I'm a fanfic author who loves video games and unreasonable goblin women. As an Elder, I have not been internet savvy since Neopets, so I'm doing my best not to struggle too much here.
My Ao3 Dashboard
Writing Brain Rot You Might Find in this Place:
Valkyr "Rook" de Riva x Lucanis Dellamorte (Dragon Age: The Veilguard)
Rylla Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford (Dragon Age: Inquisition)
Inixi (Tav) x Gale Dekarios (Baldur's Gate 3)
Beryl (Godwoken) x Ifan ben-Mezd (Divinity: Original Sin 2)
2026
Rookanis Week
2025
Rookfest
Lucanis Week
Dragon Age Kiss Week
Valkyr de Riva (general tag)
Valkyr's full story (Ao3 Link)
Appearance References
Rook Introduction | Character sheet | Relationship chart | OC Rating | Valkanis Ship Sheet
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Summary: “Why was that so hard for him? Why was he so ill equipped for being anything but a soldier or an acolyte? Had his life left him so unprepared for any magnitude of love that he did not know how to execute it?”
Read on Ao3
- - -
Cullen’s voice was strained as he asked, “Remind me how you managed to get an arrow wound without ever even leaving Skyhold?”
He sat on the edge of his bed, hands busy cleaning the blood slowly dripping down the arm of the Inquisitor. The commander held a bandage to the long cut, watching the red slowly crawl outward on the fabric. Rylla sat in front of him between his knees, a little lower on a stool, and remained remarkably and infuriatingly nonchalant.
“Well, Sera and Dalish were talking about their preferred bows,” she launched into the story, her voice at a drawl, “and Bull started spouting all this rubbish about how he could use any weapon. Sera bet that he couldn’t even hit one of the targets outside with an arrow, so we all went to watch.” She snorted, “Let’s just say he couldn’t.”
Cullen’s brow knit together. “How close were you standing to the target?”
“Not very. Bull’s aim is shit for someone with one eye.”
He continued to frown as he swapped the bandage with a new one. The blood was already showing signs of clotting, so it had all probably looked worse than it was when she walked up to him, her right shirt sleeve torn and turned scarlet. He had rushed her back to his room and now she sat in only her breast band, the shirt crumpled and likely ruined at her feet.
The fact that the wound wasn’t serious did nothing to dampen the annoyance in his voice when Cullen asked, “Dare I ask how much alcohol was involved in this series of decisions?”
He felt her answering hum vibrate through her skin. “More than none?” The statement was punctuated by a little giggle that said more than the words themselves.
“Maker’s breath…”
“Come on now, Cullen. It was just an accident.”
“It was a poor decision.”
Tension jumped into Rylla’s shoulders in a less than ideal way, considering her injury. “I’m sorry— is the Inquisitor not allowed to be unserious anymore? Am I always on duty?”
There was an underlying bitterness to her question that usually might have given him pause, but not now. Now, his words reflected that upset as he replied, “What if the arrow had actually hit you? What then?”
“Then we’d be pulling an arrow out of my arm instead. I’m a grown woman, Cullen. I’m not about to cry over a flesh wound.”
“And me? What should I do?” He finally snapped, “You had best know that losing you to an idiotic accident would be just as awful as losing you to anything else.”
The words were out of him before he could stop and measure his response, and thus had they betrayed him. Cullen’s hands stilled from their ministrations before he pulled them away to collect himself.
Rylla turned her chin only slightly so that she could gauge him from the corner of her eye. “Who said anything about losing me?” Cullen didn’t answer before she continued, “What is this about? And answer me like the man I share a bed with and not a pernicious hahren, if you would.”
Though Cullen didn’t immediately recognize the Dalish word he understood by context what she was saying: he was sitting here scolding his lover like a Chantry sister. The man’s face flushed. “I— I’m sorry,” he immediately back tracked, “I should never have spoken to you like that. It was out of line, and—”
“You’re not my soldier, either, Cullen,” Rylla interrupted. “I just need you to talk to me.”
Talk to her. Why was that so hard for him? Why was he so ill equipped for being anything but a soldier or an acolyte? Had his life left him so unprepared for any magnitude of love that he did not know how to execute it?
With a mighty exhale, Cullen scrubbed his clean hand over his face. The fog of his lyrium withdrawl made sorting through the tangle of his thoughts difficult, so it was a weighted moment before he managed to say, “I saw you walking towards me earlier— and I saw all the blood— and I was…I was terrified.” Even that admission felt vulnerable. “When I realized it was not the worst case, well…”
His voice trailed. Rylla was the one who filled in, “Easier to be angry than scared?”
Cullen huffed, his eyes locked on the place where her neck curved into her shoulder. He focused on the rhythmic flutter of her pulse under her skin. “Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”
Her head bobbed, thinking, considering. Cullen gingerly lifted her elbow so that he could begin properly wrapping the injured area. When Rylla spoke again, her voice was softer, saying, “You don't need to worry about me, you know.”
That made him laugh, though it was a rather rough sound. “Of course I don’t need to, but that can hardly stop me.” He swallowed, gulping down air, “It doesn’t matter that I know you to be capable and intelligent because— because every time you walk out of these walls, I find myself wondering if I’ll ever see you again.” That confession, guarded as it was, was still enough to make his chest ache. “No logic can silence that, Rylla.”
There was no reply, not immediately. Cullen almost assumed the conversation was over when Rylla murmured, “How strange.”
“What?”
“I’m realizing that I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone worry about me before.”
“I’m sure your clan—”
“My clan was…complicated.” This he knew mostly by the fact that Rylla rarely discussed clan Lavellan, so his curiosity was piqued. She sighed, “I wasn’t made First because I was beloved or anything. I was just the only mage they had. And I was never quite…right. For anyone.”
The words were like a sharp cut to his heart. It was hard to imagine Rylla Lavellan being anything but a beacon to the people around her. That was how Cullen had always seen her, at least.
“I mean, as far as I know, they only thought to check if I survived the Conclave once they heard the rumor I had become some sort of holy fixture in the Chantry.” She laughed at that idea but Cullen knew it held no humor for her.
It was complicated.
As Cullen tied of the bandage, he sighed with finality. “Well…I’m fairly certain I worry for you enough for the whole of the Dalish people. So…whatever that is worth.”
It was a warm surprise to hear her giggle. “It's worth something. To me it is.” Realizing the injury was tended, Rylla gingerly rotated her arm, testing her reach. Once satisfied, she pivoted on the stool, turning to fully face him from between his legs. “I worry about you, too, you know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. All the time. So I understand. And you’re allowed to be angry with me, but we have to talk about it, alright?” Her eyes, green as the forest, peered up at him. “That’s my demand. I don’t want us to be Commander and Inquisitor all the time— especially not when we’re alone.”
Cullen nodded, feeling a cooling rush of relief for the first time since he had seen her injured. “Of course. I’ll— we’ll— work on that.”
“And—” the elven mage leaned forward, softly kissing the side of his jaw, “—I’m sorry for being a little stupid.” She repeated the same kiss on the opposite side of his face. “It will probably happen again.”
Cullen let out a breathy laugh at the admission. “Fair enough.” But instead of pulling back, Rylla continued to leave a trail of feather light kisses on his skin, meaningfully alternating sides. His heart skipped when she nudged her face into his neck, her lips lingering at his pulse point, and he huffed. “Really? The nagging bit didn’t put you off?”
“Well, now that we’ve gotten past the misunderstanding of it all,” she hummed, lips dipping lower, “I think I can work with it. I don’t mind being bossed around every so often, you know.”
Cullen’s face burned, but not unpleasantly. He tried not to stammer as Rylla reached his collarbone. “Can you swear that you’ll at least try not to re-injure your arm?”
“I’ll be good as gold.”
For now, that was all he needed to hear. When Cullen hauled her into his lap, she let out a sound of delight that was immediately smothered by his lips on hers.
And though the next day there was a rather kiss bruised spot where her neck and shoulder met, the Inquisitor’s arm was indeed perfectly fine.
New year, new kiss week, and the return of this triumph of graphic design I made last time
Dragon Age Kiss Week 2026
Day 1: Camp ( @dragonagekissweek )
Pairing: Alistair Theirin x HoF (Surana)
Rating: T
Summary: The feelings are there. Alistair knows that now. All that’s left is to do something about it.
Read on Ao3
- - -
Alistair did not so much make a conscious decision to go seek out his fellow Warden once camp had been made for the night. It was more akin to the instinctual draw of a moth to flame: a base instinct that called him to seek the light.
And she was not hard to find. Much like the proverbial candle, Eirlys was easy to see amidst the dark tangle of woods. Her stark white hair almost glowed in the setting sun as she bent over, studying a plant with a touch of her pale fingertips.
Alistair paused for a moment, struck by the thought of how it might feel to finally be on the other side of that gentle hand, touched so softly and sweetly. Now that they had finally broached the topic of their growing feelings for each other, it was difficult to think of anything else.
Remembering himself, and aware he was standing in the woods staring like some sort of cretin, Alistair continued his approach. The rustle of leaves as he did so caught the attention of the Mabari at Eirlys’s heels. Thistle’s large square head popped up from the underbrush, ears erect, her lips pulled back in preparation to bark before she registered the familiar face. Only then did the hound relax, though she did let out a half-bark of warning for good measure.
Eirlys turned then, and Alistair watched with wonder as she smiled at him, for him. His heart fluttered at the sight. For all the wickedness the Chantry sisters had accused him of, could he really have done something to earn this?
Of course, with a single smile, she had flushed away the poetry that had been filling his mind, leaving only emptiness. That was how Alistair found himself waving awkwardly. “Hello, there,” he greeted as if she were passing him in the market. Heat crawled down his spine as he tried not to cringe.
Eirlys bit her lower lip as though to repress a giggle and, in spite of any embarrassment, Alistair instantly wished she wouldn’t hold it back. Her laughter would surely be another gift.
“Hello,” she greeted sweetly, brushing her hands on the front of her robe as she turned. “I wasn’t expecting you.” She looked past him towards the direction of camp. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes!” He answered too quickly, “Yes it is— we are— I am. Entirely right.” Alastair cleared his throat through the stumble, “Though better now. Of course.”
He subsequently tried to step into the small clearing that his fellow warden occupied, but Thistle seemed either unwitting or uncaring of how much space she was compromising. Eirlys looked down and realized the same. “Vhenas,” she commanded softly in her elven tongue. Thistle responded immediately by crashing through the brush heading back to camp.
“You know,” Alistair leaned in slightly as he stepped closer, both of them watching the dog depart, “I don’t think it has once occurred to that Mabari that she doesn’t need to be with you every moment of every day.”
Eirlys laughed quietly. “Oh, I don't mind. She makes me feel safe.”
Safe. Of course. Because Eirlys had come from a Circle in which safety was a luxury and not a guarantee. She had grown up in a place with all the politicking and backstabbing of a city condensed into the square footage of a tower. Half of the people she saw in any given day were templars who could gut a mage just for giving the wrong look, all the while swearing they were there for protection. Even now, they were dealing with darkspawn eternally at their heels, not to mention fun surprises like Zevran’s Antivan Crows. He had been foolish to forget how rare safety was for her.
“I’m— sure,” Alistair capitulated easily, eyes darting for an easy change of subject. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”
She followed his fleeting glance. “Oh, um…there is a good amount of Elfroot in this area and I wanted to collect some while we had the chance. We were running low on healing salve when last I checked.”
Alistair nodded, though he naturally had not been aware of that. “Me? I just love traipsing through a tangled thicket,” he explained as he watched the elven woman press her lips together to repress a smile. “Nothing like a late evening frolick to really get the spirits up.”
Her head turned away as she giggled. Eirlys tended to do that, he had previously noticed. Not just with laughter but any strong emotion; when it could no longer be repressed, she would look away, as if it might vanish into the ether if no one caught it.
Her emotions, too, had not been safe.
But, this time, when she turned back, her eyes were bright. “That’s the only reason?” She asked, purposefully prodding.
Alistair found himself grinning in turn. “Yes, just the frolick, thanks.” She waited with skeptic patience until he rolled his head to one side. “Though, now that you mention it…we, ah…we never finished our conversation. From…earlier.”
Her own head tilted in such a way as to mirror him. “Oh…and…remind me how that conversation went?”
“Well, um, if I remember correctly…” Alistair could already feel an overwhelming heat spreading across his face, “It, ahh…it started with...” Looking into her eyes was a mistake. They were such a crystalline blue, breathtaking, and it was as if his throat closed around anything else he might say.
Still, Eirlys did not aid him, instead dipping her chin slightly. “Yes?”
He cleared his throat but it did nothing. He tried to cough. Honestly, he ought to look away just to gather his thoughts, but it was impossible to turn from her. Alistair was caught in a thrall that had nothing to do with magic.
“I care about you,” he blurted out as if jumping awake. “I…think that’s what I said.”
She looked desperately pleased as she stepped in closer. “Oh yes, I remember…” Eirlys hummed, “And…I think I said I felt the same.”
“Did you?” He let out a breathy laugh, “I believe I had blacked out at that point.”
She giggled, just a little, as she looked up at him sweetly. Alistair hadn’t seen her move, but he suddenly felt her touch against his hand. Her delicate fingers brushed the side of his palm before softly, carefully interlacing with his. Alistair froze, like a man trying not to startle a deer, afraid to break the moment. Eirlys glanced down at their joined hands before looking back up, her lips twisting to one side as she wrestled with a thought. “You know, you and Thistle have something in common.”
“I swear, if you start comparing me to the dog, I will walk into the nearest lake…”
“No, no,” and she giggled, as soft as the jingle of bells, “I just meant to say that you…you also make me feel safe.” A bright pink flush crossed her cheeks before she looked away, once more hiding her face behind her curtain of white hair. “I…wanted you to know that.”
And Alistair said nothing because how could he? How could one respond to something that flung the doors of their heart so far open that they could scarcely breathe?
Yet, at the same time, he was also shockingly calm. There was no panic because, by the Maker, this was a gift. To tell him such a thing was greater than any compliment he could have received. It made him dizzy.
Before he even registered his own movement, Alistair reached out a hand and turned her face back to him. At the same time, his neck bent and he met her turn with a kiss.
There was a short pull of caught breath as their lips met. The forest went quiet, drowned out by the loud beat of Alistair’s heart as he kissed Eirlys. Actually kissed her, not just thought and dreamed and stewed. And it was so much better than all that musing could have predicted, because it was real, and her kiss tasted like floral tea and a warm hearth and a home he had never had.
It only lasted a too brief moment before his senses returned and Alistair suddenly pulled back. “I—I’m sorry,” he gasped, breathing as if he’d just sprinted, “I thought— and after you said— I should have asked, I should have—”
His words vanished when Eirlys flung her arms around his neck and lifted herself to kiss him again.
He caught her, first in surprise, and then clutching her back to hold her to him. Her general shyness was no longer on display; Eirlys kissed him hard with an abandon he had never witnessed before. That in itself was almost as thrilling as the softness of her lips and her distinct taste on his tongue.
It could have gone on forever if Alistair hadn’t entirely forgotten how to breathe.
He was forced fo break away then, his breath loud in his throat as he set Eirlys back to the earth. She was similarly breathless, and her pupils had blown so wide that it made her light blue eyes look black. In the last of the daylight, he could see the shine of his own saliva on her lower lip. For some reason, it was that detail that made him feel like he might go mad if he didn’t kiss her again, and only a thin tether of restraint kept him from doing so.
After a moment of staring, panting, like two beasts in the woods, all Alistair managed to say was, “…Alright, then.”
And she burst out laughing. A real laugh, not hidden or demured or dampened in the least. Eirlys laughed in a moment of freedom, of safety, before clapping her hand to her mouth.
Reflexively, Alistair started to laugh, too. “What? Is that not what people say when they finally kiss?” He prodded, her laughter still echoing behind the cup of her palm. He had to keep going, to lean into it, make her keep laughing. It was too precious to give away just yet. “I’m just saying that I think we tidied that matter up rather nicely.”
“Maker—”
“All that passion, and I get laughed at!” His voice had no venom, no sting. “What a burden to be both kissable and ridiculous!”
Her free hand slapped his chest. “Stop!” She demanded with no urgency. Alistair held the wounded spot with a hand, but allowed Eirlys to regain her steady breathing, only occasionally punctuated by a hiccup of giggles.
Once she had calmed, she lowered her hand, her eyes bright. “You’re awfully silly.”
Alistair grinned. “What does that say for the lady that kisses me, then?”
“That I am fortunate, I think.” Once more, her hand slipped into his, warm and gentle and perfect. Alistair gave it a small squeeze.
“Maker forbid we turn into giggling school children every time, though.”
“Well,” there was a catch of slyness in her soft voice as Eirlys said, “we shall have to practice, then.”
And that thought alone kept Alistair blushing long after they returned to the light of the campfire.
So I was going to wait to dig through the artbook until I actually finish the game BUT I decided to quickly skim through to find the companion pages to see if Lucanis has any that show without the cape and there are a couple, very small though (note; I tried messing with the brightness on the pics to see better)
Made me realize this thing on the back of the cape;
Is, in fact, NOT part of the cape and is instead ANOTHER GODDAMN KNIFE strapped to his back going through a hole in the cape
HOW MANY KNIVES DOES ONE MAN NEED
Also I did carefully search up 'no cape' mods and found a couple so I have that as ref as well
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There's a fanfic you love so much you'd like to have a physical copy of it? But you don't know how to make it? You've come to the right place! I'm a teacher and I've done this with my pupils (11 year olds), so you can do it, too!
To preface this, obviously this is only one of many methods to bind a book, and it's not perfect, but it's easy enough for my pupils to do it, so I thought I'd share how I do it, to hopefully help people who want to bind fanfics but have never done it before! :)
Here are some examples of what my books look like when done:
Part 1: Preparations on the PC and printing
To start off, a book is made up of several signatures, which is just a bunch of pages folded in the middle. I've found the best signatures for this method are made of four A4 (or letter format) sheets of paper, folded, so it makes 16 pages in total. But signatures of 5 or 6 sheets work well too!
That means you need to prepare your pdf to have a page count that is dividable by 16 (4 sheet signatures), 20 (5 sheet signatures) or 24 (6 sheet signatures). I usually just add blank pages to the front and back of the book until I reach a usable page count. Also check that your chapters start at the page you want (odd pages are on the right, even ones are on the left).
If that is done, you can get to printing. I print signature per signature, and use Adobe Acrobat for that. Apparently, the free trial version can do this too, so no need to pay for it if you don't have it!
The fanfic I'm printing has 320 pages, so I'm gonna print 20 signature made of 4 sheets (16 pages). I write down which pages make the signature so I can them just type them in:
Signature 1 consists of pages 1 - 16
Signature 2: 17 - 32
Signature 3: 33 - 48
Signature 4: 49 - 64
...
Signature 20: 305 - 320
Now, printing works like this:
In Adobe Acrobat, open your pdf and click on print. In the printing options, you first chose the "Booklet" option and then type in the pages for the signature you want to print (e.g. 1-16). Hit print and you'll have your first signature, which you can then fold in the middle! Repeat this step for all the signatures until you've printed the whole book. Done!
(This is just a screenshot from the web, so the numbers don't match, but my Adobe Acrobat is completely in German, so it would probably be even less helpful!)
About the paper: I use normal printing paper in a bit of a yellowish colour (looks better than the sharp white of normal paper). Printing paper has, however, the wrong paper grain, so if you have access to paper with grain in the other direction, take that instead! The results with printing paper are okayish, with maybe a few wrinkles, but nothing too bad (in my opinion, haha).
If you've got any questions or need clarification an anything, feel free to ask!
This is how Lucanis looks at Rook at the end of that cutscene, btw. To be fair, all the companions seem to have the same animation here, so they're all just so taken with Rook in this precious moment. However, in my completely unbiased opinion, based on facts and logic and almost two years of scientific research and observation, Lucanis is the most beautiful here (to me).
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You actually cannot skip to being good at a creative endeavour that you haven't put much practice into. You cannot trick your way out of the 'knows that your work is not what you want it to be but don't know how to improve it' stage by planning or reading or talking about it really really hard. At some point you just have to craft through it until your brain finds it's own unique way back to the 'everything I make slaps' stage and be prepared to start the cycle all over again. You just have to make that project you're excited about slightly less good than you want it to be. (Says this standing in a pool of blood and covered in blood and also coughing up a little blood)
Dawes Mercar on the infamous Nessus job. Thank you for hosting, @shadow-dragon-week!
At some point I'll write this all out in a fic. Had a great time with the perspective on this - it was a good challenge. Wanted to really tell a story.
you are the hero of ferelden. no matter your origin you watch those you love most be ripped from you. death becomes an endless cycle which seems to follow you wherever you go. the fate of the world rests on your shoulders as you know you can never return home. home is gone now. home is buried with your family, jailed with your closest ally, cradled by the ancestors, forgotten like your beloved, lost to time in the murky glass of the eluvian- dead in your arms, killed at your hand. you are the hero of ferelden and it is your destiny to die. when next the world falls apart, you do not come. this world does not deserve your pity.
you are the champion of kirkwall. you are a refugee, cold and hungry and sold into labour. your mother hates you, though she will never say it. it's your fault the ogre killed your sibling, your fault the taint took the other. but you are happy. you have everything, friends and family and status and riches. you defeat the people plaguing your glorious city, you are the people's hero. you will always know even as she came back, isabela left you to die. you are happy but you are alone. you have everything and then you are rocking back and forth begging please please please do not take my mother as well. you have nothing, but for a single second, you had everything. you are the champion of kirkwall, and your ally has blown up the chantry. where is your home now that everything is your fault?
you are the herald of andraste. and you are so, so scared. these people do not trust you, do not like you, would feed you to the fade if they could. they do not care if you follow another religion, you are their herald. you can never return home because heroes do not have homes. they say home is the people you choose, but you didn't choose these people, did you? every step you take aches. thousands reach out to touch you, for safety. for comfort. you are a black hole close to destruction, and you cannot do this. you are the herald of andraste and you have not been yourself for so long now.
Remember to tag your creations with the #dakiss26 tag! I aim to reblog everybody who participates and I will set up a queue to that effect. It would be awesome if you joined me on this! If you don’t want your work to be reblogged here, please say so in the tags!
[Image ID: An image of the quest journal in Dragon Age The Veilguard, with a header that reads: Dragon Age Kiss Week Prompts. Under it there's a column of prompts that reads: Day 1 - Camp, Day 2 - Injury, Day 3 - Courtyard, Day 4 - Exploration, Day 5 - Beach, Day 6 - Mourning, Day 7 - Sneaky. Under the prompts, the event's tag #dakiss26 /.End ID]
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Outfit emoji ask: Valkyr and Dora 💃 in my life please
Dora and Valkyr in 90's outfits - they absolutely rock them!! Get in the car losers - we're going shopping! 🛍
Valkyr would slay in layers + mini skirts + thigh high boots tbh and Dora likes those terribly colourful athleisure fits like the jock she is... Now I kinda want to see Lucanis and Viago in 90's outfits HAHA
