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General Cauthrien Headcanon
Cauthrien and the Civil War
Cauthrien and Appearance in Origins
Recent college graduate (in anthropology) writer, weaver, baker, Dragon Age fan, Dishonored lover, video game nerd. There's fic over at Ao3 under the same name. I live in Portland with my awesome boyfriend.
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“As author, I feel the crudeness of my style may be a little offensive to some, but hope my desire to afford general pleasure will excuse my defects.”
— The anonymous author of Lady Pokingham; or They All Do It: Giving an Account of her Luxurious Adventures, both before and after her Marriage with Lord Crim-Con, as published in the first issue of The Pearl in 1879.
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I take drabble requests! Just drop characters, a pairing, a situation into my Ask box. I'm best with Dragon Age prompts, but can also do Last Exile and some Digital Devil Saga, plus a few other bits and bobs.
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Things sometimes get smutty. I try to remember nsfw tags, but I don't always manage it, especially on drabble request posts.
Photoset reblogged from I am your sister in grief. with 368 notes
I thank you, Hume traveler. With your retrieval of Ieeha’s ring, you have answered the questions that sent me from my home.
Source: jeremypamyupamyu
Photo reblogged from every hurt is a lesson with 190 notes
“Though I lack your power, I will still persist,” —Larsa Ferrinas Solidor {Edit ♚}
Source: erioha
Photo reblogged from Vieralynn with 129 notes
“FFXII-New Begining” by 無言
It’s like a sequel to Ocean’s Eleven or something. Which I want desperately. For FFXII, I mean.
FFXII and Ocean’s Eleven would be the best crossover ever. Ever.
I can hear the Oceans 11 soundtrack in my head while looking at this art. This crossover needs to happen.
(If I remember correctly, Basch’s Japanese voice actor normally dubs George Clooney so the crossover is meant to happen.)
Source: pixiv.net
Photo reblogged from Vieralynn with 114 notes
Here are the esper symbols from Final Fantasy XII.
I may have at one point considered getting one as a tattoo.
I may still be considering that.
Source: suckmymara
Photoset reblogged from I am your sister in grief. with 134 notes
(No Penelo. Don’t fall for that man’s charms. He’s jus—too late, she’s already swooning.)
(is it bad that I once thought about writing an anonymous one-night stand between these two?)
Source: reconcilier
Photo reblogged from Vengeance, Wrath and Fury with 230 notes
So in DAII since if Hawke doesn’t end up with Fenris or Isabella, those two just decide ‘Fuck it’ and get it on on the side. Apparently a great deal of the fandom has their knickers in a twist over this. Oh ship wars. Well, I come bearing a gift of peace to placate the fandom rage, or perhaps simply opening a new front to these shenanigans. Whatever the case, I give you my OT4, full of piracy, swagger, brooding stoicism, tight black armour, and Gideon Emery making voice porn.
Also fuck Fenris’ tattoo things. Fuck them. You will take your poorly scribbled swirlies and you will like them. Seriously this whole thing took me like an hour to shit out.
Yo ho yo ho, a pirate’s life me~
So this just might be one of the best pictures in either of the Fandoms, ever. I mean look at it! I have been looking at it for a while now (with enthusiasm), I should know. Especially Isabela’s abs. And Fran’s ass. And look Fenris and Balthier are holding hands that is so precious wait where is Isabela’s other hand? Is is it where I think it is?
Quick someone make this crossover happen in adventurous foursome-y pirate fic!
I need this like burning.
Source: jabberart
Post reblogged from serindrana with 9 notes
… a time… [Zalera, ffxii]
[For spicyshimmy, greytaliesin, and all the other ffxii fans following me. I wanted to write FFXII fic, but I haven’t played the game in far too long, and didn’t know if I could capture the characters. So instead, have some fic about an Esper! BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE RANDOM MINOR NPCS.
“Heretic scion who wrapped the world in dark energies, seeking to take the souls of all living things unto himself. Created in opposition to Emet-Selch, Angel of Truth, and scion of light. Originally tasked with the judging of men upon their deaths, his soul was tainted by the curses of those who raged against the heavens, and seizing one of the gods’ servants, a shamaness, as a hostage, he rebelled against his creators. Even now, in defeat, he clutches the shamaness to him in his right arm, and with the aid of her death-wail does he summon the soul of darkness to do his bidding.”
—Clan Primer Bio]
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.
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There was a time it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
There was a time where this wasn’t what was right.
There was a time - but it is lost now in the shrouds of Mist that cover him when he sleeps, and her death wail when he wakes, the thrum and pound of battle, the shaking of the wind, the roaring of the heavens. And there was a time is not a thought, as such. It is a sound. An echo. Words are no longer words, and his throat - such as it is, made of bone and cloth and magic and ancient - makes no sound but laughs and howls. He holds no meaning beyond death. He holds no meaning but that which he made for himself.
The only knowledge he possesses, then: she is in his arms. She is of his arms. She wails and cries and screams, and he has at least given her the blissful partial peace of blindness, her eyes covered in fabric whose weave should have long ago unravelled. The Mist tugs at it relentlessly. He fights it away, a scraping, scratching, snarling animal protecting its young, its food, its home.
There was a time he took her in his arms and made her believe that they would win.
And there was a time when he betrayed her, just as he betrayed all the rest, and used her as a shield, as a tool, as a weapon. And now she is in his arms and of his arms, and he cannot let her go.
She screams, and the world trembles.
Photo reblogged from virtual star embryology with 64 notes
I like his silly dagger-like thing.
AND ALWAYS HIS HEELS.
Photo reblogged from small dirty bathtub with 127 notes
i tried to draw fran because i love fran
it is an unspoken rule that i must always reblobble fran. flawless art of a flawless character. there’s a slight arch in her brow and flare of her nostrils that seem to suggest she is looking at balthier who is doing something “dashing” but also “ridiculous” while wearing “fashionable” aka “stupendously embarrassing” footwear. (i love them so much.)
Source: kassa-fabrication
Post reblogged from serindrana with 9 notes
… a time… [Zalera, ffxii]
[For spicyshimmy, greytaliesin, and all the other ffxii fans following me. I wanted to write FFXII fic, but I haven’t played the game in far too long, and didn’t know if I could capture the characters. So instead, have some fic about an Esper! BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE RANDOM MINOR NPCS.
“Heretic scion who wrapped the world in dark energies, seeking to take the souls of all living things unto himself. Created in opposition to Emet-Selch, Angel of Truth, and scion of light. Originally tasked with the judging of men upon their deaths, his soul was tainted by the curses of those who raged against the heavens, and seizing one of the gods’ servants, a shamaness, as a hostage, he rebelled against his creators. Even now, in defeat, he clutches the shamaness to him in his right arm, and with the aid of her death-wail does he summon the soul of darkness to do his bidding.”
—Clan Primer Bio]
.
.
.
There was a time it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
There was a time where this wasn’t what was right.
There was a time - but it is lost now in the shrouds of Mist that cover him when he sleeps, and her death wail when he wakes, the thrum and pound of battle, the shaking of the wind, the roaring of the heavens. And there was a time is not a thought, as such. It is a sound. An echo. Words are no longer words, and his throat - such as it is, made of bone and cloth and magic and ancient - makes no sound but laughs and howls. He holds no meaning beyond death. He holds no meaning but that which he made for himself.
The only knowledge he possesses, then: she is in his arms. She is of his arms. She wails and cries and screams, and he has at least given her the blissful partial peace of blindness, her eyes covered in fabric whose weave should have long ago unravelled. The Mist tugs at it relentlessly. He fights it away, a scraping, scratching, snarling animal protecting its young, its food, its home.
There was a time he took her in his arms and made her believe that they would win.
And there was a time when he betrayed her, just as he betrayed all the rest, and used her as a shield, as a tool, as a weapon. And now she is in his arms and of his arms, and he cannot let her go.
She screams, and the world trembles.
Reblogging with newly added picture and background. >.>
Post with 5 notes
Take [Mateus, ffxii]
[Again for Spicyshimmy, GreyTaliesin, and the rest! And for those outside of fandom, here’s the summon in question, with some backstory:
“Scion of darkness ruling and protecting those who live in the underworld, in opposition to Lahabrea the Abyssal Celebrant and scion of light. In the course of his rule, he submitted to avarice, and the darkness took his heart, transforming him until he was both evil and corrupt. Then in his cowardice did he bind a Goddess of the Demesne of Ice, and using her as a living shield, he challenged the gods. Defeated before their might, he fell screaming into the depths of hell, there to be imprisoned for eternity.”
—Clan Primer Bio ]
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.
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He breathes air like it’s water.
The seas of Mist buffet him but he does not drift; even without a purpose, he swims with intent. He gathers power to him. He can no longer carry the power of the dead, but he can hold the power of a goddess. She no longer struggles. She no longer cries out. She is no Zalera’s mistress; she is a shield, and she is a part of him.
She is ice upon him, and he takes it for himself.
He is greedy and takes all that he can, even though she is nothing more than a mass of flesh and ice and power; he takes what he can, and when he cannot, he waits until it changes form, until her forgets, and he tries again. He takes her sight. He blinds her and in her loss he gains. He takes in the Mist. He takes in the cold.
And when he awakens, he takes her form in presentation, and few suspect that what lurks behind is what consumes all. They see only her.
It is as it always should have been.
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