volkoss

[volkoss]

reztassia

不知道在画啥（）

[volkoss]

@serbarris

I understand the desire to ship but "we would find each other in every universe...as coworkers" is an insanely funny concept to me I'm sorry.

[volkoss]

that one banter in da origins be like

[volkoss]

commission for @amys2885—inquisitor Quail & Cass enjoying an evening by the fireplace 🧡

[volkoss]

oh look at the time! it's sexualizing that old man o'clock again :) alternative title: Emmrich finds the Lighthouse's bathhouse

[volkoss]

we should put merrill dorian and bellara in a room together and see what kinds of fucked up new magic they invent. for enrichment

[volkoss]

Listen, sometimes a ship is less about wanting them to kiss or have sex or whatever, and more about needing them to be so endlessly intertwined and connected to the point where they might as well be one creature.

[volkoss]

"Morning"

I can't keep up with all the weeks. But I thought I'd do this one. As a little treat. This is Day 1 (on day 3/4) of Dragon Age: The Veilguard's Kiss Week.

[volkoss]

No one does it like the city elf origin for me

[volkoss]

Fic: Provisional

In which Seneschal Bran Cavin becomes Kirkwall’s Viscount-by-default. Again.

DRAGON AGE | BRAN & AVELINE | WORDS: 774 | RATED: T

(AO3 LINK)

The news arrives in a scroll sealed with the Inquisition’s insignia, because of course it does. Ten years—ten!—since the organisation had officially disbanded, but symbols remain eternal.

It is also the first indication that something is terribly amiss. If this were one of the Viscount’s communiques from his so-called ‘field mission’, Seneschal Bran Cavin would expect the embossed emblem in the wax to be the Kirkwall heraldry, not the Inquisition’s. Or perhaps something even subtler, still.

And if it had been one of Tethras’s more, ah, personal missives, Bran would have expected the message to be stamped with the official seal of his House. Or perhaps accompanied by a signed copy of one of his more recent publications, with their audacious illustrations of the author, exaggerated like no dwarf Bran had ever seen before.

“C’mon, Bran,” the Viscount had cajoled him during their most recent meeting—the one where Bran had tried to talk him out of this affair entirely, mind you—before fixing him with a rakish grin. “You’ve gotta live a little.”

But Bran had reminded Varric—the Viscount—that this was what he lived for. Remembering the history of this great city with all the honour and disdain it deserved, the only man brave (or insane) enough to commit such vast annals of process and procedure to his mind.

It brought Bran no small measure of pride that if there was ever an event which necessitated the emergency evacuation of the city, he was near-certain he could recall all of the required civic requirements to restore appropriate governance from memory alone.

The scroll continues to taunt him, though. He notices, too late, how his palms have begun to sweat. With clumsy fingers, he cuts open the seal and begins to read.

Dear Seneschal Bran Cavin,

It is with the utmost regret that I inform you—

A fist thumps against his desk, upsetting the inkpot. He’s surprised to find it to be his own.

“Seneschal?” a familiar voice calls from the doorway.

He immediately regrets not locking his door. “What?” His voice is too loud, too sharp, to his own ears.

Guard-Captain Aveline, leaning against the door frame, can’t help but notice. Of course she can’t. “Heard the disturbance. Thought you could use some assistance.”

Bran blinks quickly. All of a sudden, his eyes hurt. A lot. “How good are you with paperwork?” he asks.

“Not very,” she admits, before brokering him a tentative smile. “But I’ll have some of my guardsmen work on the less … sensitive files.”

His headache is already starting. He can feel it behind his sinuses. And the crown?

Oh, the crown is an anchor. Just upside down.

He slumps back in his chair. Realises he’ll have to move offices soon. Again. “All right,” he agrees. “None of this old elven god nonsense.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Only Viscount Tethras could possibly be so obtuse as to think a self-proclaimed god could be dissuaded from destroying the world by polite request.” His voice rises, bordering on hysterical . “And I say this as a consummate believer in the power of proper escalation pathways!”

Aveline arches an eyebrow and takes a step into the room properly at last. “Thinking you’ll have to get me up to speed. Are you saying Varric’s—”

Bran cradles his head in his hands. “I think I need a brandy. And a pay rise.”

The Guard-Captain circles around his desk and after a moment’s hesitation, lays a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she says, and Bran’s not even sure what she’s apologising for at first: for Varric (her friend, Bran’s boss), for the state of the world, for the whole sad sorry lot of it.

But then her fingers press down more firmly, and she asks, “We’re going to have the same problem as last time, aren’t we?”

He looks up at her with wild, haunted eyes. He’s the only one who remembers all the protocols, the procedures.

It’s nearly enough to make him cry, or wail, or drag Varric’s body from whatever backwater it had expired in, or see to pulling the Champion from the Fade, or perhaps even interviewing the ghost of Knight-Commander Meredith, who was still rumoured to haunt the Gallows. In fact, why not stitch Marlowe’s head back on while they were at it? Unpulp Perrin and plump him back up again?

But there is no returning from the dead, and no shirking from responsibility.

The only avenue left to Bran is complaint, one of which he intends to partake in frequently.

“Nobody, nobody, wants this job,” he mutters, as Aveline leaves to retrieve the brandy.

[volkoss]

[volkoss]

Fic: Provisional

In which Seneschal Bran Cavin becomes Kirkwall’s Viscount-by-default. Again.

DRAGON AGE | BRAN & AVELINE | WORDS: 774 | RATED: T

(AO3 LINK)

The news arrives in a scroll sealed with the Inquisition’s insignia, because of course it does. Ten years—ten!—since the organisation had officially disbanded, but symbols remain eternal.

It is also the first indication that something is terribly amiss. If this were one of the Viscount’s communiques from his so-called ‘field mission’, Seneschal Bran Cavin would expect the embossed emblem in the wax to be the Kirkwall heraldry, not the Inquisition’s. Or perhaps something even subtler, still.

And if it had been one of Tethras’s more, ah, personal missives, Bran would have expected the message to be stamped with the official seal of his House. Or perhaps accompanied by a signed copy of one of his more recent publications, with their audacious illustrations of the author, exaggerated like no dwarf Bran had ever seen before.

“C’mon, Bran,” the Viscount had cajoled him during their most recent meeting—the one where Bran had tried to talk him out of this affair entirely, mind you—before fixing him with a rakish grin. “You’ve gotta live a little.”

But Bran had reminded Varric—the Viscount—that this was what he lived for. Remembering the history of this great city with all the honour and disdain it deserved, the only man brave (or insane) enough to commit such vast annals of process and procedure to his mind.

It brought Bran no small measure of pride that if there was ever an event which necessitated the emergency evacuation of the city, he was near-certain he could recall all of the required civic requirements to restore appropriate governance from memory alone.

The scroll continues to taunt him, though. He notices, too late, how his palms have begun to sweat. With clumsy fingers, he cuts open the seal and begins to read.

Dear Seneschal Bran Cavin,

It is with the utmost regret that I inform you—

A fist thumps against his desk, upsetting the inkpot. He’s surprised to find it to be his own.

“Seneschal?” a familiar voice calls from the doorway.

He immediately regrets not locking his door. “What?” His voice is too loud, too sharp, to his own ears.

Guard-Captain Aveline, leaning against the door frame, can’t help but notice. Of course she can’t. “Heard the disturbance. Thought you could use some assistance.”

Bran blinks quickly. All of a sudden, his eyes hurt. A lot. “How good are you with paperwork?” he asks.

“Not very,” she admits, before brokering him a tentative smile. “But I’ll have some of my guardsmen work on the less … sensitive files.”

His headache is already starting. He can feel it behind his sinuses. And the crown?

Oh, the crown is an anchor. Just upside down.

He slumps back in his chair. Realises he’ll have to move offices soon. Again. “All right,” he agrees. “None of this old elven god nonsense.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Only Viscount Tethras could possibly be so obtuse as to think a self-proclaimed god could be dissuaded from destroying the world by polite request.” His voice rises, bordering on hysterical . “And I say this as a consummate believer in the power of proper escalation pathways!”

Aveline arches an eyebrow and takes a step into the room properly at last. “Thinking you’ll have to get me up to speed. Are you saying Varric’s—”

Bran cradles his head in his hands. “I think I need a brandy. And a pay rise.”

The Guard-Captain circles around his desk and after a moment’s hesitation, lays a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she says, and Bran’s not even sure what she’s apologising for at first: for Varric (her friend, Bran’s boss), for the state of the world, for the whole sad sorry lot of it.

But then her fingers press down more firmly, and she asks, “We’re going to have the same problem as last time, aren’t we?”

He looks up at her with wild, haunted eyes. He’s the only one who remembers all the protocols, the procedures.

It’s nearly enough to make him cry, or wail, or drag Varric’s body from whatever backwater it had expired in, or see to pulling the Champion from the Fade, or perhaps even interviewing the ghost of Knight-Commander Meredith, who was still rumoured to haunt the Gallows. In fact, why not stitch Marlowe’s head back on while they were at it? Unpulp Perrin and plump him back up again?

But there is no returning from the dead, and no shirking from responsibility.

The only avenue left to Bran is complaint, one of which he intends to partake in frequently.

“Nobody, nobody, wants this job,” he mutters, as Aveline leaves to retrieve the brandy.

[volkoss]

I think this has a working title now 💀

“[Johanna] is just so busy, so used to dating women, that she kind of. Forgets about actually using protection (it's a metaphor for how reckless she is with her own body in pursuit of her research). (Emmrich, bless him, just...assumed she had everything in control and didn't even ask.) And then a few months pass. And she hasn't gotten her period. And she's just like WHATEVER […] it's probably fine. (It's not fine). Meanwhile, by this point Emmrich has started putting the dots together and starts treating her like a newborn kitten (and also buying little booties)”

Hi I just need you to know that I’ve been going insane about this concept and the way you chose to phrase this in particular ever since you posted it. She doesn’t care about her own body. He’s buying little booties. Their joint mental illness will be studied by scientists for decades to come

(context) HI nonny, I am glad that I am not the only person being haunted/delighted by this concept in general!! I also need you to know that this notif was one of the first things I read when I woke up this morning and so I may or may not have spent some of my time at work daydreaming this into an actual story with a structure... Also:

Their joint mental illness will be studied by scientists for decades to come

Firstly, you're so right - I just love how... interdependent they are and yet utterly incapable of communicating properly with each other they are in every universe. Secondly: those scientists? Manfred's therapists.

[volkoss]

soft Bellarook morning smooches!!

[volkoss]

something for Bellara appreciation week ❤

[volkoss]

Picked up The Calling again and still lol at Fiona and Maric handing their newborn off to the first teenager that offered. Truly with gentle hands and the heart of a fighter.

[volkoss]

okay it’ll probably be very lowkey but I’ll hopefully set something up this weekend! 🤞🏽

if i made a johanna hezenkoss-centric discord server, who would be interested in joining? 👀