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after eight years, I finally updated my huge Historical Fashion Reference & Resources Doc! Now in the form of a MUCH more easily updated Google Doc with better organization, refreshed links, and five more pages of books and online resources.

***

There was vague, plaintive desire in Isolde’s chest to seek Emmrich out and let his bright chatter soothe away the lingering, unsettled feelings. Each pang only made her more decisive to avoid him. She’d taken too much; abused his guileless trust with her lies of omission. Asked for indulgences she had no right to, with a greed that would sicken him if he knew her thoughts. Resolve crystallized in her: she would never ask anything of him again.

It was easy enough to remain unseen, when she could hear the firm sound of his booted steps from so far away. It wasn’t hard to slip out on silent feet, as if she’d never been in the kitchens, or in her room. They shared dinners more often than not, of course, as the Veilguard all settled in together; but Isolde never looked at him, focusing all her attention on being as inconspicuous as possible.

The longer she was successful, the more she found herself snared by every trace of his presence: the scent of his cologne lingering in the air, the distinct cadence of his steps, the muffled sound of his boisterous voice from afar. When he sat with Neve in the main hall one day, as Isolde whittled quietly in her room, she listened attentively to the rise and fall of his voice. The sound of his laugh made something wistful tighten in her chest.

Six days after her return from Arlathan, Isolde wandered the main hall, idly watching the decorative trinkets swirl through the air above. From beyond the thick, tall doors to the outside, Emmrich’s footsteps sounded. Isolde quietly retreated, heading to her room.

There was the sound of the great doors opening, and Emmrich’s steps paused in the main hall for a moment. Then he set out with purpose, heading for Isolde’s room.

Isolde’s heart skipped a beat. She dove onto the floor and began rummaging under her workdesk, as if looking for something. Perhaps it was Rook that he was after, down the hall—

Emmrich knocked on her doorframe, and Isolde nearly jumped.

“Hello, Isolde,” Emmrich said warmly.

Isolde gave up. She crawled out from under her desk, not quite looking at him. “Hi.”

“Are you alright?” Emmrich asked with concern.

“Fine?” Isolde said, confused.

“You’ve barely spoken all week,” Emmrich said, his voice gentle.

He was right, Isolde realized. When was the last time she’d done more than nod?

“I’ve been talking too much lately. Probably not a bad thing,” Isolde said.

“I rather like hearing you talk, my dear,” Emmrich said.

He looked more concerned than before.

With growing horror, it dawned on Isolde that Emmrich wasn’t going to stop his extravagant kindnesses just because Isolde had stopped being greedy. She was going to have to convince him.

“I’m sure Bellara needs someone to check in on her more than I ever would,” Isolde tried. “What with Cyrian and—and she—talks.”

“More than you ever would?” Emmrich repeated.

It was as if he hadn’t even heard Isolde’s fumbling attempt to redirect him at all.

“Right,” Isolde said. “Because I never need—I’m always fine.”

"Tennis at the country house of Basil Rathbone (Great Britain, November 1936)" from Marlene Dietrich's home movies (x)

I genuinely have no idea how long this is going to be, but @ingellvarphd made art and it made me make words so HERE YOU GO.

If you want to know the context, you're just gonna have to read, aren't you?

Preview below, please click through to read the rest, and enjoy dumb Solas being dumb. 😂

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Solas stared up at the entrance to the gym, its sign flickering dimly in the late afternoon sun. It was one of a larger chain, Templar Sports, but this particular branch was in the elven district of Wycome. This meant it was a little (okay, a lot) less maintained than some of the larger locations in nicer, more affluent parts of the city. This was indicated by how only some of the fluorescent letters had their lights burned out from lack of care, ironically making the sign read “Temp Spot” as the sun set and the unlit letters became harder to parse. He wondered how intentional it was that those particular lights were the ones that persisted. It had been at least five minutes of him standing in front of the building now, his heart hammering in his chest. He was nervous and it wasn't so much as he didn’t know why so much as there were too many reasons that it could be and he wasn’t sure which was most valid. His pride dictated it was embarrassment from his previous poor gym performance that had unintentionally introduced him to Ame’lin. His logic supposed it might be because he had not had much social interaction with strangers since prior to his accident several months ago and was out of practice. Another part of him suggested it was because a beautiful woman had handed him her number and invited him to meet at a designated time and such a circumstance was not dissimilar to a date.

-----

Equiping an armor tutorial

Mother of Halla | Ghilan’nain

For @evanurisweek 💖💖

pov you are a new recruit in the inquisition tasked with the nightly patrol for the most recently established camp in the hinterlands

@dayntee | AO3 | Bluesky | Instagram

2025 fic: A Cascade of Kindness

As we look forward to another year, there’s no better time to celebrate our wonderful community of creators. This year, we’re shining a spotlight on our alumni: the talented writers and artists who successfully completed the Dragon Age Big Bang in previous years. All past DABB alumni were given the option of an interactive interview with our mod Alix, or an informal written survey. If you’re thinking about participating this year, check out the insights and advice from those who tread this path before!

On intersections and cascading effects

Alix and Dayntee talk muscle mommies, dead highlighters and Dragon Age travel times

Alix: First off, congratulations on completing DABB last year!

How are you feeling nearly a year on from it?

Dayntee: It’s kind of hard to believe it’s already been a year! The story I wrote kind of fundamentally changed the way I engaged with Dragon Age in a lot of ways, though honestly I feel as though it’s for the better.

I made a lot of friends during the event and, since we wrapped, we’ve kept in touch. I check in with a large group of creatives now almost daily. Even when I take breaks from writing, it’s been nice to have this same group of people to come back to, jam with, exchange feedback, and continue fueling each other’s efforts.

Alix: That's really incredible. That community aspect is so, so important and so amazing. Had you previously done any events like a Big Bang or was this your first one?

Dayntee: I’d previously done a holiday gift exchange in another fandom, but nothing quite like a Big Bang!

Alix: Yeah, that's typically a smaller word-count, right? What made you decide to sign up for this one?

Mayerling, photographer Patricio Melo. Natalia Berríos and Luis Ortigoza

Onegin, photographers El Beweging, (?), Michel Lidvac. Mathieu Ganio and Ludmila Pagliero

Mathieu Ganio is straight up younger and older Emmrich coded I fear...

Solas/Dread Wolf from Dragon Age Origins

(Please do not take, save, use for AI training or repost- Thank you! Reblogs are fine ♥ )

***

“I was wondering if you could help me out with a story I’m writing,” Bellara said hopefully.

“Help?” Isolde said, puzzled.

“Yeah! Like, last week when you snorted when I was talking about—you know—” Bellara went a little red.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what Bellara was referring to. She’d been just as red when Isolde had diplomatically pointed out that if both hands of her “gallant gentleman” were digging into the protagonist’s “generous” hips, how was he managing to keep himself upright? Hadn’t Bellara been writing them in the simplest position, the man atop her in bed?

“Well, that was pretty helpful, actually. I thought I might run a few more things by you, if that’s alright,” Bellara asked.

Isolde blinked, amused that she was being taken as an authority in the matter.

“Alright,” she said.

“Great!” Bellara chirped. “Okay, so I was thinking that they were getting all heated in an alleyway, and he goes in for a kiss and—”

“In an alleyway?” Isolde said, making a face.

“What’s wrong with an alleyway?” Bellara asked.

“I mean, if he’s in a hurry,” Isolde said. “But they smell horrible and don’t look much better.”

“Ooh,” Bellara said, looking enlightened, and pulled out a small parchment scrap to scribble down some notes.

Isolde valiantly tried to hide her growing amusement. Bellara, she supposed, hadn’t been in cities all that often, and rarely outside the main market thoroughfares.

“Okay, next thing I wanted to run by you,” Bellara said eventually. “So the heroine slips and almost falls, and the hero catches her, and her heart is beating so fast from having his strong arms around her and he just looks so handsome that she can’t even hear what he’s asking her and so she answers the wrong question and—”

Isolde blinked. Without meaning to she repeated, “So handsome that she can’t even hear his words over her heartbeat?”

“He’s just so dreamy,” Bellara said, immediately looking carried away. “The curly hair all the way down to his shoulders, golden in the sunlight, and his jaw is just so square and strong and…”

Bellara sighed happily.

Isolde’s eyebrows rose. “He’s an Elf, isn’t he?”

“Yeah! Why?”

Isolde looked away. “No reason.”

An interesting choice for his hair; curls were rare enough among Elves, but the color? Only Humans had hair that could properly be called golden. The Elven shade of blond was always a pale thing; Isolde had never seen a yellow deeper than the color of dried Foxtail.

“And he’s got the brow of a king,” Bellara continued, almost breathless. “And he carries himself like one, too.”

It wasn’t clear to Isolde what the brow of a king would look like, or what that had to do with attractiveness, but she nodded politely.

“What would your ideal serial hero look like?” Bellara asked with interest.

“Oh—I’ve no idea,” Isolde said. “I’ve never read one before.”

Bellara kept looking at Isolde for a beat, open curiosity and excitement on her face. When Isolde didn’t continue, she offered, “If you tell me what you like, I could recommend one for you. Dashing rogues? Nobles in disguise? Lots of twists? Forbidden love? Shepherd with a heart of gold? Abduction?”

There was a fraction of a pause, small enough that it would have been easy to miss.