linney, she/they/he, adult (pls no minors), grad student so assume i'm suffering but having a good time
dragon age. origins, awakening, & da2 primarily. always asking hey where's zevran. what's he doing. early modern vibes and by vibes i do mean vibes. what if i apply a bunch of otherwise usually fun but not esp practical info into helping a faux-medieval/renaissance setting make a little more sense to me specifically. ask me abt my playlists if u enjoy the shawm. ask me abt shakespeare/early modern english theatre if u want a new friend.
i am shy but friendly. house-trained!
ao3 here
fic tag here
will eventually compile some info abt ocs but for now:
my main girl is cat cousland, a walking anxiety disorder who is having a bad time. an autism diagnosis would not save her but it would make her brother go ohhhhhhhh wow.
my hawke is an andersmancer but more importantly, bethany is there (: ask me abt fenbelathany.
if you're here bc of my leandra posts. idk welcome and i'm sorry ig.
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wow i even did it relatively promptly. here's a tiny bit of zevwarden fic for zevwarden week. i don't know if i'll be able to participate fully, but this is a fun idea that has rattled consistently enough around my head that i think i can get it done even w my dissertation. does it count as zevwarden fic if it's from alistair's pov?
Alistair doesn't know why Leliana is pretending that Zevran hasn't — propositioned her, hasn't pestered her about her vows or lack of them. Yes, Alistair had also kind of asked about the vows, but he hadn't asked for the same reasons Zevran had. Alistair hadn't leered. Alistair hadn't said ridiculous things like the Maker didn't give people their parts so the people wouldn't use those parts or however Zevran had phrased it. Alistair had never mentioned urges.
tagging @the-cryptographer @kathaliabloodyrose @ikarons and @arysthaeniru (:
why does coconut either taste like the only thing i'll ever want to drink again or the nastiest fucking garbage in the entire universe forever and ever
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Had a hard time choosing but went this little Anders and Varric interaction. I don't know if it'll make it into the final draft of this Chapter because Varric showed up without my consent and I still don't know what he is doing there lol
"Hey Blondie? You're glowing." The voice broke through the cluttered chaos of his mind, but only just. "Why don't we get you behind closed doors, hey? Avoid the raid on the Gallows that Hawke would inevitably call if the Templars take you?"
"Slumming it in Darktown, Varric?" he mumbled, "I'm a bit busy."
Gentle tags for @mylosingdogs @atiya-nagrano @capricornwholovesdanger @bigmeanbisexual
Sigrun had the least text responses (though she was rated positively by 85.2% of respondents and negatively by virtually nobody), with all the Awakening companions getting between 80-100. The non-DLC character with the fewest responses was Inquisition Leliana
Josephine inspired relatively few and relatively short responses, but 94.7% of respondents rated her positively
Namaygoosisagagun First Nation/Collins has burned to the ground. The entire community is nothing but ashes after being quickly consumed by wildfires. They did not have any support from emergency services, and no one offered aid. The community saved themselves by escaping into boats because no one came.
Mishkeegogamang and Cat Lake have lost power. Families are ending up in shelters with nothing. Armstrong, Lac La Croix, Whitesand, Gull Bay, Lac des Mille Lacs are currently in the fires path and all members are being evacuated.
All this loss, all this devastation, and it was entirely preventable.
After steadily underfunding wildland firefighting and purposefully excluding Indigenous wildland firefighters and Indigenous wildfire organizations from wildfire operations, firefighter training, decisionmaking, and resource exchanges, in 2025, Doug Ford slashed the forest firefighting budget.
It's hard to ignore his decision to cut funding and leave us out of adequate fire training (even though we've lived with forest fires for thousands of years—far longer than settlers have been in Canada—and made sure fires like the ones we're all seeing today were prevented through kinisitotēn) when, despite making up less than 5% of the population, we account for 42% percent of all wildfire evacuations in Canada.
And when we are successfully evacuated, we face discrimination and racism—like Kashechewan—because it's always been easier to blame us than it is to blame the true culprit: denialism, corportate greed, and colonization.
The people of Collins and every other impacted community deserve better.
Right now, the AFN is currently accepting donations to help Collins First Nation. If you're able to, please consider donating.
ONWA (Ontario Native Women's Association) is another great place to donate to. They have outreach vans going to motels and inns and offering food, water, resources, and cultural support to those impacted by the wildfires.
Other places to consider donating to are Mikinakoos Emergency Fund, Red Cross, True North Aid, Indigenous Climate Action. You can also send donations directly to Whitesand First Nation via e-transfer ([email protected]) and they request that you add your full name in the e-transfer comment section to receive a tax receipt.
*Before sending money, verify that the appeal appears on an official First Nation, Tribal Council or registered charity channel.
If you can't offer financial support, please consider donating items of need. Moontime Connections is currently accepting drop-off donations. If you live in the Thunder Bay area, Namaygoosisagagun Health Office is also taking in donations! They can also bemailed to Superior Inn Hotel & Conference Centre at 555 West Arthur Street, Thunder Bay, ON, P7E 5P8.
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i dont even care for dragons in a fantasy world type way (Not in the real life mythology type way) that much like. im not that interested in them in general in fantasy stories.
however dragon age is like the one media where i'll be defending dragons bc i do feel bad about the fucking. these guys just came back from exctinction and now you can go and kill 10 of them :) what the hell
every time this series tries to justify the killing of dragons via "they're big ass creatures who can kill a bunch of people" im like i dont careeee we're literally the Inquisition our existence is causing so much more issues than one dragon who's not even doing anything.
Hi @atiya-nagrano tagged me in a wip wednesday a week ago and i'm doing it late but here's a snippet from the next chapter of no different, my 90s zevewarden au
“Ah, I see you’ve finally decided to kill me,” Zevran grinned as Troi turned down yet another secluded dirt road.
“The opposite, actually,” she replied, squinting at the sun in her eyes.
“Oh, so you’ve decided to impregnate me? I'm not so sure this will work, but I do love a challenge!”
“What? I mean, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but—no, I need you to teach me how to fight.”
Zevran raised an eyebrow, “is that not related to killing?”
“Oh it is, but not killing you. The Sicilian Mob or whatever's gonna find you eventually, yeah? I want to be able to help you.”
“What makes you think you can do that?” Zevran responded grimly.
“Give me a little credit, Zev,” said Troi, rolling her eyes as they pulled into a clearing. Parking the truck, she nodded her head towards what appeared to be something out of a mannequin-related horror film. All around them in this unassuming forest clearing lay various store mannequins, dummies, and targets filled with carefully placed bullet holes. They stepped out of the truck, Zevran crouching to examine the plastic graveyard as if it were a crime scene.
Thank you everyone who has tagged me for this in previous weeks, @softeasun, @mythologeekwriter, @mylosingdogs, @atiya-nagrano, Tagging you guys back to share what you're working on currently, along with @syrupwit, @medowlarken, @rainstormcolors.
Currently working on the fic about Isabela and the Hawke that joins the Qun. Here's a snippet of a weird fade dream Isabela may or may not be having with Fenris and Anders and Danarius and probably not a guy who we know for sure is already dead:
==
Isabela knows exactly where she is.
In the city of Dairsmuid, the capital of Rivain, there’s a section of the cities coastline which accommodates foreign dignitaries and scholars and merchants. And across the street from the Antivan Embassy is a party hall with white clay arches and wide bay windows. And it was there that Luis threw Naishe a party called a quinceañera, where he introduced her to all his business partners as ‘Isabela’. Five months later, they had the wedding in Rialto.
Isabela’s not sure why they’ve come back here, but she’s seated next to her husband in a white wicker chair in the middle of the pavilion. Her wedding band is secure on her finger.
There are two across from them, but only one is seated. An aged man in finely pressed Tevinter robes leans back in a red velvet armchair. He’s some business associate of Isabela’s husband, no doubt, and carries on an animated discussion with Luis. But Fenris is standing – hands at his sides, shoulders back. His expression is blank with endless patience.
Anders is chained to the dungeon wall in the corner. He’s all alone. He has no handler.
Isabela wants to stand and go to her friends, but she remains seated. It isn’t her place to stand.
The conversation between Luis and the Tevinter carries on. They’re worried about tariffs and taxation. They’re worried about Ansburg and the Dwarves breaking the monopoly on corn and sugar. They’re worried about the impending threat on the horizon. There, just outside the window, out on the open ocean, you can see the approaching dreadnoughts. You can see the swelling landmass of Par Vollen draw nearer every day.
Isabela shifts anxiously in her seat. In her dream, it does not occur to her that Par Vollen is across the Northern Passage, not south into Rialto Bay. She feels, looking out the window, such a sense of impending doom.
But though she wants to voice it, she can’t. She’s not here to bother the men with her foolish worries, and she’s too innocent and simple to have much to contribute to their discussion.
She’s just here to be pretty and pleasing. To support and inspire her husband with flaccid airy femininity.
The Tevinter crooks a finger and Fenris nods. He picks up a bottle of wine, and refills Isabela’s glass first, then Luis’s, then the Tevinter’s. It’s a tasteful gesture, unfailingly polite.
“You won’t find a Qarinus red this sweet again, if the Qunari take the city,” the Tevinter raises an arm and urges Luis to drink. “They don’t believe in commerce and free trade, the way the more civilised among us do.”
“And what would you have me do about that,” Luis returns with a laugh, as he takes a sip from his glass. “Buy every cask Tevinter and send it South, so at least the Fereldans and Orlesians will have a taste, should the Qunari get to the rest of us?”
“What a horror. Being stuck between those savages and a country more akin to a dog kennel… Who can say which is worse?” The Tevinter lets out a sigh and shakes his head sadly. “You know my Fenris was captured by some of the Kossith on Seheron, and then by a family of Fereldans further south? He just hasn’t been the same since.”
Fenris hangs his head apologetically. He looks so very sad. Like he genuinely wishes things were different, if only they could be.
“My Isabela was almost taken to the Qun,” Luis says, commiserating. “The mother was ready to leave for Kont-aar, when she decided to leave the daughter with me. I paid her enough coin to hire a proper coach for the journey, but I think she would have kept her daughter, if her daughter would have gone with her.
“But Isabela chose me then,” Luis announces. “She chose me over the Qun.”
Isabela shuffles uncomfortably in her seat. The wicker scratches over the bottoms of her thighs.
“My Isabela chose me once,” Luis says. “But she hasn’t been the same either, since my death.”
Isabela thinks she hasn’t chosen him since their wedding night. But she sits in still silence and wonders if she looks as apologetic as Fenris.
“I don’t expect you to buy every cask of wine in Qarinus,” the Tevinter corrects belatedly. “Better to die in the North, than flee to the South.” He raises his glass for a toast. “Should the Qunari come calling, we’ll barricade ourselves in a Minrathous wine cellar. You and your bride will both be welcome.”
“Perhaps we’ll take you up on the offer,” Luis agrees, deciding for himself and Isabela both. He raises his glass in turn. “But surely the businessman that plans only for disaster brings it upon himself. We should discuss more imminent pursuits.”
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