If no one is shipping DreadRook, it means that I'm dead. Storm, F/29, She/Her, Europe. Writer, VP enthusiast. Moderator of The Lighthouse discord server.
Fic writer, game photographer, editor, graphics enthusiast (fan fic covers, promotional materials for fandom events), AU lover and professional simp, moderator and one of the blog/event runners of @thelighthouse-server.
Game edits - fenrelmercar on TikTok
TV edits - serlyonel on TikTok
fenrelmercar on BSky
irabelasvhenan on AO3
Main blog (where you currently are!): Dragon Age (Solas and my many ships), writing, a bit of personal ramblings
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i agree so much about making your blorbos pathetic but i do fear that many take this to mean 'make them more traditionally feminine/submissive' which genuinely hurts my soul. make your blorbos pathetic in interesting character-oriented ways. understand their neuroses and turn the dials up to eleven. juxtapose the parts of life they handle extremely well with the parts of their lives that make them eat shit. make them angry. make them cold. make them pave their own way to hell while building walls preventing them from seeing any other way. please i'm begging you no more pathetic as an euphemism for bottoming im gonna mclose it.
when someone is completely fucking wrong about your blorbo but you don't want to argue about what basically boils down to opinions about shit that doesn't matter so you just sit there like
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the most essential part of a fandom are those people who immediately tell you to write it, draw it, make it when you share your ideas, you have no idea how many fanworks are born just because someone encouraged it
online numbers can really fuck you up when it comes to your creative work because you're sharing something you worked on with all your heart but it's very important to remember there's actual people behind those numbers. even if it's 1. that's one whole actual person. that's a human being who said "haha nice". that's a connection with a REAL person with a REAL life and REAL thoughts and feelings and experiences. like. damn. that should mean something
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Oh hi, hello, long time no see. Thank you for the tag, @broodwoof
Some very gentle tags since I have been gone so long: @waxlyricalmoon, @amellderiva, @notyourmamasdeerbat, @myheartdreams, @idunnaldwir, @the-wolfs-ravensong
I have been away, visiting other realms and suffering in real life due to too much work, which is sucking the energy out of me to write (but at the same time I have started, finished or am in the middle of several WIPs, so my writing for the past 6 months was a journey), but here I am. Trying to push past this not-really-author's-block-but-something's-up, and hopefully sharing will somewhat help with it. Or at least it will help me lock into finishing the story I wish to finish the most instead of dilly-dallying with new fun plot bunnies.
Of course, I offer you a little bite from Chapter 30 of The Dread and The Flame
Viper sighed, eyes trailing the horizon, sea before them crashing against the pier below, "He would not trust Neve."
"She's involved with a Templar." Fenrel shrugged, matter-of-fact.
"We have Tarquin."
Fenrel offered him a bitter chuckle, "That's the whole issue, is it not?" She could not spare Tarquin a kind word, and Viper did not bother arguing it.
He turned to face her now, and for a moment she could've sworn she saw a glimmer of blue beyond the blighted irises of his, "I hope you do know that I regret it."
"It matters little now, does it?"
"It will always matter to me."
"Is that why you're saddling me with your legacy? A twisted way to atone for your regret?" She could've laughed, she could've cried, but the anger now was too dull, too inconsequential. Poisonous words missing their sting.
"It's more of a hope," He said, sadness and firm belief in his voice, "You'd do better than me and would not make the mistakes I did."
She could've turned to watch the sea, the one comfort she always sought after, but her gaze remained steady, meeting his eye. There wasn't enough time left for them, there would never be enough time for them, and there was never the right time. They were a lost cause from the moment they met, and their run was almost at the end, and only now, she realised what she should've long ago. On the spot, they would meet away from other Shadows, on the roof they would share a drink, or play cards, or lie down and stare at the skies, pretending for a moment they were just regular people living regular lives. "For what it's worth, I do not regret you."
And a bonus bite for anyone who is watching House of the Dragon and has ever wondered what would happen if there was a modern AU with all blorbos as F1 drivers (okay, I am perfectly aware I am an audience of one on this specific theme). TW: I fell in love with a blond man.
Now Aegon was looking back at her, glass raised in a mock toast, seeing if she would return the favour. She did, keeping at the same tight smile. It was easier to treat him just like everyone else and a liability at once. Not her worry. Not anymore, not ever. Looking back, she told herself that all worked out as it always had to. She chose the right brother, and there was that. But there was Aegon, closing the distance, making steady steps between bodies, weaving through the crowd between them, light breaking on the blond waves bleached by the sun. Where the sun stole colour from his hair, it gave back to his skin, a healthy tan shown off by undone buttons of his shirt, a suit worn only as formality, but made his own. Sleeves rolled up to show off the ink on his skin, tie undone. It was supposed to be a black-tie event. He technically wore one. At least he bothered to dress in black for once. She elected to ignore the myriad things wrong with his clothing and kept standing in the spot where she'd spotted him, as if moving away were now improbable.
"Lexi," Aegon smiled, clinking his half-empty glass against her untouched drink. "Looking lovely as ever."
"Aegon," She said, looking him up and down, as if she hadn't done it all night, remarking the rings on his fingers and the golden line of a necklace, and the white line where the sun did not touch under the thin metal, now visible when it moved out of its assigned placement. He didn't bother to take the necklace off for the event, because why would he?
"Looking sharp." She put just enough pressure on the word so he would know she did not mean it. Even if she did not bother to press it, he would've known. He was always good at understanding what she said versus what she meant. She hated it then; she missed it now, and she would never say it aloud.
He clicked his tongue before speaking, lightly shaking his head as if disappointed. "Don't be like that, Lex."
"Always have been like this, always will be."
"Because my mother is watching you watching me?" He gave her a bitter chuckle before taking a long draw of his drink, leaning across her to place the glass on the bar behind her, and remaining there, leaning. "Now, she can't see you. Much better, right?"
"There's press." She hissed, eyes jumping across the room to see who watched.
"There's always press," He shrugged, "And they bring whispers."
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