask Game!

Send me a Rook and a number!

1. Did Rook have any crushes within their faction before they left with Varric?

2. Is your Rook allergic to anything?

3. Sweet or Savory snacks?

4. What movie genre would they like best?

5. Favorite Season? Why?

6. What’s their favorite hobby/interest?

7. Favorite type of jewelry? (Rings/Necklaces/Bracelets)

8. What is your Rook’s favorite animal?

9. Pick a song from their playlist. What is it, and what made you choose it?

10. What is a random quirk your Rook has?

11. Extrovert or Introvert?

12. Something that annoys your Rook?

13. What languages does your Rook know?

14. Are they ticklish?

15. If your Rook could do anything, no repercussions, what would they do?

16. Would your Rook make a good villain?

17. What does your Rook do to wind down after a stressful day (like post weisshaupt)?

18. Your Rook discovered a portal to another fictional world. Where did they end up? (And how screwed are they?)

19. How easy is it to get your Rook out of bed in the morning?

20. How organized is your Rook?

thedasweekend prompters i owe you my life these are JUICY

Evening doodle

Chat, i miss him sm

i will no longer be inviting my enemies to ‘meet me in the pit’ from now on you are all expected to meet me in the hinterlands, a far more terrifying prospect due to the fact you must first FIND me in the hinterlands, which may take years

"redemption arcs are toxic, you shouldn't try to fix someone!"

actually it is so important to me that being in community and experiencing human connection can save people. thanks

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

IT MAY TAKE ME A MONTH TO PUT OUT A CHAPTER BUT AT LEAST IM NOT USING AI TO WRITE IT

something something "mama y papa" meme but it's rook de riva at teia/viago

your ocs should be friends with mine btw. my ocs told me they want to be friends with yours. theyre too shy to ask so i have to tell you. my ocs are asking your ocs to be friends with them

This is the most handsome man I've laid eyes on

Silly Tag

Thank you for tagging me @serensama, sorry it took so long!

Basically, from what I gathered, you post a snippet of your writing that you deem silly or funny to share.

Here's mine:

“Don’t wanna alarm you, Hawke, but I think you’ve been stabbed.” Varric’s voice grated against Hawke’s ears and she winced. Even though he sounded a thousand yards away, she could feel the weight of his calloused hand wrapped around her aching wrist still. “I-I don’t feel anything,” she replied breathlessly. It was the truth too. She was either high on adrenaline or something was terribly wrong. “Well… I can see the dagger in your side, Hawke. Want me to yank it out?” Two unified voices yelled out ‘NO!’ at the exact same time. It was almost uncanny. Penelope’s head was swimming as she tried to focus her gaze on Fenris. Nothing else mattered, only that Fenris was here. Him and his deep-set frown and pinched eyebrows. The way his lyrium markings pulsed weakly, in and out, in and out. He was worrying his bottom lip, a habit he picked up after spending a lot of time with Hawke. Was he staring at her? Did he still think she was beautiful? “You can’t just pull a knife out, Varric! She’ll deflate like a gross blood balloon!” Isabela’s voice felt like sandpaper against Hawke’s ears and it snapped her back to the present.

The scenario isn't funny, but how they react is hilarious

Tagging: @bubblecat-co, @mercars-musings, @galluslonging, & @veilguardiumleviosa!

posting your fic on AO3 like

"can you explain this gap in your resume?" I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty!

Even more Manfred and Fred please 🥺 maybe Rook can bring Fred a friend and Emmrich is flustered but can't stay mad at them 😂🐸

Very well, dear Anon :D

Rook and Manfred were giggling in Emmrich’s rooms.

Normally that would bring a smile to the necromancer’s face and a burning sense of love and contentment to his heart.

But today it didn’t. There was a difference between Rook and Manfred having fun, and Rook and Manfred conspiring.

And Emmrich knew them both well enough to know the difference.

“Big!” exclaimed Manfred.

The spirit of curiosity was kneeling in front of the fireplace beside Rook. Their backs were to the door. Neither of them had heard him come in.

“It is a lot bigger,” Rook was saying. “It might not fit. This one’s okay though. What do you think?”

“Pretty spots,” Manfred cooed. “Like Harding.”

Rook laughed and Emmrich nearly lost his nerve as he crept up behind them. There were few things that got to him like that low, contagiously happy sound.

“Yeah, it does look a bit like her freckles. You could call it freckles.”

“No. Harding.”

“Well okay, that makes sense. What about the other one?”

“Yes,” Emmrich whispered in Rook’s ear. “What about the other one?”

Rook made a new, and completely unique sound that Emmrich had never heard in or out of the Veil. He didn’t know the human ear could comprehend sounds of that pitch.

Every hair on Rook’s head was standing on end as they whirled around. “How did you do that!?!?!?! Are you Emmrich’s ghost?! Why did you do that?! Are you trying to kill me!?”

“What other one, Rook?” Emmrich said sternly.

“Uhhh…” Rook tried to hide what the necromancer now realized was Manfred’s terrarium with their body. It did not work.

Manfred turned, holding aloft not one, but two handfuls of frog.

One was rather large, and muddy brown, the other was small and almost charmingly speckled with little golden spots.

“Vorgoth!” Manfred declared as the frog’s little legs dangled from his fists. They seemed very unconcerned about the deadly drop below them.

“Wh–Where did you get those?” Emmrich sputtered.

“Rook!” Manfred pointed the newly minted ‘Vorgoth,’ at the person in question.

Rook chagrined and bounced back and forth on their toes. “Yes…well…”

“Why?” Emmrich begged, gesturing to the already extravagantly large and well decorated terrarium in which Fred the frog basked like a little king in his own slimy kingdom.

The necromancer’s arm shook emphatically, grave gold jingling, as if to say: ‘See?! Look at what I have already done for my precocious skeleton son! Is this not enough?! Do you doubt that I love him?! What more must I do!?’

“Fred looked lonely,” Rook admitted.

Emmrich’s arm fell.

“Alone,” Manfred moaned softly, tucking the additional frogs against his collarbone like one would a pair of kittens.

Emmrich sighed all the way to his chair, leaving behind a mournful trail in the air, pinching the bridge of his nose, and collapsing at last into the seat.

“Well…it was kind of you to name them after Vorgoth and Harding after they helped us with your terrarium, Manfred. We must send Vorgoth a note. And get Harding…a new plant?”

“She likes cheese,” Rook said helpfully, seating themself on the ground against Emmrich’s legs.

Emmrich wasn’t fooled. They were only sitting there to trap him. The selfish wretch.

He let his fingers curl in their hair as together they watched Manfred place Vorgoth and Harding into the tank, giving them a tour in the soft little voice he reserved only for his frog…er, frogs.

Me: “Man, Viago looks good with curly hair”

@alsoika: “Say less🖌️”

(Go follow them their art is CRAZY good thank you so much for this commission)

in my heart of hearts the mythal in the crossroads is 6 feet tall, horned, decked out in armor fitting a self-appointed goddess borne from primordial war and a giant fuck-you dramatic feathered cape. it hurts to look at her directly. out of the corner of your eye you swear the shadow she casts is in the shape of a dragon. she's been stewing in resentment for so long the air just always smells like a wildfire and lightning strikes. ya'll remember the fucking puzzles in her temple? you wouldn't be able to just walk up to her and start talking to her, idc how long it's been since she's had petitioners.

if you want me to believe in the "like holding a piece of the sun" line you have to do better than the pajama-wearing default character creator template num 9 that we actually got.

oh noooo🥵

Cole / Compassion

character (re)design is my passion. apparently

what do you think viago's reaction was when he heard about crow!rook accidentally getting high off their asses drinking gingerwort tea?

my man's been building immunity toward various kinds of poison for years and you mean to tell him that his fucking protégé got taken down by a fucking mushroom tea.

my viperquin exchange gift for @boeing-787 who requested vampire ashur 💘

alt with no blood under the cut

impure thoughts today surroundingthe song Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage and some dark Emmrich vibes like if u agree

🗡️🤠🛡️

Viago de Riva

a vibes board

happy thedas weekend!!!! "i am not a fool entire, no, i know what's coming" is a lyric from bitter water by the oh hellos-- it was giving me some angsty warden vibes ?

I'm right there with you @veilguardiumleviosa. I'm feeling a dramatic sort of monologue so here you go, I hope you like it!

For @thedasweekend

Words: 360

Characters: Dwarf Warden (Garnet Aeducan)

Warnings: Ruminations on death

~~~~~

I am not a fool. First and last, no longer. Blood was the price of of a moment's foolishness, dearly paid. It bought me this future, such that it is, dark and ever-racing, waiting to meet me with eager arms.

To think that I had thought my exile in the Deep Roads to be my final walk to death. Inevitable and present always, waiting only for me to lay down and sleep. The Joining has shown me the truth of it, washed my eyes clear with its tainted blood.

I feel that touch of death always on the wind. In the Stone under my feet, forever lost to me, and in the water I drink that turns to dust in my mouth.

Am I still my father's daughter? I hardly feel myself some days. How completely they took you from me. My stone and bones. Brother and mother. And left me the blood-price or death.

If only I'd known it had hardly been a choice. Death was always part of it. But now it hides in the shadows, no waiting to embrace me and lay me on the Stone's breast. Like a scavenger, it simply waits for me to fall, to take my skin and bones and twist them into everything I have fought against.

Was it worth it, this temporary escape from the Roads, only to know that I will, in time, have to walk them again?

Yes, always yes.

If I was taught anything, it was to fight with all my resources until the bitter end. The Darkspawn do not despair, they do not bargain, do not quail. My blood, my body, my life, have bought me a more distant end. More time to fight. More time to spill the blood that every day becomes more a part of me.

I know what is coming. Whispers and darkness and something that sounds like a wordless promise. Not of glory, nor riches, nor power. Purpose? It calls, always distant, always present. I know what it will make me, in time.

I only hope I will have spilled enough blood to make it all worth it, when the time comes.

old guard

I finally have time to draw 🎉 I'm so rusty but I've got like eight other Dragon Age sketches in the wings so hopefully that'll help!

Took some inspiration from Visual Calculus for the background