Hi, this isn't really a ask, but I came across a Tumblr account @thestolenthrone that made an edit of one of your artworks. I don't know if it's something you approve of, and it's also an account that claims to do "dark humor". This account also said that "the person who claims to be the original artist reblogs donation scam and certain political agenda". I apologize for the English. https://www.tumblr.com/thestolenthrone/787463851765628928/another-edit-request?source=share
hi, thank you for letting me know because wallahi azeem nothing could've prepared me for that.
They seem to be under the impression in their tags and notes that I didn't create the original art because I reblog Gaza donations and I post about Palestinian issues. The stolenthrone person and the person who requested the edit are pretty proud of getting rid of Asma's skin tone and features, so I don't mind putting their usernames out on blast like this.
Both of them seem to be pretty keen on reposting other people's art + posting art with their "edits" on top, so if you are an artist in the Dragon Age fandom, especially an artist of color and or Palestinian, please block and report these people.
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ferelden SHOULD be as gender egalitarian as the introductory flavor text implies, seeing as how they're 30 years removed from a war for independence in which your mom (yes, yours! I meant this more generically but also literally Cousland's mom!) was a freedom fighter and so was their well beloved queen
they should be belligerently proud of that shit. it should be to their mind what sets proud fereldans apart from occupiers and sympathizers tbh
"oh you don't believe a woman's place is on the field of battle? what are you, french?"
thinking of what if meredith took the cullen treatment. last minute in da2 she is like "oh wow i was possessed by red lyrium silly me! sorry hawke i changed my mind" and then she comes to skyhold and is like "yeah maybe i was a bit unfair to mages ú_ù i was a bit right tho" her arc is also all about lyrium only. varric and pro mage hawke romancing anders are ok with her and dont go killing her for some reason. u can kiss her.
As they care for the rescued child, Ixchel reflects on the different ways her companions have learned to nurture life. For Vivienne, Merrill, Mahariel, and Solas, this kind of care walks hand in hand with grief.
“Mythal’enaste,” Halevune swore. “Do you think…?”
He could not seem to bring himself to finish that sentence, but he did not need to. His words had already conjured the possibilities in Ixchel’s mind, each more heartbreaking than the last. She knew that Solas had been loved before, and loved in return; perhaps Felassan had not been the only one. Who else had he lost to war, to time? An empire, certainly—maybe his whole world, in more than one sense.
Ixchel’s stomach churned. “You would know what force it takes to separate a parent from their child for long,” she said raggedly. “I don’t know all the details of his past, but I know tragedy lies at the heart of it.”
Halevune let out a heavy sigh. “I would not wish this on my worst enemy,” he said. “I can’t let the thought even enter my mind that…” He shook his head. “It’s not how it’s s’posed to happen. Whatever life I have, I’d give it all for his. The idea of living on, in a future that should be his…”
“Lethallin,” Ixchel whispered.
The Brave Guide is a canon-divergent Dragon Age longfic. It continues the story of Dead Pasts and Dread Futures, in which Lavellan was sent back in time against her will after the Dread Wolf’s plans destroyed the world.
The series follows Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan and her battle to find hope for herself, and hope for Thedas. As the world ends, Ixchel is resurrected under mysterious circumstances and is sent back in time to the Conclave. Ixchel is furious, convinced of her own futility, and yet she cannot give up again. These are the stories of how she gets better.
[Read from the Beginning] | [Current Chapter] | [TLDR] | [Other Fics]
The most horrifying implication of Awakening to me is that despite the way nearly every character describes them and thinks of them, the darkspawn were always sentient. The Architect's experiment with the modified Joining simply freed them from the compulsion of the Old God's call. The blood of Grey Wardens could confer resistance to the taint but it couldn't grant them a personhood, a soul they never had.
If they had possessed no intelligence, no personhood at all behind the Blight that animated them, that should have left them an insensate husk. But it doesn't. Now they make choices that were once denied them, some rallying behind their liberator, others rising against him for taking away what gave meaning to their existence.
The horror of Awakening is not that darkspawn could become intelligent but that they always were.
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She obeys, crossing them against the stone above her head. When he lifts her shirt and tells her to hold it up between her teeth she obeys that order too. There’s more shuffling, unbuckling, until her tits are exposed and both their pants are hitched low on hips.
One of his hands lands on the wall next to her head while the other takes hold of his perfect cock and starts stroking. His eyes lock onto the hollow of her throat before his mouth does, then her chest before his tongue makes her back arch.
Every gaze is a promise of something to come and she feels like bursting by the time a finger slides her. He teases at her clit, just enough to have her groaning around the shirt in her mouth, but not enough.
The things he says, how beautiful she is, how good she feels inside, all of it warms her up until her ears burn. But this is only for him - he’s using her to get off and Creators, the thought of it makes her knees weak.
She’s mesmerized as he pleasures himself in front of her, at the sight of her. The way his muscles twitch, the rhythm of his hand and how the head of his cock glistens now, the sweet line of bliss growing between his brows. The way he bites into his lip when he’s so close.
“Fuck, Ia,” Davrin mutters and then he’s groaning and coming against her stomach as he holds her underwear away from her skin. They both watch as it slides down and as it pools between her legs she mumbles a few profanities of her own around the shirt in her mouth.
He’s quick to fix them up again, wiping the remnants of his cum on his pants before buttoning hers back up. Her top is the last thing to be undone, and as it falls out her mouth he’s quick to replace it with his as he smothers her against the wall.
“Can I put my hands down yet?” she manages to say between breathstealing kisses and laughter that falls out after the high.
“Yeah, but not on me,” he replies, his hand coming to her crotch and squeezing. The noise she makes is pathetic to feel how soaked it feels. “Go have fun in your room for a while. I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Oh, gods,” she barely gets out then, but groans it loudly it into her pillow once she’s writhing on her couch, fingers coated in herself and in him as she desperately fucks herself. She thinks about his greedy touch, his eyes that devoured her, how obscene it felt to dash through the courtyard and rotunda with his cum starting to drip down her legs.
When she comes she does it falling off the settee screaming.
“How was your evening, Rook?” Davrin asks when they’ve all sat down for dinner, a ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
She shrugs, making a display of flapping out her napkin. “Oh, not too bad. You?”
“Can’t complain,” he replies as he oh so nicely pours her a mug of ale.
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