🔼 soooo…. if you’re doing the invasive questions thing still…. are you proud of the person you are? Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

How much Sidni wants to answer it: 3

If you had asked before she became Inquisitor, she would’ve told you no. But it is what it is. Now that her life has been turned upside down and she’s found herself an unexpected family, she’s not exactly proud, but she IS happy. She’s learned to look back and see that she survived despite the odds and be somewhat proud of that. Or at least lean on her friends’ pride in her.

Guilt and shame usually overwhelm any sort of pride she might feel, and it definitely darkens her happiness. But she’s trying. And she’s proud of that.

Ominous statement generator

venusiangay:

Birth Month:

  • Jan – The weathered bone
  • Feb – The stained glass window
  • Mar – A wolf’s howl
  • Apr – The fog on the moors
  • May – The sanctuary of the abandoned cathedral
  • June – The bloodied locket
  • July – A scream from within the forest
  • Aug – The churning sea
  • Sept – The fire’s last embers
  • Oct – An old clocktower
  • Nov – A mountain’s wind
  • Dec – A saint’s weeping

Color of The Top You’re Wearing*:

  • Red – smells strongly of flesh and rot.
  • Orange – is set afire when you look toward it.
  • Yellow – causes a ringing in your head that grows as you approach it.
  • Green – offers to make a pact.
  • Blue – demands a sacrifice.
  • Violet – causes blood to drip from your eyes.
  • White – whispers hymns of the old gods gently in your ears.
  • Grey – hums with grief.
  • Black – pardons you of your sins.

*if patterned/multicolored, choose the closest base colour, or most prominent.

based off this post

A mountain’s wind whispers hymns of the old gods gently in your ears.

…..there’s a fic in there! *runs to my google docs*

hey writers

write-like-a-freak:

friendly reminder that you are allowed to write selfishly. Your writing is allowed to be self-indulgent. You can have self-insert characters. Your stories can be pure wish-fulfillment.

Sometimes we get so caught up in wanting to please the theoretical reader that we forget our writing is first and foremost for us. It’s our art, our self-expression, and we do it for our passion and our joy.

Use other voices and perspectives to grow your own perspective and bring more to your writing. But you don’t owe it to anyone to create art for them, the way they want it.

Your writing can be a love letter to yourself.

I’m loving the prompts you have so far. Cadash inqs are wicked under appreciated imo, but even without my bias, sidni is such an engaging character! I look forward to seeing your future writings, if you continue to share them.

The dwarves are SO underappreciated! Especially the Cadash quizzies. I think there’s a lot about the dwarves that (if Bioware actually honors the hints they’ve littered throughout the games) will blow a lot of things out of the water. Inquisition and especially Descent confirmed some of my theories. I freaking love the dwarves!!

Ahhh thank you so much for the compliment!! ❤ I’m so glad you like Sidni! Honestly, hearing this just makes me want to uncover more of her. (And put her through more hell because I can mwahahahaha!) I will definitely be sharing more. I have another hurt prompt which should be out in a little bit. And I’ll be picking up the intimacy prompts for July, so hopefully you’ll enjoy those! Thank you again!

“i’m sorry. i know it hurts. here, hold my hand.” for sidni/cullen DESTROY ME WITH FEELING

thebakerstboyskeeper:

Cullen takes a deep breath and sets his tankard down. He hadn’t even noticed her slip away. Again.

Bull claps him on the shoulder and says, “You married the former thug. You should be used to it.”

“Yes, but in these circumstances, it worries me,” he grimaces, rolling the suddenly stinging joint.

“For good reason. Go find her. We’ll all hold the fort down here.”

He leaves the fancy little tavern where the Inner Circle gathered after the last council meeting and makes his way to their rooms. With tensions high and the Qunari threat looming, but stalled, they’d taken the moment to relax. Sidni had insisted on everyone being there.

Like she wanted to say …

He rubs the back of his neck, hoping it will ease the knot of doom in his gut. They knew this Exalted Council would be a nightmare. But with everything else going wrong, he supposes it was too much to hope for their peace and joy to last.

We will endure. As we have done.

With Sidni guiding them, with everyone back together, they will make it to the other side. Perhaps battered and bruised, but they will stand tall. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that his wife has no tolerance for puffed up politicians. She will never bow to them.

He freezes when he enters their drawing room. It’s dim, only the fireplace having been tended to. His Mabari – he really must think of a name soon – paws at the closed bedroom door. As soon as the hound is aware, he turns to Cullen, a plaintive whine in his throat.

He barrels across the room, hand on his sword. He calls her name, listening. There’s no answer, not even as he yanks the door open.

The darkness gives him yet another pause. Stillness and silence greet him, no signs of a threat leaping toward him. He blinks, realizing it’s not quite pitch black. There’s an eerie glow.

His heart sinks.

“Sidni.”

He finds her sitting on the other side of the bed, back pressed to it, legs drawn into her chest. Her left arm rests across her knees, her right hand locked around the wrist. Green light illuminates her clenched eyes, the tightness of her mouth. He sits in front of her, fear stealing his breath.

With her gloves finally discarded, he can see the poisonous vines crawling up her arm. It cracks and spits hostile energy, each new wave causing her to tense, her jaw locking against it. His hands hover uselessly, afraid to add to it.

“Sidni.”

When her eyes meet his, he just barely resists scrambling backward. They glow just for a moment, but it’s enough to show him the tears in her eyes. Never has he seen her cry for her own pain until now. And the fear that flashes in her gaze.

She pulls her hand into her stomach, hiding it behind her legs. It doesn’t muffle the way it sparks, worse than the few he’s witnessed. She gasps, heels scraping against the floor, her unmarked hand covering her mouth as the gasp turns into a cry. Her body hunches over her arm, ragged sobs causing the Mabari to lay on his belly and whimper. Cullen fights his own tears, swallowing past the choking terror and dragging her to him.

He cages her legs with his, settling his arm around her stomach to keep her close. Her head falls back against his shoulder, her breath heavy as she’s given a sudden reprieve before the next wave. He brushes her hair away from her face, kissing her temple. His eyes are drawn to her left hand where it lies limp on his thigh.

It’s killing her. The Council, the Qunari … it doesn’t matter. The magic she used to save them is slowly tearing her apart. His conversation with Dorian echoes back at him. They’d underestimated it. They believed the front she’s put up.

“Cullen–”

“No.”

“But if it–”

She chokes off a scream, pushing back into him. He squeezes her, setting his cheek against hers. He can’t lose her. He won’t. Not now.

He locks his fingers with her right hand, holding tight. Her response is a death grip, nails dug into his skin. As the Mark hisses and lights the room around them, he tries to give her something steady amidst the chaos.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, vowing to find a way out of this, no matter what it takes. “I know it hurts. Hold my hand. Don’t let go.”

Hurt Prompts